Dance with the Devil: A Dark Standalone Romance (The Midnight Series Book 1)

Dante

The rest of the conference is uneventful. The highlight of my days are my nightly dinners with Francesca—usually at one of my old stomping grounds. On the weekend, we do all of the touristy things like Alcatraz, Pier 39, Golden Gate Park, Palace of Fine Arts, Coit Tower, Golden Gate Bridge, and Lombard Street. She insists on buying a giant penis cookie in the Castro, and I have to watch her eat it—slowly.

It’s fucking torture.

I also take her to some of my favorite spots like West Portal, Noe Valley, my favorite hidden stairways, and then we end the weekend at Vesuvio Cafe, my favorite bar. Francesca has multiple glasses of wine, and I try not to think about how we only have a few nights left.

Soon, she’ll go back to San Diego and I’ll go back to Santa Barbara.

I suppose I could let it go and forget anything ever happened. It would probably be easy, seeing as we’ve spent so much time together platonically.

Except, I woke up this morning to a notification on my calendar.

About a year ago, she inadvertently shared her personal calendar with me, which included the dates of her period. Since she’s regular, I can estimate when she’s ovulating, and I’d added a private alert for myself.

Because of that, I happen to know that her fertile window starts tonight.

As she sips her red wine, my eyes track down her throat and focus on her red lipstick. She’s wearing a cropped white shirt and ripped jeans, and her hair is pulled into a clip at the base of her neck. She asks me about living in San Francisco, about my practice, about the conference, and all I can think about is sinking into her cunt and filling her up.

Fuck.

Ever since the kiss, I’ve slept uninterrupted every night, and I wake up in the cot after sleeping from dusk to dawn. I’ve been a good boy—keeping my distance, flirting whenever I had the chance, and touching her whenever I could—innocently, of course.

My hand brushing against hers while we walked.

Wrapping an arm around her waist when she stumbled on the ferry to Alcatraz.

Letting my eyes linger on her lips for a second too long.

Of course I haven’t stopped thinking about our kiss, and it seems she hasn’t either.

She seems to watch me whenever she doesn’t think I’m paying attention, and she flirts right back whenever I dare to cross that line with her either in person or over email.

I’m addicted to everything about her.

After another glass of wine, we retreat back to the hotel. She’s smiling as she walks, and her skin is radiant in the orange glow of the sunset. All I can think about is pressing her against one of these buildings and kissing her again—making it known that she’s mine—but we arrive at the hotel before I get a chance.

“I’ve had way too much to drink,” she murmurs, stepping out of her sandals and unclipping her hair. “I’m going to shower, and then I’ll probably head in for an early night.”

Stay with me, I think.

She just gives me an apologetic look as she walks over to the bathroom. “Thank you for dinner. Again. This trip has been… one of the best trips of my life.”

Her voice is so genuine that it makes me swallow before I answer. “You’re very welcome, Frankie.”

Her face softens. “Good night, Dante.” She steps into the bathroom and closes the door, and my heart stutters at the use of my first name.

From Doctor Devil to Dante…

I retreat into the dining room as I finish up some work. My whole body feels pulled tight with tension, and I’m extremely distracted. Francesca’s door clicks closed at one point, but I don’t hear the lock. She’s been posting on social media pretty regularly after getting in bed, so I pull up one of her profiles, and her most recent post is from three minutes ago. It’s not a picture—instead, it’s just one of those aesthetic quote graphics.

The devil doesn’t sleep but seeks our ruin in a thousand ways.

-St. Angela Merici

I stare down at my phone for several minutes, wondering if she intentionally posted it for me to see, or just for herself. If it’s the former, she must know that I keep up with her social media profiles. And if it’s the latter, does it have something to do with me?

How could it not?

I work for another hour as I make a decision, and by the time I close my laptop and walk over to her bedroom, I know exactly what I’m going to do. My hand quietly presses the handle of the bedroom door, and it soundlessly clicks open.

She didn’t lock it.

The question is, how many boundaries am I willing to push tonight?

The devil doesn’t sleep but seeks our ruin in a thousand ways.

