Page 29 of The Contract

He could really hurt me if he wanted to, but he has his rules. I understand them now. He can’t strike my face. He can’t use a closed fist. He can’t maim me.

The weird truth is, I hurt him more than he hurt me. His blood is running down and swirling pinkly through the water. Istabbedhim. I cut his chest too. He’ll have scars. He’s already got a lot of them. Slash marks. A round one on his right pectoral that I suspect is from a bullet.

I looked him up of course after learning his full name. The Adesso family is old money. Dante’s company appears to be separate from his father’s, but he obviously grew up rich. Why does someone like that have those kinds of scars?

The questions drift away as his finger pushes into my ass, stretching me open. A small sound escapes me. He makes a sound too, a rumble in his chest like he’s pleased.

He kneels and starts washing between my legs with a cloth. When he gently scrubs my balls, my cock lifts, stiffening. When he starts cleaning my shaft, I rock on my feet, dizzied. My hand lands on his shoulder.

I look down. His dark eyes lift from my cock to my face. He says, “You have a very nice cock.”

There’s a feeling of expansion in my chest. I like his words. I want him to make me come again, but I can tell he’s not going to and I won’t ask. I already made myself pathetic enough with my confession.

I should have been angry that he drugged me, abducted me, restrained me. He put a dildo in my ass while I was unconscious, then he fucked me with it until I came so hard I passed out.

But what really angered me was waking up in my own bed. Alone. I wasn’t angry at first though. I was hurt. I lay there for a long time feeling abandoned. It took me back to those awful days after Evan left. The loneliness. The fear. Anger is far preferable, so I let it take over, let it blot out all the rest.

Dante stands up with a grunt. He’s still bleeding. That needs treated. But he picks up the shampoo instead. I try to take it from him. His eyes flash. His intensity is difficult to describe, but I can feel it surging back into him.

He pulls me away from the spray and starts working shampoo into my hair. My eyes close. His fingers feel almost as good on my scalp as they did in my ass. It’s dangerous, this kind of pleasure. He could take it away again.

My eyes fly open. I glare at him. He pauses his work, head tilting like he’s trying to understand me.

“Don’t do it again,” I tell him.

I can see him thinking. He doesn’t ask me,Do what?He figures it out.

I expect him to remind me of the contract. I expect him to tell me he can do whatever he wants within the limits of the rules. But he says, “I won’t.”

I suddenly feel the need to clarify, just to be sure. “Putting me back in my own bed, I mean.”

“I know. I said I won’t.”

I don’t know why I believe him, but I do. I close my eyes again as he backs me into the spray. He tilts my head back to rinse the shampoo.

He’s much quicker about his own washing. I stand back while he does it. I want to touch him, but I don’t know how. He’s done quickly enough that I don’t have to figure it out. He’s back in charge as he turns off the water.

It’s one of those huge, doorless showers. There’s only one way to go, but he directs me anyway. I let him. I’m not ready to fight again, not yet.

Until I look down. I manage to force my eyes past the captivating sight of his heavy, fat cock hanging semi-hard over his balls. I manage to ignore the saliva that pools under mytongue at the sight. Because there’s still blood running down his leg.

His chest is still bleeding too, but his leg has an actual stab wound. I can’t believe how little he’s reacting to it. I can’t believe he’s not angry about it. I fuckingstabbedhim.

“You need a doctor,” I tell him.

“Not for this.”

“You’re bleeding,” I argue.

“It’ll stop when I stitch it.”

“What?You can’t—”

“Stop worrying about it, Tristan.”

“Dante … Istabbedyou.”

A smile plays around his mouth. “I know.”

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