A boy, who couldn’t have been older than nineteen or twenty, stood at the mouth of the alley wearing nothing but a filthy, torn jacket. Its worn edges stopped at the top of the boy’s milky thighs and lay unzipped enough for Dante to see the length of his slender neck fall into a wingspread of defined collarbones. A faint shadow caressed the soft curve of his chest, drawing attention to the glow of his moon-soaked skin. His dreamy eyes remained locked on Dante, his lashes touched by windswept hair the color of sweet milk as strands caught the corner of his lips. 

Dante’s cock tightened after imagining those full, pink lips giving him head then drinking a mouthful of cum. His heart raced, though every muscle and thought remained involuntarily calm as though the boy’s presence was a drug that forced Dante’s mind and soul at ease. 

Yet, weird sounds—crystal chimes and a glimmer of laughter—broke through his clouded senses, and Dante watched the boy closely. 

“You lost or something?” He asked.

The boy said nothing and stepped closer. 

Dante inched back, but the boy persisted. He touched Dante’s chest, sliding his small hand across every bump and furrow of stiff muscles with that same bewitching smile. And by his own invite, the boy pressed close enough for Dante to catch a glimpse of his nipples hiding inside that loose jacket. 

Of course, Dante reacted—and he hated it. 

Despite his less than enthusiastic expression, his cock tightened painfully under his pants, swelling to a well-noticeable length. 

The strange boy wanted it badly, wanted him or any other guy with a big dick and warm bed. That was obvious. He touched Dante intending to seduce him, his hand sliding down the man’s hard chest, tracing furrows of muscle beneath his shirt, then giving his cock a firm squeeze. 

Dante arched a brow and shoved the boy away from him. But, it seemed his push did nothing, and the boy stepped back on his own will with a breathy laugh, amused by Dante’s anger—or his pathetic show of strength. 

His laugh irritated yet aroused Dante, who watched the boy stand with fingers innocently twined as if he were waiting for permission to move like a child in timeout. Of course, he might’ve been on something, and the intelligent thing would be to tell him to fuck off. 

But the longer Dante stared, the more he admired—white teeth nibbling on a pink, dewy lip, dark lashes guarding eyes glistening like opals under starlight, and skin begging to be bruised. Like a curious fawn, the boy approached him one slow, considerate step at a time. He smelled like vanilla-laced peat smoke rising from burning fields of lavender, and Dante shivered at the thought of burying his face in the hollow of that porcelain neck to drown in that scent. 

His cock throbbed painfully, a discomfort Dante tried ignoring as he walked past the boy, fleeing for home. 

But he knew the boy was following him. He heard every bare, wet footstep hurrying to keep up with his quick stride. 

Dante’s apartment wasn’t far, just up the street, and thankfully there was no one blocking the steps tonight, sparing him the aggravation of explaining to the half-naked stranger following him home.

Inside, the place smelled of piss, smoke, and cheap air freshener. The nicotine-stained walls were covered in graffiti—colorful names written in smokey textures, curse words, and gang symbols sketched in permanent marker over once-beautiful artwork. Trash and cigarette butts littered the stairwell, and Dante warned the boy about avoiding used needles dropped along the steps. 

His floor thundered with music and havoc, people fucking or fighting without giving a shit if they were heard or witnessed. 

Still, the boy remained quiet. 

Dante had to admit it was pretty impressive. This shithole even worried him sometimes. People here were mindless junkies strung out on a cocktail of drugs that made them unpredictable. Yet, for such a delicate person to walk so carelessly through a sketchy side of town was both admirable and idiotic. 

They reached his apartment, the only one not shaking with chaos on this floor, and Dante opened the door. He stepped inside but made a low noise after the boy frolicked past him like a fucking fairy and found his bed at the far end of the studio. 

He leaped face-first onto the blanket with a squee. The edge of his jacket slid up upon impact, revealing the boy’s round ass, now blushing red from the cold. 

Dante smirked. 

“What? The last guy you fucked didn’t have a bed?” Dante tossed his jacket aside and headed for the kitchen.

He opened the fridge—beer, condiments, leftover takeout. Unfortunately, Dante didn’t have much to offer, and he glanced over the island. 

“All I have is beer or tap water.” He asked, assuming the boy intended to stay and not giving enough of a fuck anymore to turn him out. 

The boy wasn’t listening and continued to roll himself up in Dante’s blankets happily—sniffing and nuzzling each layer before sitting up in Dante’s direction.

“Do you want anything?” He asked, irritated and leaning against the open fridge.

The boy shook his head with a smile.

Dante arched his brows, then grabbed a beer for himself. “Lucky me for coming across the only whore in the city who can’t talk.”

He shut the fridge, cracked open the bottle, and took a swig. 

The cold drink did little to tame the heat curling in his stomach. It rose, setting his skin on fire and gathering where he dreamed up the wound. He touched the area—hot, tense, and throbbing, not with pain, but something trying to get out.

Dante looked up from his beer and at a photo hanging on the fridge.

Him, Nore, Faron, and…

Dante gritted his teeth. 

Fifteen years. Not a word. Not one fucking word.

His hand tightened around the bottle, a grip trying to prevent Dante from throwing it into the wall. But anger spread through his body, igniting like a match touching gasoline. 

Calm down. Calm down.

Dante recalled his dream—the beach, the smell of jasmine, and the happiness on Nore’s face when she had actually enjoyed being around him, things that gave him a sense of peace he hadn’t felt in a long time.

But he woke up.

He always woke up.

Every goddamn day Dante opened his eyes to reality reminding him he’d lost everything because of a man he trusted. No, a brother. Someone he swore his life to, but not at this cost. 

He needs to suffer; he and the rest of those traitorous fucks need to die slowly and screaming. 

Amidst his anger, the boy’s soft, warm body embraced Dante from behind. He slid his silky hands up under Dante’s shirt, then showered his shoulder with lush, little kisses, taming the heat beneath his skin.

Dante closed his eyes, and the rage subsided.

Those lips felt like heaven.

The boy nuzzled into Dante’s back, rocking his narrow hips against the man’s thigh in a plea to be noticed and loved.

It was a cry Dante couldn’t ignore, feelings he didn’t give a fuck about hiding anymore as he turned and grabbed the boy’s nape. The grip forced him to his toes and brought their lips together in a deep, harsh kiss. There was nothing romantic about it, only tongues and saliva bringing Dante to the edge of his limit. He grabbed the boy’s bare ass, who gasped after Dante lifted him off the ground mid-kiss and carried him across the room. 

Dante tossed the boy onto the bed and watched his otherworldly body shift into a pose that could’ve been painted on a cathedral ceiling. His long, slender legs bent at an angle that uncovered his ass, arms lifted, and fingers touching a halo of starlit hair surrounding his cherubic face. The jacket fell open, uncovering his plump, rose-tipped nipples rising and falling with every breath. And the longer he stared, the harder Dante’s cock throbbed, every inch yearning to fuck the boy messy. 

It’d been a while since he’d fucked anyone. Maybe that could explain the strange turning in his stomach—anticipation or eagerness, feelings rising and gathering where his shoulder burned. His breathing had become untamed, impatient, and after the boy sat up, Dante broke out of his feral daze to watch him nuzzle against the bulge in his pants like he couldn’t wait any longer to have a taste. 

Dante smirked. 

“I know you want it bad, boy,” He said, undoing his pants. “But, we’ve got all night.”