Old Flame: Dante’s Story by Sam Mariano
14
Dante
Since Colette ruinedthe mood with her mouth, rather than fuck her I settle with stripping off the rest of my clothes and climbing into bed with her. Prickly as she is, I still yank her back against me. She starts to pull away at first, but after a brief, silent battle with herself, she must decide letting me hold her is an acceptable compromise.
We don’t speak again. I don’t have anything to say to her right now. I’m agitated with her continued resistance, frustrated because the rules of battle are so much trickier when you’re fighting someone you don’t want to irreparably harm. Normally I get my way quickly and easily, but normally I don’t give a shit how many causalities there are in that pursuit, either. I don’t care how dirty I have to fight, or if I only win the fight because I’ve broken the other person’s back.
I don’t want to break Colette. I know how easily I could. Luca was right, if I didn’t care about preserving her spirit and well-being, I could break her in a matter of days, but that’s not what I want. I don’t want a pet or a slave girl, I want Colette as she is, I just want her to stop being so fucking irritating. It’s only her hang-up on this Declan asshole I need to strip away from her.
In her sleep, the little minx wiggles her ass against my dick until my cock is throbbing painfully with arousal. She used to do that sometimes on purpose—oh, she’d pretend it was innocent, pretend she didn’t know what she was doing, but I knew by the unsubtle mischief in her eyes when I’d roll her over and take her afterward, it was her way of initiating. In just about every instance, I am the aggressor in bed, but her ass wiggle was Colette’s way of chiming in with her own desires.
Currently, my cock is responding like that’s still true.
I know she’s asleep, so I try to keep it at bay. Try to ignore the dull throb of pain, but then her ass shifts and she butts against it again.
Fuck.
I should have known better than to sleep naked with her. We used to do it all the time, but she used to be mine in every sense of the word. If our warm bodies pressed against each other too many times and one or both of us got hot and bothered, we’d just fuck again—problem solved.
I push my hips forward, pressing my hard cock against her smooth ass cheeks. My blood pumps through my veins, my heartbeat kicking up a speed. She’s still asleep, but my hand curves around her breast and I give it a little squeeze. The delicate curve of her neck is just right there in front of me, so I bend my head and place a few soft, slow kisses against her skin.
Her breathing remains even like she’s sleeping, but I hear her swallow. Releasing her breast, I let my hand drift down her rib cage. I splay my hand as it travels over her abdomen, then make my touch feather light again as it makes its way across her pubic bone.
“Dante,” she finally whispers. An attempt at a warning, but I ignore it. She doesn’t get to warn me.
I run just the tip of my index finger along her pussy lips. She fucking loves that. Even now, even silent and rebellious, I hear her sharp inhale. I can’t see her eyes from back here, but I remember the way they flutter closed as she enjoys that brief moment before I sink my finger inside her. When I do, she gasps, and I wish she wasn’t turned away from me so I could’ve caught it in my mouth.
As I gently stroke her pussy, I snake my other hand down between our bodies to grab her bare ass. Another little sharp breath when I squeeze her ass. I push my dick between her cheeks and she grabs her pillow, probably holding on in case I take her ass.
I’m not going to do that, though. I haven’t prepared her and I don’t want to hurt her. Plus, the only place I want to spill my cum tonight is deep inside her pussy.
Since she’s already halfway there clutching onto the pillow, I withdraw my finger from her pussy and push her the rest of the way onto her stomach.
“Dante,” she says again, her voice higher, more panicked.
“Shh,” I say, running a hand down the curve of her back as I climb onto my knees behind her. Since I don’t trust her to keep her troublesome mouth shut, I push her face into the pillows. She struggles to push her head back up, tries to swat my hand away, but I only push her down harder until she stops fighting. Once she submits, I let her go, giving her head a tender rub before releasing her so I can use my hands for more useful tasks. Lifting her hips and positioning her, I tell her, “On your knees and forearms.”
“Fuck you,” she spits back.
