Chapter 4: The Phone Call
The leather of Dante’s couch was cool and supple against the back of her thighs. Anié was curled into his side, her head on his shoulder, the oversized shirt from the night before still her only covering. The low, mournful saxophone from the vinyl player wove through the dim room, a soundtrack to the quiet. Dante’s arm was around her, his fingers absently tracing patterns on her shoulder. For the first time in what felt like years, her mind was still. No frantic loops of inadequacy, just the steady beat of his heart under her ear and the warm, heavy weight of his presence.
Then her phone buzzed, a violent tremor on the glass coffee table where it lay beside his own.
She tensed. The screen glowed with Lori’s name, a grinning selfie of her best friend making a ridiculous face. A lifeline to the world outside this velvet-draped cocoon.
Dante’s tracing fingers stilled. He didn’t look at the phone. He looked at her. She felt the shift in him before she saw it—a subtle coil of energy, the patient stillness hardening into intent.
“It’s Lori,” she whispered, as if the phone could hear.
“I see that.” His voice was a low rumble. His arm slipped from her shoulder, his hand moving to her waist. In one smooth, powerful motion, he dragged her across his lap, so she was straddling him, facing him. The sudden movement stole her breath. The soft leather creaked beneath them.
“Dante—”
“Answer it.”
Her eyes widened. “What? No, I’ll just call her back later—”
His hands settled on her hips, holding her firmly in place. One thumb crept under the hem of the shirt, stroking the sensitive skin of her belly. “Answer it. Put it on speaker.”
“I can’t,” she breathed, panic fluttering in her chest. The idea was unthinkable. Obscene.
His other hand came up, his fingers sliding into her hair, fisting gently but insistently, tilting her head back so she had no choice but to meet his eyes. In the candlelight, they were pure obsidian, glinting with a challenge that was also a promise. “You can. And you will.” His thumb dipped lower, brushing the coarse hair between her legs. She was already wet, a traitorous, aching heat gathering there. He smirked, feeling it. “Let her hear.”
The phone stopped buzzing. For three seconds, there was silence. Then it started again, Lori’s face blazing with persistent light.
His finger found her clit, a slow, torturous circle through the slick folds. A whimper crawled up her throat. “Dante, please…”
“Answer the phone, Anié.” The command was absolute. “Or I’ll do it for you.”
Trembling, she leaned over, her body stretching over his, and snatched the phone. Her finger hovered over the answer icon. His finger pushed inside her, just the tip, a shocking, intimate invasion. She gasped, her thumb jabbing down on the screen.
“Hey, you! Finally! I’ve been texting you all morning. Did you get abducted by aliens or just finally get some decent—”
Lori’s voice, bright and brash, filled the luxurious room. Anié froze, the phone held stiffly in her hand.
“Lori,” she choked out, trying to keep her voice even as Dante’s finger began to move, fucking her slowly with that single digit. “Hi.”
“You sound weird. Are you sick? Oh my god, are you hungover? You never get hungover.”
“No, I’m… I’m fine.” She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry. Dante added a second finger, stretching her, the rough pad of his thumb finding her clit again. Her hips jerked involuntarily. A soft, choked moan escaped before she could bite it back.
“What was that?” Lori asked, her tone shifting from concerned to sharp, interested. “Anié, where are you? What’s going on?”
Dante brought his mouth to her ear, his breath hot. “Tell her.”
She shook her head, a frantic little motion. He crooked his fingers inside her, hitting a spot that made her vision whiten. A louder, helpless sound tore from her lips.
“Okay, that is not a sick sound,” Lori said, and Anié could hear the grin in her voice now. “That is a ‘I-have-a-man’s-hand-down-my-pants’ sound. Spill. Right now. Who is he?”
Dante’s teeth grazed her earlobe. “Tell her my name.”
“I’m… I’m at Dante’s,” she whispered into the phone, her voice cracking with the effort of staying still while he destroyed her with his hand.
“Dante? As in, club Dante? Take-you-home-last-night Dante? Holy shit, Anié! You dog! Is he there right now? Is he listening?”
