Dante undoes my jeans as his mouth moves to my other nipple. Then his hands move to my hips and slide down my thighs until he can pull my legs away from his waist. I make a sound of protest, but he compensates by giving me an especially passionate nip with his teeth, and I relent. This allows him to pull my jeans and underwear down my legs, leaving me completely naked beneath him. No sooner have my jeans hit the floor than he's undoing his own fly and pushing his pants down his legs.It's been so long since I've seen him naked. So long since I've admired the hard planes of his chest, or followed the dark trail of hair from his belly button down to his groin, or marveled at the hard, thick length of him. But neither of us seems to want to waste time on studying each other's bodies. We're both slaves to a larger need, a deeper hunger. He leans down fully against me, capturing my mouth again, and the feel of his full weight against me, of his rigid arousal pressed between my legs, is so

For days afterward, I'm in a daze.I don't feel like myself. My head throbs. My heart feels tired. My body... my body feels different. It's been so long since I've had sex that I feel as if I've reawakened parts of myself, stirred long-dormant nerves back to life. My skin is more sensitive than usual, and there's a tender feeling between my legs that reminds me too much of the soreness I felt the day after he took my virginity. The marks left by his mouth and nails linger on me for even longer - and in spite of everything, I find myself reliving the passionate nips of his teeth every time I catch sight of those bruises in my bathroom mirror.I'm hopeless.The worst part is that every time my cell rings, every time the bell on the door of the bakery jingles, my heart leaps as if I expect him to be there. And when it isn't him, I'm flooded with an unsettling mixture of disappointment and relief.Serves me right. I got what I wanted, didn't I? He seems content to leave me alone, and n

I don't call Dante. Historically, I've never been particularly good at stopping to think before I speak, and I'm so worked up right now that I know I'll only end up putting my foot in my mouth if I'm not careful. But texting will give me the chance to look over my words before he sees them.Still, it takes me a very long time to get my initial message exactly right. I write and erase several texts before I finally send him one that's short and casually indifferent:I saw your interview.And then I quickly pour myself another glass of wine. I'm prepared for a long evening of drinking and chastising myself, but no sooner have I set the bottle down again than my cell beeps with an incoming text. I hold my breath as I pull up Dante's response:I was hoping you would.Nothing more. Nothing to give me any clues as to how to proceed from here. It takes me a moment to come up with my next message.And what did you hope would happen now?There. The ball is in his court. I sit back and nu

Dante stares down at me wolfishly."So tell me," he says, "while we've been apart, did you have someone make sure these delicate nipples of yours were getting enough attention?" He gives me another squeeze, then catches my other nipple in his grip. "Did he know how to make you whimper with just a twist of his fingers?" He hardly turns his fingers at all, and yet the motion draws a sound from my throat that could most definitely be called a whimper."No," I manage to gasp out. The last guy who touched my breasts seemed in a rush to get on to other things - which is part of why he didn't."Did he figure out how soft these little nipples felt against his lips? Or how sweet they tasted at the end of a long day?" His mouth starts a slow, tantalizing journey down my throat, across my collarbone, down the slope of my chest. My skin trembles and tingles beneath his lips. I arch toward him."No," I say, It's more of a squeak than a word. "He didn't." And he certainly didn't touch my breasts

Big Barb's Diner is busy, which shouldn't surprise me. It's Sunday, and everyone knows that Big Barb's has the best brunch.I knew it would be strange, coming out in public with Dante. But knowing it and experiencing it are two different things. When I ran into Dante during my date with Dean, both Dante and his brother were both more or less disguised. But this morning, Dante has no sunglasses or hat or anything else to obscure his identity. He's recognizable to anyone who looks his way.A dozen pairs of eyes are on us as we slide into our booth. I spot a group of young people trying to snap pictures of Dante with their cell phones, and a couple of twenty-somethings at the counter keep throwing flirtatious glances his way."Is it always like this for you?" I ask him.He gives a single nod. "Often. It comes with the territory.""I can't imagine living like this all the time." I glance over at the group with the phones. "Not that it's terrible," I add quickly, remembering that he's