Sweetest Sorrow
Page 21
Dante kissed her again as he pulled her onto the bed. She lay back, head resting on a pillow, as he hovered over her. His lips left hers, making their way along her face and down her jaw, a searing trail leading to her neck as she cocked her head, giving him better access. The skin prickled, tingling, as his tongue traced circles, drawing patterns on her flesh the whole way to her chest. His lips encircled a nipple, sucking. It was almost too much to take. The sensations flowing through her made her vision hazy, so she closed her eyes and tried to relax, running her hands through his thick hair.
Within seconds, his hand slid down her stomach, slipping inside her panties, his touch so gentle she writhed beneath him. Gabriella's breath hitched when his fingers grazed her clit, stroking it, rubbing, and driving her straight to the brink. Just a touch had her seeing stars. Parts of her ached for more. The guy definitely knew his way around a woman. Her body was a roadmap he skillfully navigated, exploring every twist and turn with his fingertips and mouth.
Gabriella lifted up when he tugged on her underwear, pulling them off and tossing them to the floor beside the bed. Her eyes darted open when he parted her legs and shifted further down the bed, settling between her thighs. The orange morning glow streamed through the nearby window. She was used to sleeping with so much light, but she wasn't used to this happening.
He could see everything.
She tried to sit up, but he grasped her hips, pinning them against the bed. Before she could object, his mouth was on her, his tongue flicking against her aching clit.
"Oh my God." She fisted his hair as she fell back flat against the bed. Every ounce of protest dissipated as her muscles turned to jelly, her body succumbing to him. He shouldn't be doing that. His face shouldn't be down there. His mouth shouldn't be on her, his tongue doing whatever it was doing, flicking and circling or something. She didn't know. But frankly, she couldn't find it in her to care, either. Whatever he was doing was absolute perfection, and she never wanted it to end.
His mouth took her straight to Heaven.
The sensations built, layer after layer, as his mouth grew more frantic. Maybe it was a minute. Maybe it was an hour. It was an eternity wrapped up in a moment, one she wanted to exist in forever. The pressure built to the point of explosion. Her back arched, her jaw slack, noise catching in her throat.
Orgasm rocked her. Her legs shook, thigh clamping down around his head as she gasped, "Don't stop."
He didn't stop. He kept going until she couldn't take anymore. The sensations subsided, pleasure morphing, the ache growing painful. He seemed to know, because before she could tell him, his mouth moved, lips trailing along her inner thigh as she loosened her grip on him. Her breathing was labored, eyes closed. The jelly feeling returned to her muscles. She was floating.
"A dinosaur."
Her eyes opened at the sound of his voice. "What?"
A sharp sting shot through her inner thigh. Screeching, she shot straight up, realizing he'd bit her. Not hard enough to leave a lasting mark, but hard enough for her to feel it. She shoved his shoulder, and he laughed, sitting up.
"Your birthmark," he said. "It's shaped like a little dinosaur."
The fading imprint of teeth surrounded the discolored mark on her right inner thigh. She rubbed it, scowling, as he leaned toward her, kissing her lips. Soft, and chaste, and oh-so-sweet.
"Do you taste yourself on me?" he asked.
She kissed him back before pulling away. "You taste like beer."
"Well, you taste like sweat and sex and disinfectant."
"Ugh, gross." She grimaced. "I need to shower."
"Yeah, give me an hour and you'll really need a shower."
He kissed her again, rougher, pushing her back onto the bed. Hovering over her, he fumbled with his pants, unbuckling them. Gabriella's heart raced, so fast and so furious it thumped in her ears, electricity buzzing along her skin as anxiety kicked in.
Was this seriously happening?
He slowed his movements, breaking the kiss. "Shit."
"What's wrong?"
"I don't have a condom."
"There's a box in the bathroom."
Dante climbed out of the bed and disappeared from the room. It took him thirty seconds, a minute at most, but it was the longest moment of Gabriella's life. She lay there, practically naked, awaiting his return. A flood of emotions assaulted her, rattling her nerves.
