16. Good Boys
Chapter sixteen
Good Boys
(Dante)
Ican’t eat.
I can’t work.
I can’t find a second of rest for my mind as I pace around my office.
Emilio stands by the door silently, keeping his distance but refusing to leave, making sure I don’t harm myself or accidentally burn the house to the ground.
Around me, the contents of my entire bookshelf lie scattered on the floor; everything that was on my desk now lives on the carpet among the books. Two of the paintings are broken—I shouldn’t have, but the anger tore through me uncontrolled, untamable.
Biscotti has long since made a run for it, hiding somewhere in the house. Probably for the best.
A cool breeze wanders in through the newly smashed window, my bloody knuckle evidence of the rage that drove me to destroy my office when I realized Danica had snuck away while I was on my call, despite me clearly forbidding it.
I wanted to run after her, guns blazing, tearing that club down to its foundations, but Emilio managed to talk me off that ledge.
The realization that I’d 100% risk Danica’s life if I did that was the only thing that convinced me to get out of the car and stay at home.
But staying at home meant there was nothing to distract my mind from the thought of Danica in the enemy’s lair, alone, unprotected, whoring her body for the world to see.
That part didn’t bother me—Danica could do with her body what she wanted.
But if any harm were to befall her, I would never forgive myself.
After realizing she had gone, I tried to focus on the work that had been piling up while I was distracted by my wedding, but focus was a scarce commodity.
My calls went unanswered, and when she sent me that text, I lost it, smashing my fist through the window and sending Dario and Emilio running in.
The old man took one look at me sitting on the floor, my fist bleeding, and he sent Dario away, closing the door behind us.
I wish Danica would come back already.
Every time I hear the door, I look up hopefully, only to be disappointed.
Time goes slowly.
My imagination is playing every trick in the book on me; I’m going mad with the thoughts of what Danica could be doing now.
I demand a bottle of whiskey from Missus Nell, and she obliges despite the hesitation I see in both her and Emilio’s eyes. But they would never dare question me.
I drink half the bottle, collapsing on the floor among the scattered books, papers, and glass. None of this would have happened if I was stronger, if I was better. I vowed to protect her but I can’t. My dad was right: I was destined to be nothing but a failure.
At some point, I must have blacked out. I don’t remember it.
When I finally come to, Danica is hunched beside me, picking glass shards from my arm, her face coated in concern.
“Danica!” I sit up, too quickly, and almost throw up on my fiancé.
“Shh, baby. I’m okay. What happened here?” She looks from Emilio to me. The old man wordlessly takes his cue and closes the door behind us, leaving Danica with the mess.
I grab her in both arms. “You’re okay!” The relief of having her home, safe, makes all the anger dissipate instantly.
I hug her close.
“Totally fine. Though I can’t say the same for you. Jesus, Dante.” She helps me up onto the couch as I regard the mess I’ve made.
“Don’t ever do that again. You could’ve died.” I take her face between my hands, staring into her eyes intently, trying to force the message into her mind, imprint it in her cranium forever.
“I’m fine. I told you I have a plan.” She smiles sweetly, but she smells anything but sweet; a mix of smoke and sweat and something else covers her like a veil.
“Not like this. You can’t go back. I forbid it.” I say sternly, getting up from the couch to resume my pacing.
My head is pounding like a motherfucker.
I need water.
Not now!
“My darling boy…” Danica laughs and climbs up onto the couch, shoes and all, standing a head taller than me. “If you think I’m going to let you forbid me anything, then you clearly don’t know me at all.”
I spin around, anger returning to my body, starting at my fingertips and seeping through my veins like hot lava. “This is serious, Danica.”
She sighs and reaches her arm to me. “Come here.”
I don’t move.
“Dante.” Danica raises her eyebrow but not her voice, yet the way she says my name, in that tone, I know I have already lost.
When she uses that voice, I know the tables have turned—I am no longer in charge; my Queen has taken command.
Like a humbled Knight, I go to her.
Her eyes soften, a smile curling her lips as she reaches for me, stroking my cheek affectionately.
I melt. Instantly.
Without her touch, I go mad, my compass lost.
But she is home now. Danica is here.
And everything feels less like the end-of-days.
“Dante, you have to trust me, baby. I’m not stupid. If it’s dangerous, I’ll get the fuck out of there quicker than Eminem can rap a four-bar verse.”
“I don’t know what that means.” I can’t help but smile at my Millennial Goddess with her ridiculous metaphors and hypnotic eyes.
She always knows how to disarm me so quickly, even if it makes no sense.
