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“Who is she?” I ask, and Anton laughs.
“Dante hasn’t told you?” he sneers.
“Told me what?”
“That’s Marlena. His off-again, on-again fiancée. They break up every few months, and then they always end up back together. They were on a break when he bought you.”
It feels like I’ve been stabbed, right in the heart, and I’m surprised by how much it hurts.
“Looks like they’re about to get back together again, and then he won’t need you anymore,” he continues. “It’s okay, sweetness. Once upon a time, Dante and I used to share all our toys. I’ll make sure you earn out the rest of your contract.”
Now I really want to throw up, and preferably all over Anton’s expensive shoes. Luckily, he laughs low one more time and then walks away, leaving me standing there. I stand there catching my breath, and after a moment, Marlena moves away and Dante glances in my direction. He walks toward me, and he doesn’t look like a man who’s looking at someone who means nothing. He looks like a man on a mission, a man with a singular focus, and it isn’t directed at the blonde.
Anton’s a snake. I know this. I don’t doubt that Dante and Marlena have a history, but I’m the one here now, not her. And Dante doesn’t strike me as the cheating type.
So when he meets my eyes, when he holds out his hand, I do the one thing I’v
e wanted to do since the first time our eyes met: I place myself in his hands. It won’t be forever, but I’ll take the way he makes me feel in the moment.
Because he makes me feel alive, and he’s introduced me to a side of myself I didn’t even know existed, and I want more.
Chapter Ten
Dante
It’s a week after the night I took Samantha to that musical, and I’ve had her every way I’ve ever wanted to have a woman. When I’m not working, chances are good that I’ve got her naked and moaning.
And, to be honest, even sometimes when I am working, I’ve got her that way. I’ve been having fun introducing her to her naughtier side. I’m pretty sure that if I live to be a hundred, I’ll still remember the sight of her on her knees, sucking me off while I was on a conference call, like it was yesterday.
Even the thought of it has me hard, and I hit the gas a little harder. I’m about ten minutes from home, and I’ve been thinking about how good it would be to have her bent over the dining room table while I pound into her.
She’s addictive. So hot, so damn sweet I know I’ll never get my fill.
And it’s more than sex. I get this funny little twist in my gut, this tightening in my chest sometimes when I watch her sleep. And there’s the problem right there.
I want to keep her. The idea of letting her go makes me feel empty inside.
So I try not to think about it. Because no matter how badly I want to keep her, I’m enough of a realist to know it just won’t work. First of all, no matter how damn sweet and innocent she is—or was—she is a stripper. She’s a woman who takes her clothes off for strangers, for money. Anton already knows what she is. It wouldn’t be long before at least a few people found out. And in addition to the stripper thing, she grew up in a totally different world. She does well enough at the events I take her to, but this clearly isn’t her world.
Maybe more than that bullshit, though, at the end of the day, I just can’t see myself committing to her. I like being free and independent. I like not having to consider someone else when I’m making decisions, and I like being able to fuck who I want, when I want.
I mean, Samantha’s the only one I want, and the only one I can see myself wanting for a long time, but that’s infatuation. She’s under my skin, and fuck if I know how she got there. But she’ll leave, and eventually I’ll get my head on straight again.
By the time I’m on the elevator, I’m so hard and frustrated I swear I’m about to lose my mind. I walk into the penthouse, and I’m met with the most perfect sight on the face of the planet: Samantha, naked, lounging on the living room couch. She smiles at the look on my face.
“I thought I’d save you a little time,” she says.
“Good girl,” I growl, ripping my tie off and flinging it away from me as I stalk toward her. She lets out a low, breathy giggle when I pick her up and turn her so her legs are hanging off the edge of the couch, but it ends on a high, keening wail when I kneel down and lap at her sweet pussy. There’s no shyness in her now, and she pushes herself toward my face, needing, demanding more. I grab her ass and hold her closer, devouring her, relentless in my desire to wring every possible orgasm, every scream of ecstasy from her before our time together ends. When she weakly tries to push me away from her, I grab her hands and hold them down and keep licking, sucking.
“Dante, oh god. Please,” she moans, out of her mind and weak from the orgasms she’s had. She’s so sensitive, so damn sexy, and I can’t resist toying with her some more. I suck her clit and slide two fingers inside her. I curl them, slowly and rhythmically, stroking that sensitive spot deep inside her, and I feel another orgasm building. She’s moaning my name, over and over again, and when she explodes, she comes screaming, and I keep right on sucking and stroking, prolonging her orgasm as long as I can.
When I’ve tasted my fill, I press an open-mouthed kiss to her inner thighs, first one, then the other, and then I sit up. She looks at me with a glazed expression in her eyes, and then she smiles.
“I’m going to greet you naked every day now,” she jokes.
“May as well. How many of your clothes have I ripped in my impatience to get you naked?” I ask, and she laughs. Then I hoist her up into my arms and carry her to my bedroom, which as far as I’m concerned, she’s not allowed to leave until the next morning.
I’m just lucky that she never seems to tire of my touch, as if I’ve awakened some deep hunger inside her and she wants to take everything I’m willing to give her.
