The Emperor (Dark Verse Book 3)

by RuNyx

  She nodded to his question. “How is my mom?”

  “Safe. Enjoying the challenge of trying to get into Tristan’s house. Mine is pretty boring for her.”

  Amara huffed a laugh, imagining it vividly. “How is he doing?”

  “Same old,” he told her, playing with her hair, his fingers holding a wild curl. “He actually bought a property in the city.”

  “In Tenebrae?”

  He shook his head. “In Shadow Port. It’s not that far from here. You should go sometime. I think he’ll like that.”

  Amara felt a flutter of excitement in her system, her heart aching at the thought of having a friend in the city, even though Tristan wasn’t a conventional one. “Does that mean he’ll be here often?”

  “I think he’ll be here a lot,” he said, his eyes taking a measure of her. “You know Gabriel Vitalio?”

  She nodded. Of course, she knew the infamous Vitalio. She was in his city.

  “He has a daughter – Morana,” he hesitated. “Tristan has a history with her. Let’s leave it at that for now.”

  Amara knew he wanted to share, but she didn’t push, knowing he would tell her if he wanted to. Changing the topic, she asked, “What about your brother? How is he?”

  There was silence for a beat before he pulled her leg over his hip, their bodies pressed together, his eyes on the ceiling. “Damien is doing good. He’s almost your age but his brain is extraordinary. His Asperger’s diagnosis has been confirmed by another doctor so they’re making special learning modules for him.”

  Amara rubbed the line of his chest. “Is he safe?”

  “Yeah,” Dante took her hand, interlinking their fingers together. “I faked his death so my fucking father wouldn’t use him as a pawn anymore. But I can’t see him for a long time. Not until Daddy dearest is dead.”

  Amara felt her heart pound, her mind absorbing the lengths this man could go to, to protect the people he loved. She forgot sometimes, in moments like this when he was soft with her, that he was still the same ruthless Dante Maroni who was rumored to have interrogated a guy for thirty hours without getting a speck of blood on his clothes. Without his clothes, naked as he was now, Amara saw him in his entirety – the man and the beast.

  “What’s that look for?” he asked quietly, tracing the palm of her smaller hand with his thumb.

  “Is it the same with me?” she asked her voice nothing more than a whisper. “That I’m off the board until your father is dead?” Yeah, she felt no remorse for thinking about the death of that man.

  Dante turned back to the ceiling, his mouth curling. “You remember what I told you about chess pieces? That I didn’t know what piece you were?”

  “Yes.”

  He turned his neck to put his eyes on hers. “You’re the queen on the board, Amara. You’re my most powerful piece, but my most vulnerable. They get you, they get me, and the game is over. So, I’ll do whatever I need to make sure they never get you. Even if that means hiding you like my dirty little secret for the time being.”

  Amara swallowed, her heart in her throat. Could she live like that? “So, what now?”

  “Now, we deflect,” he told her. “We move on with our lives. I take a mafia princess or two on a date. You take a guy or two on a date. I go about taking over the business. You go about your classes and therapy. Any eyes watching us see that we’re over. But we go home alone.” His eyes blazed on hers. “Nobody touches you, Amara, or I’ll spend a lot of time cleaning up a lot of blood.”

  “And same goes for you?” she asked, just wanting to confirm.

  “I’m not a hypocrite, baby,” he brushed her hair back from her face. “I’m not asking you to do anything I won’t be doing myself. Nobody touches me either, just you. I have an apartment in Tristan’s building. When we’re in the city, I’ll sneak away to come to see you. No phones or anywhere online, it’s all traceable. If we happen to meet during the day, you’re someone I used to know and I’m someone who broke your heart. My father can never get a whiff of the real thing.”

  Amara went up on an elbow, her heart thundering as she processed everything he was saying. He hadn’t given up on them, he had just played them all like the master manipulator he was. Could she trust him to not play her? “And in between? If you get horny?”

  He held her jaw in his hand, the gesture one of such dominance it sent fire licking at her bones. “Then, I wrap my fist around my cock and remember how tight your pussy felt, and I come.”

  His other hand slid down her body, cupping her between her legs, the heat of his palm stark against her wetness. “It’s that simple, baby. I’m not a slave to my desires, they’re a slave to me.”

  Amara processed that, looking at the sincerity and openness on his face, the kind she’d rarely seen him give to anyone for a long time. He had perfected his mask of a charming, easy-going, easily underestimated guy. Laying bare as he was, she could see how much he hid – the manipulation, the shrewdness, the sincerity.

  His eyes moved over her face. “What I’m offering is not what you deserve, but for your own safety I can’t give more than this right now. I don’t even know when I could give you what you do deserve. There’s no timeline to this, so it won’t be easy. But you get to choose. If you don’t want this, tell me now. I’ll walk away and I’ll stay away, and you’ll never have to deal with me again.”

  She didn’t want that. She wanted him. She wanted a future with him even if she didn’t know what it looked like. It was a risk and if it backfired, Amara didn’t think she’d be able to recover from that loss.

  “And if I want this?” she asked him softly, hand fingers wrapped around his wrist, feeling his steady pulse under her palm. “What then? What do we do for now?”

