Dial a Stud: Dante's Story

by J. a Melville

  With all the wonderful Italian food we were eating, and the beautiful home grown wines we drank, we were all conscious of gaining weight.

  Well, not so much Mel, she was lucky to be naturally slim. Alex worked out I think, because that was just his routine, but Dante and I worked out, because we’d once been overweight. I wasn’t sure if he’d gain weight, to the point where he could be obese again, it hadn’t exactly come up in conversation. I knew I was always going to be naturally curvy. Not your size 8, that’s for sure, but I worked out, so I could keep myself toned at least.

  Maybe Dante worked out too, so he could maintain that fine body of his. It was a hell of a body to look at, and a hell of a distraction to me, when I was trying to work out.

  He ran on the treadmill until he was glistening with sweat; until it ran down his body like mini rivers, and all I could do, was watch, and try to control my natural desire, to run over and lick him clean.

  The rest of his workout was weights and again, watching him flexing, all those muscles bulging, got me wet, and not with sweat either.

  Like this, when he was working out, and not being constantly stopped by staff with questions, or guests acknowledging him, I could almost forget he was a multi-millionaire; almost, but not quite.

  The more I watched him running the vineyard, seeing how comfortable he was, how at home, he appeared, I also realised, this was where he should be. This was his real home. This was the place that held so many happy memories for him. This was where he’d been saved. He couldn’t sell it. He shouldn’t, but what would he do? Would he move back to Italy? Could he be happy letting others run it for him, while he wasn’t here, if he stayed in Australia?

  I had so many questions. It was a beautiful place. There was no denying that, but I didn’t fit into his world here. I knew nothing about wine, besides how to drink it.

  Everything about the vineyard brought my old insecurities back. Taunts from my past, haunted me, and I could hear those voices again. ‘Don’t invite Gruesome Gracie; she’s too fat and plain to mix with us. Oh, I’m sorry but you don’t have the right look. It’s a garden tea party, no hogs allowed.’

  Over and over again, those words passed through my head, and I turned my wrists over, studying the scars left from when it had finally become too much for me.

  My eyes drifted over to Dante again, as he worked away on what looked like a rowing machine, arms, shoulders, everything flexing as he pushed his body, wearing nothing, but a singlet styled shirt, shorts, socks and sneakers. His hair was pulled back into a man bun. I’d never seen him wear it like that before, but he did while he worked out. To think I’d once scoffed at the idea, of a man wearing his hair up in a bun, but on him, it was hot as hell.

  I dragged my eyes off him, and focused on finishing my last kilometre, on the stationary bike I rode. When I was done, I threw my towel around my neck, leaving the gym; heading back to the private wing of the house, to shower.

  I’d just stripped out of my sweat dampened clothes, and stepped into the warm, soothing spray of the shower, when I heard the door open. I turned around and nearly bumped into the huge, solid wall of Dante’s chest before me.

  His hands came out to grab my shoulders, before I bounced off him, steadying me. One hand shifted to my chin, raising my face to his. When I looked into his eyes, I could see the concern in them, plus something else, a hint of something, something that looked like, sadness.

  “What is wrong cara? I know something is wrong. Talk to me, please.” He brushed his thumb over my bottom lip, and I couldn’t control the quiver, that ran through it at his touch, his words.

  “It’s nothing Dante.” I lied. “I just…this place…it’s a little…intimidating.”

  He frowned. “You don’t like my vineyard?”

  ‘It’s not the vineyard, it’s your wealth.’ I thought to myself.

  “I didn’t say that.” I stalled.

  “I want you to like it here, to feel comfortable. I know something isn’t right with you. We’ve been here four days and we have not made love yet. You always seem to be tired or so distant.” I saw pain flash across his features. “Do you not want me any more? Do you no longer find me attractive?”

  I felt pain stab through my heart at his words. I could hear the doubts, the insecurities in his voice, and I realised as I stared up at him, that for all the confidence he portrayed, and for all the visual appeal, with looks that drew every woman’s eye, inside he was still that vulnerable, hurt, overweight boy.

