“You want to know my limit?”
“I’ll fuck you until you tell me when to stop.”
I grin, lips swollen and thoroughly satisfied. “Then get more bourbon.”
My body feels like it’s somewhere in the stratosphere, floating beyond the confines of this penthouse bed—even though I’m lying right beside him. Muscles: nonfunctional. Skin: humming. My breath has finally stopped stuttering out in ragged bursts, but the aftershocks still dance across my thighs like little electric ghosts.
We face each other on the bed, the sheets a tangled wreck beneath us. Both of us wrecked too—but in the best fucking way. Like we’ve emptied each other out and siphoned every last drop of control we had left.
At some point—hours ago—we stopped just long enough to devour Thai takeout, eating like it was fuel and we were engines in heat.
Now, we’re just… here. Still naked. Still wired.
Sweaty as the sin we just enjoyed.
Not with tenderness. Not with affection.
Just with the sharp-edged awareness that we’re very good at this.
I arch a brow, curiosity breaking through the quiet. “How the fuck can you keep going like that?”
Dante’s mouth tilts in a half smirk—lazy and knowing. “I’ve perfected orgasming without finishing.”
That earns him a skeptical lift of my chin.
“Ah,” I answer teasing. “Now I know why your Companion survey rating was so high.”
He shrugs, tenderly dragging his fingertips down my thigh, still proprietary even in the silence. “Men think orgasm and ejaculation are the same thing. They’re not. You practice for it—learn how to control it. No refractory period, no crash. I can come as many times as I want… just like women can.”
I blink. “You’re a fucking unicorn.”
He smirks. “You’re welcome.”
The quiet falls again.
But this time, it isn’t weighted in sex or sweat. It’s heavier. More rooted.
My mind edges back to yesterday. To the question he wouldn’t answer. And even now—after he’s fucked me over and over again—I still want the one answer he keeps avoiding.
So I ask, quieter this time. “Does he know you love him?”
A pause.
Then: “Yeah.”
The weight of it sits between us.
I study his face. “Do you think he loves you back?”
Dante’s jaw tightens. “I used to think so. Now I’m not sure.”
I nod slowly, letting that settle. I reach up, brush a finger along his jaw, then meet his eyes again.
“Then let’s see if we can pull the two of you back together.”
The sun is a little too bright this morning.
It slants across my office like it has something to prove, spotlighting the untouched glass of orange juice on my desk and the two aspirin beside it. I haven’t taken them yet—still deciding if I want to fix the headache or lean into it.
