Dial a Stud: Dante's Story (37 page)

When we finally reached the end of it, I saw we were at a kind of ‘T’ intersection. To the left was a closed door, but to the right, another hallway headed off, deeper into the sprawling home, where I could see doors on either side, down its length.

“Those are the rooms for the guests, but through this door, is the private wing. We’ll all be staying in here of course. It’s fully self-contained as you will see, so don’t worry that you might run into guests during the night. This door is always locked to keep them out.”

I could see straight away, that the private quarters of the house, were more intimate than the guest area. We walked into a large living room, filled with overstuffed lounges, coffee tables and very ornate, very solid looking timber sideboards on each wall.

There was a widescreen TV mounted on one wall, but it was bigger than anything I’d ever seen. 

Dante kept walking though, and we all followed him through, to an area that was divided up, into a dining room, what looked like a family room or rumpus room and to one side, a beautifully appointed kitchen.

It was all highly polished timber cupboards, black marble benchtops, and stainless steel appliances, everywhere. I noticed everything, was gleaming, so whoever cared for the place, did their job.

“Your home is beautiful Dante.” I smiled up at him; feeling a little overwhelmed by it all. “It’s stunning.” It really was too. The floors were all tiled; the walls raw stone in some areas, the ceilings very high, and with exposed rafters through a lot of it.

“Thank you cara. Now come, everyone, I will take you to the bedrooms.”

His grip tightened on my hand, as he led us down yet another hallway, which opened up into an unusual, hexagonal shaped room.

Everyone except for Dante gasped at it; it was that amazing.

A tall central pillar held up the domed roof, which was inlayed with numerous glass panels, letting the sunlight stream in.

The floor was tiled like the rest of the house, but with several, what looked like Persian rugs around the room. There were four large lounges, set in a square configuration, in the middle, yet another coffee table and huge cushions scattered around, both on the lounges and the floor.

To one side of the room was the biggest pool table I’d ever seen, the other side had a bar, with six bar stools lined up at it. It was a great area just to hang out.

There was another hallway running off the room on the far side, and Dante led us towards it. This one wasn’t as long but it had four doors on one side and four doors on the other, with one isolated door down the end.

This had to be all the bedrooms he’d mentioned. Sure enough, he stopped by the first door. “These are the bedrooms. You can take your pick.”

“What’s the door down the end? Is that the bathroom is it?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No, there’s a central bathroom, first door on the left. The rest are all bedrooms and the room you speak of, is our room cara. It’s the biggest, it’s mine, and now it is yours too. Each bedroom has its own bathroom.” He turned to Alex and Mel, who were looking a little overwhelmed by it all. I wasn’t used to seeing Alex so quiet, but then, I felt much the same way. This house of Dante’s, this whole other lifestyle he had, was bloody mind blowing. The vineyard had to be worth millions. Either way, whether he kept it or sold it, he was a very wealthy man. I wasn’t quite sure what to make of that. I knew because of Dial A Stud, that he wasn’t poor. His home in Australia certainly wasn’t a bargain basement special, but it wasn’t exactly a mansion either. This was different. This put him into a whole, different world to me. A world that was both foreign, and intimidating to me.

We left the others to find a suitable bedroom. It was like pick a room, any room, and obviously the choices were something else, if Mel’s squeals were any indication.

Dante pulled me through the doorway of the end bedroom, and I came to a skidding halt when I saw it. Like the rest of the house, it was huge.

It wasn’t just a bedroom either, from what I could see. It had a small living area, with a TV and lounges, which took up one corner of the room.

The rest was bedroom though, with the biggest bed I’d ever laid eyes on. It had to be the king of all king size beds, but it was also a stunningly beautiful canopy bed. I felt very much like I’d stepped onto the set of Arabian Nights or something, with the heavy, but ornate posts that rose up from each corner, to support the overhead woodwork.

From the structure above, sheer, cream coloured fabric hung like curtains, tied back to each corner post. The wood of the bed was a dark timber, so dark, it was almost black, and it was a high bed, high enough that a couple of steps actually led up to it.

It bordered on being ostentatious, but somehow pulled it off, because it was also very glamorous and decadent looking. I had an insane desire to go all Paul Hogan as Mick Dundee, when he’d compared the knives, but I would scream, ‘That’s not a bed, this is a bed,’ still; I controlled myself, smirking inside, at the insanity of my thoughts.

