I rose up, swivelling my hips before slamming down on him, ignoring the dull pain inside, from his earlier brutal fucking. Over and over I did it to him, until I could see he was about to come. Determined to make sure he did this time, I gyrated on him, grinding down hard, before lowering my head to his shoulder. With one more thrust up from him, I bit down on the skin at the base of his neck, gasping when he reacted by bucking hard under me.
Raising my head, I watched his face, seeing the agony etched on his features for a brief moment. “Fucking hell Grace, my Grace. I’m going to come.” He cried out, just before I felt him swell inside me. His cock jerked and as the warmth of his cum pumped into me, my eyes were glued to his face.
Watching someone, as gorgeous as Dante, orgasm, was a beautiful thing to see. His eyes rolled back in his head briefly, the veins in his neck standing out, against his olive skin. I knew I’d have bruises on me tomorrow, from where his fingers were digging into my hips, as he held me down, and thrust up hard.
It was the myriad of expressions, that crossed, his face, that would stay with me, for a while. It’s funny, because I’ve seen some really bizarre ‘sex faces’ on men in the past, but even while in the grip of a vulnerable time, Dante still made it beautiful.
When he finally seemed to sag into the mattress, his eyes closed, I bent down, touching my lips briefly to his, before lowering my head to his chest.
I felt his arms come up around me, holding me to him as I lay, listening to the thundering beat of his heart, and the sound of his rapid breathing.
I don’t know how long we lay like that, but I know it was long enough for his heart and breathing to settle. Even after he’d gone soft inside me, I still stayed stretched out on him, held tightly to him.
It was only when my stomach let out a noisy protest, and I heard Dante give a soft chuckle, that I sat up.
“You need to be fed cara. I’ve let you care for me while I’ve been ill, and you’ve allowed me into your body, and yet, you have not been given anything to sustain you.”
“I had some cereal this morning.” I tried to reassure him.
“That is not enough. I’m sorry for neglecting you, while you’re in my home.”
“Well, how about I get us both something to eat? You haven’t been eating either, and you’ve been sick. You need to build your strength up again.” I circled his belly button with my finger nail, as I spoke to him.
“I would be grateful, thank you.” He halted my finger when he took my hand in his, raising it to his lips. With his eyes on mine, he kissed my fingers gently. When he lowered them again, I saw the tension on his face. “Once we’ve eaten, it will be time for us to have that talk. It will clear up some things that you are probably concerned with, and it may surprise you too. I’m sure that you are already aware that I am fucked up.”
I bent to kiss him again. “You’re not fucked up Dante.” I tried to reassure him, but my tone lacked conviction. How could I convince him, if I wasn’t so sure myself? He had a lot going on, I could tell. I liked him, I really did, and I knew that I could come to care for him very much, maybe even love him. What still remained to be seen though was whether, he would be too complicated for me; I guess I would be finding out soon.
I climbed off him and the bed, wincing at the pain between my legs. I felt like I’d been fucked to within an inch of my life. Damn, his cock was so big, it stretched me to the limits but his little problem of not being able to come, had led to far more unrestrained sex with him, and my poor pussy had taken quite a battering.
Instantly he was off the bed too, standing before me. “What is wrong cara? You’re in pain?”
I tried to laugh it off. “Oh I’m just a little sore. You’re very well endowed.”
I was surprised to see Dante’s face fall. “I’m sorry. I have hurt you. I am an animal, please forgive me.”
“Dammit, no, you’re not, and you don’t need to apologise to me.” I cupped his cheek in my palm. “I’ll just go and clean up a bit, then you can come and watch me cook, but I’m warning you now, I’m not very good. If you’re lucky, I won’t poison you.”
One corner of his mouth curled up. “You can’t be that bad.”
“You might want to get your life insurance up to date before I feed you.” I warned him. Ask Mel sometime. She’ll tell you I suck at cooking.”
“I can’t believe you’re as bad as you’re suggesting.” He was still looking at me, his expression clearly showing disbelief at my conviction.