When Dante walked back in, he started shedding his clothes. He pulled his shirt off but made no attempt to remove his undershirt, letting his jeans drop, leaving them in the middle of the floor.
Climbing back onto the bed, he tore open the condom and set the wrapper aside. He pulled himself from his boxers, stroking a few times, massaging the swollen head, before rolling the condom down over it. Gabriella watched his face, studying his look of sheer concentration, a smile touching her lips as her anxiety dissipated.
He was nervous, too. She could tell.
He met her gaze, returning her smile, as he climbed between her legs, hiking her knees up. Dante hesitated before lining up and slowly pushing in. Gabriella closed her eyes as he stretched her, hearing him let out a strained groan.
She certainly wasn't a virgin, but it had been a while.
"Fuck, you feel good." He pushed the whole way in before pulling back out, moving slowly, over and over. She chanced a peek at him, seeing his eyes fixed between them, watching where he disappeared inside of her. As if he sensed her gaze, he smirked. "It's a beautiful sight."
"Oh?" she whispered as he lay down on top of her, pulling her to him. She wrapped her arms around him as he increased the pace a bit, still taking it easy, his thrusts restrained.
It struck her, maybe too late, that he was still injured. He shouldn't have been exerting himself. She started to say something, worried, when he nuzzled into her neck, his husky voice wiping out all thoughts except for his words. "You've got such a beautiful pussy. So beautiful. I could lose myself inside of you for days, baby."
Her eyes fluttered closed. "I wish you would."
"I will, if you want. Stay right here and fuck you forever."
His teeth sunk into her neck, grazing her skin, as he sucked and licked at her flesh. She gasped, fisting the back of his shirt, wrapping her legs around his waist so he could fill her deeper.
Gabriella couldn't wrap her mind around it. It wasn't sinking in. Her world was becoming chaos because of this man. Feelings she'd never had before swirled inside of her, filling her up as he filled her to the hilt. Her chest ached as she shakily breathed, her lungs just not getting enough oxygen. Dante Galante was on top of her, inside of her, when just weeks earlier the world thought he was dead. But he wasn't—he was alive, and breathing, and so utterly intoxicating. She got drunk on the air around him, floating higher every time she breathed him in.
The stubborn, infuriating, reckless idiot had overtaken her carefully controlled life without even knowing it.
He rose up a bit, looking her in the eyes, shifting position to thrust harder. She moaned, leaning her head back, her voice catching every time his hips slammed into hers. Pain jabbed her insides, a beautiful ache brewing in her gut. "Oh God."
"You like that, baby?" He kissed along her collarbones. "Tell me how it feels."
"So good," she whispered. "I feel... uhh, there's so much inside of me, I'm going to explode."
As soon as she said it, she felt it—the undeniable swell of pleasure sweeping through her body. Tingles encased her as she trembled beneath him, her body convulsing around him.
"Fuck," he growled, his mouth on her throat. He bit down, yet again, as his thrusts grew erratic. He slammed into her hard a few times, groaning, before stilling on top of her, panting.
Gabriella loosened her hold on him, her hands slipping beneath his undershirt to rub his sweaty back, her fingertips grazing the bandage on his side. She tugged on the shirt, attempting to take it off, when he pulled away from her, pulling out to stand up.
He said not a word.
Gabriella sat up, covering herself with the sheet.
"Don't do that," Dante said, casting her a sidelong look. "You're beautiful. Don't be self-conscious."
"I'm not… usually." She frowned. "I'm kind of the only one naked here."
"Oh." He glanced down at himself. "I never bother undressing."
"Ouch."
"I didn't mean it that way, like you weren't worth the trouble," he said, reaching up to rub his chest. "Just not a fan of people pitying me, so I don't give them the chance."
"I don't pity you."
"I know."
"Are you okay, though? Your side, I mean…"
"It hurts like a son of a bitch."
Ugh. "Do you want me to—?"
She started to ask if he wanted her to look at it, but he cut her off, crawling into the bed and pulling her to him. "I'll be fine. Just out of practice. Need some time to recover, but Jesus fuck… that pussy was worth the pain, baby."