Pushing the door open, I inhale sharply when I see Francesca curled up on her side and sleeping soundly.

Oh, how the tables have turned, baby girl.

I quickly and silently begin to undo the buckle of my belt. My cock is already hard—it has been for hours. Though I have no memory of being inside of her, I know it’s going to blow my mind. Especially since I know there’s a chance I could give her everything she ever wanted tonight.

I palm my erection as I step out of my shoes, gathering my belt and placing it next to them. Currents of desire work through me as I smell her, as I imagine being cognizant of pushing inside of her. My heart is pounding, and when my hand brushes against the placket of my pants, I can feel how much my cock is leaking in anticipation.

Taking another step closer, I grab the duvet and ever so gently begin to pull it down the bed, exposing⁠—

Fuck.

She’s completely naked on top.

The duvet slips down past her round, velvety tits, exposing her brown nipples and soft curves. For a second, I consider leaving her just how she is as I stroke myself to a climax. I imagine the thick ropes of cum landing on those dusty peaks and her waking up to a dried mess in the morning. But then I realize there’s no way I’m going to give up a chance to drain myself inside of her—multiple times, if I could.

My cock thickens and twitches as I pull the duvet lower, past her soft stomach and round hips. Once it comes away from her pelvis, I pull it off the bed completely.

She’s completely naked.

I want to speak filthy things to her—I want to tell her what a good girl she is for leaving her door unlocked, for sleeping without clothes, for making herself accessible. I want to brush the hair off her face, praise her beautiful eyes, and tell her to suck my cock all in one breath. I want to spread her legs and let my tongue flick against her cunt, as if I’m speaking in prayers.

Most of all, I want to tell her that I’ll always take care of her.

That even after I fill her with my cum, she’ll never have to worry about anything ever again.

Unbuttoning my pants, I use my precum as lube, curling my hand around my shaft and running it slowly over the leaking tip.

I thought I was crossing the line before, but with my medical records showing my condition, I could very likely win in a court of law if she ever pursued legal action. It’s a gray area, and it’s sickening but true. But this? Me being here, fully conscious? Monsters are born, and monsters can be made. I’m going to hell no matter what, and I’ve resigned myself to that fact for years. It’s fucked up, but I’m past the point of no return now.

Will she wake up? Do I want her to?

A part of me wants to claim this part of her, just like she claimed me. I think about how she must’ve looked up into my eyes as I ruthlessly fucked her—how her mouth must’ve dropped open as I sank in deeply and without any limits. I’d like to think she came, but I’ll never know for sure. No, tonight is my turn to take her. If she wakes up, she’ll be so far gone that she’ll forget what her life was like before me.

She hasn’t moved, and for a second I wonder if she actually wants this. As her steady breathing and relaxed face come further into view as my eyes adjust to the darkness, I wonder if I’m actually stepping over the line instead of just playing with it.

I begin to unbutton my shirt as I watch her.

She has no idea, and that thought makes me impossibly hard.

This game is dangerous, because until her, I never imagined I’d act on these thoughts.

Until her, I thought I was normal.

I’ve spent my career trying to figure out that question. Are monsters born, or are they made? Are we predisposed to certain things, or are we forced into them due to the environment we’re raised in?

Being in that bathroom with a snake taught me resilience. Bravery. How to hate.

That hate had corrupted me, somehow. Tainted me.

And the worst part? I don’t even fucking care if I am crossing a line.

Walking to the foot of the bed, I carefully climb in, being sure to move slowly. Once I’m on my knees, I slowly—so slowly—take one of her ankles and move it. Her skin is so fucking soft, and as I adjust her so that she’s lying on her back, I let my fingers touch her everywhere.

Her ankles.

Her calves.

Her thighs—so fucking soft. So fucking warm.

My control nearly shatters, and I begin to shake with anticipation.

I scoot closer and slowly spread her legs. Her breathing doesn’t change. I can smell her arousal. The musky smell is driving me insane. It’s not sweet, it’s salty—and delicious. Francesca’s scent lingered on my fingers those first two nights, and I know I won’t be able to get enough.