“Just remember you said that.” I turned and grabbed the t-shirt of his I’d been wearing, pulling it back on. “I bet I have you eating your words and trust me, they’ll be a better option than what I cook us.”
As I walked out the door, I heard Dante’s soft laughter behind me. That made me smile. I liked hearing him and seeing him looking a little more relaxed.
An hour and a half later, and he was staring at his plate rather dubiously.
I’d managed to cook him a steak, without burning it too badly. The mashed potato was great. Now that was something I knew how to make. The vegetables however, were looking kind of sad and limp on the plate.
To his credit, he ate it all even though he’d had to chew on that steak forever to try and break it down enough so he could actually swallow the damn thing.
“God I’m sorry. I did warn you though.”
His head came up, a smile warming his beautiful eyes as he looked across at me. “It was perfectly alright cara. Now you sit, while I clean up. It’s only fair.”
I shrugged, sitting down to watch him move around his kitchen, rinsing everything off, and placing it in the dishwasher. Somehow, he made, bending, stretching, doing all those little mundane tasks in a kitchen, look sexy.
I think I was dangerously close to needing to mop up the drool, when Dante lifted both arms to open two overhead cupboards. It must have been the angle I was sitting, or the way he had his arms, but for a fraction of a moment, I saw both of his wrists at once.
I’d seen the old scar earlier on one wrist, that I was sure was from an attempt to kill himself. I was so confident, that’s what it was; I would have given away my left boob.
What I hadn’t expected, was to see a similar looking scar on his other wrist. Seeing it, even for just a split second broke my heart. Tears burned the back of my eyes, and I blinked rapidly, desperate to control my emotions before he saw.
“Grace, what is wrong?” Dante’s voice was filled with concern, and I raised my eyes to see him frowning down at me.
“I…I…” I started to try and say, racking my brain for some suitable lie, until I realised, I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t lie to him.
“Oh Dante.” I lifted a hand to his face. “What happened to you?” My eyes shifted to his wrist, and he got it straight away, his expression closing off to me.
I immediately jumped up, when he turned away, my hand on his back. “Don’t, don’t do this. Don’t ignore me. Don’t try to pretend. I know what those scars are. It breaks my heart to see them, but I understand.” I held my wrist out to him, so he could see my scar. “I know what that kind of desperation and despair feels like.” I grabbed one of his hands, turning it until the scar was facing upwards. Raising it, I placed my mouth against it, feeling the uneven, thickened tissue under my lips, and I kissed him.
Dante’s reaction took me by surprise. He cried out my name before dragging me into his arms, his grip almost painfully tight as he held me. If he could have wrapped his entire body around me, I think he would have. I could do little more, than wrap my arms around him, and hang on, gently running my hands up and down his back.
Finally, when it seemed like he had no intention of letting me go, any time soon, I pressed my lips to his ear. “Please, take me somewhere, you feel comfortable, and talk to me. I think you will be surprised to discover, you are not alone.”
If anything, his grip tightened even more, at my words, before I felt the movement of his head as he nodded. Slowly, he pulled back,
and when my eyes rose to his face, I could see the agony of his conflicting emotions, written across it.
“We can go into the living room if you wish, or back to the bedroom, just to talk?” He hastily added.
I knew him well enough already, to know the bedroom wasn’t suggested as a ploy to get back in my pants. I definitely got the impression, sex wasn’t that important to Dante. Probably because of what he’d once done for work, but after his problem earlier, it seemed he might have some kind of issue with reaching orgasm, if his desperation and despair were any indication. If he couldn’t always get off, then what was in it for him? Especially when he said that it was common, when working as a stud, to have to perform for hours, and not end up reaching orgasm.
I placed a hand on his arm, feeling his bicep tense under my touch. “It’s ok, wherever you feel comfortable is fine.”
“I would prefer we go to the bedroom then, I have some things I need to show you, and I keep them in my closet.”