  “We hide in the shadows for now.” Dante gave her that little grin, the one that always sent butterflies fluttering in her belly, and whispered against her lips, “So, will you play with me, my queen?”

  Amara looked into the eyes of the man she loved, saw that same love reflected back at her, and sealed their fates.

  “Yes, I will, my king.”

  They made love one more time before sunrise.

  Amara woke up to see him getting dressed, her throat tightening even as her heart felt joy. She saw as he gave Lulu a head rub and came to her, leaning on his hands beside her face.

  “I have to leave,” he told her, his eyes soft, his mouth swollen from their kisses.

  Amara nodded.

  He bent to press a kiss to her lips, then presses their foreheads together for a long second.

  And then he straightened and walked out, leaving her in her bed, with a smile on her face and a hope in her heart.

  Days became weeks.

  He came to see her five times those first few weeks. She wrapped them away in her memories.

  She saw more of him on the internet, sometimes alone, sometimes with a woman. She ignored it as he asked.

  It chipped away little pieces of her.

  Weeks became months.

  She finished school with accelerated classes, started her master’s degree, began her therapy training. Made friends with books, talked to Lulu, continued with her own therapy. Embraced her demons in the morning, grew into herself in the afternoon, found pleasure in her body at night.

  He came many times.

  He left every time.

  Chip, chip, chip.

  Months became years.

  She celebrated her twenty-second birthday with him.

  She finished her accelerated Master’s, got on her Doctorate, and studied her ass off. She spoke to her mother every other day, kept in touch with Vin and Nerea, and went to Tristan’s penthouse occasionally.

  He started spending a few days at a time with her, risking everything for one time.

  He had to force himself to leave every damn time, saving everything for next time.

  Chip, chip, chip.

  Years became six.

  With her professional evolution and personal therapy, t
wenty-five knocked on her door with blooming confidence. She finished her doctorate, started her business, got new clients, moved into an apartment she bought herself. She went out on dates, covered her scars, and wore her heels, and came home alone.

  Some days, she felt she was weak for waiting for him. Other days, she felt she was strong for waiting for him. The coin kept flipping, the only constant her deepening love for him and his maddening love for her.

  He rose in the ranks, became a true heir to the throne, and Amara felt proud.

  He never touched another woman, his heart and body and soul all hers, and Amara felt loved.

  He loved coming to her, holding her for long minutes like his arms had been famished.

  He hated leaving her, pressing his forehead to hers as her eyes burned.

  They hid in the shadows.

  Chip, chip, chip.

  Six years became seven.

  They became the roots of a tree, buried deep underground, out of sight, twined together, entangled together, strengthening each other, weakening each other, taking all the love like nourishment, storing it in secret places, all the while waiting for the tree that had been violently cut to sprout leaves again.

  It took time for forests to grow, kingdoms to build, and empires to exist. Where one was being broken, another was being molded to take its place.

  They were lovers and friends, strangers and acquaintances, all those things, none of those things.

  They just were.

  Waiting.

  Chip, chip, chip.

  Her exile never ended.

  They never truly began.

  But empires took more time to break than people, and slowly it cracked.

  (Present Day)

  “I’ll follow you

  and make a heaven out of hell,

  and I’ll die by your hand, which I love so well.”

  William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream

  She knew something was wrong the moment she saw him at her door in the middle of the day. He never came to her during the day.

  “Dante-” his mouth was on hers before she could utter more, the urgency in his kiss infusing her blood, the taste of him after weeks, weeks of not seeing him, aphrodisiac in her veins. She hadn’t seen him since the night they had the heated falling out over her telling Morana the truth about Tristan. He had come to her that night, both their tempers high, and fucked her all night through in anger that had blown into exhaustion.

  He pushed her into her new apartment – the one she’d bought herself three months ago – pushing the door close with his foot, turning her to press her against it, hard. Her balance tottered in her heels – heels she’d come to love because of how confident and powerful they made her feel, but also because every time she put one on, it reminded her of that first time.

  Before she could catch a breath, he was on his knees, her legs over his broad shoulders, her panties a scrap of fabric in his hands, ripped and discarded, and his mouth was between her legs.

  A man who ate his girl out solely for his pleasure was a different breed of dangerous, and Dante Maroni was the most dangerous of all. In all the years they had been doing this, Amara had lost count of how many times she’d woken up with his mouth between her thighs, how many times he’d bent her over just to taste her, how many times he’d pushed her against the wall to make out with her pussy. He did it for no other reason than he loved it, and he’d made her addicted to his skilled mouth, ravishing her tryst after tryst, orgasm after orgasm, hour after hour, just because he could.

  Her pussy knew him, recognized him, and drenched for him within seconds. Amara pushed her head back against the wall, his hands the only things holding her upright, and saw Lulu watching them curiously from the doorway.

  A strangled laugh escaped her, ending on a moan as he pushed his tongue inside her, his hand wrapping around her thigh to rub her clit. Fuck, he was good. So, so good.

