Old Flame: Dante’s Story by Sam Mariano

19

Colette

Friday evening goes much betterthan they have been, but I feel a bit guilty for letting it be that way. Dante gives Sonja the night off and orders us turkey and brie sandwiches from the place up the road for dinner. After we eat, he opens a bottle of wine and turns on Fight Club.

It’s strange spending this evening the way we used to spend quiet evenings together. More than once my mind drifts to the engagement ring tucked away inside the drawer in the closet, but I do my best to push it out every time. To remind myself of the engagement ring I wore up until a week ago when Dante decided to take a wrecking ball to my life.

Thinking about it gives me an attitude, but then I recall his recent request. Dante needs an evening of quiet calmness tonight, that way when he leaves tomorrow to do whatever he has to do out there, he won’t be distracted thinking about me. I may still be angry at him, but I don’t want to be responsible for him making a fatal mistake. Regardless of what I’ve said to Dante in anger, I don’t want any more blood on my hands, least of all his.

I work myself out of my snit and pour another glass of wine to sip on while we finish the movie. By the time the credits roll, I’m feeling a bit tipsy. Without my inhibitions stopping me, I can’t quite stifle my curiosity.

“So, tell me more about this gang war.”

“There’s nothing you need to know,” Dante assures me.

“I know that’s often the case, but you need to understand when someone I’m close to gets killed or nearly killed, I do want some details. That makes a difference from everyday business.”

“Someone you care about,” he says levelly enough, but I can feel annoyance vibrating off him. “You don’t even know Meg.”

I’ve had just enough wine to tell him, “You know I meant Mateo.”

“You care about Mateo, huh? Maybe you wish his girlfriend would’ve died and left him lonely again. Maybe then he’d look your way again, save you from me, is that it?”

“Don’t be stupid.”

Grabbing my jaw with one hand and my wineglass with the other, Dante leans forward, extends his long arm, and puts my drink down on the coffee table without letting go of me. “Watch how you talk to me.”

I grab Dante's wrist and try to yank his hand away from my jaw, but his grip is too tight. I glare at him as he eases me back on the couch, try to kick him as he climbs on top of me.

His voice is low and husky, tinged with a menace I always found sexy when he had me in this position. “I’ve got bad news for you, beautiful. You’re not Mateo’s favorite back-up anymore.”

“I was never his back-up,” I tell him, trying again to get him off me. “Keep being delusional and crazy though, this is good. Keep reminding me why I left you in the first place.”

Releasing my jaw and going for the buttons on my top, Dante informs me, “Doesn’t matter why you left me. You’re not going to do it again.”

“Yeah,” I say quietly, holding his gaze as he unbuttons my top. “But I’m not a prisoner, right?”

“Don’t consider yourself a prisoner, just a guest I strongly encourage to stay.”

I scoff, glaring up at him. “Encourage. Yeah. Your family’s special dictionary has a very different definition for ‘encourage’ than the rest of the world. Threaten. Blackmail. Force. Those are much closer to what you do. Encourage is the wrong word.”

Dante's gaze drops to the swell of cleavage now visible with my top unbuttoned. His warm gaze moves over my curves with appreciation, but a fair bit of ownership, too. Then, pulling the rest of my shirt open so he can get a better look at his property, he assures me, “I can threaten, blackmail, and force you if that’s your preference, Colette.”

Before he even gives me a chance to respond, he leans forward and covers my body with his, sharing his heat with me. I light up like a candle wick touched by flame. My breasts suddenly feel restrained inside the soft fabric of my bra and then he makes it worse, running his finger underneath the strap up to the curve of my shoulder. He leaves a light trail there, sending jolts of excitement coursing through my body.

“Dante,” I murmur.

Rather than listen to whatever I’m about to say, he covers my lips with his to shut me up. I should push him away, but I know it would be pointless. Dante goes where he wants, especially when he’s running on jealousy. I know his need to dominate takes over, but I also know it doesn’t mean he loves me any less. It’s pure animal instinct for him, and it’s one of the things I loved about Dante in its more civilized forms. One can’t pick a brutish, dominant man and then be shocked when he behaves like one.

My heart aches and pounds at the same time as he snakes his hand beneath me to unclasp my bra. I break away from his mouth and push against him. “Please don’t rip my clothes. I don’t have enough of them for that.”

He half growls at me under his breath, but wordlessly leaves a trail of rough kisses along my jawline and down the side of my neck. After a moment, he sits back enough to pull me up and peel my shirt and bra off. He tosses them on the floor past the coffee table, then shoots me a look. “Happy?”

“Yes, thank you,” I murmur, satisfied.

“I suppose you don’t want me to rip your panties, either?”