Tingles crept through her at those words. "If that's you out of practice, full-strength might be too much for me."
Dante laughed. Sweeping her hair aside, he kissed her neck, just a light peck against her skin. "When you want me to leave, just say so. I won't take it personal."
"Stay," she whispered, "for as long as you want."
She grasped his forearms, caressing them as she savored his warmth surrounding her. Almost right away, Dante's breathing settled, a soft snore escaping.
Out cold.
Chapter Twelve
The barrel of the gun viciously dug into Dante's side, twisting, tunneling into a stab wound through the gash in his filthy shirt. Dante ground his teeth together, his face twitching, a growl rumbling his chest. It felt like hot iron, like the muzzle was branding him. He wanted to scream, to curse, but he forced it down, refusing.
Refusing to react.
Refusing to give them the satisfaction.
"Tough guy, huh?" a voice said as the pain subsided, the gun pulled away, relief rushing through Dante. It didn't last long. In a matter of seconds, the gun was shoved beneath his chin, the blood-covered muzzle forcing his head up, forcing Dante to look at him.
Roberto Barsanti.
"This is a nice gun," Barsanti said, eyeing it as he gripped it, his finger on the trigger. The safety was off. It wouldn't take much for the guy to kill him—a simple twitch of a finger. "How many lives has it ended? Huh? Did you kill my son with it?"
Dante stared into his callous eyes. Desert Eagle Mk XIX, satin black, with a muzzle break installed. He'd had the gun for years, had pulled the trigger dozens of times, but he'd only ever taken one life. Enzo.
He didn't tell Barsanti that, though.
Didn't answer that question.
He could kill him if he wanted.
Wouldn't make a difference.
Barsanti snapped, shoving the gun so hard against him that it knocked the chair over, throwing it onto the ground, taking Dante with it. He cringed, smacking his head against the hard cement. He couldn't move, couldn't defend himself… couldn't protect himself. Duct tape surrounded him, wound tightly around his chest, pinning his arms at the sides of the old wooden chair. His feet were wrapped at the ankles, secured to the legs so he couldn't escape.
Barsanti's foot planted dead center of Dante's chest, knocking the air from his lungs and crushing his ribs, the bones cracking. He gasped, inhaling sharply. He couldn't fucking breathe. Barsanti stepped on him, damn near suffocating him, aiming the gun at his head.
"Did you?" he yelled, rage turning his face bright red. "Did you stand over him like this when you did it? Did my son look you in the eyes when you murdered him?"
Dante struggled against the weight on his chest, trying to stay conscious. He'd been beaten beyond black and blue. His vision was going hazy. He couldn't even answer if he wanted to.
"But this is what you did to Matteo, right? You stomped on him, knowing he couldn't fight back. Knowing he wouldn't. He was on the ground, defenseless, and you kicked him! So how does it feel, huh? How does it feel beneath my boot? I'm guessing it doesn't feel good."
Barsanti moved, and Dante inhaled sharply, desperate to take a deep breath. It was only a few seconds of satisfaction as the air seeped into his lungs before the steel-toed black boot came back at him, aimed right for his face. He saw it before it happened. He felt it before it really registered. A kick to the face sent Dante's vision fading, his ears ringing as Barsanti said, "You're not the only one who can kick people when they're down."
BAM
Dante's eyes shot open, his gaze fixed on a dim white ceiling above him. He inhaled, a peculiar scent greeting his nostrils, musky with a hint of sweet vanilla. Not the dank basement he expected to smell. He blinked a few times, trying to pull himself together, before taking in his surroundings.
Gabriella's bedroom.
Reality came back to him in a flood of memories, like the pages of a flipbook rushing by, the picture steadily moving. He sat up, running his hands down his face. Sweat drenched him. His muscles were stiff. Outside, the sun was setting.
He was alone. No Gabriella.
How long had he been asleep?
Climbing out of the small bed, he snatched up his clothes, pulling them on before grabbing his phone from the back pocket of his jeans. The screen glowed brightly: 8:20pm.
Shit.