  Amara bit her lip, grinding against his mouth, chasing her pleasure, unashamed of her body’s desire after so long with him. Some days, she still felt a twinge of guilt for never having told him the extent of her assault, or how it still affected her, how she still woke some nights drenched in sweat, a heartbeat away from screaming, and how Lulu – her sweet, loving Lulu who had grown up to her full furry body – always climbed on her chest and started purring like a motor to calm her down, her big green eyes on Amara.

  “Lulu is watching us,” she told him, tugging at his hair.

  “Let her watch,” he growled, looking up at her, the sight of him on his knees before her making her melt. “Let her watch how I’m going to fuck her mom hard against the door.”

  Oh my.

  With that, he straightened to his full height, having grown a few inches taller somehow, broader, more filled out, still towering over her in her heels. Dante Maroni as a boy had been her unrequited; Dante Maroni as a man was her undoing.

  His hands went under her ass as she unzipped his pants, taking out his hard, familiar length, feeling the heavy weight throb in her palm. He lifted her easily, lined himself up against her, and thrust home.

  Home.

  He felt like home.

  Amara felt her eyes burn and closed them, her body shuddering with the pleasure of connecting with him, her heart weeping knowing he would leave after. She shouldn’t keep doing this. She couldn’t stop doing this.

  His mouth took hers, her taste on his lips making her clench around his cock, the kiss wet, sloppy, perfect. He pulled out an inch before pistoning his cock in, her walls fluttering around him in greeting, gripping him tight, keeping him.

  “Missed you,” he pressed his forehead into hers, his eyes dark and heavy on hers. “I missed you so fucking much, dirty girl.”

  Amara felt a lump in her throat. “I missed you too,” she whispered, and his eyes roved over her face, as though memorizing her, trying to trace if anything had changed since the last time he’d seen her. The last time they’d been in the same space, tempers had been high and she’d called him a coward in her frustration of being stuck in the same loop with him because he either wasn’t moving them forward or wasn’t telling her. They hadn’t talked much that night.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured, taking in the slash of his dark brows, the wide forehead, his strong nose, shaven jaw, swollen mouth, his hair that was usually slicked back from his face falling forward as he fucked her. She took every part of him in, seeing how much he’d changed physically from a decade ago, from the twenty-year-old boy who had rooted himself in her life to the thirty-year-old man he had become.

  She knew he understood what she meant. But something was wrong. His eyes were too dark, too heavy. She’d spent enough time learning the browns in them – how the sunlight hit every fleck, turning them to burnished gold; how night made them black holes, sucking everything they saw into themselves. She knew his eyes like the scars on her wrist – every little bit memorized, imprinted on her heart.

  “Dante,” she rasped out.

  He kissed her, silencing any question on her lips, picking up his pace, lifting her higher so he hit that magical spot deep inside her, turning her liquid in his arms. Tilting her head back, she gripped his shoulders as he kissed down her neck, licking her scar like he loved to do, his mouth wrecking her heart. Over the years, he had kissed every inch of her body, seen every one of her physical scars, and lavished them with love like they were the most beautiful badges of bravery. They were her veins of gold, he’d said so many times.

  Losing herself to the pleasure, Amara felt the tingling start in her toes, heat scorching the base of her spine as the friction drove her deeper and deeper into the abyss.

  “Fuck, your pussy has been hungry,” Dante muttered, his own pleasure loosening the filthy thoughts in his head. “She’s missed me, hasn’t she?”

  “Yeah,” Amara panted, trying to push back against him but he kept her pinned in place, hammering into her, the door shaking behind her with each thrust.

  “Fuc
k yeah,” he licked the line of her neck, biting her pulse point, sending sparks of ecstasy through her bloodstream. “So horny, you’re dripping all over me.”

  Dirty-talking Dante was her kryptonite. She went crazy when he talked like that.

  “What are you going to do about it?” she challenged, clamping her walls deliberately around him as he entered her again.

  He bit her jaw in retaliation. “Own this pussy,” he grit out, changing the angle, the speed. “Own you. Fucking all of you. So deep you won’t get me out.”

  Fat chance of that.

  She bit her lips as he lifted her higher, taking her hardened nipple into his mouth through her dress, the fabric rubbing wet against her sensitive flesh. Her nerves caught fire.

  “Oh god,” she whimpered, her voice straining as he hit her g-spot again, and she exploded all around him, gasping for breath, her walls clenching and squeezing him, her body shaking as he kept thrusting in and out, over and over.

  “Just like that,” he groaned, burying his face in her neck, his motion roughening. “Come on my cock, baby. Fucking soak me. Mark me.”

  She kept coming as he hit her spot, over and over again, before he exploded inside her, soaking her walls with his seed, pushing in as deep as he could go.

  They stayed there for a few seconds, catching their breaths, the intensity of the experience still making her shiver as he stayed lodged inside her, his face in her neck, pressing soft, sweet kisses to her skin. This, this was exactly why she had been waiting for him, for so many years. Months of separations dissolved in the moments of connection, so true, so raw, so pure, she knew she would never have it again. There was no other Dante for her, and she knew there was no other Amara for him.

  He lifted his head, cupping her face, his eyes moving over her. “I’m sorry too. I have to go.”