I never imagined Dante could feel this intensely about anything. Over time, as I started noticing the subtleties, I realized he wasn’t as boring as I’d assumed, but this… thisfirein him, I hadn’t seen it coming.
He wants it as much as I do, if not more. It lingers in the cadence of his voice, that barely perceptible tremor beneath his carefully measured words, a secret he can’t fully hide.
I bite my lower lip, my hands gliding under the back of my neck as I pull out my hair, letting it sprawl across the blazer. My eyes snap to the other boxes with pants and shoes in them, and no matter how magnetic the pull is for me to reach them, that spark of rebellion takes over, clouding my mind.
A thought takes over, as I wonder if he’d actually do what I’m thinking about if he were here. If he’d punish me for not wearing the full set, for not completely bending under his rules.
Shifting my legs from one side to another, I almost roll my eyes at the wetness that pools between them. Tingles that spread are nearly unbearable to endure, begging me to put my hand there, to dosomething.
“Now what?” I ask, silently cursing myself for how shaky my voice is. I don’t want to fully give up control, but my body betrays me. With how wobbly, sloppy, and shaky I am, I’m practically willingly giving him everything that’s left.
“Are you sure all the boxes are empty?” he probes.
A wicked smirk pulls up my lips, and the idea resurfaces. A part of me enjoys the thrill of unknowing, of him hiding somewhere close yet so far away, but another part wants him to be here, to see the smirk, the gleam in my eyes—everything that will bring back the beast I saw in the hotel room.
“I don’t know,” I answer, unable to stop the smirk from growing bigger.
A thrill coils deep in my chest, twisting and turning, growing sharper with every second. It carries with it a mischievous, almost childlike impulse—a desperate urge to kick my feet, to giggle uncontrollably, to surrender to the chaos bubbling under my skin. The sensation is so vivid, so unrelenting, that I have to grab the sheet, folding it tightly between my fingers, twisting and wrinkling the fabric.
A low, deep chuckle comes from the other side of the phone. Dark and dangerous, it reverberates with the weight of beginnings I’m not sure I’m ready for, laced with promises that send tiny shivers crawling along my spine.
The smirk that had been tugging at my lips vanishes, replaced by an almost instinctive seriousness. My muscles soften, slacken, betraying me, leaving me more vulnerable than I intend. The truth is undeniable—Iampoisoned, utterly undone, and it isn’t just the anticipation.
It’s the sound of his voice, seeping into me, binding me, leaving me weak and strangely willing.
“Very interesting,” he muses, each word laced with a subtle, tantalizing flavor, dripping with a slow, irresistible seduction that makes my mouth ache to taste it. “I think it’s going to be fair, don’t you? To give you onlyhalfof what you want from here, for that rebellious spark of yours.”
A sharp pang of frustration slices through me, nearly ripping a whine from my throat. I despise the way he wields the power he has over me, the way he knows that I ache for more, that I can’t get enough.
“I want you to think about it. Close those pretty eyes of yours and think about how you want this to unfold.” Closing my eyes, I inhale sharply, and he must hear it very clearly, because he hums in approval. “Just listen to my voice, Estella. Picture me walking in while you’re on your bed right now. What do you want me to do?”
I focus, the different scenarios storming through my brain, rattling any remains of rational thoughts that may have left.
“I want you to sit down on the bed near me and touch me,” I say, words followed by a soft gasp.
My mind races, firing off a dozen scenarios at once, each more vivid than the last, and I can barely keep up. I press my eyes tightly shut, desperate to lock onto just one, and a surge of electrifying heat lashes through me, setting my cheeks ablaze with a deeper, burning crimson.
I was always open about my desires, but now, I can’t say a word, can’t continue describing my fantasy. The truth is, I want him to walk in and take complete control. I want his hands all over me, in me, around me. I want to smell that perfume of his, I want to take another bite of his neck and draw blood until there will be no clean spot left on his skin.
I want him to devour me, and I want to do it back.
The brisk air from the open window sweeps across my skin, raising goosebumps in its wake, yet it barely scratches the surface, failing to reach the ice that has settled deep within my bones.
Unspeakable, inappropriate—these strong words don’t cover the intensity of what I want, not even close.
I’ve always known the darkness inside me, understood that I’m forged from it. Slice me open, and all that spills is thick, viscous blackness, a corruption that taints anyone foolish enough to come near. It’s a poison I’ve carried like a warning, something the world recoils from, something that earns nothing but judgmental stares and whispers of caution. My darkness has always been a disease, a thing to fear, to avoid—not something to be savored or shared.
But this feels different. Right now, it’s as if Dante has thrown open a door into a vast, shadowed room where only danger and void exist, a space that promises to pull you in and consume youutterly. And the terrifying, thrilling part? He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t hesitate. He steps closer, daring the blackness to claim us both.
“You want me totouchyou,” he repeats, his voice growing weaker. “To claim you and leave my marks on you until your skin will be bruised and abused from my teeth as I drag you down with me to hell.”
If hell is where nothing survives, why does it feel like the only place I can finally breathe?
I let out a sharp, frustrated exhale, my voice trapped somewhere in my chest. The words stick in my throat, refusing to surface, and a tremor snakes through me as I force my mind to cling to the fantasy instead.
Slowly, I move my hand down to my pants, pulling the fabric to the side and sliding it inside my panties. My tongue darts out to wet my dry lips before I put the skin between my teeth, stifling a moan when I touch my pussy.
I don’t remember the last time I was so wet from a bunch of fantasies.