Dante’s free hand came up and took the phone from her limp fingers. He held it between their faces, his eyes locked on hers as his fingers pumped into her, harder now, the wet, filthy sound of it unmistakable even over the music.
“She’s a little busy right now, Lori,” Dante said, his voice rough but calm, as if discussing the weather. “Can I have her call you back?”
A beat of stunned silence. Then Lori’s laugh, loud and delighted. “Oh my GOD. Yes. Absolutely. Take your time. Anié, you better give me every single detail later, you incredible minx! Bye, Dante!”
The call disconnected. The room plunged into a silence filled only with the rasp of their breathing and the lewd, rhythmic sound of his hand working her.
“You…” Anié gasped, humiliation and a dark, thrilling pride warring inside her. “You are… terrible.”
“I’m honest,” he corrected, pulling his fingers from her with a slow, slick pop. He brought them to his mouth, tasting her without breaking eye contact. “And you’re dripping. For me. While talking to your best friend. Fuck, that’s hot.”
He shifted beneath her, his own hardness pressing insistently against her through his sweatpants. He didn’t undress her. He simply pushed the shirt up around her waist, yanked the waistband of his pants down just enough to free himself, and then gripped her hips again.
“Now ride me,” he growled. “And I want to hear you. No hiding. Let go.”
He guided himself to her entrance, the broad head nudging against her swollen flesh. She sank down onto him, a slow, searing descent that felt even more profound than their first time. Her head fell back as he filled her completely, a broken cry echoing off the high ceiling.
“That’s it,” he encouraged, his hands on her ass, kneading the soft flesh, urging her to move. “Use me. Take what you need.”
Tentatively at first, then with growing desperation, she began to move. She rose and fell, learning the angle, finding the rhythm that made him groan and his fingers dig into her. The embarrassment melted, burned away by a raw, empowering fire. He was letting her lead, his body a willing tool for her pleasure. She rode him hard, the slapping of skin on skin a brutal, honest music. Her orgasm built quickly, a towering wave fed by the illicit thrill of the phone call, by his total, focused surrender to her in this moment.
“I’m… Dante, I’m gonna…”
“Come,” he commanded, his own control fraying. “Soak my cock. Do it.”
She shattered, her inner walls clamping around him in violent, rhythmic pulses. A guttural scream was torn from her throat, unrestrained and primal. The force of her climax triggered his. With a final, upward thrust that lifted her off the couch, he buried himself to the hilt and came, his release hot and endless inside her, his shout joining hers in the shadowy air.
She collapsed against his chest, a boneless, shuddering weight. He held her there, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other splayed possessively on the small of her back. They stayed like that for long minutes, fused together, breathing each other’s air.
Eventually, he softened and slipped from her. He gently rearranged the shirt over her legs, then pulled his own pants up. He reached for his glass of whiskey on the table, took a sip, and offered it to her. She drank, the amber liquid burning a clean path through the haze.
“She’s going to interrogate me mercilessly,” Anié mumbled into his chest, her voice hoarse.
“Good.” He kissed her hair. “Let her. Let everyone know.”
She pushed back to look at him. “Know what?”
“That you’re taken. That you’re worshipped. That the shy, sweet girl has a fucking tiger inside her, and she’s mine.” The possessiveness in his words should have scared her. Instead, it felt like a shield.
Later, after a shower where he washed her with a surprising tenderness, they ended up in the deep, freestanding bathtub in his ensuite. Steam rose around them, lavender-scented. She was leaning back against his chest, the water lapping at her breasts.
“Why did you do that?” she asked quietly, her fingers tracing the intricate ink on his forearm that rested beside her. “With the phone?”
He was silent for so long she thought he might not answer. Then his chin rested on top of her head. “To break the spell,” he said, his voice quiet in the steamy room. “The one where you think your pleasure is something to be quiet about, something to hide and be ashamed of. It’s not. It’s a gift. And I wanted you to give it, loudly, while the world was listening. To prove to you that the world doesn’t end. It just gets more interesting.”
She turned in the water, facing him, her knees on either side of his hips. “You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met.”