“Come on then.” I stepped away from him, but took his hand in mine, and led him from the kitchen.
I wasn’t sure what he intended telling me. I had no idea how I would feel after hearing it, but something told me, this was one time, possibly the biggest moment of my life, where I would need to be sensitive and understanding. Somehow, I just knew that what he would be telling me was going to be big.
When we got to the bedroom, I quickly made the bed, since it was distracting to look at it, with the tangled sheets from our earlier sex.
Dante didn’t seem to notice, instead disappearing into his vast walk in robe. I had no idea what he was doing, or getting, but it was obvious he was only focused on whatever he was about to reveal, now.
Unsure where to sit while I waited for him to return, I tossed up whether to sit on the bed, or the sofa that took up half of one wall of his bedroom.
Finally, I settled for the bed. Bugger it, he was so preoccupied with whatever was going on with him, he was hardly going to rush from his robe, take one look at me, be overcome with passion, strip me bare, then fuck me, although, it didn’t sound like a bad idea, to me.
It was probably close on fifteen minutes before Dante came out of his walk in robe, carrying a plain, cardboard box. I stared at it, wondering what on earth he had to show me.
When my eyes moved to his face, I actually hurt for him, for a moment. God, he looked so tense, nervous, worried, scared but most of all, the agony of his uncertainty tugged at my heart.
He placed the box on the bed, but he didn’t sit down on it, instead falling to his knees at the foot of it. His head dropped and for a second, I thought he was praying.
I could only stare at him, at the tangled strands of his nearly black hair, and wait to see what it was, that he clearly agonised over telling me.
Chapter Fifteen
Finally he lifted his head and met my eyes. His hand came up and as he uncurled his fingers, I noticed a slightly crumpled and creased photograph in his hand. With a quite visible tremor running through him, he reached out, so I could take the photograph from him.
Turning it to me, I stared down at it, and everything began to spin. I couldn’t do anything more than gape at it, in total shock. Not so much over who was in the photo, but how Dante had come to have it in his possession. It was a photo of me, an old photo of me. It wasn’t a particularly good one either. It was slightly faded and blurred, but it was me; me, from that time in my life, when everything had been fucked up. It was me at just thirteen years of age. It was a photo that had been taken, with some awful disposable camera, my friend had secretly used, while I was at the rehab centre, fat camp, pick a problem, that centre had worked on fixing it.
My friend had taken the photo, the fat boy whose real name I’d never known. He was a few years older than me, although he appeared even older in some ways, due to his size. He’d been really tall too and classed as morbidly obese.
He’d turned the camera on both of us sometimes, in an attempt to get the first ‘selfie’ I guess, given there were no smart phones around back then.
Looking up at Dante again, I shrugged my shoulders. How did he come to possess this photo? Was he a family member, or something, to the gentle giant, who had befriended me, for the short time I’d been in rehab?
“How did you get this?” I asked him.
He didn’t answer, simply dug around in the box, until he found another photo and again, held it out to me. This one was of me, but this time, the boy from my past was in it with me. He’d done a pretty good job, for a selfie where he couldn’t see how it was going to look, until after the film was developed.
I studied the photo. It was typical of a cheap camera, poor quality, faded. The tops of our heads were cut off, probably because he would have had trouble, lining us up for the photo.
I looked closer at the image of Arnie. That, was the name, he’d given me, to call him. We weren’t allowed, to use our real names, it was all part, of protecting our identities, since so many of the kids who were there, came from wealthy or influential families.
My name had been Barbie, because somewhere in my fucked up head back then, I’d thought, that if I aspired to having a body like the iconic doll, I’d have it all.
I knew my friend had chosen Arnie, because Arnold Schwarzenegger was his hero. He’d dreamed, of one day looking like, the former Mr Universe.
Gently, I traced the image of Arnie and me in the photo. We were smiling, Arnie giving one of his rare, wide smiles, where I could see his teeth. His brown eyes were shining with laughter. I couldn’t remember exactly what we’d been laughing about, but it was obvious, we’d found something funny.
