“I’m not one of your schoolboys,” he says, holding me, squeezing my throat as he finishes, staring into my eyes as I start back into his.
“No, but you needed a good seeing to,” I grit out, against his grip, echoing his words from earlier. “Isn’t cumming inside me so much better?”
He smirks. “It’s certainly cleaner.”
Abruptly, he pulls out and I let him go. His cum is leaking out of me onto the floor. I lie there, soaking up the fact that maybe I finally got one over on Dante.
It’s been a long time coming.
He looks at me with shuttered eyes before getting to his feet. But he’s not happy. I’ve never seen him unsettled like this.
“You can’t get me pregnant if that’s what you’re worried about.” I may as well put him out of his misery. The facility here makes you take contraception. The last thing they want is pregnant teenagers.
“That’s not what I’m worried about,” he says in a flippant voice as he tucks himself back into his trousers.
I sit up, leaning back on my elbows. “Then what are you crying about?”
He snorts a headshake at me. The anger swirling around inside of me confuses the hell out of me as he walks away. What did I want? A fucking cuddle? I’m used to the boys wanting some sort of validation after, seeking to hold me or have me hold them.
I’m not used to this.
I lie back, closing my eyes, trying to keep the fleeting feeling of bliss from vanishing. But it’s already gone. Fuck him.
I reach down with my hand between my legs, feeling Dante’s cum still warm and wet, and use it to make myself come again. I’m panting, letting all the fucking rage dissipate with the quickening of my fingers.
“When you’ve finished, please clean up. We can’t leave any evidence behind here.”
My hard-on dies a small death at that.
Bastard.
I sit up and stare at him until I see what he’s doing, sitting at his desk, clicking file after file open, and then taking out a flash drive and inserting it. He’s making copies of everything prior to wiping it clean with Quinn’s special software, removing all and any traces of a file from the computer. No one will be able to recover them.
He’s erasing me from the system.
Fine. I’m done here too. I want to go home.
Gettingout of St Michael’s is easier than it should be. No one says anything as Dante rolls me out in a wheelchair. He flashes some transfer papers, and the staff barely registers them before waving us through security. And just like that, I’m free.
Dante’s car isn’t the Mustang. It’s a sleek-looking Lexus with big cushy seats and all the flashy gadgets.
“Where’s the shit brown one?” I ask him as I nestle into the butter-soft leather of the passenger side seat.
“I’m on a job. Where do you think?”
I let out a sigh as he starts the engine and then slowly pulls out of the parking lot. At this rate, we’ll never get anywhere. The itching is back under my skin. I drum my fingers on the door panel just to alleviate it somewhat. “How is—”
“Jude’s fine,” Dante cuts me off. “He’s been out weeks.”
“That wasn’t what I was going to ask.”
“How about you stop asking questions and just enjoy the ride for once?”
I give him a blank look. He’s still in some sort of mood with me, and I have no idea how to coax him out of it. For the longest time, we’ve been colleagues—mentor and mentee—but we’ve never been lovers. I don’t know how to navigate the Dante relationship track. And I’m not sure I want to know-how.
We sit in silence all the way to Sacred Heart.
“Nothing’s changed in the two months since I left then?” I ask, just to annoy Dante further.