“I realize how incredibly high-maintenance I am to expect such delicate treatment.”

Nodding like he agrees, he says, “As long as you know.” Then he climbs off the couch to stand in front of it, bending to yank my shorts off. He takes my panties off with exaggerated gentleness and I roll my eyes at him.

I don’t move to help as he climbs back on the couch, but this time he stays lower. He pushes my legs up and settles between them, and despite myself and the disinterest I wish I could maintain, a swarm of butterflies unleash themselves inside my tummy as he looks up at me with those dark, dangerous eyes from between my spread thighs.

Wordlessly, he bends his head and runs his tongue teasingly along the slit of my pussy. I grab above me, reaching for the arm of the couch to hold on to. My greedy pussy already aches for his attention, much less interested in principles than my mind and heart.

“Mm,” he murmurs, lifting his head to give me a devious little smile. “Dessert.”

Then his mouth latches onto me and the time for words passes. As long as it’s been, he hasn’t forgotten his way around my body, and his tongue expertly teasing my clit serves as a sharp reminder. It has been a long time since I’ve experienced great oral love, being eaten with this kind of determined ferocity, like I really am a dessert that he can’t get enough of. Just his hunger for me as his mouth devours my pussy like a decadent dish sends my arousal levels soaring through the roof, and topped off with the skillful way he makes his way around? It’s almost embarrassing how fast I come, squeezing his head between my thighs, wishing he could keep eating me, but too sensitive to handle any more of his touch.

I fall back against the couch, breathing hard, clutching my breasts. He likes when I play with them. I’m not thinking about that consciously when I start, but my pussy probably is. It has probably tossed my brain and my heart out of the vehicle, desperate for some more Dante action. Damned unreliable thing.

Dante watches me, his gaze heated, as I squeeze my own breasts beneath him. He’s still fully dressed, so he takes advantage of the break to undress down to his boxer briefs while he enjoys the show. Climbing back on top of me, he takes over playing with my boobs. He cups one in his hand, kneading and squeezing the full globe while he bends his head and takes the other one in his mouth. He starts off tender, kissing the smooth flesh, but ends up biting me. I jump, yelping in surprise, then he switches breasts and starts handling my nipples even more roughly. I whine, snaking my body against him, a silent plea for mercy.

“Spread your legs.”

I do, cradling him right against my bare pussy and locking my legs around him in hopes following his order will get him to ease up on my nipples. He pinches harder and I cry out, my upper body arching off the couch. “Dante,” I say on a gasp as he squeezes harder.

“Don’t complain,” he commands.

I shut my mouth, but I can’t keep from trying to twist away from him. “Please.”

He narrows his eyes and pinches harder.

I cry out again, but force the words from crawling out of my throat this time.

“Rub your pussy against my cock, show me how much you want it.”

I lock my ankles around his body and thrust myself against the hardness cradled between my thighs. I rub furiously, like I’m trying to get myself off on it. The friction is so delicious, I might if he makes me do this for too long. Rubbing myself against his cock feels so good, I forget about the pain. Need overtakes me, a craving to be possessed that runs so deep it can never be sated, not with a million orgasms.

“Dante, please.”

His voice is hard and level, like he’s not even turned on, but I know from the rock-hard cock I’m dry humping that’s a lie. “Please what?” he demands.

“I need you to—” I need him to everything. I need him to kiss me, fuck me, torture me. The friction feels fantastic, but I know what feels even better. “Dante, please. I need you inside me right now. I can’t wait.”

“No?” His tone is too soft now, and it sends dread shooting through me. Oh, God, don’t play with me like this.

“Please,” I ask, more desperately since I know he’s about to deny me. “I need to come.”

Dante smiles, still holding onto my achy nipples. “You’ll come when I say you’ll come, and not a moment before.”

“Don’t you want to fuck me, Dante?” I ask, rubbing my pussy against him to entice him. “Don’t you want to bury your cock inside me and show me who I belong to?”

Oh, he does. His dark eyes glow with desire, but he has too much self-control to take such basic bait. Despite how much he wants what I just offered, he tells me, “Nice try, beautiful. No cock for you. Not yet.”

I throw my head back against the couch in frustration, wanting to grab his cock and shove it inside me. He’d only pull it back out though, no matter how much it pained us both. He’s a stubborn bastard when he wants to be.

On one hand, I can’t believe he’s making me work for the fuck I didn’t even want to begin with, but on the other hand, I can absolutely believe that.

“You’re evil,” I inform him.

He releases my nipples and I gasp, bringing my hands to my breasts to cover the tender peaks protectively. It almost hurts more now that he released me. They throb, but when I look up at him, they also strain against my palms like they’re trying to escape and get back to him.

