14. Comedown
Chapter fourteen
Comedown
(Dante)
Iwatch Danica’s movements carefully as she paints the gold, shiny polish over my toenails in precise streaks.
It’s the first time I’ve ever had my toes painted, and I’m not sure how I feel about it, but I have bigger concerns right now than the color of my toenails.
“Whatcha think?” Danica smiles, catching my gaze. She’s lying belly down on the carpet in our bedroom, naked, just like I am.
We both pretend we don’t see the massive erection between my legs as I sit with my back to the cold wall, leaning against it, knees pointed to the ceiling to let her do her thing.
Everything hurts, but I force a smile. “Good.”
Danica sighs and gets back to work, leaving me to my brooding thoughts.
By now, she knows that trying to get more elaborate answers from me is probably a futile exercise.
Yesterday’s failed ambush occupies too much space in my mind.
I can’t think of anything else.
So many foolish mistakes.
We should never have gone in at all, not like that. I put everyone’s lives in danger; the carnage was unnecessary—seven men, including Matteo. Fuck!
My body aches in places I didn’t know it could ache, and I silently curse my fate. I’m not as fast as I used to be. I couldn’t even save Danica yesterday. That’s the thought that plagues me the most—my slowness almost cost my Queen her life.
Before witnesses, I will soon have to vow to protect her, but I can’t make that promise.
The thought of her almost coming to serious harm yesterday is still too much to bear. The second time in less than a week…I torture myself with the fear but can’t bring myself to voice it.
Danica would just tell me that she can protect herself, that she doesn’t need me for that. But it doesn’t ease the unease gnawing at my insides.
Even after all these years, I can’t get rid of the guilt. I used to drink myself into a stupor every night to try and shut it out. Still, it always resurfaced during the inevitable hangovers that got messier and messier after Elena’s death.
Who knows what would’ve happened to me if it wasn’t for Emilio’s intervention that fateful June afternoon when I almost drove my car off a cliff in a drunken fit of rage.
I wouldn’t be here today, not with Danica.
That man has always been more of a father to me than my own flesh and blood. Oh, Emilio.
Neither of us is getting any younger…
My body used to take so much punishment, and I would still wake up fine the next day, have my coffee like nothing is amiss.
So much fighting. So much killing. So many cruel things that still haunt my dreams—I don’t want to be that person anymore. My body can’t handle it. Nor can my mind.
I suspect my mind never could.
I’m becoming a liability on the battleground, and the thought is too much to bear.
Who am I if not the great, fearless Don Fera?
I clench my fists by my side, cracking my knuckles.
Danica looks up at me but doesn’t say anything, just wedges her tongue back into the corner of her mouth and resumes concentration. Something about clean edges, she said earlier—whatever that means.
I didn’t protest when she suggested sprucing up my toes after our bath, nor when she pushed me down onto the floor, reaching for her favorite shade of gold.
Like she doesn’t have a care in the world, Danica blows warm air over my toes, tickling the little hairs, before sitting up, eyes narrowing as she regards my distant expression.
“One more coat and then you’ll be pretty as a princess,” she says with extra enthusiasm that I know she’s faking for my sake. My eyes keep wandering to the thin red line over her stomach where the asshole’s knife had cut her yesterday. Luckily, it was just a surface wound.
So close. Too close.
I just sigh, nodding.
“We’ll get them, baby. It’s not your fault,” Danica says for the millionth time, taking my hand in hers and bringing it to her lips for a soft kiss.
It sure does feel like my fault though. “I’ve made a mess,” I tell her, looking away again.
“You’re doing the best you can, my love.” She holds my hand, pressing it against her cheek.
“As always, it’s not good enough.” I grit my teeth, painful memories of my father’s endless disappointments stabbing at my mind.
Nothing was ever good enough for him, especially not me. He’d probably be so embarrassed about how I’ve run this family. I was never the man he wanted me to be.
“We’ll make a new plan,” Danica says with conviction, leaning over to kiss my cheek before dropping down to her stomach again.
It is soothing to watch her paint, the up and down strokes of the small brush—so precise, so careful. I don’t know if it’s cheering me up as promised, but it’s not harming me either.
I don’t deserve her; I know I don’t. So beautiful, so young, so caring. Danica shouldn’t be with a thug like me, but here she is, naked on our bedroom floor, caring for me and trying to lighten my mood.
She even made me some toast earlier to have with my painkillers. Sure, it was burnt, and she should definitely leave the cooking to the staff, but it’s the thought that counts. I don’t remember the last time anyone who wasn’t on my payroll offered me a meal at home.
“There it is, you’re done.” Danica looks pretty chuffed with herself as she sits back to view her handiwork.
