Chapter 9: The Billionaire's Muse

~Dante's POV~

I didn't sleep again that night.

After the bar redo and bringing her home—watching her disappear into her room without a backward glance—I lay in the dark, cock aching, fury simmering under my skin.

Her words, repeating in my head. "Only you, Dante."

I hated how much I craved that truth. And hated even more that it terrified me.

By dawn, I had already decided what I was going to do. I will have one final session with her.

I will purge her from my system, then pay her double the original amount and end this arrangement before it devours me whole.

The Collective would be perfect for this.

The underground art exhibition ran once a month in a downtown warehouse, invitation only, obscenely exclusive.

Human models posed as sculptures, but the rules encouraged interaction. Hands, mouths, toys. Shared pleasure performed for the crowd. No full penetration by strangers. No pain. Just ecstasy on display.

Since I couldn't share at the club, I will do it at the collective. Let dozens of hands claim what my mind kept insisting was mine.

I will prove she was nothing but a paid body, another transaction to satisfy my cock. Then I will walk away clean.

While she slept, I slipped a note into her room.

[Wear the white dress. Nothing underneath. Be ready at 8 PM. -D]

At exactly eight, she stepped into the hallway.

The dress was sheer white silk with thin straps, backless, clinging to every curve like a second skin.

Under the light, it turned transparent, her nipples dark shadows against the fabric, the faint outline of her bare pussy visible with every breath.

She looked filthy. Like a slut I will pay a top dollar to ruin.

"Where are we going?" Her voice was cautious, eyes searching mine.

"An art exhibition."

Her brows pulled slightly together. “At night?”

“You’ll understand when we get there.”

The warehouse vibrated with low ambient music when we arrived, soft lighting casting golden pools over scattered platforms.

The air was filled with the scent of sex—musk, perfume, and sweat.

Models posed in varying states of undress. On one platform, a woman lay spread-eagle, legs trembling as three attendees worked her; fingers sliding through wet folds, tongues circling her clit, mouths sucking at her nipples.

Moans blended with the pulsing bass. Nearby, a man strained against silk ropes while a vibrator buzzed relentlessly against his cock, his groans low and broken.

Aria froze mid-step. "Dante... what is this?"

"Performance art." I kept my voice even, though my pulse thundered. "Tonight, you're the main attraction."

Her eyes widened, flicking to the empty central platform. "You want me to..."

"Pose there." I pointed. "Let them touch you. Please you. Make you come as many times as they want."

"Why?" The hurt flashed raw across her face before she schooled it into cool acceptance.

"Because I need the reminder." The words felt brutal but they needed to be said. "You're a body I paid for. A transaction for my cock. Nothing more."

She swallowed hard, then lifted her chin in angry defiance. "Fine. Let's do it."

I led her onto the platform and positioned her: standing tall, arms relaxed at her sides, legs parted just enough. The sheer dress shimmered under the lights, every inch of her on display.

The crowd gathered fast. Hands first, light, exploratory. Fingers tracing her bare shoulders, sliding up her thighs, bunching the fragile fabric to expose her smooth, already-glistening pussy.

A brunette with sharp cheekbones knelt pressing her mouth between Aria's legs. The wet sound of her tongue lapping was obscene.

Aria gasped, head tipping back, lips parting on a soft, involuntary moan.

A man stepped behind her, large palms cupping her breasts through the silk, thumbs circling her hardened nipples until they strained visibly.

Another woman leaned in, lips brushing the sensitive skin of her neck, sucking lightly.

Someone produced a sleek vibrator, pressing its buzzing head firmly against her clit while the brunette's tongue delved deeper, two fingers sliding inside her with a wet glide.

Aria's moans rose—loud, natural, unfiltered. Not the soft gasps of the other models, but raw, throaty sounds that drew more eyes, and more people.

Her thighs quivered. The dress clung to her completely damp now, translucent where her wetness had soaked through.

I stood back in the shadows, my fists clenched so tight my nails bit into my palms.

My cock throbbed painfully against my zipper, demanding her mouth, her heat. This was supposed to free me. Prove anyone could make her come the way I did. That she wasn't special.

Instead, every moan drove me mad with anger. Every time her hips jerked toward a stranger's touch, jealousy burned hotter than lust.

She came hard the first time—body arching, her cry tearing from her throat as her legs nearly buckled.

