by K. Street
“Dante, I-I’m cold.” Her voice brings me back to the present.
“Sorry.” I remove her panties and toss them on top of the jeans.
I stand and take in her naked form before me. Stunning. So damn beautiful. My cock is thick and aching. Hopefully, she’s too drunk to notice.
“Let’s get you into the tub.”
Once she’s settled in the warm water, I need to get the hell outta here before I jizz like a teenager.
“I’ll be right back.”
“Mmkay.” She watches her fingers wiggle in the water.
I grab her clothes so I can throw them in the washer. After I start the laundry, I go into the kitchen and reach into the cabinet under the sink for the disinfectant. Then, I get a bottle of water for Tessa and set it on the nightstand. When I return to the bathroom, her head is leaning on the edge of the tub, her eyes closed. I take a minute to clean up the mess before going over to her.
Kneeling, I push the hair from her forehead. My eyes move down her body, taking in every inch of her creamy skin. Her beautiful tits, bare pussy, and toned legs. I want to be balls deep inside her so bad, it’s fucking painful. She’s breathtaking. Slowly, my gaze moves back to her face.
“Tess,” I say, the sound of my voice causing her eyes to open, “sit up, and I’ll help you wash your hair.” The words are strained.
She dunks her head into the water, wetting her hair before sitting up. She wipes the water from her eyes. Then, she reaches for the bottle of shampoo and gives it to me. I squirt some into my palm and gradually begin working it through her hair.
“This is nice.” A small moan escapes her lips and goes straight to my dick.
I clear my throat. “Lay your head back.”
She shifts her ass forward and then dips her head into the water. I help her rinse her hair, unable to stop myself from wondering what it would feel like to tangle my fingers in the wet strands while she sucked me off.
She looks exhausted. Eyes closed and one arm braced on the edge of the tub.
“Ready to get out?”
She opens her eyes and slowly focuses on my face. “Yeah.”
I stand, reaching for her. Tessa’s wet fingers wrap around my wrists, and she pulls herself to her feet. Our eyes meet, and we hold each other’s stare. A million unspoken words flow between us. The temptation becomes almost too much.
“Dante,” she softly says my name, “thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I wrap a towel around her and help her out of the tub. “Here, you can sleep in these.” I give her the clothes.
She seems steadier on her feet, less drunk, and I need to walk away.
I reach into the medicine cabinet and take out the Tylenol. Opening the bottle, I shake two into my palm. “I’m going to put these next to the water on the nightstand. Get dressed, and get in bed. I’ll come check on you in a few minutes.”
She gives me a look that I can’t quite read, but I want to ease her mind.
“You’re sleeping in here. I’ll take the couch or sleep in one of the guest rooms. I’ll be back.”
In the kitchen, I pour myself a shot of Jack and will my dick to calm down. I shoot the whiskey and pour another before capping the bottle. After the second shot, I go check on Tessa, only to find her burrowed beneath the blankets, passed out, damp hair spread across the pillow. My cock hardens again.
One of these days, I’ll have her in my bed, conscious and stone-cold sober.
I barely sleep at all because I get up to check on her several times throughout the night. The only thing that keeps me from crawling into bed with her is knowing she hasn’t forgiven me yet. The last thing I want to do is give her another reason not to trust me.
twenty-one
Tessa
As soon as I open my eyes, pain ricochets through my head. On instinct, my hands go to my forehead, as if they possess the power to stop the jackhammer splitting my skull. My mouth tastes like something died in it. I let out a groan and fold the pillow over my face. A minute or two goes by, and the sensation that I’m being watched creeps over me. I open my eyes again to find Dante staring at me.
“Oh God.” Last night barrels toward me at a hundred miles an hour.
“Nope, just me,” he jokes, trying to ease my embarrassment, as if he can see the blush on my cheeks. He comes closer and sits on the edge of the bed. “I have something for you. Try to sit up.”