A dozen or so missed calls showed up in his notifications. He barely paid them any attention, wiping them off the screen, not in the mood to talk to anybody. He hadn't been home in two days, maybe three… he wasn't sure. He didn't consult a calendar. Every day was the same, blending together in a blur of whatever. He came and went, here and there, going all over but staying nowhere, like one of the city's vagrants. The only time the world slowed enough for him take a breath was when he was near her. It was the only time he felt like a person, like he'd lived through what happened. The rest of the time, he was still just waiting to flat-line.
He was about to leave, walking through the silent apartment, when he stalled at the front door. Covering the peephole, stuck there with a strip of medical tape, was a scribbled note in messy handwriting.
Working 'til 7 in the AM.
XO, Gabby
PS – You're welcome to stay.
He tugged it off the door, shoving it in his back pocket. He left, engaging the locks that he could, feeling guilty for leaving her apartment exposed. His head was a fog as he made the trek downstairs, groggy like he hadn't quite woken up yet.
"Are you deaf?" a voice asked when Dante stepped out onto the sidewalk. "Or do you just not listen?"
Dante turned, finding Gavin leaning against the building. "What?"
"What?" Gavin mimicked, shoving away from the wall near the intercom. "Twenty-four hours ago, I told you to leave Gabriella alone, but here you are, coming out of her building, still wearing the same damn clothes from yesterday. Oh, but you're not fucking her, right? That's what you said, isn't it?"
Dante slowly blinked at him, his eyes trying to adjust, but it was pointless. Shaking his head, he muttered, "I'm not awake enough for this bullshit."
He took a few steps before Gavin grabbed his shoulder. "Dante."
Dante pulled away from him but stalled. Annoyance swelled through him that he tried to keep at bay, but his patience was still asleep somewhere. "I swear to fuck, Amaro, I don't want to fight you, but if you put your hands on me one more time…"
Gavin raised his hands. "I'm not trying to fight you. I'm just trying to understand."
"Understand what?"
"What's wrong with you."
Dante blinked at him again. Gavin looked serious, like he was genuinely trying to understand, like he just didn't get it. "Do you have a girlfriend?"
Gavin's brow furrowed, his stance defensive. "No."
"Maybe you ought to get one," Dante suggested. "Someone else for you to worry about so
you'll stop riding my ass. Because I'm flattered, you know, that you care, but you're starting to make me wonder if you're about to boil my bunny here, and I'm not down with that, G."
Gavin glared at him. "It's not like that and you know it. I just don't like what I'm seeing."
"Why?"
"My cousin—"
"Don't give me that 'my cousin' bullshit. You started acting funny before you knew I was fucking her."
Surprise crossed Gavin's face. "So you are."
"Don't change the subject. Where I stick my dick is irrelevant to why you're acting like a sentimental bitch. Is it because of my sister? Is that it?"
Something flashed in Gavin's eyes, something Dante couldn't quite figure out. "What about your sister?"
"What about my sister? How about the fact that my father wrote her off and just went on living like she never existed? The fact that I wasn't here… the fact that I was gone… the fact that I didn't do anything to stop it. The fact that nobody did anything to stop it!"
Gavin frowned. "You're upset."
"Of course I'm fucking upset."
"It's not your fault, man. You didn't do this."
"Didn't stop it, either."
"You couldn't."
"I could," Dante countered. "I could've stopped it long ago. Could've done something the day she came home and said she'd met a guy named Matty. Could've done something when I ran into Matteo and realized he was the Matty she met. Could've done something when she started lying to my face. Because I knew. I'm not stupid. I knew, but I did nothing. I did nothing when I found him in our house—a Barsanti—because she begged for his life, and I couldn't bring myself to hurt her after she told me she loved him. I did nothing, when I could've. But instead, I waited until her fate was sealed, and even then I took out the wrong Barsanti! I fucked up bad, and because of that, I wasn't here to do anything when somebody needed to do something."
Gavin just stood there on the sidewalk, staring at Dante. People walked by, casting curious looks their direction, but Dante didn't care. It didn't matter who overheard. The facts were clear, as far as he was concerned.