Deadly Devotion

Chapter Thirteen: Secret Addiction

The next morning, I arrived at the gallery at exactly nine.

Dante was already there, reviewing contractor plans. He looked up when I walked in. Our eyes met.

For a second, I saw heat flash across his face. Memory of last night. My body on the desk. His hands on me. The way we'd destroyed each other.

Then it was gone. His expression went cold and professional.

"Morning," he said. "The lighting contractors need decisions on the main gallery fixtures. Can you handle that?"

Like nothing had happened. Like he hadn't been inside me twelve hours ago.

"Of course."

"Good. I have meetings all day. I'll be back around six to review your progress."

He left without another word.

I stood in the empty gallery and tried to breathe normally.

This was how it was going to be. We'd pretend last night never happened. Go back to painful professionalism.

I could do that. I had to do that.

Except I couldn't stop thinking about his hands on my body. His mouth on my p***y. The way he'd f****d me like he was trying to exorcise me from his system.

This was going to be impossible.

For three days, we maintained perfect professional distance.

Emails. Brief meetings. Discussions about the gallery that stayed strictly on topic.

Not a single personal word. Not a single acknowledgment of what had happened.

It was killing both of us. I could see it in the tension in his shoulders. The way his jaw tightened when I walked into a room. The way his eyes followed me when he thought I wasn't looking.

Friday evening, I was alone in the gallery. Working on acquisition proposals. Everyone else had gone home.

I heard the front door open. Footsteps on the hardwood.

Dante appeared at the bottom of the stairs leading to my office.

We looked at each other.

"You're here late again," he said.

"Had work to finish."

"It's seven thirty."

"I know what time it is."

He started climbing the stairs. Slowly. Deliberately. His eyes never leaving mine.

"We need to talk about what happened," he said.

"You said it was a mistake. That it couldn't happen again. Nothing to talk about."

"I lied."

He reached the top of the stairs. Crossed my office in three strides. Grabbed my face and kissed me hard.

I kissed him back immediately. No hesitation. No pretending I didn't want this.

"This is insane," I said against his mouth.

"I know."

"We can't keep doing this."

"I know."

"I still love you."

He pulled back. Looked at me with tortured eyes. "Don't say that."

"It's true."

"It doesn't matter. Love isn't enough. Not after what you did."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because I can't stay away. Because my body doesn't care that you betrayed me. It still wants you. Still needs you." His hand slid into my hair, gripped tight. "I hate that I want you. Hate that I can't stop thinking about you. Hate that every woman I try to talk to isn't you."

"You've been with other women?"

"I've tried. Can't do it. Can't touch anyone else without thinking about you." His other hand went to my waist, pulled me against him. "You ruined me. Made it impossible to want anyone else."

"Good."

"Good?"

"I don't want you with anyone else. I want you ruined for other women the way I'm ruined for other men."

Something dark flashed in his eyes. "You haven't been with anyone else?"

"No. Only you. Always you."

He kissed me again, deeper this time. His tongue claiming my mouth while his hands roamed my body.

"Ground rules," he said when we broke apart. "This is just physical. Just s*x. Nothing more."

"Okay."

"We don't talk about feelings. We don't talk about the past. We f**k and that's it."

"Fine."

"And nobody can know. Not my family. Not your friends. This stays between us."

"Agreed."

"Say you understand."

"I understand. This is just s*x. Secret s*x. With the man I'm in love with who hates me."

"I don't hate you."

"You said you did."

"I lied about that too." He backed me toward the desk. "I wish I hated you. Would make this so much easier."

"What do you feel then?"

"Angry. Hurt. Betrayed. But underneath all that?" He lifted me onto the desk. Stepped between my legs. "I still f*****g love you. And I hate myself for it."

The confession broke something in me. "Dante..."

"Don't. Don't say anything. Just let me have this. Let me have your body even if I can't have your heart."

"You have my heart. You've always had it."

"Stop." He kissed me to shut me up. "No feelings. Remember?"

"Right. No feelings. Just sex."

"Just sex."

