Sweetest Sorrow

by J. M. Darhower

  "So you need to keep that danger far away from my daughter. You keep it where it can't touch her. You got me?"

  Gabriella jumped out of the car. "I can take care of myself."

  "I got you," Dante said, walking around to the other side of the car, his gaze on Gabriella. "Get back in the car."

  "Or what?"

  "Or I guess we stay here."

  Oh, ugh, no thanks.

  Gabriella got back in the car and climbed over to the passenger side instead of going around. Her father tapped on the window, garnering her attention as she put on her seatbelt. Cautiously, she turned that way, looking him right in the eyes through the tinted glass.

  "You and I are going to be having a conversation about this," he said. "Just as soon as I figure out what the hell I'm supposed to do about it."

  Ugh. Ugh. Ugh.

  Dante didn't waste any time driving away. He relaxed once he was away from Brazzi property, tearing off his tie and wrangling out of his suit coat as he sped through New Jersey, discarding the clothes in the small space behind his seat as he blasted the heat.

  "Did you have to tell him we were living together?"

  "Yes."

  "Why?"

  "Because he asked."

  She scowled. "It's not like he's your boss."

  "No, but he is your father," Dante said. "Look, I walked in there today with two strikes already against me. I can't afford a third strike, so if he asks me something, I'm answering. I don't care what it is. If the man wants to know how big my dick is, I'll offer to measure it for him."

  "Well, boo on that."

  Dante laughed but said nothing else, the drive back to Little Italy quiet. Finding no street parking, he pulled the car into a nearby garage, securing it, before the two of them strolled down the sidewalk to the apartment. Gabriella slipped her hand into his, holding it as they walked. His fingertips were ice cold.

  "I always loved this neighborhood," Gabriella said, surveying the splattering of red, white, and green all around the buildings. Street vendors opened up shop on the corners where small one-way streets weaved together, merging with bigger traffic, creating a continual flow of people.

  "That makes one of us," Dante muttered. "Too much has happened for me to see anything but the bad."

  "I know, but you shouldn't blame the whole neighborhood for the acts of two men."

  "It was more than two men. A lot of us contributed."

  "What did I tell you in the hospital? About playing someone else's game?"

  "You have to play by their rules."

  "Exactly." Gabriella bumped against him as they stalled in front of the market below the apartment. "You know how my father always wins?"

  "How?"

  "Sleight of hand."

  Dante turned to face her. "Are you suggesting I cheat? What happened to little miss 'gotta play by their rules' from a second ago?"

  "I'm not suggesting you cheat," she said. "I'm just suggesting you manipulate the outcome a bit."

  "In other words, cheat."

  She laughed. "It's another gray area. If you don't get caught, is it really cheating?"

  "I don't know," he said. "If I fuck another woman and you don't catch me, did I cheat?"

  She flinched at that, a surge of jealousy stirring inside of her. "You better not."

  "Wouldn't dream of it."

  "Good, because even dreaming of it is all kinds of wrong," she said. "Besides, all I'm saying is that when the odds are stacked against you, you should consider maybe changing the odds."

  "Easier said than done."

  "Nobody said it would be easy," she said. "But it just might keep you on top."

  "Well, that's a certainly a good position to be in." Dante smiled a bit as he leaned over, kissing her. "Although, you know, I kind of enjoy you being on top."

  "You're changing the subject."

  "I am," he admitted as he kissed her again, whispering against her mouth, "because I'd much rather talk about that."

  She kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his neck, barely having enough time to get into it when a loud commotion disrupted them from across the street. Angry shouts echoed through the neighborhood, brash enough to raise alarm over the usual city chaos. Scathing voices hurled insults as people ran, others swarming the area in front of the bar. Gabriella pulled away from Dante, glancing over just in time to see fists flying, a fight spilling out into the street, a guy in a red shirt pummeling somebody.

  "Come on, it's cold. Let's go inside," Dante said at once, whipping out his freshly acquired keys and unlocking the door to the building, dragging her inside before she could get a good look at what was happening. He kept his head down, his footsteps hurried.