There was other various pieces of furniture around the room, chest of drawers, a beautiful writing desk, and a couple of wall units, that helped act like room dividers, for the small living room, or parents’ retreat. They were filled with DVD’s and books I noticed.

Slowly, I stepped further into the room, conscious of the fact, that Dante was watching me closely. I studied the walls with their various paintings, mainly of the vineyard from what I could see, before heading towards the doorways, I could see over the other side of the vast room.

It was carpeted which was a surprise. With all the tiling right through the house, I’d expected all the bedrooms to be tiled too.

The first room I walked into was a bathroom. It was no ordinary bathroom though. It was tiled all in a cream colour and black. The toilet and bidet were off white porcelain, as was the vanity and bath. The taps were gold coloured, the bath was big enough that I figured I could possibly swim laps in it, and the shower was built for a party, not just one or two people.

Nothing was small, low key, cheap looking, and I found myself feeling more and more out of my depth. When my eyes landed on the bidet again, I knew I was really out of my depth. There was no way in hell, I’d straddle some toilet looking thing, and let it spray my ass like I was going through a carwash.

Spinning around, I brushed past Dante, who had come to stand, leaning against the door frame, watching me. I shot him a brief look as I passed him, before entering another doorway, in this vast, room, which was unlike any bedroom, I’d ever seen in my life.

As soon as I stepped inside, lights began to come on like magic all along the length of the room. It was a walk in robe, but it was more than that, it was massive. Not overly wide, but long. There were shelves everywhere, hanging rails, things that looked like turntables but with hooks on them, for hanging something, I guess. Mirrors ran down one side, with lights at the tops and bottom of them. In fact, there were lights everywhere. Chances are, when the lights came on in here, half the lights dimmed on the estate.

There were racks for shoes, seats for obviously getting comfortable to put on shoes, socks, whatever a person needed to sit down for. This thing was bigger than Ben Hur, it was unbelievable.

Finally when I had seen enough, and I was feeling so overwhelmed, I was nauseous, I walked back out into the bedroom.

Dante watched me walk out, and collapse onto one of the lounges. He joined me, sitting on the coffee table facing me, rather than by my side on the lounge.

“What is wrong cara? I sense you are disturbed about something?”

I couldn’t answer him straight away. I searched for the right words, to explain why this was all too much.

“This wasn’t what I expected.” I finally said softly.

“What isn’t what you expected?” I could hear the confusion in his voice.

I waved my arm around. “This, all this, it’s…I…didn’t know. I…I don’t know…about all this.” I struggled to express how I was feeling.

“I don’t understand Grace. Please, be open and honest with me. I can’t help you if I don’t know what bothers you.”

I turned to him, realising he was right. I couldn’t leave him, hanging on this. I had to tell him how I felt.

“I had no idea, you were so wealthy.” There, finally I’d said it. Well, part of what troubled me.

“It’s not something I generally broadcast. I don’t consider it a problem, so neither should you.”

I gave him my best, ‘you’ve got to be kidding,’ look. “Dante, this is not a case of you having a few dollars more in the bank, than I do. You are into millionaire status. I am not, and I’m never likely to be. I can’t…I can’t compete with that.”

Dante’s fingers teased their way over my cheek. “This is not a competition. I don’t care that I have more money than you. I don’t believe for one moment, that you are a gold digger, or money hungry. Please, don’t worry about this. Can’t you just enjoy your time here with our friends? I love you, and I want you to learn to love, the home my Grandparents left me. I don’t want to sell it. I have ideas for it, but they’re only ideas at this stage.”

I looked at him curiously; convinced there was something he wasn’t telling me. I wanted to ask him, to find out what he was thinking, but I could see how much he just wanted us all to enjoy our time here. I would bite my tongue for now, and give him what he asked for. I would leave this discussion for later.

Looking around from my position on the lounge, I still felt horribly intimidated. My family had been financially comfortable. I was financially comfortable. I had been ok with Dante’s wealth, when I thought; all he had was his house and Dial A Stud.

This was different though, really, really different. He was movie star kind of rich. He was intimidatingly rich. It didn’t sit well with me, I wasn’t sure I could ever just accept it, and brush it off, the way he seemed to think I should. Then there was the other thing, that thing I usually kept buried deep inside me, that thing that I knew would become an issue.