A shadow passed behind his eyes, something old and wounded. “I had a sister,” he said, the words seeming to cost him. “Younger. Sweet, like you. She let the world convince her she was too much and not enough, all at the same time. She… shrank herself. For a man who didn’t deserve her breath, let alone her heart.” He cupped her face, water dripping from his fingers. “I won’t watch someone like you shrink. I’ll fucking ruin anyone who tries to make you small. Including the voice in your own head.”
The raw confession hung between them, a piece of his pain offered as explanation. Anié’s heart squeezed. She leaned forward and kissed him, a soft, slow seal of understanding. When she pulled back, she saw his own vulnerability, stark and unguarded. The dominant man was also a protector, haunted by a past failure.
She settled back against him, the water holding them both. The city’s neon glow was just a faint smear through the fogged-up window. In here, there was only warmth, and skin, and a quiet that felt earned. The chapter of her life titled ‘Before Dante’ was closing, its pages smudged with old tears. The new one, just begun, was written in the scent of his skin, the sting of his command, and the profound, unsettling safety of being claimed so completely. She closed her eyes, listening to his heartbeat, and for the first time, she didn’t just feel wanted.
She felt owned. And in his keeping, she felt free.
The water around them cooled slowly, leaching the heat from their skin until a faint shiver traced a path up Anié’s spine. Dante felt it. His arms, which had been loose around her, tightened. He pressed a kiss to the juncture of her neck and shoulder, a soft contrast to the steam-hardened tile at her back.
“Time to get out,” he murmured, his voice vibrating through her.
He stood first, water sluicing down the hard planes of his body, the tattoos dark and gleaming. He reached for a thick, slate-gray towel from a warmed rack and wrapped it around himself before turning to her. He extended a hand. She took it, letting him pull her up and out of the water in one smooth motion. The air was cool, raising goosebumps on her arms and legs instantly.
He didn’t reach for another towel. Instead, he opened the one around his own waist and drew her into it, enveloping them both in the dense, warm cotton. She was pressed against him from chest to thigh, the rough texture absorbing the droplets that rolled from their skin. He held her there, not moving, just breathing.
“I didn’t tell you about my sister to make you a project,” he said, his words a low rumble in the quiet, steam-filled room. His hand spread wide against the small of her back, anchoring her. “Or to get your sympathy.”
She looked up, her cheek against his damp chest. The candlelight from the bedroom beyond the door flickered in his dark eyes.
“I told you,” he continued, his gaze serious, searching hers, “because I see her in you. The same light. The same goddamn, heartbreaking tendency to apologize for existing.” He cupped her face, his thumb stroking her cheekbone. “But I see you, Anié. More clearly, I think, than you see yourself right now. I told you so you’d know that. So you’d understand that when I look at you, I’m not seeing a ghost. I’m seeing the woman in front of me. The one I want.”
Her throat tightened. She tried to look down, but he held her firm.
“I want to be everything,” he said, the intensity in his voice a physical force. “Everything you need and everything you’re too scared to admit you want. I want to help you find yourself. All the parts you’ve tucked away.” His voice dropped, a gravelly promise. “And I want to help you fulfill every desire that whispers in the back of your mind. No matter how strange you tell yourself they are. No judgment. Just you and me and the truth of what you crave.”
The vow was too vast. It threatened to swallow her whole. It spoke directly to the secret, shadowy corners of her imagination she’d never dared illuminate. A tear escaped, hot against his thumb.
He caught it. He bent and kissed her, a slow, deep, claiming kiss that tasted like steam and sincerity. When he pulled back, he took her hand and led her, both of them still wrapped in the single towel, into the bedroom. The candelabra from the living room was now on the dresser, casting long, dancing shadows across the vast bed.
He let the towel fall. He guided her down onto the edge of the mattress and knelt on the floor before her, his hands on her knees, pushing them apart. The air was cool on her most intimate skin. His eyes were incendiary.
“Tell me one,” he said, his voice rough. “One thing you’ve never said out loud. One dark, filthy thing you’ve imagined.”
She shook her head, panic seizing her vocal cords. The vulnerability of the bath was nothing compared to this.
“You’re safe here,” he urged, his palms sliding up her inner thighs. “With me. The words aren’t scary. They’re just keys. Give me a key, Anié.”