He pushed my skirt up, pulled my underwear aside. His fingers found my p***y already wet.

"Always ready for me," he muttered. "Your body knows who it belongs to."

"Yes."

He undid his belt, freed his c**k. No more foreplay. No more teasing. Just need.

He entered me in one hard thrust.

We both groaned.

"f**k, I missed this," he said. "Missed being inside you. Missed how tight your p***y is. How perfect you feel."

"Move. Please move."

He did. Hard, deep thrusts that made the desk shake. His hands gripped my hips, holding me in place while he f****d me.

This wasn't gentle. Wasn't tender. This was raw, desperate need. Two people who couldn't stay away from each other no matter how much they should.

"Touch your t**s," he ordered. "Show me those perfect tits."

I pulled my shirt open, pushed my bra down. My breasts spilled out. I cupped them, squeezed my n*****s the way he liked.

"That's it. Play with them. Show me what's mine."

"I'm yours. All of me."

"Damn right you are." He leaned down, took one n****e in his mouth. Sucked hard while he kept f*****g me.

The sensation was overwhelming. His c**k filling me, his mouth on my breast, the intensity of having him again after days of painful distance.

"I'm close," I gasped.

"Not yet. Hold it."

"I can't."

"Yes you can. Wait for me."

He changed the angle, hit deeper. His hand went between us, found my c**t. Rubbed tight circles.

"Now," he said. "Come now."

I came with a scream, my p***y clenching around his c**k. He followed immediately, his whole body going rigid as he emptied himself inside me.

We collapsed together. Both breathing hard. Both trembling.

After a moment, he pulled out. Fixed his clothes.

"Same time tomorrow?" he asked.

The casualness of it hurt. Like this was just a transaction. Just scratching an itch.

"If you want."

"I want." He headed for the stairs. Stopped. Looked back. "This doesn't change anything between us. You know that, right?"

"I know."

"We're still broken. This is just... managing the symptoms."

"I understand."

He left.

I sat on my desk in the quiet gallery, his c*m dripping out of me, and wondered what the hell I was doing.

This was self-destruction. Pure and simple.

We were hurting each other. Using each other. Pretending we could separate physical from emotional when we both knew that was impossible.

But I'd take whatever I could get. Whatever scraps of him he'd give me.

Even if it destroyed me.

Again.

We fell into a pattern.

During the day, we were professional colleagues. Emails about the gallery. Meetings about acquisitions. Discussions that stayed strictly business.

At night, when everyone else had gone home, he'd come to me. Or I'd go to him.

And we'd f**k.

Sometimes in my office. Sometimes in his. Once in the main gallery, me bent over a crate of newly arrived artwork, him pounding into me from behind.

Every time was desperate. Intense. Like we were both trying to get enough of each other to last when we inevitably fell apart again.

We didn't talk about feelings. Didn't talk about the past. Just used each other's bodies and pretended it was enough.

It wasn't enough. Not even close.

But it was all we had.

Three weeks into our secret arrangement, Marco showed up at the gallery.

I was in my office, reviewing auction catalogs, when he appeared in my doorway.

"Marco. What are you doing here?"

"Looking for my brother. Is he around?"

"He's at a meeting. Won't be back until later."

Marco walked into my office uninvited. Looked around. "Nice setup. Dante's treating you well."

"It's a good job."

"Is it? Working for the man whose family you tried to destroy?" He sat on the edge of my desk. Too close. "Or are you still trying to destroy us? Just using a different method now?"

"I'm not trying to destroy anyone. I'm curating a gallery."

"Right. And sleeping with my brother has nothing to do with it."

My blood went cold. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Please. I'm not an i***t. I've seen the way he looks at you. The way you look at him. Plus, there are security cameras in this building. Including one in the main gallery."

Oh god. The gallery. Where we'd had s*x against the artwork crate.

"I haven't reviewed the footage," Marco continued. "Yet. But I could. Should I?"

"What do you want?"

"The truth. Are you f*****g my brother?"

I could lie. Should lie. But what was the point?

"Yes."

