Again, he let his eyes travel the room. Why the fuck he cared whether Dante was there or not, he didn’t know. But for some reason, he’d expected him. He’d wanted to watch him because he’d given Ben a slow burn he needed to feel.
Ben saw another man tying someone the way Dante had the other night. The ropes were still beautiful, squeezing pale flesh, yet he wasn’t entranced. Wasn’t enraptured, so he turned away. Pushed off the wall and went for the door.
He worked his way through the room packed with bodies. It smelled of sweat, sex, leather and come. It was dark, like he felt. He should be comfortable here the way he once was, yet he wasn’t and it pissed him off.
The second he stepped out of the doors, Ben gasped, sucking in a lungful of fresh air. Or as fresh as it got in this neighborhood.
Without thinking, he just started to move. He didn’t hail a taxi or head for the subway. He just walked, not realizing where he was going until the lights of the diner shined in the distance. It burned his already tender eyes. Christ, he needed to force himself to get some sleep before it killed him.
Instead he went to the diner for coffee to keep him awake. As soon as he opened the door, Ben saw him. Dante was sitting at the same table they’d shared the night before.
He considered walking out but that made him feel weak. Weakness already controlled so much of his life right now that he wouldn’t have that. It was the control he’d always hold onto. That was part of how he was able to keep up the act so long; it made him feel the control he so sorely missed. Tristan had been the only place where he’d been okay with a lack in control.
Ben didn’t ask, didn’t speak at all before he sat across from Dante in his booth.
“I could be waiting for someone,” Dante said without looking at him.
“Me.”
At Ben’s reply, Dante raised his dark eyes to him. When he spoke, his voice held the same deep, husky tone as it had last night. “That’s bold of you. I already told you I’m not fucking you so why would I wait for you?”
“And I told you I do the fucking anyway so why would I want you to screw me?”
Dante didn’t speak for a moment. Instead he took a sip of his coffee. Sat the cup down and then leaned back. “You’re good.”
Ben had always prided himself at being good at many things. “At?”
“Lying.”
Ben’s body went hard, not his prick the way he’d so desperately wanted, but the rest of him. “You don’t know shit about me.” But that didn’t feel true, did it? Somehow when he looked at this man, who on the surface was his opposite—Ben blond with blue eyes and fair skin. Dante was everything dark—yet Ben saw himself in the man.
“No, I guess you’re right. It’s not really lying that I see in you. You’re just lost.”
Damned if he wasn’t, but Ben balled his hands into fists at Dante seeing it in him. Before he could reply, the waitress from last night approached their table.
“Coffee for my friend too, please.” Dante eyed him, daring Ben to argue his order. Everything inside him wanted to but he didn’t. It was because he came here for coffee, he told himself, but he wasn’t sure if that was true.
“Who’s the bold one now?” Ben asked him. “You look at me and think you know me. Tell me I’m lost and that I hate myself, and what do you base this on? Do you read fortunes? Would it be easier if I gave you my palm? You can tell me my path by the lines in my hands?”
Dante didn’t move. Not at first. He continued to sit, leaned against the back of his seat. He wore a long-sleeved, black shirt, stretched across a muscular chest. Ben watched the muscles in his arm twitch. Did he want to hit Ben? Maybe that’s what he needed—to be hit. Or to hit someone else outside the rules and safety of the club.
When he picked up his coffee cup, Dante squeezed it so tightly, the tips of his fingers turned white. After he took another drink, he spoke. “I’m not bold, I’m honest. You’re pretty, I’ll give you that. You look like the American dream with your blond hair and blue eyes. Tall, hot body. Strong jawline, full lips. You were beautiful when you were whipping that boy the first night I saw you. The curves of your muscles, the way they flexed... Nice swing. I’ll admit, it got me hard—watching you. Not because I wanted to be whipped by you. I don’t do that, but you were beautiful.”
A hunger started to awaken inside Ben. Slow embers began to burn, hearing Dante describe him. Imagining how controlled he must have looked through Dante’s eyes.