The brunette hummed in satisfaction against her pussy, not stopping, fingers curling deeper while the vibrator held steady.

A second orgasm followed fast, then a third. Her skin glistened with sweat. Someone had to steady her waist as her knees weakened. Still they didn't relent.

The brunette finally pulled back, lips shiny, and a man took her place with a thick dildo toy in hand.

He pushed it inside her slowly at first, then with steady, deep strokes. A woman latched onto one nipple, sucking hard, while another man worked behind her, massaging her ass before sliding a slick finger into her tight hole.

Aria was lost in it—overstimulated, trembling, beautiful in her surrender. Her moans had turned hoarse, desperate. Thighs slick and shining. Eyes half-lidded.

I couldn't fucking breathe.

My hand moved without thought. I unzipped, freeing my aching cock right there in the crowd, stroking myself roughly as I watched. Imagining it was me filling her instead of that toy. Me owning every sound.

Her gaze found mine through the haze of bodies. Glazed. Pleading. She'd come at least five times. Maybe more. She could barely stand.

"Enough." The crowd retreated instantly. They knew me.

I stepped onto the platform, fisting her hair and yanking her head back. The scent of her arousal—sweet, heady—clung to the air around us.

"On your knees."

She dropped without hesitation, exhausted but obedient, eyes locked on mine.

I guided my cock to her swollen lips. "Suck."

She took me deep immediately, throat relaxing around me as wet heat enveloped every inch. I groaned, head falling back at the tight, perfect suction.

"Fuck..." I gripped her hair tighter, hips rocking shallowly.

The brunette—still hungry—caught my eye. Jealousy and possession roared through me. I wanted to snarl that Aria was mine, but the contradiction only fueled my anger. I jerked my chin, signaling her closer.

She slid beneath Aria without a word, mouth returning to her dripping pussy, her tongue flicking relentlessly over her swollen clit.

Aria moaned around my cock, the vibration shooting straight to my balls. Her body shuddered as the brunette devoured her again.

"That's it," I growled. "Take my cock down your throat while she makes you come. Let them all see what a desperate little slut you are for it."

She sucked harder, faster, cheeks hollowing, tears pricking her lashes from the depth. The wet sounds of the brunette's mouth mixed with Aria's muffled cries and the distant hum of the crowd.

We broke together. Aria first—body convulsing violently, a strangled scream vibrating around my shaft as she came undone. I followed with a guttural groan, spilling hot and deep down her throat. She swallowed every drop, gasping when I finally pulled free.

She looked up at me, lips red and swollen, eyes desperate. "Please, Dante... I need you inside me. Please fuck me."

No shame left. Just raw hunger. And God help me, it destroyed the last thread of my control.

I hauled her up, bending her over the edge of the platform. The crowd watched in hushed anticipation, but I no longer cared.

I slammed into her in one brutal thrust, her tight, soaked heat gripping me like a vice.

"Ahhhh!" Her scream echoed through the space.

"Is this what you wanted?" I snarled, pounding into her with deep, punishing strokes. The wet slap of skin filled the air. "To be fucked like a desperate slut in front of all of them?"

"Yes…" she gasped, pushing back to meet me. "Yes, please..."

"Say it. Tell them what you are."

"I'm a slut," she moaned, voice breaking. "Your slut. Don't stop…"

The words ignited something feral. I fucked her harder, one hand fisted in her hair, the other gripping her hip hard enough to bruise. Her walls fluttered and clenched, her body already racing toward another orgasm.

"You love this," I hissed against her ear, breath hot. "Love being used. Love them watching how fucking needy you are for my cock."

"Yes…yes, yes…" She was sobbing now. Her pussy tightened impossibly around me.

"Come," I commanded, voice low and unrelenting. "One more time while they all watch."

She shattered with a scream, her orgasm milking me so fiercely I couldn't hold back.

I came hard, filling her deep, hips grinding as waves of pleasure rushed through us both.

For awhile, we stayed locked together, breathing ragged, bodies slick with sweat. The crowd's murmurs faded into background noise.

Then reality slammed back in.

Aria sagged against the platform, barely conscious, thighs trembling, my cum already leaking down her legs.

The sheer white dress was ruined.

What the fuck had I just done?

I had come here to purge her. To prove she meant nothing. Instead, I had claimed her the most in public.

And the hunger in my chest only burned hotter. She wasn't out of my system.

She was buried deeper than ever now.