Softened Edges

Elena woke up alone again.

The bed was warm where Dante had been, and the faint scent of his cologne still clung to the sheets. She sat up slowly, expecting the usual ache and the usual cold distance. What she didn’t expect was the sound of water running in the bathroom and the soft knock that came a moment later.

Dante opened the door without waiting for an answer. He was already dressed in black pants and a dark shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His eyes moved over her bare shoulders and the marks he had left on her skin the night before.

“Come,” he said.

Elena frowned. “Where?”

“Bath.”

She followed him into the bathroom on wary legs. The large marble tub was already filled with warm water and a light layer of foam. Dante tested the temperature with his hand, then looked at her.

“Get in.”

Elena hesitated. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I want to.” His voice was calm. “Get in.”

She stepped into the water and sank down, the heat pulling a quiet breath from her lungs. Dante pulled a low stool closer to the tub and sat. For a moment he simply watched her. Then he reached for a soft cloth, wet it, and began running it slowly over her shoulders.

Elena stiffened.

“Relax,” he said.

“That’s not exactly easy around you.”

Dante didn’t answer. He continued washing her with steady, deliberate movements — her arms, her back, the back of her neck. When he reached the faint bruises on her hips, his touch became even lighter. There was no rush in him this morning. No immediate demand.

He washed her hair next, fingers massaging her scalp with unexpected care. Elena closed her eyes despite herself. The warmth of the water and the slow pressure of his hands made it hard to stay tense.

When he finished, he helped her out of the tub, wrapped a large towel around her, and dried her with the same quiet attention. He even rubbed lotion into her skin afterward, his palms moving over her arms, her legs, the curve of her waist. It felt strangely intimate. More intimate than when he had simply taken her.

“You’re confusing me,” Elena muttered.

Dante glanced up at her face. “Good.”

He left her with soft clothes — loose pants and a comfortable top — and told her to come to the kitchen when she was ready. Breakfast was already waiting when she arrived. Real food this time. Fresh fruit, eggs, toast, coffee made the way she had mentioned once in passing.

Elena stared at the plate. “Did you cook?”

“No.” Dante sat across from her with his own coffee. “But I told them what to make.”

They ate in relative silence. Every now and then she felt his eyes on her, but he didn’t push conversation. When she finished, he stood and held out a hand.

“Come with me.”

He led her to the large living room and sat on the wide sofa, pulling her down beside him. For a while he simply kept her there, one arm resting along the back of the cushions, his fingers occasionally brushing her shoulder. The city stretched out beyond the windows. The penthouse was quiet.

Elena eventually spoke. “Why are you being like this?”

Dante looked at her. “Like what?”

“Careful. Almost… nice.”

A faint flicker of something passed through his eyes. “I can be both. I can take you apart and still make sure you’re taken care of afterward. The two things aren’t separate for me.”

Before she could respond, he shifted closer. His hand came up to cup the side of her face, thumb brushing over her cheekbone. Then he kissed her.

It was slower than any kiss he had given her before. Deeper. His mouth moved over hers with deliberate patience, like he had all the time in the world. Elena’s hands rested against his chest, unsure whether to push or pull him closer.

Dante guided her onto her back on the sofa. He kissed her for a long time, unhurried, before his mouth moved to her jaw, then her neck, lingering over the places he had marked before. His hands slid under her top, warm palms stroking up her sides as he pulled the fabric over her head and dropped it aside.

He took his time.

His mouth closed over one breast, tongue moving slowly over her nipple while his hand cupped the other. Elena’s breath grew uneven. Dante switched sides, giving the same careful attention to the other breast until her back began to arch. Only then did he move lower, kissing down her stomach, dragging her pants and underwear down her legs and tossing them away.

He settled between her thighs and looked up at her once before lowering his head.

The first slow stroke of his tongue made Elena’s hips twitch. Dante made a low sound of approval and continued, licking her with steady, focused attention. He wasn’t rushed. He explored her thoroughly — long strokes, then softer ones focused on her clit, then deeper again. Every time her breathing hitched or her thighs tensed, he adjusted, learning what made her react most.

Elena’s hands moved to his hair without thinking. Dante hummed against her and kept going, working her with patient intensity until her legs began to tremble. When she came the first time, it was with a broken, helpless sound, her fingers tightening in his hair as pleasure washed through her.

He didn’t stop.

He licked her through it, gentler but still relentless, until the oversensitivity made her try to shift away. Dante held her hips in place and continued until a second, sharper orgasm tore through her, leaving her shaking and breathless.

Only then did he rise up over her, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes were dark.

“Still with me?” he asked quietly.

Elena could only nod.

Dante stripped out of his own clothes and settled between her thighs again. He rubbed the head of his cock through her soaked folds, coating himself, before pushing inside with one slow, continuous thrust. The stretch pulled a long sigh from both of them.

This time he didn’t fuck her hard.

He moved in deep, measured strokes, watching her face the entire time. One of his hands stayed braced beside her head. The other stroked over her body — her breast, her waist, her thigh — as if he wanted to feel every reaction. When he angled his hips just right and rubbed against the sensitive spot inside her, Elena’s mouth fell open on a soft moan.

“That’s it,” Dante murmured. “Let me make you feel good.”

He kept the same steady rhythm, grinding against her clit on every stroke, until a third orgasm built and spilled over her. Elena cried out as she clenched around him, her body pulsing hard. Dante’s control finally slipped. He thrust deeper, a little harder, chasing his own release, and came with a low groan as he emptied himself inside her.

Afterward he stayed buried in her for a long moment, forehead resting against hers, breathing evenly. When he eventually pulled out, he didn’t move away. He shifted them both until she was tucked against his chest on the wide sofa, his arm solid around her waist.

Elena lay there in silence, her body warm and heavy and thoroughly used in a completely different way than before.

Dante’s fingers traced slow patterns over her bare hip.

“You don’t have to understand it,” he said quietly. “You just have to take it.”

She didn’t answer.

But for the first time since he had brought her here, she didn’t feel the urge to pull away.