And also everything I fear.
Needing someone only leads to heartache because everyone leaves, always.
He’s still asleep against me, giving me time to snoop through his phone. He has facial recognition, so I lift the phone enough to get a glimpse of his sleeping face. Easy peasy. Well, we aren’t dating, but are fucking, so it seems smart for me to have a way to track him. I pull up a web browser and type in the IP that’ll get to the backend of my laptop. Downloading the tracking application that I created for Mason, I install it on his phone, then hide it among a clutter of other applications that I doubt he even uses. Just when I’m about to start digging through his photos and emails, he lets out a snore that sounds kind of like he’s waking up. Shit. I toss the phone where it was and feign sleep.
Dante moves against my back, curling against me as if he wishes he could tug me inside himself. I fight against the urge to lash out at his clinginess, because in a way I sort of need it. Last night was… I’d never felt so out of my body before. Transcended to another dimension.
Dante pulls back enough to roll me onto my back, his eyes quickly zeroing in on mine. Whatever he finds on my face pleases him because he smiles a dopey sort of smile. But then it vanishes when his gaze trails over my bare stomach. I grab the sheet and tug it over me so that he can’t see my skin, he must’ve not been paying attention last night.
“Where did you get those from?”
“None of your business,” I snarl. The loopy, lovely feeling from last night is now gone. Time to flee. Before I can evenattempt to get out of the bed, Dante is tugging me closer, looming over me until all I can see is his dark hair and eyes.
“It’s my business now.” Dante presses down against my body with his own when I try to wiggle out from under him. His fingers wrap around my throat, gently squeezing until I still. “Where did you get those scars?”
“Me.”
Dante’s nostrils flare as he seemingly processes my admission. “No more.”
“You can’t take away all of my coping mechanisms and expect me to be a fully functioning human,” I say around a bitter laugh. He’s got to be joking. I can’t fuck randoms at the club, can’t take pills and dance the night away, can’t cut myself when my emotions get too big, too hard to handle. What the fuck am I supposed to do?
“You’ve got me now,” Dante argues, eyes never leaving mine.
His fingers curl tighter against my throat until my lips part and I gasp to get some air into my lungs. My heart races again, this time at the threat of danger from his fingers, and from the shock of being told what to do.
Dante squeezes his fingers tighter while swooping down to kiss me. If I wasn’t already lacking oxygen, I’m definitely suffocating when he fucks my mouth with his tongue. Everything quiets under his touch.
A phone squealing breaks the moment and forces Dante to tug away from me.
“Fuck,” Dante swears, lips swollen and eyes oddly haunted.
I lie still as he rolls over me to grab at his phone, only calming once his phone is in his hand. He has a privacy screen, so I can’t spy from this angle, which is mildly depressing,but his face tells more of a story than reading his text messages ever could. Dante goes from irritated to pissed in just a few seconds. He pinches his nose for a brief moment, before climbing out of bed to quickly get dressed.
I take in the miles of tattoos on his back that move with his muscles as he bends down to put on his pants. It’s a desert scene, cactus, the rising sun, mountains blocking the view. No doubt it took a lot of time. And his arms are filled with one-off tattoos that shouldn’t work together but somehow do. He’s hot as sin, and for a little while, he’s mine. My nosiness wants to know what each tattoo means. Another time, I guess. Maybe. If he isn’t a huge liar. Half of me expects to never see him again. The idea of that sends some weird pang through me.
“I have to go,” Dante says, tugging his shirt over his head.
“Oh.”
He runs a hand through his messy hair, somehow managing to make it even worse.
Once fully dressed, he returns to the bed to hover over me. Before I can utter a word, he swoops down to kiss me hard on the mouth. The kiss isn’t sexy or soft, it’s claiming. With one single kiss, Dante says who I belong to. My lips tingle when he pulls away.
“You’ve got my number. Text me so I have yours.” Dante’s eyes sweep over me, at least across the skin that’s still visible over the sheets. His lips curl up in an approximation of a pained smile before he leans down to bite my bicep. Pain lances through me, but he’s gone before I can even manage a return attack. That fuckinghurt.
Wrinkles pop at the corner of Dante’s eyes. “You’re mine.”
He flees my bedroom with a pleased pep in his step. Suddenly, I regain my senses in his absence. I hurry to pullon the sweatpants and hoodie that lie forgotten on my floor. I’m still tugging on the hoodie when I bust out of my room and fly down the stairs two at a time.
Mason shouts at me from the kitchen, but I don’t care. Dante is just opening the front door when I shove him hard, making him let out a littleoomfas he crashes into the door.
“What the fuck?” Dante swears as he turns around. “If you break my nose again, I swear to God…”
“What?” I screech, voice at the same decibel of a grieving medieval woman.
Dante looks unrepentant. His fingers rub at his nose, pulling away to check for blood. Jesus. I broke his nose and puked on him? This dude has a serious death wish when it comes to me, but I’m supposed to be the one with a danger kink? I think not.
“You didn’t break it,” Dante mumbles, shifting from foot to foot. “You just… broke some blood vessels, okay. That’s not the point. Why did you shove me?”
