My thighs involuntarily clench together, electricity shooting through me as his fingers slip between my legs. Dante’s fingers tightening even further around my throat as he begins to play with me.
I gasp as I lose track of my thoughts, my grip on him weakening as I try and fail to maintain control of myself.
“I-I’m sorry,” I cry out, as his fingers move in ever tighter and faster circles, “please, forgive me.”
“Too little, too late,” Dante says, his own breathing nearly as tense as my own.
I groan as my whole body tenses, my muscles clenching with an almost painful need for release.
“Please,” I gasp.
Suddenly, he stops, and I feel the absence of his hands as he steps back from me. I collapse to the floor, unsatisfied and wanting.
“Go. To. Bed,” Dante orders, this time the edge in his voice laced with anger.
Without a second’s hesitation, I get to my feet and do as I’m told. It’s only as I’m climbing into bed that my mind snaps back into focus.
Glancing toward the bathroom, I notice Dante is still standing as if frozen in place. His hands are clenched into fists at his side as he takes several deep breaths.
Slowly, he turns his head to look back at me, his expression strange … almost fearful. This, again, only lasts a second before it’s replaced with the hardened confidence I’ve grown used to.
“You need a great deal of training if you’re going to handle my father.”
Bending, Dante grabs my wet towel off the floor before entering the bathroom, and I hear the familiar sounds of the showering turning on.
I can’t help but feel like I’ve just failed some massive test, but I don’t even know what I was being tested on.
Whatever it is that he’s trying to teach me, I’ll be lucky if I get any sleep tonight.