Page 19 of Unhinged Little Angel

“Do you need something to drink, Angioletto?” I peel myself off of him reluctantly.

Dante shakes his head. “Just tired.”

Now that I’m not holding him down, he rolls onto his side, facing the wall.

“Let me get a rag to clean you up, at least.” I snag my towel off the floor on my way to the bathroom so I can hang it up. I take a minute to splash some cool water on my face and then get a damp washcloth.

It can’t be more than two minutes, but by the time I step into the bedroom again, Dante’s eyes are closed and he’s either asleep or pretending to be. I’ll give him some time to process, but he’s not going to hide from me forever. After our wedding he’s going to tell me who he’s so afraid of, and I’m going to take care of it. I’ll show him that he doesn’t have to be afraid anymore, not in my bed or anywhere else.

I gently wipe my cum off his thighs and pull the blankets over him so he won’t get cold. Then, I slip out of the bedroom and close the door behind me. Dante didn’t leave me much time to organize our big day. Luckily, with enough money and the right amount of intimidation, there’s no limit to what you can get done.

Only the best for my Angioletto.

Chapter 9

DANTE

I wish I could say I lay awake for hours, pissed that Salvatore managed to trick me into begging after all, unsettled by how disturbingly safe he made me feel for just a few minutes. I pretended to be asleep when he came back to clean me up, just so I wouldn’t have to admit to his smug, handsome face that maybe I enjoyed myself a teeny, tiny, minuscule amount. But after he gently wiped the cum off my thighs and fuckingtucked me in—seriously, who does that? He’s a vicious criminal for fuck’s sake—I passed out and slept like the dead. I’m sure it had more to do with being in a different state where no one could possibly have followed me and not how hard Salvatore made me come.

The morning sun peeks through the curtains and the existential crisis I avoided last night is all cued up and ready to go. Because clearly on the morning I’m getting married to a mafioso in order to avoid retribution from the scumbag pedo I put in prison, my biggest problem is why I got off so hard on submitting last night. I’m making too big a deal out of this.Plenty of people are switches. Hell, I’m bisexual and vers, so clearly, I’m comfortable swinging wildly any which way that pleases me in the moment. Adding the occasional desire to submit to my sexual resumé shouldn’t be an issue. So why does it make me feel so twitchy and exposed?

I need coffee. Lots and lots of coffee. I slip out of bed and glance around the room in search of my panties. The memory of Salvatore’s hands on my skin as he slid them off, the growl in his voice when he told me to beg, makes me shiver. They’re not on the floor where I left them, so I grab one of the white satin robes hanging in the closet and wrap it around myself. It’s very bridal, which I suppose makes sense since this is the honeymoon suite. Maybe I should wear this for our wedding. It’s either the robe or the alien-themed tourist crap I insisted on buying yesterday to annoy Sal.

I turn towards the bed where he’s still fast asleep, splayed out on his stomach with the blankets only covering half of him, mostly tugged over to my side of the bed, one bare ass cheek on full display. The urge to bite it just to hear him yelp and startle awake is strong.

Dammit, maybe he’s right, maybe Iama brat.

I shake my head at myself and slip out of the bedroom, quietly closing the door behind me. I didn’t properly look at the suite last night, and I’m glad I didn’t. It would have made me feel like I had even more to prove. Large windows give a view of the sprawling, gaudy city and the mountains in the distance. Aside from my stint in an out-of-state prison, this is the first time I’ve been outside of Wildcliff. Maybe that was my mistake—waiting around for Don’s sentence to be up so he’d know right where to find me. I could stay here. I’m sure there’s no shortage of strip clubs. In a city like Los Vespar, maybe they’d even be able to overlook my record and I could get a job dancing with my clothes on instead.

I try to picture myself here, dressed in a glittery leotard and massive tail feathers, the desert sun beating down on me three hundred and sixty-five days a year. I shudder and turn away from the view. Wildcliff is home, and over my dead body will I let Don chase me away. Or over his dead body. Actually I’d prefer it that way.

I have to admit, I feel extremely posh in this robe, the satin caressing my bare skin, the way it flows as I flit around the living room. I should come up with a dance routine for a robe like this. It would look fabulous on stage. I shrug it off my shoulders and let it fall open just enough to show off the tattoos on my collarbone and chest, and with music playing in my head, I start to dance, paying particular attention to the way the white satin billows around me with every movement. A pair of red panties underneath would be stunning to flash at just the right moments. I do a high kick, imagining how that would play under the lights with the red panties underneath. I let the movement flow through me, getting lost in it the way I always have, for as long as I can remember.

I spin and draw up short, almost stumbling over the length of the robe but catching myself at the last second. Salvatore stands in the doorway with bedhead and pillow lines still on his cheek, unabashedly naked, watching me. I pull my robe tighter around myself, feeling every bit like a Victorian woman trying to hide her virtue. I’m not sure what I’m hiding. He’s seen me naked; everyone has. I let go of the robe, letting it fall slightly open again, held together by the cinch around my waist.

“Don’t stop on my account.” He rakes his eyes over me slowly and his soft cock visibly thickens.

“I’m not. I was done,” I lie. “I need coffee. Do you want anything from room service?”

I pick up the menu from beside the room phone. Before I even get the chance to flip it open, there’s a knock at the door.

“Room service,” someone announces.

“Damn, this place is good,” I mutter, and Salvatore chuckles. “Why don’t you go put some pants on.” I make a shooing motion.

“Feeling possessive, husband? Want to keep my nudity for your eyes only?” Instead of going away, he comes closer, sliding his hand along my jaw and grinning at me.

His warm breath tickles my lips, and he tilts my face towards his, bringing his mouth closer to mine. I swallow and try to summon the violent urge to get his hands off of me, but all I manage to do is melt into him and part my lips in an unmistakable invitation that Salvatore is all too happy to take. He slips his tongue into my mouth with a rumbling sigh that makes my cock harden instantly, his grip on my jaw tightening in sharp contrast to the teasing softness of the kiss.

“And you’re accusingmeof being a brat?” I mutter when he breaks the kiss. “Now we’re both too indecent to open the door.”

He smirks again and gropes my stiff cock refusing to be contained behind the delicate fabric of the robe.

“You can leave everything there in the hallway,” he calls out without taking his eyes off of mine.

“Yes, sir,” the person on the other side of the door says, and after a few seconds, footsteps echo back down the hallway and the elevator dings faintly in the distance.

SALVATORE

---