  "I'm guessing you know those guys?"

  "Unfortunately."

  "Who are they?"

  "Barsantis," he said. "Galantes."

  "Ah." She eyed him warily as they walked up the stairs. "You sure you don't want to go see what's going on?"

  "I know what's going on," he said. "They're beating the fuck out of each other. Nothing new. I can't tell you how many times I've gotten into it with someone in this neighborhood, how many bar fights I've been involved in across the street. Hell, I'm pretty sure I got my ass kicked in front of your building a few months ago."

  Dante walked up to the apartment door, unlocking it before motioning for her to go inside. She paused in the doorway, raising her eyebrows, feigning shock. "You got your butt kicked? You?"

  "Don't go getting excited—the ass-kicking was mutual. It usually is. That's just how it goes. They'll hit each other until they get tired of it, and then they'll go on their way, back to their separate corners, and start plotting the next time they're going to come out swinging. Same shit, different day. Now, will you go in the apartment, or do I have to keeping standing out here in the hall, explaining this to you?"

  She didn't budge. "Testy, are we?"

  "A bit," he admitted, grasping her hips and forcing her into the apartment since she wasn't moving on her own. He stepped in behind her, relocking the door.

  "Understandable, I guess, since it's been a stressful day," she said, following him as he walked to the bedroom, watching as he kicked off his shoes and set them beside the dresser. Even with her stuff strewn about, he made sure his stuff had a proper place, always cleaning up after himself. Sometimes she wondered how at home he felt there. He seemed to always be preparing for the worst, still taking it day-by-day, like every morning he woke up expecting to be on his own again. It wasn't that she questioned his feelings for her, no… she questioned his confidence. For someone so formidable, Dante certainly thought little of himself, like he wasn't worthy.

  It baffled Gabriella, because if time had shown her anything, it was that Dante Galante was a beautiful force of nature.

  Dante plopped down on the edge of the bed, sighing. "I had my life threatened by two powerful men today—men who probably won't hesitate to kill me—while I breathed the same air as a man who previously has tried to kill me… more than once. And then we get home, and I see the asshole that stabbed me… more than once… beating the shit out of a guy I used to consider one of my closest friends. And while I probably should've stepped in, because God knows he's taken a lot of hits for me over the years, I walked away. So I wouldn't call that a stressful day. I'd call it a fucked up one."

  She frowned. "I didn't know."

  "I know you didn't. And I'm sorry for being so touchy. None of this is your fault. I shouldn't take it out on you."

  "I can take it."

  "You shouldn't have to."

  "I don't mind," she said, strolling toward him. "Besides, I might like it, you being so… rough."

  His eyes shifted to her. "Don't do that."

  "Don't do what?" she asked, using her foot to force his legs apart further so she could stand between them. "Don't change the subject like that, you mean?"

  "Yes," he said. "I'm trying to apologize and you're fucking with my head."

  Ga
briella ran her hands through his hair. "That sounds like a good idea."

  Dante's brow furrowed, like he was trying to riddle out what she meant, but she didn't give him the chance. She dropped to her knees, unzipping his pants. Dante stared at her in stunned silence as she reached into his boxers and stroked him, getting him rock hard, before taking him into her mouth. The moment her tongue came into contact with his flesh, he let out a groan, his head lolling back as he closed his eyes.

  Gabriella sucked as his hands settled on the back of her head. He didn't push her, didn't force her, merely holding onto her as she took him down her throat. It went on for a minute or so, not long at all, before Dante forced her mouth off of him. She looked up, confused, dejected, until she noticed his strained expression.

  "Do you?" he asked.

  "Do I what?"

  "Do you like it rough?"

  Oh. "Maybe."

  "Don't maybe me. It's got to be one way or the other. True or false, Gabriella."

  "Well, then… true."

  "Seriously?"

  "Yes."

  "Why didn't you tell me?"

  "I don't know."

  "You should've told me."

  She looked from him down to his lap. "Did you really stop me so we could talk? We're seriously going to talk while I'm, like… holding it?"

