by Lia Lee
“Don’t want to forget that,” he jokes, and I laugh. He takes a seat and then watches me, motioning for me to try it.
It smells amazing, and I hope it tastes nearly as good. It would be awkward if this was terrible after all of the effort Dante put into it. But of course, it’s amazing, an explosion of flavors erupting on my tongue. I chew and swallow and smile at Dante.
“You’re a very good cook,” I tell him, and he grins. He reaches over and takes my hand, pressing a warm kiss to my palm before letting go and digging into his own dinner. It’s a long, relaxed, luxurious meal, and we talk and eat until the penthouse grows dark, lit only by the flickering flames of the candles and the under cabinet lighting in the kitchen.
Our conversation comes to a lull, and it’s impossible to miss the expression on Dante’s face, the intensity in his eyes. He stands up and holds his hand out for me, and I stand up and take it. He bends his head down and claims my lips, and his kiss reaches deep into my soul, breaking me and giving me life all at the same time. When he swings me up into his arms, I can’t make myself stop kissing him, and he doesn’t seem interested in stopping, either. He carries me across the penthouse, into his bedroom, and when he pulls my top off and then lowers his hands to my waistband, I notice that his hands are shaking, just a little. If he’s feeling even a tenth of the maddening need, the insane connection between us, then he’s feeling overwhelmed, too.
But why would he?
I shove the thought away. This moment. Take this moment. Love this man for as long as you’re able, because each moment is precious and there are so few of them left.
I kiss him, determined to tell him without words what I already know in my heart: that I’m utterly, completely, helplessly in love with him.
***
Dante
I’m out of my mind needing Samantha. I can’t touch her enough, running my hands down her curvaceous hips, over her rounded ass, squeezing it, molding it in my hands and pulling her closer to me. Closer, because there’s no such fucking thing as too close where she’s concerned. Even when I’m inside her, I swear sometimes it’s not close enough.
I pull her bra off, and now she’s standing there naked, looking up at me with those sweet, dark eyes, eyes that, despite my best intentions, I haven’t managed to wipe the innocence and trust from. And now I don’t want to. I want her to stay exactly as she is, and I want to know that for the rest of her life, she’ll remember the things we did together.
I’m not fucking ready to give her up yet. I know I never will be. I put it all into worshipping her. I bend and kiss, lick, then gently suck one pert nipple, then the other, and she squirms in my arms in a way that has me so hard I feel like I’m going to lose my mind. I turn her around and bend her over, so she’s bent at the hips.
“Hold onto the bedpost, baby,” I say, and I can hear the desperate growl in my voice. She obeys instantly.
Because she’s mine.
I shove the thought away. She’s there, bent over, gorgeous ass in the air.
“Spread your legs,” I tell her, and she does.
Now. That’s what I wanted. Her sweet pussy is right there for the taking. I know she thinks I’m going to fuck her like this, but I’ve got so much more in mind.
I kneel behind her and press a kiss to her cunt, and she cries out in need and surprise.
“Stay just like that,” I murmur. And then I’m licking her, long and slow, and she screams as my tongue slides over her clit. I do it again, and again, and her legs are shaking and it’s the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever experienced. She’s helpless the way she’s standing, spread and open for me, no choice but to take the intense pleasure I’m giving her.
My cock is so hard it hurts, but tonight is about her. Tonight is about making sure that, long after she’s left me, she remembers. It’s about making sure no man will ever make her feel as good as I do. Yeah, I’m a bastard. Part of her will always belong to me, no matter where she goes. She’s gonna remember me.
The idea of her forgetting me makes my heart twist in agony. I know I’m never going to forget her.
When she comes, she comes screaming, trembling, gripping the bedpost as I worship her.
“Please, Dante,” she begs. “Please. I need you.”
There's no way I can deny her when she says it so sweetly, even if I wanted to. I stand up, pick her up, and settle her onto the bed, on top of the duvet. I love looking at her, love the way her long, silky hair spreads out on my pillow. And right now, her face is flushed, she’s trembling, and she’s breathless, and I just stare. I’m pretty sure this is what heaven looks like.
I slowly take off my clothes, watching her face as I do. She’s so expressive, and the way she bites her lip when my cock springs free of my pants nearly undoes me. Ordinarily, I take her hard and fast, almost ruthlessly, and she loves it.
Tonight, I’m gonna make it last.
Eyes locked with hers, I climb onto the bed. She opens her legs for me, and it crosses my mind that I’ve trained her well. She reads me like a book, and she’s always so damn happy to give to me. I settle myself between her thighs and look down at her, taking in her hair, her eyes, her lush curves, her full breasts with their luscious, dusky nipples. I can’t stop looking at her, and she’s doing the same to me. Even knowing that she’s looking at me makes my balls ache for the release only she can give me. No other woman will ever make me feel this way.
And like an asshole, I’m going to let her walk out of my life. Because we’d never work in the real world. This is pretend. This is a dream, and here, she’s mine.
