Page 23 of Desire

Chapter Six

DANTE

Dante’s gaze wandered over the rosy blush spreading across Emma’s cheeks as her parents discussed their upcoming vacation plans. She wore the jasmine and vanilla perfume that he had given her on her sixteenth birthday. The intoxicating scent teased his senses and threatened to unravel him. Her hair was pulled back into a neat bun today, emphasizing the softness of her neck. He wanted her again.

He sat stiffly at the dinner table, surrounded by laughter and lighthearted conversation. The tender affection between the family members was a stark contrast to the cold emptiness that had marked his own childhood. Dante watched Emma interact with her family. She talked about her day, laughed at her parents’ jokes, and occasionally glanced his way. The tension between them remained, but was tempered by the familial love surrounding them. It was intoxicating, like a drug he couldn’t shake off.

He wondered if she was going to continue to hide the true identity of Queen Mab or if she was going to admit to him that she craved his dominance. Was it a one-night-only thing for her? Was she embarrassed by her desire to be dominated? The questions ate at him, and he shouldn’t be thinking about her like that while he sat at her parents’ dinner table. The Hartleys’ home had been a safe haven for him growing up more times than he cared to admit.

The conversation flowed around him as his mind drifted back to painful memories of his parents’ abuse. His parents had never treated anyone with kindness or love—not even each other. His father was an alcoholic prone to violent outbursts, while his mother seemed to ignore everything happening around her. They had money, but no idea how to love. The desire to belong—to truly be a part of something as genuine as this—pulled taut within him, yet he maintained his distance, a self-imposed exile from the very thing he craved. The irony of seeking dominance in one sphere while feeling utterly powerless in another was not lost on him. But here, amidst family banter and the soft glow of overhead lights, Dante played his part flawlessly, a consummate actor on a stage not his own.

What the hell was he doing here, pretending he belonged in a home of domestic bliss like this?

Joey was shoveling in mouthfuls of his mother’s meatloaf and mashed potatoes as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks. Maybe he hadn’t, at least not homemade food like this. Dante wondered what had put the hunted look in his friend’s eyes, and the wariness that Joey revealed when he wouldn’t meet his stare. There was something off, but Dante couldn’t put his finger on it.

“More potatoes, Dante?” Mrs. Hartley’s voice penetrated his reverie, her smile all nurturing generosity as she offered the bowl.

“Thank you.” He took the bowl before passing it to Emma. Their fingers brushed ever so slightly, sending a flash of heat through him. As they exchanged brief glances, Dante felt a dangerous hunger well up inside him, only to be buried once more beneath layers of self-preservation.

“Emma tells us you’re doing well at Couture.” Mr. Hartley punctuated his question with a forkful of green beans. “How’s the counseling side of things?”

“Rewarding,” Dante said shortly, not wanting to talk about work. He barely worked on the Couture side, even though his vanilla cover was a therapist.

“Must be quite the experience, working at a place like that,” Joey chimed in, a lightness to his words that felt foreign to Dante. “All the glitz and glamour of fashion mixed with...other interests.”

A flash of guilt washed over him, as unfamiliar as it was unwelcome. What—if anything—did Joey know about the “other interests”?

“Let’s just say I’ve always had a keen interest in understanding human behavior,” Dante said, his reply skirting the edges of his darker reality.

“Sounds like it takes a lot of patience,” Joey said.

“Patience and a good deal of resilience,” Dante agreed, nodding. Those words spanned more than just his professional life. They were tenets of his existence within the walls of Club Inferno, where control and endurance were paramount.

His thoughts, those treacherous whisperers, veered toward the dungeon where leather and steel ruled supreme—the dungeon where he’d claimed Emma with the searing touch of a Dom who sought to etch pleasure through pain. The memory of her submission, the heat of their entwined bodies, it clawed at him now with sharpened nails of potential ruin.

Emma’s secret—that she was the masked sub from that night—lay between them like a sleeping beast. It had not stirred tonight, but the possibility of its awakening sent spikes of adrenaline through Dante’s veins. What if, in a moment of vulnerability, she confessed to Joey? Dante couldn’t bear to lose the one person who’d been a constant in his otherwise turbulent life.

Yet, in the dungeon, Emma had chosen anonymity. Why? Did she fear the consequences as much as he did, or was there more to her silence? Perhaps it was a gift, a singular night wrapped in discretion, meant to be tucked away in the corner of their minds where reality couldn’t tarnish it. He turned over the memory of their encounter in his mind like a pebble worn smooth by relentless tides. It was just a one-night stand, he reasoned. A fleeting moment of connection that should remain just that—fleeting. The thought brought an unwelcome tightness to his chest. To continue down that path with Emma would mean to tread into a maze of complication they were both better off avoiding.

Dante’s thumb traced the edge of his wineglass, a quiet anchor in the swell of family banter that ebbed and flowed around the Hartley dinner table. The laughter, the easy exchanges—it was foreign yet hauntingly familiar territory. As the conversation drifted toward lighter topics, he could almost forget the tempest churning within him. Almost.

“Pass the salt, Dante?” Joey’s voice brought him back to the present.

“Of course,” Dante replied, his movements measured as he handed over the shaker.

As he did so, images of Emma, flushed and yielding beneath his careful administration of pleasure, flashed behind his eyes. Could Joey ever forgive him if he knew the truth? If he saw the evidence of their tryst painted in bruises on his sister’s skin? No matter how consensual, how deeply craved each mark had been, it was a betrayal too intimate for forgiveness.

“Have you always wanted to work in that field?” her father chimed in, passing a dish of steamed vegetables.

Always was a stretch. He’d stumbled into the world of counseling as one might fall into a ravine—unexpectedly, painfully. His past, littered with scars from his parents’ abuses, loomed large as a reminder of where he never wished to return.

“Sounds like a fascinating job,” Mrs. Hartley chimed in, her eyes filled with genuine interest. “What kinds of challenges do you usually encounter?”

“Well,” Dante began, rubbing the back of his neck, “every individual is different, so the challenges can vary greatly. But I find that helping clients build self-esteem and confidence is often key to overcoming many of their obstacles.”

“Maybe you could help Emma with that,” Joey said.

---