  "You're not fucking with me, are you?" he asked, ignoring her question. "You're not just telling me what you think I want to hear?"

  "Of course not."

  Before Gabriella could say another word, Dante pulled her completely off of him, nearly knocking her down as he stalked out of the bedroom. What the freak?

  "Where are you going?" she called after him.

  "Hold on," he yelled. "Don't move."

  She ignored that, standing up to follow him.

  Dante stepped out of the bathroom, eyebrows raised. "Didn't I just tell you to not move?"

  "My boyfriend," she said, pointing at him. "Not my boss."

  He held up a condom. "Had to get one of these."

  "Oh."

  "Because, you see," he said, stepping to her, not stopping, backing her up into the bedroom again. "I've been dying to fuck you senseless—that back-breaking, heart-stopping, pussy-aching kind of fucking that makes you forget how to speak, how to think, how to breathe…"

  "Oh," she said again, this time breathless, heat rushing through her, flushing her cheeks and pooling in her gut, an ache stirring up. "You want to…?"

  "I've been taking it easy," he said, "and if you're telling me I don't have to, that I can fuck you the way I've been yearning to fuck you, then you're goddamn right I want to."

  The back of her legs hit the edge of the bed. He stood right in front of her, eye-level while still in her heels.

  "I can take it," she whispered. "If you can dish it."

  The second those words were from her lips, Dante grabbed her, dragging her onto the bed. Gone was the soft grip, the slowly tracing fingertips, the gentle lips, replaced by strong hands and a rough kiss. She'd seen little glimpses of his passion all along, but he'd kept it locked up for the most part. Maybe he hadn't wanted to scare her. Maybe he'd been afraid to hurt her. But she wasn't afraid, and unless the ache between her thighs counted, she wasn't in agony, either.

  This was the Dante that faced death and survived, the Dante that had been tortured and persevered. The Dante that fought, that endured. The Dante that never buckled, no matter what.

  She longed for that Dante.

  She longed for all of him.

  Dante flipped her over onto her stomach, the condom wrapper crinkling as he ripped it open, rolling it on. An arm snaked beneath her, snatching her hips up off the bed as he shoved her dress up.

  "Fuck." His voice was a strained whisper as his hand ran over her bare cheek, roughly squeezing it. "I forgot you weren't wearing underwear."

  Tingles coursed through Gabriella, rippling down her spine as she arched her back, letting out a soft moan when he pushed inside of her. He gripped onto her, holding her in place as he slid in and out, moving excruciatingly slow, pausing with just the tip touching before pushing back in. Over and over, again and again, until she was in agony, until she squirmed, desperate for more, on the verge of begging. "What are you doing?"

  "Watching."

  "Watching what?"

  "Myself disappearing inside of that gorgeous pussy."

  "Can you watch yourself do it a little harder?"

  "I could."

  He kept his tormenting pace—if anything, moving slower, lingering longer before pushing back in. She tried to shove back against him but he kept his grip on her, controlling the pace. "Dante…"

  "Tell me what you want, baby."

  "You," she said. "More of you."

  "You've already got all of me."

  "Ugh, please," she whined. "Harder. Faster. You're supposed to be, ugh…"

  "Fucking you? Is that what you mean?"

  "Yes!"

  "Tell me you want me to fuck you and I will."

  "I want you to."

  "Want me to what?"

  She realized what he was doing, what he was trying to get her to say. He pulled out, pausing again, toying with her. She could even hear the amusement in his voice, the light laughter in his words, as he teased her.

  Two can play that game.

  "I swear, Dante Galante, if you don't give it to me like I want, I'll go find someone else who—uh!"

  He drove into her so hard it knocked the words out of her, the air leaving her lungs in a gasp, his grip so hard she was sure he'd leave fingerprint bruises along her skin.

  Before Gabriella could get her bearings, Dante started pounding into her, not letting up, each thrust harder… faster… deeper. He let go of her long enough to gather her hair, to sweep the waves back, wrapping them around one of his hands, fisting and tugging, pulling her head back, not enough to hurt but enough that she had no choice but to comply. Her back arched further, his free arm snaking beneath her, again pinning her hips in place against him as he slammed into her from behind. "This what you wanted?"