I run my hands down her body, from her shoulders, over her breasts, down her sexy, rounded stomach, until I reach between her legs and cup her. She cries out, eyes still locked with mine. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her that she belongs to me, that her sweet cunt, her entire gorgeous body, her heart, her soul…all of it belongs to me. But I don’t, because I have no claim on her.
I drag my thumb over her clit, and she cries out. I make her come with my fingers, thrusting them into her, torturing her clit, until she’s almost out of her mind from the intensity of her orgasms. She’s got this glazed look in her eyes, and I know that look now. I could do anything to her at this point. She’s mine completely. I’ve done some dirty-ass shit to her when she’s gotten to this point, things I know no other man will ever get her to do again.
But tonight, all I want is to be inside her.
I pull on a condom and enter her in one long, slow thrust, and we both groan in ecstasy as I fill her. We start moving, slow, languid, drawing apart only to crash back together again, eyes locked together, her hands gripping my shoulders, my hands on her hips. I angle my hips just a little, and with the next thrust, I hit her in the spot I know will make her lose her mind, and she cries my name. I do it again, and again, and again, and each time, my name is on her lips. She closes her eyes in her ecstasy, and I stop moving.
“No, no, baby. Look at me,” I murmur, and she opens her eyes. I can see it all in her eyes, her intense pleasure, the fear, the same fear as mine, that it’s too much, too intense, too good to last.
I’m goddamn going to make it last.
I start moving again. A few more thrusts, and I feel her clench around me, and then she’s screaming my name, thrashing beneath me, but like a good girl, she’s keeping her eyes on me.
“You’re so good, Samantha. So damn perfect,” I murmur as she comes down. I lower myself so I’m fully on top of her, taking most of my weight on my elbows, but I can feel her lush tits pressed against my chest. She’s still trembling from the intensity of her orgasm, and I’m so damn close. I stop thrusting into her and lower my lips to hers, kissing her, tasting her, whispering how beautiful she is while I calm down. I don’t want this to end, and she deserves every damn bit of pleasure I can give her.
When I start moving again, I drive us both to the edge of insanity, and we come together, hard, our voices mingling as we cry out in release. And when I fi
nally collapse on top of her, I do it knowing I gave her everything I’m able to just now.
I also know it’s not enough. She deserves so much more.
Chapter Eleven
Samantha
Our last week together almost feels like a frenzy of desperation, of me needing to get as much of him as I can. Our sex life, which was already active, becomes almost non-stop, and I take every bit of Dante I can get. As the days tick by, I feel dread settling into my stomach.
How am I going to exist after Dante?
I push the thought away, over and over again, because it’s a pointless question. I’m going to exist because I have to, because he made this second chance possible and I’m going to make the most of it.
It’s our last night together, and we spend it the way we began this whole thing: with me escorting him to an event. His assistant, Susan, brought my gown earlier, and it hangs in my closet, gold silk shimmering in the emptiness.
All of my other clothes have been packed away, shipped off to my apartment.
At midnight, this is over. The contract ends, the money is released into my account. Done.
The emptiness around me matches my mood. I feel lost, like I don’t know what’s real and what’s not, and I don’t know where I fit into the world anymore. How am I supposed to go back to my old life after Dante Knight? I’m not the same anymore. I’ve fallen in love with a man I never should have even met in the first place. I’ve given him everything, including my virginity. I’ve done things for him and let him do things to me that I never imagined doing. He knows my body better than anyone else ever will.
No, I’m not the same. The girl who walked into the Calla Club a month ago, dreading what her life was becoming and, in her innocence, still believing in happily ever after, is gone. She disappeared in a flurry of lust-filled nights in Dante’s arms, caught up in Dante’s world.
And now I’m supposed to go back to my life like none of it ever happened?
My stomach has been in knots since I fell asleep in Dante’s arms last night.
He hasn’t asked me to stay.
He hasn’t asked to see me after this is over.
I swear sometimes that I see something in his eyes that looks almost like love. Maybe affection, at the very least, but I’m fooling myself. If he cared, he would have at least hinted at the idea of our seeing one another after it’s all over.
I force myself to stop thinking about it. It is what it is, and I have one more evening on his arm. I’ll do my job. I’ll be the perfect arm candy for the handsome construction tycoon.
I’ll pick myself up and get over him.
I dress and do my hair and makeup. I pull my thick hair up into a chignon, keeping my makeup minimal and classic. My nails have already been painted a delicate gold that looks nearly perfect against my dress. As I pull on the gown, I glance at the dressing table. Specifically, at the yellow diamond choker and earrings there. Susan brought them and told me Dante insisted on me wearing them, something about how nice they’ll look against my skin.
I’ll miss Susan, I realize. I wonder if she knows this is the last day we’ll be dealing with one another.
Once I’m dressed, I slowly pick up the necklace and put it on. The large stone in the center of it rests in the hollow at the base of my throat. The earrings fall in delicate golden teardrops, hanging almost to my shoulders.
I look myself over.
I don’t know who this person is. She’s not me. She’s a role I’m playing, and at midnight, the curtains come down. I’m the girl who lives in jeans and bare feet, who buries her nose in romance novels or belts out the lyrics to musicals. I watch stupid movies, and my idea of a fun night is Netflix and delivery pizza.