  I was hurting him, and it was unfair. He didn’t deserve it, when he’d done nothing wrong. He couldn’t help that he was rich. I was closing myself off to him, with no explanation, putting us into a state of limbo, and I had to stop. I had to either, suck it up, push aside my own insecurities and inadequacies, or make a clean break from him.

  The trouble was; I’d tried that already. I’d tried to ignore his wealth, be all, water off a duck’s back about it, but I couldn’t. Maybe if I’d had some idea before we came here. If I’d had a better understanding, I might have accepted it, or possibly panicked and run.

  Instinctively I knew Dante wouldn’t care, about coming into a relationship with me, with a whole load more zeros, on the end of his bank balance than me, but in my mind, I could already see the looks. The looks that would pass from him, to me and they would be saying ‘gold digger.’

  “Why are you so silent?” His voice drew my focus, back to him.

  He was still looking down at me, the water cascading over his shoulders. God he was beautiful and I wanted him, suddenly, desperately I needed him. For now, in this vast shower, I could blot the rest of the world out. I could forget about his wealth, this vineyard, the large number of people who looked up to him, to keep them employed and earning wages. I could pretend that all that existed, were him and I.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Reaching up with both hands, I locked them at the back of his head, dragging his face down to mine. My lips closed over his, urgently seeking entry to his mouth.

  He opened, and immediately my tongue was inside, kissing him, with all the pent up emotions, that threatened to spill from me. I poured all I could into that kiss; my love, my pain, sorrow, grief, confusion, insecurities and hardest of all, my goodbye.

  Dante hesitated for the briefest moment, before he took over the kiss, his tongue in my mouth, tangling with mine, licking at me, duelling with me, in a battle to dominate and control.

  Suddenly I was pushed back, slamming against the cold tiles, and I gasped, against his lips, as the impact, knocked the wind from me.

  I felt his hard body crush mine, his cock hard; rock hard in fact, between us. He began to move against me, grinding his erection into the soft skin of my stomach, and I could hear the harshness of his breathing, when his lips moved to my ear, nipping at my lobe.

  This was hot, fucking hot. Dante was out of control, and I’d only seen him like this once before, when he’d kind of sleep fucked me that time, when he was sick.

  “Fuck, I want you. God, I want you so badly.” His voice was rough, urgent against my ear, his hands moving over me, with none of his customary control.

  His fingers plucked at my nipples until they were hard, and poking against his broad chest. Obviously satisfied, he shoved a hand between us, roughly pushing my thighs apart, so he could gain access to me.

  I cried out again, when he began to slide his palm back and forth, over my clit, teasing, and stimulating the already swollen bud. Over and over he did that, and I knew if he kept doing it, I’d come, but as if sensing I was getting close, he suddenly slid two fingers into me. He began to thrust them in and out, twisting them, curling them to hit that special spot inside me.

  I moaned, close, desperately close to my orgasm. It had been so long; four days since we’d had sex. I was like a starving animal now; ravenous, needing him, wanting him, wanting him inside me, fucking, me.

  “I can’t wait. What are you doing to me? I can’t wait; I have to have you now, h
ere, right now, in this shower.” His voice was strained, his body trembling.

  “Dante, please.” I could do little more than moan his name, my fingers raking through his wet hair, tangling in the dark strands, as I pulled his lips back to mine.

  He kissed me ferociously, his hunger consuming me. It was so intense, so wild and my body responded eagerly; as desperate for him, as he was for me.

  “Hold onto me, don’t let go.” His lips left mine, the words spoken urgently; the desire in his eyes burning brightly.

  I curled my arms around his neck, just as he lifted me high, using his body to hold me against the tiles. Before he could ask me, I wrapped my legs around him, feeling the tip of his cock, brush against my pussy.

  “Oh…Dante.” I moaned his name again, shifting against him, in an attempt to get him where I wanted him.

  “Oh fuck, Gracie.” He ground out, his fingers digging into my ass cheeks, as he hoisted me higher. When he pressed his face to my neck, his breath scorching hot against me, my head fell to one side, giving him better access.

