I gave myself a half hour to get ready. Which is funny because I usually take ten minutes. I wish I was one of those girly girls who layer their clothes and accessorize and have the perfect lip gloss to match, but I’m so not. There is one tube of mascara in my purse, one pressed powder foundation, and last year I went nuts and added concealer and a second lipstick, a coral in addition to the burgundy one I already have.
At least I kind of styled my hair, as in I braided it last night after my shower. I undo the braid, happy with the slight curl. I spray it with hairspray, to keep it in place without weighing it down. Even though I brushed my teeth this morning I brush them again and wash my face.
I go into my closet without any excitement. I have no idea what I should wear. I flick through my clothes, no, no, oh god no, nope, no a thousand times. Wait—I bought it online then freaked when I put it on. It’s a white cotton sundress with cute eyelets at the top and the bottom, but around the hips it clings like a second skin. Hmm... do I dare?
Knocking on Dante’s door twenty minutes later, I’m holding my breath. When he opens the door he goes still. I’m so glad I dared. It’s like a wave of fire has hit me, scorching me everywhere. “Go change.” He raps the words out, and they hit me with a sting.
Asshole. “No. I’m comfortable, we’re going to be outside and it’s a little warm out today.”
“If you don’t take it off and put something else on, I’ll take it off you myself.”
I’m a freak: the leashed violence within him is melting my bones. I want to launch myself at him, only I don’t think it would be the best idea right now. I shake my head.
His jaw tightens. “You like turning me on, Bethany? You like getting me hard for you?” He moves closer to me until he’s only inches away, his mouth close to my ear so hot air brushes against it. I can’t move, can barely breathe. “You’re putting your body on display for me, daring me to touch you, begging me to fuck you.” I’m trembling as my body leans into his, desperate for the feel of him against me. Hard rough hands slide up my arms then to the back of my neck. His mouth is close, so close to mine.
“I’m not going over to Che’s place with your sister right there and me with my cock hard, desperate for your body.” I hear the fabric tearing loud around me. I look down, shocked to see the dress in a puddle at my feet. Eyes wide I look up to Dante. His cheek jerks as he studies me. My bra is a fine silky white, and my panties are also white though they aren’t a set. I didn’t want my underwear showing through the white of the dress. He nods to my door. “Change. Now.”
I back away slowly, not bothering to pick up the dress before a shiver hits me from the air-conditioning, sending me into a run. It takes a few minutes for me to catch my breath as I lean against the door.
Holy fuck, what is up with me? Why is it when he gets all primitive I get all wet? I didn’t think it was something that would ever turn me on. I dreamed of soft kisses, gen
tle touches, not orders given in a growl, not threats of a spanking. Aren’t I supposed to be a feminist? Does it make me a bad feminist to want the man who turns me on to grab me, throw me down and fuck me on the floor? It feels like it should. Only I don’t care.
Shit, I push away from the door to run and change. Back in my closet, I pick the blue and white maxi skirt I originally thought of wearing and a boatneck top with white and blue stripes.
Dante is leaning against the wall at the elevators. He straightens as I come closer then nods. “Better. We need to pick up Enzo on the way. He’s pretty sure he wants to have a few drinks, and he’s not interested in sleeping over.”
I curtsy in front of him. “I’m glad I meet with your approval. Anything else, sire?”
He shakes his head as he presses the button, but I see him trying not to smile. With a hand he waves me into the elevator ahead of him. I’m starting to wonder when the elevator is ever going to stop, but finally it does. The doors open to an underground garage park. This is on a different level than the one I’m parked on, it has storage lockers and a guard by the elevator and another right by the exit.
We walk down a line of cars, Mercedes, Audi, Porsche, Ferrari, Audi, Bugatti, McLaren, Porsche, Mercedes, Audi, another Porsche, Land Rover, another Ferrari, then another Mercedes, this one chirps. Dante moves to open the passenger door. A Maybach, I’m not impressed, okay maybe a little. I sink into the black leather seat. Talk about plush.
He gets in beside me. “Seat belt.”
I put my seat belt on; even the seat belt is nicer than the one in my car. Then again, I have a Corolla. “I’m surprised you have a sedan. I kind of thought you would be a sports car kind of guy.”
“I am, the Ferrari out your window is mine. No way three people will fit in it. I got this when I found out a woman I was seeing had a kid. Never had to use it though. I never met him, he was with the grandmother the whole time.” He hits a button and classical piano music fills the car.
“You bought a car for a kid you never met? On the off chance you would need to drive him around?”
“I thought the kid was important to the woman. Turns out I was wrong.” I wince as he takes a turn so fast I don’t know how we stay on all four wheels.
“It’s sad a woman’s kid wasn’t important to her. Why even have a kid if you aren’t going to raise it?”
“Ah, the naivete of youth. Women have kids for many other reasons than because they want to raise them.”
It feels like a rebuke of my age. I don’t like it. “Fuck that, I’m twenty-four, not twelve. It’s bullshit to say I don’t know what I’m talking about or what I want isn’t valid until I’m thirty or something. I get there are things I haven’t been through, things I haven’t seen that could change my perceptions and me. There are also some things that will never change. The core of who I am and the things I value most won’t.”
He’s quiet for a minute, then he nods. “I stand corrected.”
In less than five chaotic minutes we pull up to the curb with a tire-screeching stop. I see Enzo waiting. My hand is on the door. “Don’t, he’ll sit in the back. He prefers it.”
Enzo gets in. “Hey, Bethany. How are you?”
“I’m good, thanks.” The words are barely out of my mouth before Dante guns the gas, flinging my head back. He cuts off a driver to get into another lane. “Oh my god, you’re one of those drivers. Let me out, I’ll walk.”
“Shut up, I’m a good driver. I’ve never wrecked once, not even a fender bender.”