She closed her eyes. The confession was a scorched whisper. “I’ve… I’ve thought about being watched.”
His hands stilled. “Watched by who?”
“By… by you. But by someone else, too. A stranger. While you… while you take me.” The words hung in the air, ugly and thrilling. She felt exposed, flayed open.
Dante’s breath hitched. He didn’t recoil. A slow, dark smile touched his lips. “Yeah? You want an audience? You want someone to see how good you are for me? To see how perfectly you take this cock?”
Her eyes flew open. He was nodding, a fierce approval in his expression that was more potent than any perversion.
“We can do that,” he said, as if she’d asked for a glass of water. His hands resumed their journey, parting her folds. “We’ll start small. Use your phone. Film it for you. So you can watch yourself being the gorgeous, hungry slut you are for me. See how fucking beautiful you look when you come.”
The explicitness of his plan, the immediate, unflinching acceptance, unspooled her completely. A guttural sound tore from her. He leaned in and licked a long, slow stripe up her center, his tongue blunt and demanding.
“But tonight,” he growled against her, the vibration thrumming through her clit, “it’s just my eyes. And I’m going to watch every second of you falling apart.”
He didn’t tease. He feasted. He shoved her thighs wider, hooked them over his shoulders, and buried his face in her. His tongue was relentless, plunging deep, then flicking rapidly over her sensitive bud. He used his thumbs to spread her wider, exposing her completely to his gaze and his mouth. The obscene, wet sounds filled the room, a raw soundtrack to her unraveling.
“That’s it,” he muttered, his words muffled by her flesh. “Fucking soak my face. Let me drink it.”
His filthy encouragement was the final catalyst. Her orgasm exploded without warning, a brutal, convulsing wave that arched her back off the bed. She screamed, a sound of pure, unmodulated ecstasy, her hands fisting in his damp hair, holding him to her as she rode out the pulses against his tongue.
Before the last tremor had subsided, he was on her, pushing her back into the mattress, his weight a glorious anchor. He was already rock-hard. He shoved a pillow under her hips, angling her up to meet him. He notched the head of his cock at her entrance, swollen and slick from his mouth and her release.
“Open your eyes,” he commanded. “Look at me while I fuck you.”
She forced her eyelids up. His expression was feral, utterly consumed.
He drove into her with a single, powerful thrust that punched the air from her lungs. He didn’t wait. He set a punishing rhythm, each stroke a deliberate, deep claiming. The bed frame slammed against the wall in a steady, violent cadence.
“You see this?” he grunted, his gaze locked on hers, sweat beading on his brow. “This is me wanting every part. The shy smile and the secret fantasy. The kind heart and the dirty mouth. It’s all mine.”
He shifted, hooking her legs over his arms, bending her nearly in half. The new angle was devastating. He pounded into her, the sound of skin on skin a brutal applause. She was so sensitive, every nerve alight, another climax coiling deep in her gut.
“I’m gonna… again…”
“Do it,” he snarled, his pace turning frantic, ragged. “Come on my cock. Show me.”
She screamed again, her vision tunneling, her body clasping him in a vise of pure sensation. He followed her over the edge with a raw, shredded shout, pumping his release deep inside her, his body shuddering with the force of it.
He collapsed onto her, then quickly rolled, taking her with him so she lay sprawled on his chest. Their hearts hammered against each other, a frantic, syncopated drumming slowly settling into a steadier beat. The room smelled of sex and candle wax and their mingled sweat.
He traced the line of her spine, his touch now infinitely gentle. “The first key,” he said into her hair, his voice rough with satisfaction and something softer. “See? Nothing broke. The world is still here. And you’re still here. With me.”
She nuzzled into his neck, a profound exhaustion and a deeper peace settling into her bones. The freedom she felt wasn’t wild or untethered. It was specific. It was the freedom of a secret, once shackled by shame, now resting in the palm of his hand. He hadn’t flinched. He’d turned it into a promise. The path ahead was dark, unknown, lined with the strange desires she’d hidden for years. But for the first time, she wasn’t facing it alone. She was facing it with the man who saw her, who wanted the map to every hidden corner, and who was determined to light the way.