When she looks at me like that, speaks to me in that way, nothing matters but this moment, right now.
She pulls me to her chest, and I let her, resting my head on her breasts.
“It means I’m a big girl, and I can look after myself.”
“I just don’t want to lose you. I can’t bear the thought of it.” It’s hard to look her in the eyes as I confess my vulnerability, my dependence on her.
“This is the only way we’ll ever be free to live our lives the way we want to.” Danica kisses my forehead tenderly.
“We can never be free, Tesoro. Not with this life.” My eyes sink to the floor, my shoulders with them.
“I have a plan, don’t worry,” she repeats.
“I wish you would let me help you. We could send anyone else in there but not you.” I’m pleading.
“No, Dante. It has to be this way. We’ve come this far, I’m already in. When the time comes, of course, I’ll let you help me. I’m not gonna muscle that guy out of there myself. But it’s not time yet.” She strokes my hair from my brow. I wish she could stroke away the pounding headache too.
“I don’t know how you can be so relaxed.”
“I’m trying not to think about it.” She’s clearly lying about that part. I know her better than that. But I also know that no good can come from making her doubt herself. Her superpower is her confidence, among many other things.
I sigh, grumpy, unsatisfied with the answer. “You smell like a hooker, by the way.”
“Thanks, you’re not doing so hot yourself, Mister Half-a-Bottle-of-Whiskey-Like-My-Life-is-a-Spanish-Soap-Opera.”
I don’t need to be a Millennial to know what that one means. She’s right, I reek.
“It’s been a long night.”
“Well, let’s go get ready for bed then. I suggest a shower first. Care to join me, Don Fera?” Danica winks at me. “Then you can personally make sure that not a hair on my body was harmed.”
“Sounds good.” Ignoring my aching shoulder and the blinding white pain behind my eyes, I throw Danica over my shoulder and carry her to our room as she squeals with delight, playfully pounding her fists on my back.
Emilio smiles as we walk past.
He simply nods. It’s a scene he’s encountered many times before. Emilio has seen Danica’s bratty behavior in play more times than anyone can count.
“Night, ‘Milio!” Danica calls.
“Good night, Miss Matthews.”
Barging through our bedroom door, I throw her on the bed. She bounces before sprawling out on the pure black sheets.
In the minute it takes me to close the door and take off my shoes, Danica has stripped off her pants and underwear.
She lies waiting for me, knees bent, thighs apart, her fingers fanned over her clit.
Instantly, I harden, my pants straining under the burden of my desire.
“I…I thought we were showering?” I slowly walk to the bed, my cock aching with every step, desperate for release—from the pants and so much more too.
“Oh, we are, but you know, we don’t want to waste water. Need to make sure we’re as dirty as can be…” Her argument is silly, but I’m not even paying attention to anything but the slow, rhythmic motion of her fingers.
The closer I get, the harder it gets to concentrate.
“Danica…” I’m virtually salivating, just standing there like a buffoon, entranced by her exposed pussy.
“What do you want, darling?” she asks coyly in between soft moans as she slips a finger inside, just one.
I groan, lamenting the fact that words are not my strong suit. So many things, I want so many things all at once. But none of them correspond to words, to sentences.
“Mommy…” My desperation turns me stupid, reduced to mere lust, as I watch her fuck herself, my own erection still trapped in my pants, unattended.
“I’m not your Mommy. Tell me what you want,” Danica demands in a stern voice.
“I need a taste. Please.” Desperate to get closer, I kneel down beside the bed, my eyes locked on her fingers. A second one dips inside, and I groan. I’m so close, I can smell her lust, and it’s driving me wild!
“No, darling. Not tonight. Tonight you get to watch me finish while you sit there, hands on the bed, no touching.” A cruel smile befalls her face.
“No…Please, I’ll be good.” I’ll beg if I have to, we both know that. But begging won’t help me today.
“Good boys don’t try to tell their Queens what to do, do they?”
My heart sinks. My punishment has been served.
“No, Ma’am.”
“Do you think they use words like ‘forbid’? Hmm?” Not for a second do her fingers leave her pussy, stroking, flicking, pinching, pumping…working herself to a climax that becomes inevitable the moment she pulls her magic wand from the bedside drawer and presses it to her clit.
“No, Goddess. I’m sorry.” My balls ache, knowing they won’t get any relief today, but there is no universe where I would defy her orders and touch myself. I can’t, even if I want to. My pleasure is hers. It feels wrong any other way.
“Hush, boy. And watch,” Danica hums, closing her eyes.
Look, but don’t touch…