The Corridor of Sin
625 Words
The air in the VIP lounge was thick with expensive smoke and the scent of desperation, but Dante’s grip on my wrist was the only thing I felt. He didn’t just lead me; he hauled me toward the narrow, dimly lit corridor that led to the private rooms—a place where the music was a distant thrum and the shadows were deep enough to hide a murder.
He shoved me against the velvet-lined wall, the impact knocking the breath from my lungs. Before I could inhale, he was there, his massive body pinning me in place, his hands slamming against the wall on either side of my head.
"Are you trying to get yourself killed, Elena?" he growled, his face inches from mine. His pupils were so blown out that his eyes looked like two bottomless pits of obsidian. "Do you have any idea what kind of men frequent this place? They don't want to date you. They want to break you."
"And you don't?" I spat back, my chest heaving against his suit jacket. "You broke me this morning, Dante. You called me 'clutter' after you spent the night inside me. You’re no better than they are."
Dante let out a guttural, animalistic sound. He grabbed my waist, his fingers digging into the emerald silk, and hauled me up until my feet were dangling off the floor and I was forced to wrap my legs around his hips. The staggering length of his arousal was a rigid, throbbing weapon against my center, proving that every word he’d said at breakfast was a lie.
"I called you clutter because I’m trying to save your life!" he hissed, his mouth ghosting over my lips. "I’m trying to keep Leo from killing us both! But you walk in here looking like a f*****g invitation, showing every man in this room exactly what I stayed awake all night worshiping..."
He buried his face in the crook of my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of my jugular. "The thought of another man’s hands on you... the thought of anyone else seeing the marks I left... it makes me want to burn this city to the ground."
He moved with a sudden, violent hunger, his hand reaching down to catch the hem of my dress. He bunched the silk up until it was around my waist, his palm finding the bare, heated skin of my thigh. His fingers were rough, seeking the dampness he knew was already there. When he found it, he groaned, a sound of pure, unadulterated agony.
"You’re still wet for me," he whispered, his voice dripping with dark pride. "Even after I was a bastard to you. You’re just as obsessed as I am."
He didn't wait for a response. He unzipped his trousers, the unyielding thickness of him springing free, hot and ready to reclaim what he had marked as his. He didn't use a condom. He didn't use finesse. He gripped my thighs and slammed into me right there against the velvet wall, his entry a blunt, forceful invasion that made me cry out into the empty hallway.
Every thrust was a punishment and a prayer. He moved with a raw, primal energy, his eyes locked onto mine, forcing me to see the "Beast" in all its terrifying glory. We weren't "brother’s best friend" and "little sister" anymore. We were two ghosts haunting a hallway, feeding on a sin that was going to destroy us both.
"Say it," he gasped, his pace quickening as he neared his breaking point. "Say you're mine. Say it so I can stop feeling like I’m dying every time you walk away."
"I'm yours," I sobbed, my fingernails drawing blood from his shoulders. "Always yours, Dante."
- Writer