One more night. I get my life back, plus some.
Why doesn’t this feel like a win then?
I take one more deep breath and walk out of my room. I grab my little gold bag on the way out. My wallet and keys are in it. I assume I’m going home at the end of the night.
When I step into the living room, Dante’s standing near the windows, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He rarely drinks, especially before an event, but I don’t ask. He turns to look at me, and there’s something in his eyes that makes my heart squeeze.
“You look stunning,” he murmurs.
“Thank you. So do you,” I tell him, and he gives me a small smile, dark eyes still locked to mine.
“Susan said she delivered your things to your apartment,” he says, and I force myself to look calm.
“Tell her thank you for me,” I say, and he nods.
“She said you told her to take everything,” he says.
“Well, it’s better than having her have to do it later and waste her time.”
“So you’re not staying tonight, then?”
I study him. His tone doesn’t give anything away, and his face is expressionless.
“Our agreement ends at midnight,” I say softly.
After a moment, he nods. “So it does. Your fee has been released, so it should be in your account now.”
“Thank you.”
He nods. We’ve covered business. If he has anything to say to me, anything outside the realm of the agreement we’ve made, any sign that this means more to him than a business transaction, this would be the time to say it.
I’ve stopped breathing.
“Well. We should get going then,” he says, setting his glass down. It’s like a punch to the stomach, a twist of the knife to my heart, how calmly, how casually he says it. It takes every bit of my acting skill not to let on how much he just hurt me.
He starts moving toward the door, and I follow, keeping my eyes straight ahead, my chin up.
Stupid little girl, thinking he saw you as something more than a hired escort and a convenient fuck, an insidious voice in my mind sneers. I knew better. But I wanted to believe so much more.
The ride in the limousine to the venue for the gala is mostly silent. After a while, Dante glances up at me.
“We’re almost there,” he says, and I nod.
“This gala…it’s in honor of me,” he says, and I raise my eyebrows. “I’m getting an award for my charity work. I’ve won several awards over the last few years, but this one means the most. It’s a first step toward what I want to do with my life.”
“Congratulations, Dante.”
He meets my eyes. “My father is pleased with the PR this will give the company. I know you know what this means to me. It’ll be nice having someone there who gets it.”
There’s a tightness in my chest, and I force myself not to cry. Lonely rich boy, unable to tell anyone other than his hired escort what really matters to him. I feel sorry for him, but I’m angry with him, too.
He could have someone by his side, understanding what matters to him. But as far as I can tell, he hasn’t even considered that we could have that.
“Well. Maybe you should let other people in. Let them know how deeply you care about this.”
He shakes his head. “That would require getting any of them to stop and listen.”
I don’t have an answer to that, so I go back to looking out the window.
When we arrive at the venue, the driver helps me out of the car, and Dante is by my side in an instant. There are photographers, reporters, and they start snapping photos of us immediately. Dante smiles and waves, and I manage a few smiles of my own. When we step inside, the ballroom is full of men in tuxes, women in evening gowns. A string quartet plays, and tuxedoed waiters snake between chatting groups of people, offering canapés or flutes of champagne.
***
Dante
Samantha is by my side, and I’m being honored for doing work that matters to me. This is something I’ve dreamed of, and yet none of it feels right.
I want to tell her so badly. I want to tell her I need her, that I want her to stay in my life. I want to beg her to move in with me, but I haven’t been able to say the words to her. She’s so distant tonight. When I got the c
all from Susan that she’d had Samantha’s things moved back into her apartment, it was like being sucker-punched in the balls. I can’t lose her.
But what keeps stopping me is knowing that she has plans. She wants her father to get out of this city. She wants to make a real run at her dream, and now she can. What kind of asshole would ask her to put her dreams on hold for him?
It feels like she’s already gone, and it’s killing me.
It hit me last night, holding her after we’d finally worn each other out, that I want that every night. The differences between her world and mine, all that shit that once made me so sure this couldn’t work…all of it fades away next to the prospect of losing her, of not having her sweet smile, her dark eyes, or the way she murmurs my name. She sees me, not for my money or connections, but for who I am. She doesn’t pull punches when I’m acting like an asshole, and she doesn’t let me tell her what to do. I never knew how much I needed someone like her.
And now she’s almost gone.
A good man would let her go, let her start her new life on her terms.
I’m not that good of a man.
As we make our rounds of the ballroom, I introduce her to friends and associates. She greets my father and Janet warmly, remembers my brother’s whining about his golf game and asks him about it.
I was an idiot to ever think she doesn’t fit in here.
I introduce her to people I want to work with for my charity foundation, and she listens closely to them as they prattle on about possibilities for funding and implementation. She seems genuinely interested, even asking them questions. It’s clear that they’re charmed by her, and I can’t blame them. Though if Donald Kramer doesn’t stop looking at her like that, I’m going to knock him out, no matter how much he’s promised to the foundation.
Across the room, I see a group of people I invited specifically with Samantha in mind. I excuse us, and we head through the crowd toward them.
“Samantha, this is Reginald Kirby. He’s—”