I lift an eyebrow and smack her ass for her insolence. I don’t need her compliance, it will just be more work without it. I’m not afraid of a little work. Since she’s being difficult, I hold her where I want her, grasping my cock with my other hand and guiding it between her legs.
For all her bullshit resistance, she’s drenched. Just the first inch inside her wet heat is incredible, but when I drive deep into her tight little pussy, the pleasure is so fucking intense, everything else disappears. Almost everything. I hear her gasp as I slide deep inside her, feel her body respond when I pull back and thrust into her again. A moan slips out of her as I pick up the pace, as I shove a little harder, as I remind her what she’s been missing since she left.
What I’ve been missing, too. I may have had encounters with various women in her absence, but none of them felt like her. Being inside her again is a relief, like finally falling into your own bed after a long stretch of traveling and spending every empty night alone in a hotel with a shitty mattress. Now I’m home, and nothing else matters.
She’s supporting her own weight on her knees now, so I run a hand up her back and grab a fistful of her hair. I give it a tug as I thrust my hips forward and pound into her. Her breathing is heavier now and she clutches onto the pillow and the bedsheet for dear life.
When I imagined the first time I fucked her again, I pictured a marathon. I pictured position changes, her body slick with sweat, begging me to come by the end of it. I pictured denying her even while I plunged into her body, refusing her pleasure until she couldn’t take anymore.
In reality, I just want to fucking mark her. I want to come all over that pussy so she knows if she ever so much as thinks about giving it to someone else again, these are the consequences. I’ll kill every last one of them and mark her all over again. She’s never getting rid of my mark. Never.
“Dante, Dante, Dante,” she whimpers helplessly, bringing me back to the moment.
She must be close. Armed with that information and ready to come myself, I tilt her hips while I thrust, stopping when I can tell by the strangled sounds she makes I have her in the right place. Then I pound into her hard and fast, so hard she can barely hang on, until she’s whimpering and whining so much, you can’t tell if she’s being fucked or beaten. Fuck, that’s my favorite part.
“Come for me, beautiful. I’m waiting for you to finish me off.”
Her mind might be stuck on rebellion, but her body knows who its master is. With a sharp, strangled cry, Colette comes hard, her pussy squeezing me once, twice, three times. I groan as her body continues to convulse around my dick, as I thrust furiously into that tight, throbbing haven, then I lose control and come apart, growling and yanking her hair tight in my fist as I drive forward and explode deep inside her pussy. She cries out again but I’m too lost in my own pleasure to pay attention. It takes a minute before I can think straight again, then I realize how hard I’m fisting her hair. I release her immediately and she rubs the back of her head.
I pull out of her body and sigh, sinking against the bed beside her. “Sorry, I got a little carried away there.”
She’s still breathing hard as she comes back down from her orgasm, but after a few seconds, my brow furrows in confusion. It sounds like she’s getting more worked up, not calmer. The pace of her breathing should be coming back down to normal, but instead, she’s breathing so heavily it’s the only sound in the room.
“Colette?” I question, grabbing her shoulder and rolling her onto her side so I can see her.
What I thought was her continued heavy breathing is in fact her struggling to breathe. I shoot up, trying to make sense of the panic on her face. My blood runs cold and I turn her all the way over onto her back, climbing on my knees and looking down at her. “Colette, what’s wrong?”
It takes her a minute, but she finally manages to get out between heaving breaths, “Can’t breathe.”
Can’t breathe? Why can’t she fucking breathe? I don’t know what to do, but as I hold onto her shoulders and watch her struggling to do something so simple, I note she’s trembling like she’s cold or terrified. I know she’s not either—there’s a light sheen of sweat on her forehead from fucking, and I may have been a little rougher at the end than I meant to be, but that was nothing she couldn’t handle. Certainly nothing that would terrify her.
I don’t know what to do, so I sit back and pull her into my arms. She struggles at first, but it’s not me she’s fighting, it’s the panic.
Keeping my tone calm and authoritative, I tighten my hold on her, imprisoning her in the safety of my arms. “You’re fine, Colette. I’ve got you. Breathe. Focus and breathe.”