"Are you playing him again? Using s*x to get close, gather information, finish what you started?"

"No. I'm not FBI anymore. I have no agenda except surviving each day."

"Then why are you here? Why did you come back to New York? To him?"

"Because he asked me to. And because I can't stay away from him."

Marco studied me for a long moment. "You actually love him."

"Yes."

"Even knowing he'll never forgive you."

"Even knowing that."

"That's pathetic."

"I know."

He stood up. "For what it's worth, I think you're both idiots. He's an i***t for hiring you. You're an i***t for accepting. And you're both idiots for whatever this is."

"You're not wrong."

"But he's my brother. And if this is what he wants, I won't interfere. As long as you don't hurt him again."

"I would never..."

"You already did. Spectacularly. Don't do it again or next time, I won't let you walk away." The threat was clear. "Are we understood?"

"Perfectly."

He left without another word.

I sat at my desk, shaking.

Marco knew. Which meant the whole family probably knew or would soon.

This was getting more complicated.

That night, when Dante showed up at my apartment for the first time, I told him about Marco's visit.

"He knows about us," I said.

Dante didn't look surprised. "I figured he did. Marco notices everything."

"Are you worried about what he'll do?"

"No. He'll complain to me directly. But he won't actually interfere. Not if I tell him to back off."

"And will you? Tell him to back off?"

"Yes." He pulled me against him. "Because despite knowing this is a terrible idea, despite knowing we're just hurting each other, I can't stop."

"Me either."

He kissed me, and we stopped talking.

In my bedroom, he undressed me slowly this time. Taking his time. Looking at every inch of skin he revealed.

"You're so beautiful," he said. "I hate how beautiful you are. Hate that I can't look at you without wanting you."

"Then stop looking and touch me."

He pushed me back on the bed. Spread my legs. Knelt between them.

His mouth found my p***y. Licking slowly, thoroughly. Taking his time. Building the pressure gradually.

"Dante, please."

"Shh. Let me take my time. Let me taste every part of you."

He licked through my folds, circled my c**t, dipped his tongue inside me. Over and over. Never quite giving me enough to come. Just keeping me on the edge.

"Please. I need more."

"Tell me what you need."

"Your fingers. Your c**k. Anything. Just please make me come."

He pushed two fingers inside me, curled them to hit that spot. His mouth sealed around my c**t and sucked.

I came hard, crying out his name, my whole body shaking.

Before I could catch my breath, he was over me. His c**k pressing against my entrance.

"Look at me," he said.

I did. His eyes were dark, intense, full of things he wouldn't say out loud.

"I love you," I said. Breaking the rules. Not caring.

Pain flashed across his face. "Don't."

"I love you, Dante. I need you to know that."

"It doesn't change anything."

"I know. But I need to say it anyway."

He pushed inside me. We both gasped.

"I love you too," he admitted. "God help me, I still love you."

We made love then. Not just f*****g. Actually making love. Slow and deep and full of all the feelings we were trying to pretend didn't exist.

His hands were gentle on my body. His kisses soft and reverent. Like he was trying to memorize every moment.

When we came together, our eyes locked, it felt like something breaking and healing at the same time.

After, lying tangled in my sheets, he held me close.

"This can't last," he said quietly.

"I know."

"Eventually something will break. Someone will get hurt. Again."

"I know."

"But I can't stop. Can't walk away."

"Me either."

"So what do we do?"

"We keep going until we can't anymore. And we try not to destroy each other completely in the process."

He laughed bitterly. "Too late. We already destroyed each other."

"Then we'll just have to learn to live in the ruins."

He pulled me closer. "The ruins aren't so bad. As long as you're here."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

It was a promise I had no idea if I could keep. But in that moment, wrapped in his arms, I meant it.

Even knowing this would end badly. Even knowing we were just delaying the inevitable.

I'd stay as long as he'd let me.

And when it fell apart again, at least I'd have these moments to remember.

These stolen nights where we loved each other despite everything.

Where we were broken together instead of broken apart.

It wasn't enough.

But it was all we had.

And for now, that would have to be enough.