Still confused, still not understanding how Dante had come to have these photos in his possession, I raised my eyes to his again. He was kneeling on the floor, watching me keenly, those beautiful, expressive eyes of his, filled with tension.
Again, I lowered my eyes to the photo, and frowned. Something, there was something about it, something that started to trigger memories in me. I looked to Dante, then down to the image, and then it hit me. No, it didn’t just hit me, it blindsided me. The shock of what I was seeing, slammed into me so hard, I gasped, my heart leaping violently behind my breast.
It couldn’t be, surely? I looked from Dante to the photo again. The eyes; what do they say? Eyes are the windows to the soul? The eyes say it all? Was that why I felt so drawn to him?
“I…you…I…I…Arnie?” I finally managed to squeeze the name out, from between lips that felt numb. “No…no…it can’t be.” My voice was little more than a whisper.
“Hey Barbie.” He said, his voice husky, filled with emotion.
My stunned eyes moved over him, trying to find something of that boy from my past, that boy who had suffered so much personal torment himself, all those years ago. That sad overweight boy, who I knew had been bullied and abused so much, he’d tried to take his own life.
I knew he’d suffered far more than I ever had. He’d not only been bullied at school, he’d been beaten up several times. I remember that his family were wealthy, fairly high up in the community.
He’d had to deal with the double blow of bullying, and cruel taunts, from the students, at the prestigious school his parents had him in, but he was also considered a disappointment to his family. Seems they’d had no room in their lives for a morbidly obese son.
From memory, the only reason he’d ended up at the centre where I met him, was because after his suicide attempt, his family were so ashamed, and embarrassed by his behaviour, they’d wanted him hidden away, out of the public eye, to be ‘fixed.’ They didn’t care that they could have lost their son. They were only concerned about how it would look to the outside world. What kind of impact it would have on them and their careers.
Poor Arnie already lived with the pain of not fitting the right image, not being good enough, in his parents’ eyes. Once he’d been sent to the centre, he’d had the double blow of knowing he was being shoved away, like their dirty litt
le secret.
Of course, I did wonder sometimes, what happened to him, but I was thirteen years old, still learning to deal with my own fucked up outlook on life. I hadn’t given him anywhere near as much thought, as he’d obviously given me.
Again my eyes lifted to his, and I still couldn’t believe it. The shy young boy from my past, who had befriended me when we were just kids still, had somehow managed to find me, all these years later.
What was it about me that had stayed with him, all this time? Maybe it was just that he’d been older? I was thirteen, he’d been seventeen, which meant, he was twenty nine years old now.
I couldn’t think of anything, about me, that would have made me special, in his eyes. I’d only been at the centre two months, and yet in that time, we’d talked a lot. We’d shared some of our deepest and darkest moments. He’d told me about what led to him being there, and we showed each other our scars. I do remember him telling me, that he’d chosen the name Arnie, for himself, because his goal in life was, to one day, look like him.
Looking at him now, I could only think to myself, that he’d achieved his goal. How on earth had he done it? How had he turned himself from being morbidly obese, to this stunning man he was today? He wasn’t as bulked up as Arnold had been but he was still an incredibly well built man. Hell, he was more than that. His body was a work of art. He was the most beautiful example of the male form, I’d ever seen in real. Only his friend Alex; could come close to comparing to Dante.
Was this why I’d felt drawn to him? Was it because deep inside a part of myself, I knew him? Did some small part of me, something, recognise him, although, he looked nothing like the overweight boy, I’d known back then?
“Are you ever going to speak cara?” His deep voice drew my attention back to him, where he still sat on the floor, watching me.
“I…I can’t believe it’s you. You look so different. Did you think I would recognise you? You know, I knew there was something. I’ve been drawn to you since the night we danced at the club, but I didn’t know, how could I possibly know, you were Arnie?”
Dial a Stud: Dante's Story Page 17
