Chapter FIVE
Ginetta
––––––––
The ballroom glitters like a jewel box, all soaring marble and gleaming crystal, awash in the golden glow of a thousand candles. Everywhere I look, the cream of New York society mingles in a sea of black ties and designer gowns, their chatter and forced laughter rising above the muted strains of a string quartet. It's the kind of elegant affair I've only ever seen in movies, a dazzling world so far removed from my own humble roots that it feels like a fever dream.
But the strong arm wrapped possessively around my waist, the warm breath teasing my ear...that's all too real.
"You're exquisite," Dante murmurs. "I can't take my eyes off you, tesoro."
I feel the heat of his gaze like a physical touch as it roams my figure, taking in the way my midnight blue gown hugs my curves before flaring out at the knee. It's the most daring thing I've ever worn, the neckline plunging to reveal an indecent amount of cleavage, the back nothing but a few crisscrossing straps. But the look in Dante's eyes when he picked me up tonight, the raw hunger and possessive pride...it made me feel powerful. Desired.
His.
I tilt my head back to meet his molten stare, my lips curving. "That was the plan," I tell him, injecting a teasing note into my voice. "Can't have you getting bored of me now, can I?"
Dante growls, the sound vibrating through his chest and into mine where we're pressed together. His fingers flex on my hip, digging in just shy of pain.
"Bored?" He scoffs, his sensual mouth twitching. "Never. You're a fever in my blood, Ginetta. An addiction I never want to kick."
He dips his head to brush his lips over the sensitive spot behind my ear, making me shudder. "If anything, I'm worried I won't be able to keep my hands to myself tonight. Might cause quite the scandal, fucking you in the middle of the dance floor."
"Dante!" I gasp, feeling the words like a bolt of lightning. The image flashes through my mind unbidden - Dante hiking up my gown in front of all these illustrious guests, bending me over one of the linen-draped tables and letting everyone see who I belong to as he takes me hard and fast.
I squeeze my thighs together, my heart pounding a staccato rhythm against my ribs. I should be scandalized by his blunt crudity but instead arousal sings through my veins, hot and debilitating.
God help me, but a secret, wanton part of me wants him to do exactly that. To stake his claim on me for all the world to see.
What is this man doing to me?
Dante chuckles darkly, the sound pure sin. I just know he's fully aware of the effect he's having on me, the arrogant jerk. No doubt he can see the flush staining my cheeks, the telltale clench of my fingers in the lapel of his suit jacket. He did this on purpose, the shameless tease.
Well, two can play that game.
Summoning my maidenly poise, I flutter my lashes at Dante innocently and slip out of his embrace. "Hold that thought for later, tiger. I need to go powder my nose."
I start to saunter towards the arched entrance across the ballroom when a big, warm hand clamps around my wrist, tugging me to a stop. I look back over my shoulder to see Dante staring at me with hooded eyes, a muscle ticking in his chiseled jaw.
"Don't be long," he says, his deep voice a low command. It thrums through me, dark and full of promise. "Or I might have to come find you."
My breath hitches at the threat...or is it a promise? Electricity crackles between us, taut and heady. Goosebumps skitter down my arms despite the balmy air.
I lick my suddenly dry lips, feeling brazen. Reckless. "Promises, promises," I breathe.
Then I'm slipping free of his grasp and gliding away, his frustrated groan chasing my steps.
The wine I downed earlier for courage buzzes through my system as I navigate the crush of glamorous bodies with a strange sense of unreality. I feel untethered from myself, from the shy, studious Ginetta who's more comfortable in a library than a ballroom. But something about being with Dante tonight, claimed and shown off and wanted so blatantly...it's intoxicating. Empowering.
Oh, I don't doubt people are whispering about us behind their manicured hands. Speculating about what a man like Dante Russo, with his money and his power and his undeniable magnetism, is doing with a relative nobody like me. I'm sure I fit neatly into their narrow worldview - the poor little seduced maiden, in over my head with a notorious playboy.
If only they knew the truth. That this thing between Dante and me is so much more than a simple seduction. That the way he touches me, looks at me, unravels me...it feels a lot like falling. Like the ground crumbling beneath my feet, exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure.
But God, what a way to go.
I'm so lost in my whirling thoughts that I don't immediately register the dark alcove I'm passing until a strong arm shoots out and bands around my waist. I barely have time to gasp before I'm yanked sideways, the curtain swishing shut behind me.
"Dante, what the..."
But then his mouth is on mine, hot and urgent, swallowing my surprised squeak. He walks me backwards until I'm pressed against the wall, the solid heat of him blanketing me from chest to thigh. I feel the rasp of his stubble, the slick slide of his tongue over my bottom lip, seeking entrance. Begging me to open for him.
