11. Dante #3
A bead of sweat rolled down his neck, and I couldn’t resist the urge to lick it away. The taste bypassed my brain, shooting straight to my nervous system, where it short-circuited every defense mechanism I’d built over years of selling my body.
My orgasm detonated a nuclear explosion, obliterating thought, reason, and identity.
The intensity transcended pleasure, becoming something else entirely.
A religious experience. A near-death one.
All my defenses crumbled as my muscles convulsed, clamping down on Renato’s cock with such force that he cursed in surprise.
My untouched dick jerked between us, painting my chest and stomach with thick ropes of cum that seemed endless.
I’d come thousands of times in that room, but never with my control so thoroughly shattered, my defenses so completely breached.
But it wasn’t over yet. Renato drove into me with renewed force, each thrust harder than the last. His fingers dug into my hips, his nails biting into my skin as he held me in place and used my body for his delight.
The pain mingled with the aftershocks of my orgasm, creating a feedback loop of sensation that kept me riding the edge.
“I’m going to fill you up,” he promised, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. “Mark you from the inside. Make you mine.”
His possessiveness should have repulsed me. I belonged to one man against my will and had fought too hard for what little autonomy I had. But in that moment, with his cock buried inside me and his scent filling my lungs, I wanted nothing more than to be claimed by him.
“Do it,” I urged, the words a challenge and a plea. “Show me what you’ve got.”
His control snapped, his hips pistoning with brutal force.
I watched his face as he approached the edge, fascinated by the vulnerability that cracked his perfect mask.
His lips parted as pleasure overtook him, a flush spreading from his chest up his neck, staining his olive skin with patches of red.
When he came, it was with a feral sound. I felt each throb, each spurt of heat, as if the thin condom barrier didn’t exist. His hips jerked with uncontrolled movements, grinding against me as if trying to push impossibly deeper.
His cocky confidence stripped away to reveal something genuine beneath. It was that glimpse of the real man behind the performance that undid me more than anything physical.
A strange, unwelcome thought flashed through my mind of what it would feel like to hear him say my name.
Not Dragon, the stage name Salvatore had given me, but Dante.
My real name, which I kept guarded as the last piece of myself that still belonged to me.
The thought of those syllables in his mouth, shaped by his accent that reminded me of home, made my heart stutter in my chest.
The longing for it was sudden and fierce, catching me off guard with its intensity.
I’d never wanted a client to know me, the real me.
But Renato wasn’t a client, and the rules I’d lived by for years suddenly seemed fragile and arbitrary.
The realization I was in danger with him did nothing to lessen my intense afterglow.
As we came down from the high, he held my gaze as he licked my release from his hand.
The sight was obscene, his tongue gathering my cum from his fingers with obvious relish.
“You were worth flying across the country for,” he said, his voice pitched for our audience.
“I can only imagine how good it feels to get fucked by you.”
“Accept the job and find out.” The words came out more desperately than I intended.
One taste of him and I was already craving the next, like an addict who’d found a new drug that made all others pale in comparison.
If Salvatore paired us regularly, I could use our unexpected chemistry to my advantage. “There’s no one better than me.”
“Except me.” His cocky grin made me laugh despite myself. He had certainly earned his ego.
A knock at the door signaled Salvatore’s departure. Our performance had concluded, the test apparently passed. When Renato pulled out of me, I felt a hollow emptiness that went beyond the physical. I trembled with aftershocks as my muscles turned to jelly from the intensity of our encounter.
I nodded toward the bathroom door. “We can clean up in there.” It was my sanctuary in my gilded prison of glass and mirrors, the only room without cameras, where I could be myself instead of the carefully crafted persona I presented to the world.
As I followed him on shaky legs after my thorough fucking, admiring the perfect curve of his ass, suspicion crept through my post-orgasmic haze.
Why would Salvatore bring someone like Renato here?
A man too beautiful, too skilled, too perfect to be working in a brothel, no matter how high-end.
My adoptive father never did anything without calculating every outcome and advantage.
Getting fucked by Renato wasn’t a simple test of my obedience or a reward for good behavior. Whatever game my adoptive father was playing by bringing Renato to his lair, I needed to stay three steps ahead to make sure he was a valuable ally and not the deadliest threat.