Page 21 of Thorns of Silence
“Mine.”Thrust.“Yours.”Thrust.“Ours.”
My heart thundered as boundless pleasure exploded through me. My throat vibrated and Dante’s eyes locked on mine as he thrust into me like a madman.
“Beautiful,” I thought I saw him mouth, but then his lips were on my neck, biting, licking, sucking. My orgasm was like a violent storm, chasing everything in its path. Dante continued to fuck me with relentless roughness.
My limbs shook. My muscles ached.
I sobbed, my body shaking as his hand wrapped around my neck. Another wave of pleasure was about to crash over me when I felt the ground give out. I was falling, my mouth open on a silent O, and—
I gasped, startling myself awake, panting as I looked around the room and searched for the man I could’ve sworn was about to coax another release from me.
But there was nothing—and no one—except for darkness. My damp hair stuck to my temples and my heart thundered erratically.
I removed my hand from my soaked pussy, embarrassment coloring my cheeks.
It was all Dante’s fault.
Damn him!
I sat up, staring in shock at the sight of the juices coating my fingers. My body throbbed with a dull type of ache that screamed of unsatisfied pleasure. I scooted back to sit against the headboard when something on my nightstand caught my attention.
My fingers trembled as I reached for the dandelion, pushing it aside to read the note underneath it.
Did you have sweet dreams? Closed windows and doors won’t keep me out.
There was no signature, but it didn’t matter.
The fucking stalker was in my room while I slept.
TEN
DANTE
The clock ticked and filled the silence. The room was warm and inviting and had comfortable seating, which I fucking hated. I didn’t want to lounge here. I wanted to find a solution to my issues and move on.
I was sick and tired of the constantblah, blah, fucking blah. Dr. Freud’s therapy sessions were a major inconvenience. If only the good doctor wasn’t so good at her job. The thirty-something woman was probably every man’s dream: intelligent, beautiful, smart, classy.
She just wasn’tmydream.
“Tell me how you’re doing with the outbursts.” Dr. Freud’s PhD from Harvard hung behind her, the evidence of her accomplishments undeniable. I knew she came from old money and yet here she was, treating a mobster in Italy. It made you wonder.
Running a thoughtful hand across my jaw, I answered as truthfully as I could. “I’ve been dealing.” I couldn’t exactly tell herhowI’d been releasing my steam. Yes, there was doctor-patient confidentiality, but I wasn’t willing to test how far it went. “I met a woman. She’ll be mine soon.”
Her eyes fell to her lap, then returned to my eyes. “That’s progress,” she stated cryptically. “Doessheknow she’s yours?”
“Not yet, but she will.”Eventually.
She gave her head a shake. “We’ll come back to your woman in a moment.” She paused and brought her pen up to her mouth, smiling. “How are you handling your outbursts, Dante? They’re still… present?”
I nodded, although they weren’t happening as frequently since I’d met Phoenix.Interesting.Another confirmation that she was meant to be mine.
“They’re not as frequent or as strong.”
“Does the ASL help?” I gave her a blank look. The whole reason behind learning ASL was to express myself during episodes of extreme anger when I wasn’t able to find words. To reset my brain pathways by learning a new skill—or so the doctor claimed. Supposedly you can sign during blackouts. Go figure. I went along with it just so she would leave me the hell alone. I had no fucking idea if it helped, but I was glad for it. I’d now be putting even more effort into learning it fluently so that I could talk to Phoenix if nothing else. “Okay, we’ll go with yes… How does your woman handle your… outbursts?”
I focused my stare on her crimson-red heels and suddenly wondered if Phoenix would find this part of me revolting. The woman clearly didn’t like me… yet. So it was best I didn’t share my faults with her.
“They’re happening less since I’ve met her,” I admitted, somewhat deflecting.
