Disclaimer: There will be some intimate scenes in this chapter so feel free to skip you don't feel comfortable with reading it.
✧˖°.⊹📖⊹.°˖✧
The music outside is deafening- drums pounding, laughter echoing, fireworks in the sky. But in here, the noise is muffled, like we've stepped into another world.
Dante guides us through a narrow alley, sliding open the door to a run-down motel tucked between two shuttered shops. With no staff in sight, he kicks the door to the nearest empty room open, and we step inside, shutting it behind us.
He presses his back against the wall, breathing hard. That's when I see it.
Blood seeps through his sleeve, dark agains this skin, dripping from a ragged cut along his forearm. The glass from the window.
"Dante," I whisper, stepping closer. "You're hurt."
"It's nothing," he mutters, jaw tight.
I kneel in front of him, fumbling with a towel I grabbed from the bathroom. My hands shake, but I force them steady.
"Hold still," I murmur, voice low. I wet the cloth in the bathroom, pulling and cleaning out the glass shards embedded in his skin. He flinches once, then goes rigid, silent.
The motion- dabbing at he blood, cleaning the wound- feels familiar, almost ritualistic.
I'd been frozen, terrified, but I couldn't look away. They way he moved, dragging the cloth along his knife... it had mesmerised me.
Now, my hands hover over his arm, careful, tracing the wound. The same tension thrums in my chest, the same pulse of fear and fascination. Only now, I'm the one holding the instrument of care.
I finish the bandage, wrapping it just tight enough to stop the bleeding, but not so tight that it hurts. My fingers linger a moment longer, brushing against his skin.
He shifts slightly, tilting toward me. I catch his gaze-it's sharp, intense, but something else flickers there too: trust, relief.
I glance at him, swallowing hard. "It's... done."
He leans in, closer than necessary, and I freeze. Heat pulses through me, awareness sharpening. The faint scent of smoke and leather clings to him, the warmth radiating from his body.
His hand hovers near mine, hesitant, as if testing a line he isn't sure he should cross. I don't pull back.
And then- he kisses me.
Gentle at first, hesitant, testing. But it quickly deepens into something urgent and raw, desperate, carrying the weight of fear, adrenaline, and longing.
His hand slides into my pants, moving in a circular motion. The he rubs harder, faster-
I claw into the wall for support.
Light exploded behind my close eyelids, an orgasm tore through me with pleasure and a hint of pain.
Oh god. I'm going to come.
And it feels like heaven.