It doesn’t work right away and I have no fucking idea what to do, but I never let that show. I keep calm, keep my voice commanding, keep offering direction and reminding her body to do the things it should do naturally while I rub her back and try to calm her.
Finally, I think she’s calming down. She’s not gasping for air like she’s drowning. She’s still off-kilter, but it seems to be tapering off until she suddenly breaks away from me and makes a break for the bathroom.
I spring off the bed to follow her, but hesitate when I hear her emptying the contents of her stomach into the toilet.
A feeling I’m not at all used to burrows into my gut—fear. I don’t know what exactly is happening to her, but I know it’s bad. Easing the door open, I step inside. Colette is hunched over the toilet, sobbing. I walk past her and grab a towel. Returning to her side, I touch her shoulder to get her attention. She looks up to take it, murmuring a low, rough, “Thank you,” but all I can focus on is her face. Red with the strain of wrenching up whatever feelings just overtook her, her face splotchy from tears.
I don’t know what else to do, so I kneel down and sit on the ground beside her while she uses the towel to clean up her face. Her whole body still trembles, whether from the force of throwing up everything in her system, or from whatever the fuck had her trembling in the bed, I’m not sure. Whatever the reason, she’s shaking, and I fucking hate it.
“Are you cold?” I ask her.
“I don’t know,” she murmurs.
I don’t know what kind of answer that is, but I stand up and go to get her robe, just in case. She’s still on the floor when I come back, so I bend down and drape the bathrobe around her shoulders like a cloak to keep her warm.
“Come on, get off the floor. The floor’s cold,” I tell her, offering my hand.
She takes another swipe at her mouth with the towel, then looks at my hand but shakes her head. “I’m gross right now, don’t touch me.”
“You could never be gross,” I tell her, grabbing her hand and helping her off the floor.
Since she feels gross, though, I haul her over to the shower. I keep hold of her hand with one of mine and lean in to turn on the shower. I know she likes scalding hot showers, but I start it just a little hotter than warm so it doesn’t shock her system when she steps inside. I look back at her, expecting her to get in the shower, but she looks lost and drained. I don’t even know if she’s capable of showering by herself, so I peel the robe back off her shoulders, drape it across the nearby chair, then put my hand at the small of her back and usher her into the shower.
Colette is like an articulated statue as I go through the motions of cleaning her up and washing her hair. She doesn’t even put up a fake resistance when I pull her back against me in the shower and caress her breasts as I soap them up. I drag the soapy washcloth down her abdomen, then between her legs, running it and my hand over her pussy. She sighs and leans her tired head against my shoulder, but again, doesn’t resist.
Last time I made her come she flipped the fuck out, so I don’t do it again. I play with her a little, but only to relax her, not to build up the tension. I knead her shoulders and try to rub some of the tension out of her lower back, then once she’s clean and relaxed, I turn off the water and we get out.
She’s finally capable of caring for herself enough to dry off once we get out, but she’s still not speaking and I’m not either. We don’t need to talk. Some of our best communicating is done in silence, but I don’t like what I’m hearing tonight.
Once we’re tucked back under the blankets, Colette in her bathrobe snuggled up close to me, I can’t help asking the one question I can’t get out of my mind.
“Colette, was that my fault?”
Her big blue eyes have the power to fell me with one accusing glare right now, her sharp tongue could wound me with a single syllable. I didn’t understand when she told me she needed the Valium because I’ve never seen anything like this happen to her before, but if it never happened to her before and now it is, maybe it wasn’t the lawyer or the world that did this to her.
Maybe it was me.
All she has to do is confirm it and she’ll win this round, she’ll deliver guilt I haven’t accepted until now, but she doesn’t. There’s no accusation in her gaze, only exhaustion and a touch of sadness. I’m vulnerable to a verbal lashing, but she doesn’t say a word to wound me. Instead, she wraps her arms around me and buries her face in my chest, letting me know she doesn’t want to fight, she doesn’t want to talk, she just needs to be held.
I hold her so tight none of her demons would dare escape, but I can’t outrun the knowledge that Colette never had demons—not until I gave them to her.
