CHAPTER 4

DANTE

I had been in her car for hours, parked just a block away from their house. I went back to the club to help her get it but I knew that wasn't enough to make up for the pain I caused her earlier.

I had been staring at the text on my phone, wondering if I should send it to her but then I realized the text was even more upsetting. I deleted it. Typed another. Deleted again.

I slammed my fist on the steering and groaned.

Guilt clawed hard at me. She wasn't just some sort of prostitute. But I treated her like one. Left her a note that literally tagged her as a whore. Fuck. My mind replayed last night—her moans, the way she called my name, how she stretched around my cock like she was made for me.

My fist curled around the steering.

I needed to see her.

Exiting my car, I picked up some stones and threw them lightly on her window. I could tell she was awake due to the dim lightening of her room, so I threw the stone again.

This time, Callie pulled the curtains aside.

“Hey.”

She proceeded to close up the curtain, then my breath hitched. “No, Callie.” I raised my palm, trying to calm her down. “Please. Can you come down so we can talk?”

I couldn't see her properly. Couldn't tell if she was glaring at me or crying again.

“You shouldn't be here.”

“I know… but please, come down. It's important.” I tried to sound as convincing as possible. The look in her eyes could kill but I couldn't blame her. I deserved it.

She closed the window and I waited patiently, hoping she'd show up soon and my face lit up the moment I saw her.

“What do you want?” She asked with her hands folded on her chest and I ran my fingers through my messy hair. “I…I just wanted to know if you're fine, Callie. And I also brought your car.”

She chuckled—but it wasn't humorous. It was broken. Flawed. The single sound twisted my heart and yanked it out of my chest. “Even after the letter? You asked me to go home, Mr. Cross.” Her voice wavered.

Mr. Cross. Hearing her call me formally—just after she whispered ‘Dante’ like a prayer last night—was like cold ice splashed on my face. Every inch of familiarity in her eyes was gone and it shattered me even more.

“I'm sorry, Callie.” I reached for her hands.

She took a few steps backwards, creating enough space between us. “You made me feel like trash.” She choked on her sob.“You…you called me a mistake!”

“You're not.” I shook my head, reaching out the second time. “Callie, you're not a mistake. I was wrong, okay? I thought I was protecting—”

“Well, you weren't.”

“You're the only thing that ever felt right, Callie.”

She shook her head, taking another step backward. “If I was, you wouldn't have treated me like I was cheap.” She swallowed hard, shivering due to the cold wind. I wanted to hug her, make her feel safe, but everything felt so wrong, I was completely confused.

I had no idea what I was doing.

I wanted to stay away, but then I couldn't cope with the guilt. It was suffocating, slowly killing me. No woman made me drive like a reckless man across the streets just to see her.

I told Callie I just wanted to know if she was okay. But in the real sense, I couldn't stop thinking about her at work.  

Last night wasn't a mistake. It was the best night of my entire life. I didn't want her to live on with the idea of that night being trash. I wanted her to cherish it, just like I would.

“Callie.” I called out, taking a step forward. “What happened between us wasn't a mistake. I take every fault, okay? You were drunk. I was drunk, but I could have stopped—”

“I don't regret it.” Callie took a step forward, an unquenchable flame dancing in her fierce eyes. She locked her gaze on mine. “I don't regret any single thing that happened last night. And if you're going to be a coward that—”

I grabbed her waist and kissed her, stopping her from speaking any further.

God.

I didn't know what I was doing, but I never wanted to let go. Callie moaned into the kiss. It was slow. Yearning. A mixture of desire and anger. Lifting her up, I grabbed her thigh and deepened the kiss.

She pulled away, her eyes hazy. “I don't know if I can forg—”

I pressed her soft body against mine, sealing up her lips again, slipping my wet tongue into her warm mouth. She melted, fingers caressing my hair delicately. “Dante, we're outsi—” She pushed me away, averting her gaze. “I still haven't forgiven you.”

“Then I'll wait till you do.”

Callie pressed her lips together, like she was about to make a serious decision, but I couldn't stand the sight of her lips looking so seductive. I kissed her. Again. And this time, she laughed in between kisses. “Slow down.” She whispered, fingers curling into my shirt. “My dad might come out any second from now.”

“Jake doesn't come out at midnight.”

Callie knitted her brows together. “What? You think he's afraid of the dark?”

“You think he isn't?” If there was a funny part about Jake's childhood, it was the fact that he didn't stare under his bed for months due to a rumor about monsters hiding beneath it. Even now, at his age, he couldn't step out to the front porch without a flashlight.

She laughed, back pressed against the wall. “My dad isn't afraid of the dark.”

I smirked, not pushing further, then leaned in to claim her lips again. She didn't laugh this time. She kissed me, then rocked her body against my hard and throbbing cock.

My lips twitched. “You're not so innocent after all.”

Callie bit my lips. Tugged. Pulled. Nibbled on it like her favorite candy, then trailed her finger over my neck. I grabbed her wrist, stopping her. “We're outside your home, grinding against each other while pressed against the wall. You wouldn't want your parents to catch you moaning, would you?”

She stiffened.

Suddenly, the porch light turned on and the door creaked open. Callie gasped, getting off me quickly. “Shit.” She cursed. “It's my dad.”