Dante pulls away from my needy pussy and nods behind me. “Turn around and lean on the arm of the couch.”

Need rushes through my body in waves but I push up to my knees and turn around, leaning my arms on the arm of his couch like he told me to. Dante crawls up behind me, wrapping one hand around my throat and bending my head back until he can lean down and kiss me. His other hand caresses my ass while he kisses me.

It feels so nice as he steadily rubs his large palm over the curve of my ass. It’s almost comforting, but then he squeezes and his fingers dig in.

“You’ve been a pain in my ass, haven’t you?” he asks.

My pussy throbs and my head nods, since apparently it has abandoned my team.

“Yeah,” he agrees, he tone warm since I agreed. “Now it’s time I’m a pain in yours.”

I don’t know if he’ll just strike me or fuck it, but I don’t much care. I need him inside me, I need his permission to come, and I won’t get either thing if I argue with the asshole. Instead, I crane my head as much as I’m able with his hand firmly around my throat. I manage to reach him and kiss him again. He accepts my invitation, deepening the kiss and fucking my mouth the way I want him to fuck my pussy—mercilessly.

He squeezes my ass one more time as he devours me, then without warning he brings his hand down hard. I jump and gasp into his mouth, but I don’t stop kissing him. He smacks my ass again, harder this time, and I try to get closer to him. Mental images of him pushing me down over the arm of the couch and fucking me surface and I moan against his mouth. Oh, God.

The need for release grows and as it does, worse things happen. All the vines that used to tie me around Dante, the ones I worked so hard to chop down… I feel them growing again, reaching for him, needing to pull him inside me in more than the most literal way. I can’t have sex with Dante and not get all twisted up. I should have remained a cold fish on the couch, I shouldn’t have responded. I should have fought him even if it wouldn’t have worked, just so he wouldn’t try to get me into it.

It’s dangerous when he makes me want him, because I can’t stop. Wanting Dante isn’t like wanting a normal guy, it’s not a satiable need. Instead of quenching my hunger a little more with every serving, every taste makes me more ravenous.

If I start wanting him again, my desire will become an insatiable beast inside me. Not only will he win, but I’ll become his prisoner in the one way he can’t force. I’ll never be able to leave him, not because of guards or any kind of tangible cage he puts me in, but because I’ll never be able to stop wanting and needing more, more, more. His love will become my prison, he will be my warden, and escape will be absolutely impossible.

I try to rally my mind to my own defense, to tell it we need to get out of here while we can. We need to break his spell, tell him no. I don’t care if he listens or not, I just need him to stop doing this. I need him to stop possessing me, controlling my desires. I used to love that he could do that, but now I hate it. Now I know how dangerous it is and how hard it is to come back from.

Like any struggling addict, though, I can’t resist the temptation of one little hit. I tell myself this is a one-time thing, I won’t let him sweep me under like this again. I won’t let it go this far. I won’t beg him, won’t be willing to do anything—to accept anything—if it means I can have him. Never again, but maybe just this once…

Dante must feel me drifting. He doesn’t know I’m losing the fight anyway, but he stops making my ass blush and breaks our kiss, forcing my upper body down on the arm and repositioning himself behind me. He runs his soothing palm over my stinging ass and I sigh with pleasure, then he spreads me open and pushes two fingers inside my pussy.

I moan and close my eyes, hugging the arm of the couch for support. The tender, delicious assault continues—his hand rubbing my pink ass, his fingers sliding in and out of my wet cunt. He must be so smug, feeling my desire for him on his fingers like that.

“How’s that, beautiful? Does that feel good?”

I have just enough of a grip on sanity to resist responding. He slides his fingers all the way out of me, then pushes three fingers inside me, thrusting a little harder.

His tone cools. “I asked you a question, Colette.”

My heart drops at the tone of his voice, but I still don’t respond.

His voice hardens even more. “If you want this cock in your cunt, Colette, you better tell me how fucking good it feels.”

Shit. I do want that, but I don’t want to want that, so I keep my mouth shut.

“I swear to God, if you don’t speak in the next three seconds, I’ll use your pussy to get myself off and I won’t let you have yours.”

My heart gallops again. I open my mouth to speak, but I’ve held out this long. I can’t give in now. I can’t.

“Dante, please,” I mutter, holding onto the couch as he fingers me.

“You know what I want to hear. Say it now, or it’ll be too late.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. My heart races and my pussy throbs as his fingers stroke it, as if to say, “Tell him what he wants to hear, you crazy bitch!”

But I can’t. I just can’t.

It’s only a few seconds that I hold my silence, but they stretch on forever. My silence says a lot right now, and none of it is what Dante wants to hear.