For the first time, I suddenly felt doubtful about our future. I wasn’t sure, we could have one.

Four days later and I was still struggling to cope with Dante’s wealth. The vineyard was amazing, the sheer scale of it, immense. There were people everywhere. People who maintained the stunning grounds and gardens, numerous people who cleaned the house, not to mention those, who cooked and catered, to not only the guests, but us too. Basically, we didn’t have to lift a finger, if we didn’t want to.

The house was equipped with a gym, which was more like a professional one, with personal trainers, and just about every piece of exercise equipment, known to mankind.

With all the wonderful Italian food we were eating, and the beautiful home grown wines we drank, we were all conscious of gaining weight.

Well, not so much Mel, she was lucky to be naturally slim. Alex worked out I think, because that was just his routine, but Dante and I worked out, because we’d once been overweight. I wasn’t sure if he’d gain weight, to the point where he could be obese again, it hadn’t exactly come up in conversation. I knew I was always going to be naturally curvy. Not your size 8, that’s for sure, but I worked out, so I could keep myself toned at least.

Maybe Dante worked out too, so he could maintain that fine body of his. It was a hell of a body to look at, and a hell of a distraction to me, when I was trying to work out.

He ran on the treadmill until he was glistening with sweat; until it ran down his body like mini rivers, and all I could do, was watch, and try to control my natural desire, to run over and lick him clean.

The rest of his workout was weights and again, watching him flexing, all those muscles bulging, got me wet, and not with sweat either.

Like this, when he was working out, and not being constantly stopped by staff with questions, or guests acknowledging him, I could almost forget he was a multi-millionaire; almost, but not quite.

The more I watched him running the vineyard, seeing how comfortable he was, how at home, he appeared, I also realised, this was where he should be. This was his real home. This was the place that held so many happy memories for him. This was where he’d been saved. He couldn’t sell it. He shouldn’t, but what would he do? Would he move back to Italy? Could he be happy letting others run it for him, while he wasn’t here, if he stayed in Australia?

I had so many questions. It was a beautiful place. There was no denying that, but I didn’t fit into his world here. I knew nothing about wine, besides how to drink it.

Everything about the vineyard brought my old insecurities back. Taunts from my past, haunted me, and I could hear those voices again. ‘Don’t invite Gruesome Gracie; she’s too fat and plain to mix with us. Oh, I’m sorry but you don’t have the right look. It’s a garden tea party, no hogs allowed.’

Over and over again, those words passed through my head, and I turned my wrists over, studying the scars left from when it had finally become too much for me.

My eyes drifted over to Dante again, as he worked away on what looked like a rowing machine, arms, shoulders, everything flexing as he pushed his body, wearing nothing, but a singlet styled shirt, shorts, socks and sneakers. His hair was pulled back into a man bun. I’d never seen him wear it like that before, but he did while he worked out. To think I’d once scoffed at the idea, of a man wearing his hair up in a bun, but on him, it was hot as hell.

I dragged my eyes off him, and focused on finishing my last kilometre, on the stationary bike I rode. When I was done, I threw my towel around my neck, leaving the gym; heading back to the private wing of the house, to shower.

I’d just stripped out of my sweat dampened clothes, and stepped into the warm, soothing spray of the shower, when I heard the door open. I turned around and nearly bumped into the huge, solid wall of Dante’s chest before me.

His hands came out to grab my shoulders, before I bounced off him, steadying me. One hand shifted to my chin, raising my face to his. When I looked into his eyes, I could see the concern in them, plus something else, a hint of something, something that looked like, sadness.

“What is wrong cara? I know something is wrong. Talk to me, please.” He brushed his thumb over my bottom lip, and I couldn’t control the quiver, that ran through it at his touch, his words.

“It’s nothing Dante.” I lied. “I just…this place…it’s a little…intimidating.”

He frowned. “You don’t like my vineyard?”

‘It’s not the vineyard, it’s your wealth.’ I thought to myself.

“I didn’t say that.” I stalled.

“I want you to like it here, to feel comfortable. I know something isn’t right with you. We’ve been here four days and we have not made love yet. You always seem to be tired or so distant.” I saw pain flash across his features. “Do you not want me any more? Do you no longer find me attractive?”