My head hurts too much to think. I release the pillow, and at a snail’s pace, I maneuver into a sitting position and cross my legs. My face is a grimace, and it only deepens when he shoves a small glass at me.
“What is that?”
“Pickle juice.”
“Pickle juice?”
“Yes. Trust me. Just drink it. I promise it’ll help.”
At this point, I have nothing to lose, so I take the glass. “Bottoms up.” Scrunching my nose, I tip up the glass, downing the liquid. “Ew.”
“Stop being dramatic. It’s not that bad.” He laughs.
“Please tell me there is actual science involved in this theory of yours.”
“It’s common knowledge.”
“No. I’m pretty sure it’s not.” At least, I’ve never heard of it, but I’m more of a social drinker. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been hungover in my life, and two of those, including now, have been within the last four months.
“Me, Trevor, and some college buddies did a road trip to New York one summer.”
I don’t flinch when he says Trevor’s name, and it feels like some sort of victory. “I sense a story.”
The smirk on his face says it all.
“You know what? On second thought, I don’t even want to know.”
He laughs again. “Why don’t you get dressed? I’ll take you out for lunch, and then we’ll go get your car.”
“Lunch?” My eyes grow wide. Oh, shit. “My par—”
“Relax, Tessa. I called your dad last night to let him know you were safe. And, yes, lunch. It’s nearly noon. Your clothes are on the dresser.”
“Thanks.” Wait. What? “You did my laundry?” In all the years Trevor and I were married, he never did laundry. Either I did it or we sent it out.
“I did, but about that…” He looks away before meeting my gaze again. “I hope you weren’t too attached to that shirt you were wearing. It shrunk. A lot.” His eyes are apologetic.
“Not at all,” I assure him.
“Anyway, there’s a T-shirt on top of your jeans.”
He stands to his feet, and I give him the empty glass.
“I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
“Take your time.” He walks out, pulling the door closed behind him.
I grab my clothes and purse from the dresser, and then I go into the bathroom. As crazy as it sounds, given the hangover, I see myself clearly for the first time in weeks.
I’m going to have to deal with all the unraveled ends of my life, and I need to start with forgiving Dante. I know in my heart that he didn’t know about the baby. I’ve already forgiven him, but he doesn’t know it, and I need to tell him.
I hate what I’ve turned into, and I’m so tired of being angry all the time. The woman staring back at me, she’s not who I really am. She’s not who I want to be. I know I need to get my shit together. Drowning myself at the bottom of a bottle doesn’t solve anything. Right now, I just want to unburden my soul—and then go to get some greasy food to absorb the remnants of a bad decision.
Warmth heats my cheeks at the memory of last night. Dante saw every inch of me. Completely naked. Body and soul. It should embarrass me, but for reasons I can’t understand…it doesn’t.
After I splash some water on my face, I dress quickly and then hunt through my purse for a hair tie.
Dante is sitting on the sofa but stands when I enter the room. “Ready?”
The greasy food can wait a few more minutes. “Actually, I want to talk to you.”
I take a seat on the couch, and he si
ts next to me.
He keeps his expression neutral. “Shoot.”
I suck in a deep breath and begin, “Dante, about last night.”
“Tess—”
“Please,” I say, cutting him off, “I need to get this out.”
“Okay.”
“Thank you. I’m not sure what would’ve happened if you hadn’t shown up. I wanted a night to forget, and I took it a little too far.” Spotting a loose thread on the edge of my borrowed shirt, I start to fidget with it.
He leans toward me a little and reaches to place his hand on top of mine. Instinctively, my eyes meet his. A jolt moves through me, and the air around us changes.
“Tessa,” he says my name softly, reverently, “as long as it is within my power, I’ll do whatever I can to keep you safe.”
His penetrating gaze burns through me. I can almost feel his breath on my skin.