I follow her gaze and can’t help but smile.
My toes look ridiculous, big and hairy—and gold.
But the joy on her face makes it worth it. It’s not like anyone ever sees my bare feet but her (and maybe Alessio).
“Thank you, my love.” I try to get up, but Danica quickly stops me.
“Don’t you dare! I’m not letting you undo all my hard work.”
I look at my feet and then back to her, confused.
Danica grins, her expression shifting. I know that look—she is up to no good.
“You can’t move those feet, baby,” she tells me, stroking my inner thigh seductively.
I shudder at the intimate touch. My cock jumps.
“If so much as a single spec of my hard work is smudged before it dries, you will spend the rest of the week in chastity, do you hear me?” Her voice is playful but I have no doubt that her threat is serious.
Quickly, I nod. “Yes, Miss.”
“Hands on your thighs, baby.”
I do as I’m told, placing my hands on my legs, golden-toed feet flat on the floor.
For someone who doesn’t want kids, Danica sure loves her games. But I’m not complaining. That’s who she is, what makes her, her.
We discussed the possibility of children at length before; I was willing to give her whatever she wanted.
But Danica didn’t want my sperm, at least not for that.
As headstrong as she is beautiful, she’s always known parenthood was not the life for her.
It was a relief for me. Having a feline child was enough.
“Don’t move!” Danica reminds me before jumping up to fetch something.
Dio mio, I love watching those naked hips sway, the slight sag in her breasts as they rest heavily against her waist. Even in broad daylight, she looks stunning—every flaw, every imperfection, beautifully perfect because it’s her.
As she walks away, I can’t help but wonder about the scars on her back again, for the umpteenth time.
I wish I knew what happened to her, where those marks came from, who hurt her.
Even after all these years together, it’s a secret she still keeps close to her chest. I try to probe every now and again.
But I know better than to push. She’ll tell me when she’s ready.
Danica returns after a few minutes, her hands full.
I can’t tell what she has in mind, not until she places the items before me on the carpet.
“Pain or pleasure, darling?” she asks, and I consider my options, looking at the items on offer.
“Both,” I answer with conviction. My mind needs it.
“Good. Remember, I want those toes perfect!” Danica reminds me as she positions herself between my thighs, her skin brushing against my cock ever so slightly, enough to make it jump to full attention.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Danica kisses me deeply, holding my face between her hands. “It will be okay, baby. It’s not your fault.”
I still don’t believe her, but I’m grateful for her attempt at comfort anyway.
Her kiss moves down my chin, down my neck, my collarbone…until she’s kissing my nipples, licking them, coating them in a layer of saliva that comes in handy when she attaches the weighted clamps moments after, pinching the sensitive skin tightly.
It stings, but in a good way.
She could’ve chosen way more dangerous clamps, but she went light, and I know it’s probably a good thing. Last time, the butterfly clips did some serious damage.
Once properly fastened, Danica kisses my sore nipples one more time before reaching for the second object—a single black feather.
She traces it over my nipples, gently nudging the dangling weights to make them swing more, pulling on my stretched skin.
“How does it feel?” she asks, slowly dragging the feather lower down, barely touching the skin, as she makes her way down between my thighs.
“So good. Thank you, Miss.” I mean it. The distraction is almost soothing.
“Don’t thank me yet.” Danica’s face is twisted in a devilish smirk that could only mean my torment has just begun, and I fall more in love with her every passing second.
I gasp loudly as the feather tickles my cock, floating down my shaft to my balls.
The touch is so light, barely there at all, but it’s enough to drive me mad with lust.
Pre-cum glistens on my tip as my wife-to-be strokes my balls with the feather, teasing me into submission.
My nipples are on fire, but I only spare them occasional thought, the climax building between my thighs overwhelming most of my mental faculties.
“Do you want to come, Don Fera?” my naked tormentor asks as she circles the head of my cock with the feather.
“Please,” I rasp. “So badly.”
“Please, who?”
“Please, Miss. Please.” I am whining, but it was impossible to hold anything in my head except the urgent need to explode all over that feather. I am dangerously close to blowing my load. It’s been a few days since my last release, not since before the failed ambush, and I’m extra sensitive.
But Danica just grins, dropping the feather to the carpet like a discarded toy. “Hmm…no.”
No?
Dio mio! I never even considered the possibility that she wouldn’t let me finish. How foolish of me.
Instantly, I’m desperate, whimpering on the floor.
I start to move toward her, but Danica simply puts her foot on my chest and pushes me back against the wall, keeping my ass firmly on the floor.
“Don’t you dare smudge those toes, baby boy…”
Please!
But silly me, I should know by now that her “no” is final.
Oh, fanculo.