I felt pain stab through my heart at his words. I could hear the doubts, the insecurities in his voice, and I realised as I stared up at him, that for all the confidence he portrayed, and for all the visual appeal, with looks that drew every woman’s eye, inside he was still that vulnerable, hurt, overweight boy.

I was hurting him, and it was unfair. He didn’t deserve it, when he’d done nothing wrong. He couldn’t help that he was rich. I was closing myself off to him, with no explanation, putting us into a state of limbo, and I had to stop. I had to either, suck it up, push aside my own insecurities and inadequacies, or make a clean break from him.

The trouble was; I’d tried that already. I’d tried to ignore his wealth, be all, water off a duck’s back about it, but I couldn’t. Maybe if I’d had some idea before we came here. If I’d had a better understanding, I might have accepted it, or possibly panicked and run.

Instinctively I knew Dante wouldn’t care, about coming into a relationship with me, with a whole load more zeros, on the end of his bank balance than me, but in my mind, I could already see the looks. The looks that would pass from him, to me and they would be saying ‘gold digger.’

“Why are you so silent?” His voice drew my focus, back to him.

He was still looking down at me, the water cascading over his shoulders. God he was beautiful and I wanted him, suddenly, desperately I needed him. For now, in this vast shower, I could blot the rest of the world out. I could forget about his wealth, this vineyard, the large number of people who looked up to him, to keep them employed and earning wages. I could pretend that all that existed, were him and I.

Chapter Twenty Five

Reaching up with both hands, I locked them at the back of his head, dragging his face down to mine. My lips closed over his, urgently seeking entry to his mouth.

He opened, and immediately my tongue was inside, kissing him, with all the pent up emotions, that threatened to spill from me. I poured all I could into that kiss; my love, my pain, sorrow, grief, confusion, insecurities and hardest of all, my goodbye.

Dante hesitated for the briefest moment, before he took over the kiss, his tongue in my mouth, tangling with mine, licking at me, duelling with me, in a battle to dominate and control.

Suddenly I was pushed back, slamming against the cold tiles, and I gasped, against his lips, as the impact, knocked the wind from me.

I felt his hard body crush mine, his cock hard; rock hard in fact, between us. He began to move against me, grinding his erection into the soft skin of my stomach, and I could hear the harshness of his breathing, when his lips moved to my ear, nipping at my lobe.

This was hot, fucking hot. Dante was out of control, and I’d only seen him like this once before, when he’d kind of sleep fucked me that time, when he was sick.

“Fuck, I want you. God, I want you so badly.” His voice was rough, urgent against my ear, his hands moving over me, with none of his customary control.

His fingers plucked at my nipples until they were hard, and poking against his broad chest. Obviously satisfied, he shoved a hand between us, roughly pushing my thighs apart, so he could gain access to me.

I cried out again, when he began to slide his palm back and forth, over my clit, teasing, and stimulating the already swollen bud. Over and over he did that, and I knew if he kept doing it, I’d come, but as if sensing I was getting close, he suddenly slid two fingers into me. He began to thrust them in and out, twisting them, curling them to hit that special spot inside me.

I moaned, close, desperately close to my orgasm. It had been so long; four days since we’d had sex. I was like a starving animal now; ravenous, needing him, wanting him, wanting him inside me, fucking, me.  

“I can’t wait. What are you doing to me? I can’t wait; I have to have you now, here, right now, in this shower.” His voice was strained, his body trembling.

“Dante, please.” I could do little more than moan his name, my fingers raking through his wet hair, tangling in the dark strands, as I pulled his lips back to mine.

He kissed me ferociously, his hunger consuming me. It was so intense, so wild and my body responded eagerly; as desperate for him, as he was for me.

“Hold onto me, don’t let go.” His lips left mine, the words spoken urgently; the desire in his eyes burning brightly.

I curled my arms around his neck, just as he lifted me high, using his body to hold me against the tiles. Before he could ask me, I wrapped my legs around him, feeling the tip of his cock, brush against my pussy.

“Oh…Dante.” I moaned his name again, shifting against him, in an attempt to get him where I wanted him.

“Oh fuck, Gracie.” He ground out, his fingers digging into my ass cheeks, as he hoisted me higher. When he pressed his face to my neck, his breath scorching hot against me, my head fell to one side, giving him better access.