I stare back at him with the same intensity. I need him to feel the weight of my words. It’s time. “I forgive you…for not telling me. I know you were trying to protect me.” I search for a way to explain it. “I was in shock and so angry. I needed someone to hurt the way I was hurting, and the only person I could lash out at was you.” Tears prick my eyes. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you these last months.” A lone tear falls. “I’m so sorry, Dante.”
His hand cups my face, and he brushes the pad of his thumb over my cheek. “Don’t cry, Tess.” His arms wrap around me, drawing me into an embrace. Pressing his lips to the top of my head, his gravelly voice barely above a whisper, he says, “I’ll always be here. Even when you think you don’t need me.”
My stomach growls loudly, breaking the moment, and we both laugh.
He stands and asks, “What are you in the mood for?”
“There’s a really great diner that serves breakfast all day,” I suggest, “or there’s always Cracker Barrel.”
He grabs his keys, we walk out the door, and get into his car.
“Which way to the diner?”
I sidle up beside him. “Turn left at the end of the street.” I give him a smile that says he chose wisely. Despite the lingering hangover, for the first time in what feels like forever, a sense of peace washes over me.
twenty-two
Dante
I comb through the same file I’ve been going over off and on for a week. I’m not any closer to easing the nagging feeling in the pit of my gut.
I open a different manila folder and pick up the photograph of Kyndal Montgomery. Platinum-blonde hair, deep-red lips, and tits as fake as her spray-on tan. On the surface, Kyndal is the stuff of teenage wet dreams. Beneath the shiny veneer is the soul of a woman I’m certain Satan spawned. She’s the daughter of Clive Montgomery, who just happens to be a client of Salinger and Salinger. And Trevor’s fucking mistress—at least, she was.
A knock sounds on the door.
Shit. I didn’t realize how late it was.
“I’ll be right there,” I quickly call out, shoving the loose papers and photograph into the manila folder before I answer the door.
Bags hang heavily from Tessa’s arms. I take them from her and step back, so she can come inside.
“Sorry about that. I’m trying to get caught up on work.”
“It’s okay,” she says. Making herself at home, she heads for the kitchen.
I watch the sway of her hips as I fall in step behind her. My eyes never stray from her perfect ass.
“Did you invite anyone else?”
There’s enough food to feed a small village. I set the bags on the counter and look at her.
Tessa laughs at my question. “Yesterday, when I told my mom I was coming here for dinner, she wanted to know what we were having. I told her I was going to pick up something. She insisted that wouldn’t do, so we went to the store this morning and spent the whole day in the kitchen together.”
“It smells amazing, but you didn’t need to do this. We could’ve eaten takeout.”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve spent all day in the kitchen with my mom. It was nice. Besides, I’m sure you could use a home-cooked meal.” Steam rises from the still-warm containers as she starts taking the lids off. “Put this one in the fridge. It’s dessert.”
I take it from her, open the fridge, and slide it in. “Do you want something to drink?” I offer, grabbing a beer for myself.
“I brought wine.” She smiles, holding up a bottle. “Open it?”
“Sure.” It takes a minute of digging through drawers to locate a corkscrew.
We work in silence as Tessa plates lasagna, salad, and bread, and I pour her wine. I open the back door and carry our drinks out to the patio table before coming back inside to grab napkins and help her with the food.
Once we’re seated, I take a bite of lasagna and try not to moan. “Damn, woman. This is amazing.”
“Thanks,” she says, taking a small bite of her own food. “I haven’t made lasagna in a while. It always sounds good, and then I remember how labor-intensive it is.” She laughs.
“That’s what my mom always said.”
“How is she?” Tessa asks.
I realize it’s been quite a while since we’ve talked.
“Last I heard, she was living it up in Florida.”
My mom, Katerina, was young when she fell in love with Grant Salinger. She did the best she could, raising me on her own. Grant would send a check every month, but it wouldn’t go far, and my mother had her pride. When I left for college, she saw it as her chance to have the life she’d missed out on while raising me. We talk every few months but haven’t visited each other in a couple years.