  I felt his cock bump against me, before the head brushed over my pussy. As he angled his hips and thrust up, at the same time, he lowered me, impaling me hard on his huge cock.

  I cried out as he filled me, stretching me to my limits around him. It had only been four days, since he’d last been inside me, but it almost felt like the first time. God, I was so full of him, it was intense. He filled me completely, almost painfully, the angle forcing him so deep; I could only pant as my body adjusted to him.

  “Cazzo ci si sente cosi bene.” Dante’s words were husky, his lips still pressed into my neck, as he held me, not moving, giving me time, to get used to him being in me. “Are you alright cara? I…need…to…move.” He said, causing me to clench around him, at the urgency in his voice.

  “Fuck me.” I whispered, and he shuddered, his whole body shaking violently.

  He pulled nearly all the way back out and stopped, lifting his head to look up into my eyes. I could see his desire for me, the tension on his face, as he fought for control.

  Without looking away, he lunged, driving into me so hard, the wind was knocked out of me, when I slammed against the tiles. I barely had time to drag in a lungful of air, and he repeated the movement, making me gasp again.

  Over and over, he thrust hard, his strokes, long and deep. I could feel all of him, his piercing rubbing inside me, waking up all my nerve endings. He filled me and retreated, filled me and retreated, every move, pushing me ever closer to my orgasm.

  This was different to any other time with him. Normally he was controlled, measured, every move performed, as if choreographed. He had been a stud after all, and he fucked with impeccable control, his focus all on pleasing the woman. Not this time. This time he was not in control. In fact he seemed like a man who needed to fuck, and who needed to fuck, like his life depended on it. It was surprising, intense, raw, and damn hot to see, to feel, to simply be the one, on the receiving end of this man, out of control.

  “No…fuck…sto per venire.” Dante groaned; his body tensing. “No…no…no!” His tone suddenly sounded desperate. “I’m sorry cara.” He cried, lunging hard, and I felt the warmth of his release deep inside me. He convulsed, his big body shuddering, his breathing so harsh and ragged sounding, I could hear it over the water of the shower. I tightened around him, instinctively, uncontrollably, milking him, squeezing everything from him; that he had to give.

  My arms tightened around his neck, as if to reassure him. This was massive. Dante had come, in fact he’d come too early. This never happened. It was a profound moment for me. I was capable of breaking his rigid control; me, clumsy, unco-ordinated Gracie. I was able to help him, overcome the problems that had resulted from working as a stud, so it was both an uplifting and frustrating moment for me. Frustration began to win, when he stilled in me, and I felt my orgasm fading away. Ironically, what may be one of my last intimate moments with him, and he had failed to make me come.

  Dante’s head came up, his eyes searching mine, and it tugged at my heart, to see him looking embarrassed? I think that’s what it was. Would his natural inclination, be to persecute himself now, because he’d feel he failed me?

  “I am sorry cara. I have let you down, and taken my own pleasure first. I can tell you, that I have not had that problem, in a very, very long time.” His lips brushed over mine. “I will make it up to you. I know something is bothering you, although you seem reluctant to share what it is. Hang on, because I am still hard for you, and now I will make you come.” He thrust once, slowly, almost lazily, and I realised he was right, he was still hard. Despite coming, he apparently wasn’t done yet.

  With his eyes locked on mine, he settled into a steady rhythm, his thrusts deep, arousing me with every delicious, exciting drive of his hips.

  After his unexpected and surprising loss of control, it was obvious, that this time, he was going to make sure, I had an orgasm to remember.

  He changed the angle of his hips, his body grinding against mine, brushing over my clit, just enough, to cause a sweet friction, that had me gasping his name.

  On and on, he thrust, cleverly building me up, but not allowing me to fall, keeping me hanging; my orgasm just out of reach.

  “Dante, please.” I moaned; my head turning from side to side as I desperately sought release. “I need to come.”

  “Well come then cara.” I could see humour in his eyes, although his voice held a note of strain.

  “You’re not letting me.” I gasped, hearing the frustration in my tone.