I felt his cock bump against me, before the head brushed over my pussy. As he angled his hips and thrust up, at the same time, he lowered me, impaling me hard on his huge cock.

I cried out as he filled me, stretching me to my limits around him. It had only been four days, since he’d last been inside me, but it almost felt like the first time. God, I was so full of him, it was intense. He filled me completely, almost painfully, the angle forcing him so deep; I could only pant as my body adjusted to him.

“Cazzo ci si sente cosi bene.” Dante’s words were husky, his lips still pressed into my neck, as he held me, not moving, giving me time, to get used to him being in me. “Are you alright cara? I…need…to…move.” He said, causing me to clench around him, at the urgency in his voice.

“Fuck me.” I whispered, and he shuddered, his whole body shaking violently.

He pulled nearly all the way back out and stopped, lifting his head to look up into my eyes. I could see his desire for me, the tension on his face, as he fought for control.

Without looking away, he lunged, driving into me so hard, the wind was knocked out of me, when I slammed against the tiles. I barely had time to drag in a lungful of air, and he repeated the movement, making me gasp again.

Over and over, he thrust hard, his strokes, long and deep. I could feel all of him, his piercing rubbing inside me, waking up all my nerve endings. He filled me and retreated, filled me and retreated, every move, pushing me ever closer to my orgasm.

This was different to any other time with him. Normally he was controlled, measured, every move performed, as if choreographed. He had been a stud after all, and he fucked with impeccable control, his focus all on pleasing the woman. Not this time. This time he was not in control. In fact he seemed like a man who needed to fuck, and who needed to fuck, like his life depended on it. It was surprising, intense, raw, and damn hot to see, to feel, to simply be the one, on the receiving end of this man, out of control. 

“No…fuck…sto per venire.” Dante groaned; his body tensing. “No…no…no!” His tone suddenly sounded desperate. “I’m sorry cara.” He cried, lunging hard, and I felt the warmth of his release deep inside me. He convulsed, his big body shuddering, his breathing so harsh and ragged sounding, I could hear it over the water of the shower. I tightened around him, instinctively, uncontrollably, milking him, squeezing everything from him; that he had to give.

My arms tightened around his neck, as if to reassure him. This was massive. Dante had come, in fact he’d come too early. This never happened. It was a profound moment for me. I was capable of breaking his rigid control; me, clumsy, unco-ordinated Gracie. I was able to help him, overcome the problems that had resulted from working as a stud, so it was both an uplifting and frustrating moment for me. Frustration began to win, when he stilled in me, and I felt my orgasm fading away. Ironically, what may be one of my last intimate moments with him, and he had failed to make me come.

Dante’s head came up, his eyes searching mine, and it tugged at my heart, to see him looking embarrassed? I think that’s what it was. Would his natural inclination, be to persecute himself now, because he’d feel he failed me?

“I am sorry cara. I have let you down, and taken my own pleasure first. I can tell you, that I have not had that problem, in a very, very long time.” His lips brushed over mine. “I will make it up to you. I know something is bothering you, although you seem reluctant to share what it is. Hang on, because I am still hard for you, and now I will make you come.” He thrust once, slowly, almost lazily, and I realised he was right, he was still hard. Despite coming, he apparently wasn’t done yet.

With his eyes locked on mine, he settled into a steady rhythm, his thrusts deep, arousing me with every delicious, exciting drive of his hips.

After his unexpected and surprising loss of control, it was obvious, that this time, he was going to make sure, I had an orgasm to remember.

He changed the angle of his hips, his body grinding against mine, brushing over my clit, just enough, to cause a sweet friction, that had me gasping his name.

On and on, he thrust, cleverly building me up, but not allowing me to fall, keeping me hanging; my orgasm just out of reach.

“Dante, please.” I moaned; my head turning from side to side as I desperately sought release. “I need to come.”

“Well come then cara.” I could see humour in his eyes, although his voice held a note of strain.

“You’re not letting me.” I gasped, hearing the frustration in my tone.

“What do you want? What do you need? Tell me what I can do, to make you come, my beautiful Grace?” He asked, his eyes burning into mine, while he continued moving, in that maddening way, that kept my body clambering urgently, for release, but not able to get there, because he wouldn’t quite give me, what he knew, would tip me over.