Wanting to change the subject, I ask, “Have you given any thought to going back to Chicago?” I’m not sure she thinks of it as home anymore.
“Soon.” She sips her wine and then looks at me.
My fork halts halfway to my mouth. “How soon is soon?” I’ll need to contact the realtor handling the rental.
“Probably sometime in the next week.” She wipes her mouth with the napkin. “I can’t keep living in limbo. It’s impossible to move forward until I face what I left behind.”
“Tessa, there isn’t a time limit. You don’t have to do anything before you’re ready.” I put the food in my mouth.
“I can’t keep burying my head in the sand. No matter how much I don’t want to face it, life does in fact move on.” She quietly says the last part.
“Do you have a plan?”
“I need to clean out the condo. Figure out what to do with all of Trevor’s things.” She stares off into the distance, lost in her own thoughts.
“Do you want some help?” My question pulls her back to the present.
She looks at me. “Can I let you know? It’s just…part of me feels like I need to handle it on my own.”
“Whatever you need.”
“Okay,” she breathes the word out, almost sighing in relief.
“Okay,” I agree.
We finish our food, enjoying the quiet and each other’s company.
After dinner, we carry everything inside, and Tessa puts the lids back on the containers before carrying them to the counter next to the fridge. Before she can open the door, I walk up behind her and reach into the cabinet over her head, taking out two coffee cups. For a brief second, my chest brushes against her back.
I set the cups on the counter and step away, so she can put the food up. Her cheeks flush when she turns around.
We’re standing inches apart. There’s the smallest trace of sauce on the corner of her mouth. I run the pad of my thumb over the place where her lips meet. Then, I lift that same thumb to my own mouth and suck the sauce from the tip. She releases a gasp.
She closely watches me, her eyes locked on my lips. I grip her chin between my thumb and forefinger, tilting her face upward. She’s got this look in her eyes, begging me to kiss her but pleading with me not to at the same time. I lean in a little closer, forcing her into the counter, as my other hand sn
akes around the side of her neck. Her pulse quickens beneath my touch. She doesn’t pull away. Sliding my palms to cup her cheeks, I bend down and softly brush my lips against hers. Then, I pull back.
“What do you want, Tessa?” I ask, giving her time to find the answer.
“Kiss me,” she whispers.
I brush my mouth over hers again and break away. “Like that?”
“More.”
My hand moves to the back of her head, angling her exactly how I want her, while my other arm goes around her back, pressing her into me. My mouth drops to hers, and I nip her bottom lip before slipping inside. A small gasp comes from her as my tongue sweeps over hers. She’s the sweetest fucking thing I’ve ever tasted. Her arms wrap around my neck, fingers tugging at the ends of my hair, dragging me closer.
Fuck me. I knew this is how it would be with her.
My hands glide down to her ass, lifting her onto the countertop, never breaking the kiss. I kiss her long and deep, unleashing years of want and need, until I’m certain her lips are swollen and bruised. Until the need for oxygen becomes too great, and we have no choice but to come up for air.
I press my forehead to hers. We’re both panting hard; breathing the same air. She draws back, putting space between our bodies.
“Tess—”
She holds up a finger. “I need a minute.”
“Okay.” I step back and run a hand through my hair, gripping at the roots. “Okay.”
She climbs off the counter. Her strides are quick, like she can’t get away fast enough. She goes into the guest bathroom, shuts the door behind her, and clicks the lock into place.
twenty-three
Tessa
My lips tingle with awareness, and I press my hand against my swollen lips, as if the pressure alone could stop the feel of Dante’s mouth on mine. Guilt washes over me.
Why did I let him kiss me? Why didn’t I stop him? Why did I kiss him back?
I don’t feel a sense of loyalty to Trevor, but Dante is his brother, which makes it feel wrong.
“Tess?” Dante’s voice calls from the other side of the door.