  “What do you want? What do you need? Tell me what I can do, to make you come, my beautiful Grace?” He asked, his eyes burning into mine, while he continued moving, in that maddening way, that kept my body clambering urgently, for release, but not able to get there, because he wouldn’t quite give me, what he knew, would tip me over.

  “Faster, harder, rub my clit.” I urged him, my hands shifting restlessly through his hair, tugging at the wet strands.

  “You are greedy aren’t you? I can feel you getting tight around me. That sweet little cunt of yours is so demanding.” He gave a rolling action, of his hips, that was enough to send my head back, against the tiles, from the feel of it. “Very well, I shall give you what you want, what you need.”

  He slowed right down, barely moving in me now, and I groaned with frustration. He was going to drive me crazy, obviously.

  “No, you’re going too slowly.” I growled, yanking hard on his hair, hearing his hiss of pain. “Fuck me.” I demanded, tugging even harder on the long strands.

  “You’re a wild one, aren’t you? Stop doing that, or I will not give you what you want.” He said, still thrusting so slowly, each move incredibly shallow. He was trying to kill me; death by denied orgasm? Was there such a thing? If he continued doing what he was doing, I’d soon find out.

  “Please.” I nearly sobbed, my emotions suddenly scattered, as I struggled with the build-up of passion inside me, and my denied release. “Dante, please, let me come.”

  “Is this what you want?” His voice was softer, gentle and it nearly brought me undone. When he suddenly slammed into me, I cried out, as he plunged so deep, it bordered on painful.

  “Yes, yes.” I cried, my cries turning to shrieks, when he did it again. Digging his fingers into my ass even harder, to keep me steady, he thrust again, and again, his movements violent, forceful. Each thrust, squeezed a gasp from my lips, each thrust, made him grind against, my already painfully sensitive clit.

  He was giving me what I’d asked for, hard, brutally hard, while, gradually moving faster and faster.

  In no time, I was on the edge, about to come, almost fearful of doing so, because I could tell, with all the agonising build up, to get me to this point, it was going to be intense, wildly so.

  Dante’s pace picked up even more, until he was pounding so hard into me, I could do little but hang on, and brace for impact, or in this case, my orgasm. When it finally cr
ashed through me, I screamed, the sound echoing around the bathroom. My hands clutched at his hair, his shoulders, digging in, as my body shook violently, my inner muscles clenching around his cock, as wave after wave of pleasure, rolled through me.

  Amazingly, I heard Dante shout out, his body bucking, just before he began to come again, his breathing so loud and tortured in my ear, where his lips were pressed to me.

  “Oh god cara. How do you do this to me? I love you so much. You own me, possess me, and now you have left me as weak as a newborn kitten. I can’t hold us.” I heard his huskily spoken words, but they really only registered, when I realised he was shaking badly.

  “Dante, are you ok?” I asked, my fingers dancing over one cheek, until he lifted his head to look at me.

  “I’m fine but I need to sit for a moment.” The words had barely passed his lips, and suddenly we were moving, sinking to the floor of the shower, the water streaming down over us, as we sat, still in one another’s arms, still with his cock inside me.

  I wasn’t sure how long we sat, wrapped in one another’s arms, as the water cascaded over us. It was me though, who finally stirred, moving off his lap and scrambling, none too gracefully to my feet.

  “I’m pruning.” I thrust my hands in his face. “We’ve probably almost used up all the hot water. In fact, how come the hot water’s lasted so long?”

  “It’s an instant hot water heater cara. It heats it, as the water flows.” He dragged himself up onto his knees, his arms closing around my thighs, holding me tightly.

  His action nearly unbalanced me, forcing me to grab his shoulders, to stay upright.

  He raised his eyes to mine, and my heart skipped, at the look in his. “I love you Grace. Don’t leave me. I fear my heart would not survive that.”

  His words momentarily, caused my knees to buckle. God, he knew. In some small way, he’d worked out, that I was considering leaving him.

  “I can’t promise you that.” I whispered. “No one can guarantee anything in life. Everything is uncertain. Nothing is for sure.”