Page 97 of The Rival's Obsession
The bathroom.
On his knees.
The heat of his mouth.
The best blowjob of my fucking life.
My cock twitches.
Fucking hell.
As if he can sense it—sense me—Dante’s gaze flicks up.
Finds me instantly.
There’s no smirk. No challenge.
Just that look—intense and unyielding—but different now.
The fire’s still there. It always is. But it’s not the wildfire I’ve always known. Not the blaze that made every interaction feel like a battle.
Tonight, it burns steady. Controlled. Like it wants me to come closer.
So, I do.
I cross the floor, weaving through donors and hedge fund managers and washed-up actors clinging to their last season’s relevance. And when I reach them, Dante barely misses a beat.
“Grant,” he says, voice smooth as ever, “Have you been introduced to Matheus da Costa?”
Matheus offers his hand. “From the club the other day. We didn’t get a chance to meet.”
“It’s my pleasure,” I say, shaking firmly. “And this lovely woman on your arm?”
“Vanessa, his wife.” Dante says for him, already turning to me. “Twelve years married and somehow still madly in love.”
She flushes, laughs. Matheus beams. And I?—
I look at Dante.
Twelve years married, huh?
Madly in love, you say?
So, the flirtation earlier this week was nothing more than a performance.
Dante meets my eyes, and something smug flickers there. Not cruel. Not taunting. Just… amused.
I give him a look that saysYou were pretending?
He doesn’t say anything. Just lets the corner of his mouth lift in that quiet, knowing grin.
Asshole.
And yet?—
This is easier than I expected.
Like we’ve always stood like this. Side by side. Two halves of the same pitch.
