And what? Kiss him? Touch him? Let him touch me?
The thought sent another jolt of heat through me, and I had to adjust myself again with a grimace. This was insane. I was losing my mind. The stress of the past few weeks had finally broken something in my brain.
But even as I tried to rationalize it away, I couldn’t stop thinking about the look in Dante’s eyes when he’d realized I’d seen him. The flush on his face. The way he’d said my name, rough and desperate.
He’d been thinking about me. That’s what that tone of surprise meant, right? He’d been getting himself off and thinking about me.
The realization hit me like a physical blow. Dante Valenti, the mobster from New Jersey who’d bought me like property,wantedme. Not just as a business arrangement or a warm body in his bed. He wanted me. Nick Wesley.
And God help me, some traitorous part of me wanted him back.
By the time I reached the creek, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I glanced around, making sure I was completely alone, before I ducked behind a stand of pine trees and unbuckled my jeans.
I freed my cock with shaking hands, the cool air hitting overheated skin. My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat, and for a moment I just stood there, jeans around my thighs, wondering what the hell I was doing.
But I couldn’t stop. Not now. Not with the image of Dante burned into my brain, his dark eyes watching me from that bed, his body on display like some kind of offering.
I wrapped my hand around myself, and the first stroke pulled a gasp from my throat that I had to bite back. I leaned against atree trunk, the rough bark digging into my shoulder as I worked myself with quick, desperate movements.
This was wrong. This was so fucking wrong. I was jerking off in the woods thinking about a man. About Dante. About his cock and his hands and the way he’d looked at me like he wanted to devour me whole.
But I couldn’t stop the fantasy that unfolded behind my closed eyelids. Dante pulling me down onto that bed beside him. His hands on my skin, rough and demanding. His mouth on mine, tasting me, claiming me. The weight of his body pressing me into the mattress, his hips grinding against mine.
What would it feel like to touch him? To wrap my fingers around his cock and feel it pulse in my hand? Would my name fall from his lips like a prayer? Would he want me to fuck him? Would he want to fuck…me?
My hand moved faster, my breathing coming in harsh pants that echoed too loud in the quiet forest. I thought about the way he’d thrown himself in front of that heifer without hesitation. The way he’d held my hand yesterday. The way he’d asked me to stay with him, his voice soft and vulnerable in a way I’d never heard before.
He cared about me. He’d said it himself, drugged up and honest in thatourbed. And I’d stayed. I’d climbed into bed beside him and held his hand and let myself feel something I’d sworn I never would.
The orgasm hit me like a freight train, pleasure ripping through me so intense it was almost painful. I came hard, spilling onto the ground at my feet, my legs shaking with the force of it. Dante’s name almost fell from my lips, and I had to clamp my jaw shut to keep from crying out.
I stood there gasping, my forehead pressed against the tree bark, as reality slowly came crashing back. What the fuck had I just done?
I’d gotten off thinking about Dante. About being with him. About wanting him in ways I’d never wanted another man before. I tried to tell myself it was just biological. It had been weeks since I’d even taken the time to jerk off thanks to all the stress and the marriage. But no matter how much I tried to convince myself, I couldn’t deny that it was him I saw in my mind’s eye when I came. And now the evidence of that moment was dripping off my knuckles.
This changed everything. This meant I couldn’t keep lying to myself about what was happening between us. I couldn’t pretend this was just gratitude or confusion or some weird psychological response to trauma.
I wanted him. And from what I’d seen in that bedroom, he wanted me too.
The question was, what the hell was I going to do about it?
My hands were still trembling as I washed them in the creek. My mind was racing, trying to process what had just happened, what it meant for the careful distance I’d been trying to maintain.
I couldn’t go back to the tiny house. Not yet. Not until I had my shit together and could face him without my face burning with shame and want.
But I also couldn’t stay out here forever. Eventually, I’d have to go back. Eventually, I’d have to look him in the eye and pretend I hadn’t just jerked off thinking about him in the woods like some kind of desperate teenager.
Pulling my jeans up, I buckled my belt with fumbling fingers. The cattle in the distance were still grazing peacefully, completely oblivious to the fact that my entire world had just shifted on its axis.
I was attracted to Dante. I wanted him. And I had absolutely no idea what to do about it.
I spent the better part of the day perched on the edge of the creek, staring across the Hell Creek valley at snow-capped mountains and endless sky, trying to figure out what the hell I was going to do. My phone rang at least twice, but I didn’t answer it. However, when daylight finally began to wane, I knew I couldn’t stay out there any longer. Going back to the house, to Dante, was my only choice.
I walked back to the tiny house as the sun painted the valley in shades of orange and purple, each step feeling heavier than the last. My stomach was twisted in knots, and I kept rehearsing what I’d say to Dante. Sorry I walked in on you? Sorry I ran away like a coward? Sorry I can’t stop thinking about what I saw?
None of it sounded right.
The lights were on when I approached, warm and inviting through the windows. I could see movement inside. Dante was up, moving around, his pain meds clearly working as intended. My pulse quickened, and I had to force myself to keep walking instead of turning around and heading back to the creek.