I moan, my hands coming up to fist in his dark hair as he licks into my mouth. He tastes like the Scotch he was nursing earlier, smoky and rich. I'm drowning in the scent of him, the feel of him straining against me. He's already hard, his arousal a thick ridge against my belly. The knowledge that I affect him so viscerally sends a fresh surge of desire pulsing through me.
"I couldn't wait any longer," he rasps against my lips, those big hands roaming greedily over my curves. "Watching you float around the room in this dress, seeing all those bastards strip you with their eyes...it's been torture, tesoro."
His palm splays over my lower back, pressing me impossibly closer. I feel the twitch of his cock through our clothes at the increased contact and I whimper, my head falling back against the wall.
"I'm dying to get my hands on you," Dante continues, lowering his head to nuzzle into the crook of my neck. His breath is damp and feverish on my skin as he places wet, open-mouthed kisses along my throat. "To feel your tight little pussy squeezing my fingers as I make you come. Christ, I can smell how wet you are for me. So fucking sweet."
"Oh, God," I pant, arching shamelessly into him. My blood feels carbonated, every nerve ending sparking to life under his skillful mouth. "Dante, we can't...not here..."
But even as I protest, my treacherous legs splay wider of their own volition. Dante groans his approval, his hand diving beneath the hem of my gown to glide up the inside of my thigh. I gasp at the first brush of his fingers over my lace panties, a featherlight tease.
"That's it, baby," he coaxes, rubbing slow circles over my cloth-covered slit. I'm already drenched, my arousal soaking through the delicate lace. "Let me give you what you need. I can feel how badly this pretty pussy wants me."
I mewl, my hips canting into his touch wantonly. I should push him away, insist we rejoin the party before we're missed. Before someone discovers us rutting like animals, a hairsbreadth away from hundreds of prying eyes.
But I can't muster up an ounce of protest. Not when Dante is stroking me just right, his fingers dipping beneath my panties to paint my slick folds. I feel fevered with need, my skin too tight for my bones. I'm so close already, my body growing taut as a bowstring.
"That's my girl," Dante croons, slipping one thick digit into my clenching channel. "Christ, you're so fucking tight. I bet you'll clamp down like a vice when I get my cock in you later, milk me dry."
His filthy words only stoke the inferno building at the base of my spine. I ride his hand shamelessly, too far gone to care about propriety or restraint. Let them hear me, a wildfire voice in my mind urges. Let them know who makes me fall apart, who owns this body.
When Dante's thumb finds my clit, circling roughly, I detonate. The orgasm rips through me like a hurricane, my inner muscles clamping down on his thrusting fingers as I drench his palm with my release. Dante swallows my broken cries with his lips, groaning into my mouth as I spasm in his arms.
"Fuck, just like that," he encourages hoarsely, working me through the aftershocks. "Soak my fucking hand, amore. Give me everything."
Dimly, I'm aware of the muted swell of music and chatter mere feet away. The shocking public depravity of it all sends a forbidden thrill zinging through me even as the last tremors of my high recede.
When I finally collapse back against the wall, boneless and sated, Dante slips his fingers free of my body. Our eyes lock as he brings the glistening digits to his mouth, sucking my essence from each one with an appreciative hum.
"Delicious," he declares with a final lick, his gaze scorching. "I could feast on your nectar all night, Ginetta."
My exhausted body clenches weakly at the husky promise. I'm utterly wrecked, mascara no doubt smudged and hair in wild disarray. Dante looks equally debauched, a telling wet patch marring the front of his pressed gray slacks.
"We should get back out there," I finally manage, my voice a rasp. "Before someone notices we're missing."
Dante looks like he wants to argue, his hands flexing on my hips. But after a beat he nods curtly, seemingly wrestling himself back under control.
"Go find the ladies room and freshen up," he says, stepping away to put some distance between our overheated bodies. "I'll be along in a minute. Just need a second to...collect myself." He flashes me a wry grin, gesturing to the impressive tent in his trousers.
A bolt of feminine pride zaps through me at the sight, satisfaction curling in my gut. It's a heady rush, knowing I can reduce this powerful man to base need. That he craves my body as much as I crave his.
With a final heated glance, I visit the restroom to survey the damage, then slip back out into the ballroom on watery legs. No one spares me a second look as I weave through the glittering throng, too caught up in their own gossip and machinations to notice me. My skin feels electrified, my body still humming with the aftermath of Dante's touch. I know I'll be on edge for the rest of the night, desperate for him to finish what he started in some dark corner. My blood heats further at the debauched image.
As I snag a fresh flute of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter, I see Dante emerge from the alcove out of the corner of my eye. He's impeccable once more, not a hair out of place, looking every inch the cool, untouchable Don. But when our gazes collide across the room, I spy the barely banked heat in those espresso eyes. The promise of retribution to come.
