Dantdm X Novels & Stories

Dante laughed and lifted his chin at Dallas, who now seemed to be shopping for someone other than Winona. “Why are you here instead of scoping the area?” I asked. “We got it handled. The crews need training, and we already know the area is secure.” Dante was a mixed bag, a distant relative of Dallas’s first wife and about the same age as me. I didn’t know much about him, because he went into the military right at eighteen, then came back the same and also completely different. “Plus, I knew I didn’t want to miss this.” He walked forward in his combat boots and rapped his knuckles on the dressing room door. “Winona, Sebastian. Let’s see the damn thing before HJ’s patience wears out.”

Alex asks to switch the attention away from him. "I'm a daddy as you can see," I say pointing toward my sleeping baby in my arms. "I'm a Dom, hardcore BDSM but I do love a bit of a fight," Dante says and lick his lips. Making Alex blush again. "I'm a Dom, I'm nice unlike some people," she says eyeing Dante "Don't believe her" Dante says laughing "when she wants she can be a creature of hell" "You guys together?" he ask Dante and Ellie and things just got a lot better.

‘That’s what I thought,’ he remarked with a faint smirk tugging at his lips. Him and his Alpha’s superiority! “There’s indeed someone else’s scent -” “Whose scent is it?” Dalton cut him off. “I can’t figure it out. It’s too vague.” The pack scout stood up and dusted his pants. Dalton knelt down on one knee and got close to the bottle of antiseptic. Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath of the scent. His nose twitched as though overwhelmed by the different scents mixed together.

Foreplay was over as soon as that condom was properly rolled down his dick. I liked that he let me be on top, playing into my need for control. I can’t help it. I’m a D’Amore. We are born Doms. Not the first time and won’t be the last that I ride his cock like this, but unlike any time before this, everything felt more intense. Each roll of my hips and thrust of his cock lit me up. I could see the purple aura of my magic surrounding us.

Dante Torres. I move closer, scrutinising it. It’s a bright eye-catching poster for a mixed martial arts tournament in town in the coming weeks, the headline fighter is a returning champion named Dante and scheduled to a homecoming charity fight. Interesting! There is a picture of two young, handsome men in shorts, side on, both wearing boxing gloves which are raised towards one another. Both topless, and mid fight pose. The one with dark hair has tattoos over his upper torso and down one arm completely, although his body is turned in a way I cannot see his chest art clearly as his raised arm and muscles conceal a large chunk.

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Not even the man leaning against the dressing-room doorframe, watching me with that half-amused, half-awed expression that still short-circuits my brain. Dante is in a concert black tonight—dark shirt, dark slacks, sleeves rolled, a watch that probably costs more than some of my early tour budgets. He looks less like a crime lord and more like an overqualified bodyguard who wandered into the wrong industry. He pushes off the frame and steps in as the last tech ducks out. “Ready, little star?” he asks. The nickname doesn’t sting anymore. It just makes me want to kiss him. “Born ready,” I say, smoothing my jacket. “And mildly nauseous.”

“Like... TikTok famous good.” Clarita rolled her eyes. “Don’t encourage her. She already thinks she’s the reincarnation of Shakira.” “Please, I’m more Dua Lipa,” claire said, removing an earbud without missing a beat. Dante strolled in just then, fresh from the gym, towel over his shoulder, shirt clinging to his torso in all the ways that made Jullie’s brain betray her professionalism. He glanced at her. “You’re still here?” “She lives here,” Clarita muttered.

His eyes gleam with the familiar fire I know too well. And last but definitely not least is one who towers over them all; Clad in all-black sweatpants, trainers and hoodie, is Dante. His black hair gleams under the sunlight, looking almost blue. A pair of sunglasses cover his eyes that no one is able to look into without feeling the need to bend to his mercy. “Hey there, My Cherry Blossom.”

“That’s the one, huh?” Evelyn turned, jaw tight. A man emerged from the passenger seat. Slightly shorter than Damien, he was stockier, wearing joggers and a fitted tank top that clung to biceps sculpted like Roman statues. Tattoos curled along his arms, and his smirk was just as annoying. “Evelyn, meet my brother, Dante,” Damien said, clearly entertained. “The personal trainer,” Dante added, flexing a little. “I run gyms up and down the East Coast.”