  "Oh God," she gasped. "Yes."

  "Wrong," he growled, a harsh edge to that word that made Gabriella shiver. "If you can still talk, I'm not fucking you hard enough."

  She didn't think it possible, but he increased his pace, his touch rougher against her skin. His hand slipped down, fingers rubbing her clit, as his other hand pulled on her hair, tilting her head to the side as he leaned over her. Her eyes fluttered closed, cries escaping her throat, louder every time he filled her.

  "Open your eyes," he said. "I want you to look at me, so you remember it's me fucking you, since you seem to think you need to go out and find someone else to give you what you want."

  She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision. Her eyes watered, the sensations flowing through her intense. She held his gaze, his stare penetrating, burning through her, igniting a fire deep down.

  "You okay?" he asked, his voice low.

  She nodded, whispering, "Yes."

  A smile tugged the corner of his mouth as he leaned further forward, kissing her hard, teeth nipping at her bottom lip before he said, "That sounded like another word to me."

  Dante let go of her hair, the locks unraveling from his fist, falling around her shoulders, as his hand gripped the back of her neck, shoving her chest down against the bed, her face against the pillow. He hiked her bottom half up higher, shifting position, pinning her against the mattress. The first time he thrust, she let out a shriek so loud it stung her throat. Burying her face in the pillow, trying to muffle her own sounds, she fisted the sheets as he beautifully brutalized her body, destroying and rebuilding every inch of her with his touch, with his thrusts.

  Orgasm erupted inside of her, her body convulsing, as the sound of skin slapping echoed around them. Dante cursed under his breath, his pace slipping momentarily. "Feel good?"

  She could do nothing but squeal, letting out incoherent noises, as the ripples of pleasure wove
through her. Dante laughed, thrusting a few more times before grunting, slamming into her as he let loose.

  Gabriella slid down flat against the bed when he pulled out. The muscles in her thighs twitched, the spot between them throbbing, aching from the battering. The bed shifted, Dante disappearing.

  She rolled over onto her back and stared up at the bland white ceiling, colored splotches marring her vision whenever she blinked. Dante returned, his pants unbuckled, barely hanging on. He smirked as he undid his white button down. "You look thoroughly fucked, baby."

  She propped up on her elbows. Her dress was still hiked up, probably flashing him all the goods, but she couldn't find it in her to care. He'd seen every inch of it up close and personal on more than one occasion. "I feel that way."

  Best Christmas present ever.

  He pulled off the shirt, tossing it in the hamper, before letting his pants drop. He kicked them off, also putting them away. Gabriella's eyes scanned him, standing there in his black boxers and white undershirt, a heck of a lot more put together than she felt.

  "What do you want to do?" he asked. "It's still early."

  The sun was just setting outside, casting long shadows along the room, everything growing dim. They'd agreed not to make a big deal out of the holidays, so they had no plans. Gabriella knew he wasn't ready for all of that, not ready to celebrate without his family.

  "Sleep," she said. "For like, a week."

  "Sleep sounds nice," he said, taking off his watch as he stepped over to the bed, setting it on the stand. Gabriella's eyes trailed him, unabashedly staring at his backside as he faced away from her. She was so lost in a euphoric post-coital haze, thanks to the flood of endorphins, that it took her a moment to realize it when Dante tugged his white undershirt off. As soon as it clicked, Gabriella's eyes glided along the bare skin on his back.

  Whoa.

  They'd been together for months, technicality of titles aside, and they were living together now, but in all that time, he'd never taken that shirt off in front of her like that. He kept his chest covered, like it had become second nature to him, layering clothing like a second skin, shielding his scars from prying eyes. She never pressed the issue, knowing it made him uncomfortable. He slept with a shirt on. He had sex with a shirt on. For all she knew, he might even shower with a shirt on. Of course, he changed clothes, sometimes with her in the room, but this was deliberate.