My stomach swoops even as I tear my eyes away, a blush staining my cheeks.
I'm scanning the crowd for a familiar face to act as buffer between me and my lover when a snippet of conversation snags my attention. Dante's name, spoken in a cruel undertone.
"...little fool. As if Dante Russo would ever truly care for someone so far beneath him. He's clearly just using her to distract from his family's unsavory business."
Ice slides down my spine, even as I strain to hear more over the thunder of my pulse. Distracting myself from turning, I keep my face carefully blank as I cock my head subtly in the direction of the hushed voices.
"Well, can you blame him? With a body like that, I'd let that curvaceous little tart distract me any day." Male, the leer clear in his reedy tenor.
A female scoff. "The silly girl actually thinks he's falling in love with her. I almost pity her. No doubt Russo will drop her the second he grows bored of her charms." A mean little laugh. "I give it a week, tops."
Bile surges up my throat, hot and acidic. The words shouldn't be a revelation - I've heard variations of them my whole life. Poor little scholarship student trying to claw her way into the glittering world of the elite. A charity case, an amusement. A distraction.
But to hear them applied to Dante, to what we have...it's a brutally efficient blade to my heart. Puncturing the glorious bubble I've allowed myself to float in these past few weeks, oblivious to reality.
Because they're right, aren't they? What could Dante possibly see in me beyond a pretty face and a willing body? He's surrounded by glamorous debutantes, highborn women who are his equal in every way. Women who could stand proudly by his side, not merely decorate his arm.
"...know his game. Seduce the naive young art student, make her feel special and desired..."
"...probably end with a new piece for his collection and a nice fat check to shut the poor girl up..."
I don't realize I'm moving until I'm out of the ballroom, my heels slamming onto gleaming marble as I flee. Somewhere behind me, I hear Dante calling my name, alarmed. But I don't stop, can't face him right now.
My vision blurs with tears as I stumble out into the muggy night, frantically scanning the street for a cab. I need to get away, clear my head. Nurse my broken heart in peace.
How could I have been so blind? So stupidly naive? I let myself get swept up in the fantasy, bewitched by Dante's practiced charm and hungry touch. I was just another conquest to him, a shiny new toy to play with until he got bored. A way to thumb his nose at the circles he moves in, bring a bit of rough trade to liven up the party.
The thought sends a vicious pain lancing through my chest, even as humiliation and anger swell to choke me. God, I feel so used. So utterly foolish. Dante's no doubt laughing at me with his cronies right now, amused by the silly little girl who thought she was special.
By the time I finally hail a taxi, hot tears are coursing down my cheeks. I'm pathetically grateful for the disinterested sneer on the cabbie's weathered face, for the buffer of apathetic near-silence as he weaves through late night traffic. My phone keeps buzzing with incoming calls but I ignore it, unable to bear seeing Dante's name flashing accusingly across the screen.
The second I stumble into my apartment, I tear off the glittering trappings of the night. The diamonds that felt so decadent just hours ago, the fantasy I allowed myself to spin. They're just cheap trinkets now, a shiny lure meant to deceive. I let the designer gown pool carelessly at my feet, uncaring that the delicate fabric will wrinkle. What does it matter anymore? Cinderella's ball is over. The clock has struck midnight and I'm left with nothing but ashes and regrets.
I fall into bed in just my thin satin slip, not bothering to remove my makeup or pin up my hair. My body aches, empty and too full all at once. Every place Dante touched me seems to throb in memory, mocking me with crude facsimiles of pleasure. I'm restless in my own skin, a livewire and don't know whether to scream or cry or touch myself roughly, angrily, until I can smother this horrible feeling clawing at my guts.
In the end, I simply curl into a ball and let the wracking sobs come. I cry for my stupidity, my naiveté, my arrogance in believing that I could ever be enough to hold a man like Dante. That I would ever be more than a bit of rough to him, an itch to scratch when the fancy took him.
I don't know how long I lay there, staring blankly at the dark ceiling as tears leak down my temples. Eventually, the gray light of dawn starts to creep across the floor, throwing the remnants of my discarded finery into stark relief. The sight sends a fresh wave of pain and humiliation crashing over me and I roll away with a low moan.
The phantom press of Dante's hands, the wicked words he whispered into my skin as he took me apart... they linger like a bruise, throbbing in time with my shattered pulse. I know I need to scrub him from my mind, cauterize the wounds with deliberate indifference.
But the awful truth is, even now, even after everything...my treacherous body still yearns for him. Still craves the drug of his touch, the ecstasy of his possession. And I don't know if I'm strong enough to deny myself forever.
I only pray that when I inevitably fall off the wagon, when I let Dante seduce me back into his bed...there will still be enough of me left to pick up the pieces after he discards me once more.