“Fine,” he clips, pulling his fingers out of my body.

My pussy immediately clenches around the absence, but I’m not empty for long. I nearly sob with relief when Dante finally shoves his cock inside me, but my relief is short-lived. It lasts about as long as it takes him to pump inside me four times—first just opening me up to take all of his cock, second pushing a little harder and going deep. The third pump is more brutal, but the fourth is so merciless, he nearly knocks me over the arm of the couch.

Fuck yes.

That’s the speed and hardness he decides he likes, so the next several thrusts are just as hard to take. I gasp and hold on tight as his fingers dig into my hips, as he pounds his cock into me like he’s trying to throw me on the floor. The powerful way he fucks me is incredible, but it makes me feel so off balance. My tenuous grip on the couch is nothing compared to the force he’s putting behind every thrust, but I know he won’t let go of me, so I know I’m not really in danger of falling.

There are no more tender words, no more teasing words, not even more taunting words. He’s done speaking to me, using his voice to add to my enjoyment of the experience. He no longer wants me to enjoy it because I didn’t play by his rules. It’s impossible not to feel pleasure as he rams that thick, hard cock of his inside me, but no matter how overwhelmingly incredible every stroke feels physically, mentally I know the boundaries. Mentally I know that I’m allowed to have as much pleasure as it naturally gives me to give his body pleasure, but when all this is over, unless he tells me I can, I won’t be able to come.

I want to cry thinking about it, but I don’t think he’ll be that mean. I may not have submitted to him completely, but I gave him more than I meant to.

He fucks me forever. It feels so good now, but every thrust is so brutal, so aggressive, I know I’ll be sore for a couple days after he finishes with me. He fills my pussy full of his cock again and again, then finally grabs a fistful of my hair, shoves deep into my body, and unloads his cum inside me as he growls with pleasure. A shudder of pleasure ripples up my spine as he thrusts me back down on his cock a few more times, pumping every last bit of his release inside me.

I close my eyes and sigh, so full of him even as he slowly slides his cock out of me. My body is wound so tight, my need to come every bit as strong as his.

I wait for him to touch my aching pussy again, to find my clit and finger me until I’m crying out and my legs are shaking, until my body is as satisfied as his.

But he doesn’t. He climbs off the couch and starts getting redressed.

Still breathing rather heavily, I look back over my shoulder at him. I haven’t abandoned my perch on the couch, and I’m so tense with need, I’m ready to start rubbing myself against that if he doesn’t get over here and give me something to get off on.

“Dante.”

He looks up at me as he straightens. He knows what I want, but rather than give it to me, he slips his dress shirt on and begins buttoning it, waiting for me to tell him.

“Please. I need to come.”

Dante shakes his head. “You should have thought about that when I gave you the chance.”

“Please,” I cry more desperately, moving my hips against nothing.

“No.”

I want to rebel. I want to slide my own hand between my thighs and rub myself until I come, but I know he won’t let me. He won’t even have to physically stop me. When we were together before, he had me trained well enough to know having an orgasm once he had forbidden it was absolutely not acceptable. I developed a mental block. I even tried to get myself off in bed one night when he denied me. He lay there next to me in the dark, watching me desperately rubbing myself. The lack of concern on his face ramped up my anxiety. I thought he should be mad I was disobeying him, but it wasn’t until I rubbed myself completely dry and still hadn’t come that I learned what he already knew—if he said no, my body would listen to him, whether I wanted it to or not.

He is already dividing us, my body and my mind. My mind knows I’m trying to do the right thing, but my body has abandoned the cause to flock back to its master. It doesn’t care if he’s a soulless murderer, it only cares that he knows exactly how to make it purr like a kitten.

I’m fucked, and not in the fun way.

Just the thought that he’s fucked me over so thoroughly makes me wetter. It shouldn’t since he’s not on my side, but my stupid body doesn’t believe that. My stupid body believes what it believed before—that he always ultimately has my best interests at heart, and if he wants to fuck with me, he knows best and somehow it is at least in part for my enjoyment, too.

The aching need between my thighs makes me squeeze them together, needing pressure and friction. “Dante, please,” I say again. “I’ll do it myself, just tell me I can come. Please.”

Now fully dressed, Dante walks around the couch until he’s in front of me. He tips my chin up to bring my gaze, cloudy with lust, to his—clear, firm, and satisfied since he got to come. “No,” he says, immovably. “Next time you think about defying me, remember how you feel right now and don’t.”

Then he drops my clothes onto the couch behind me, but it may as well be a pail of cold water he tosses over my head. I sink down and bury my face in a decorative pillow, so deeply disappointed, and so ashamed of myself for feeling that way.