As my index finger slides through her slit, I let my thumb brush the smooth skin on the outside of her vulva before running that same finger over the thin strip of dark curls.

She must’ve gotten waxed recently. Not that it matters to me, but the idea of her preparing for me is… intoxicatingly hot.

Francesca is fucking soaked as I let my finger slowly slide up to her clit, circling the bud with her wetness. She lets out a breathy whimper in her sleep, rocking her hips slightly.

“I need you to be ready this time, baby girl,” I whisper, my voice a rough growl that cuts through the quiet, silent air. “Because I don’t plan on going this long without you ever again.”

She whimpers again, her breathing suddenly more like panting, but her eyes remain closed.

I slide another finger down her slit, gathering her arousal and drawing it around her opening. Settling between her thighs, I nudge her legs wider as I press the tip of my leaking cock against her pink, tight heat.

“Look at you,” I rasp. “Look at this perfect fucking pussy, ready for me. You’re gushing—like you’ve been waiting for me.”

Again, she doesn’t answer. I don’t push into her yet—I want to get myself close so that if she wakes up, she’ll have no choice but to let me finish. The closer I am, the more of a chance I can finish inside of her.

Stroking my cock with one hand, I let the head slide against her opening. Fuuuuck. If just touching her feels like this, I can’t imagine how it will feel for my cock to be wrapped up in her pulsing core. Using the index finger of my free hand, I begin to gently circle her clit, using my precum as lube. She moans in her sleep again, making me groan as I work my hand faster up and down my shaft.

“You know exactly what you’re doing to me,” I grit out. “You left me no choice.”

Francesca starts to unconsciously roll her hips in her sleep as I gently flick and massage her bud, which is pink and swollen now. What I wouldn’t give to taste her on my tongue…

My cock jerks in my hand as she shifts her hips ever so slightly, nudging me half an inch farther inside of her. The tightness of her opening teases the sensitive head of my cock, and I’m one second away from my control shattering completely. She’s so fucking warm, and I hiss with pleasure as my balls begin to draw up.

I’m close, and I want to be as deep inside of her as possible when I let go completely.

“That’s it,” I murmur, working her clit a bit harder and faster. She moans, and her hands curl at her sides. She’s still asleep—or she’s the best actress in the world.

I continue playing with her clit until she’s writhing and whimpering, soaking the sheets underneath her as arousal drips down her seam. A string of precum connects us, and I gather it to use as lube.

“I’m going to fuck you now, baby girl. And I want you to wake up,” I growl, my voice a little louder now.

Francesca is rubbing herself on me, and I clench my teeth to keep from slamming into her. My pulse is out of control, beating quickly and erratically. Beads of sweat form on my forehead as I struggle to maintain control.

“Wake up, Frankie.”

Her eyes snap open.

As they do, I plunge into her, tip to root in one quick motion. Her mouth drops open as she gasps, and I feel her whole body tighten around me, sucking me farther inside of her.

I can’t—get enough.

A tormented groan escapes my lips. I can’t help it. She feels—in-fucking-credible.

Forcing my eyes to stay open despite wanting to squeeze them shut, I feel my toes curl as I adjust to being inside of her. I’m not going to last long at all—every second inside of her draws my orgasm closer. Every soft squeeze around my throbbing length feels like warm honey, sending sparks of pleasure clawing down my spine.

Three seconds—that’s all I have left.

“Oh, fuck,” she whines, opening wider for me.

And then she comes—a silent scream as she squeezes her eyes shut. Her cunt grips me hungrily, and she bucks her hips as she contracts over, and over, and over⁠—

I explode, a loud groan escaping my lips as my hips jerk and shudder. White spots appear in my vision as she pulls every single drop of cum out of me, and the room begins to swim. Sweet, pure ecstasy fills me, and I know I’ll never be able to stop doing this. I’m completely careening off my axis, a dangerous slide into my new addiction. She’s my drug, and this? It’s fucking heaven. I’ve never come like this—that I’ve been conscious of, at least.

When Francesca opens her eyes, they flick between mine as she tries to ascertain whether or not I’m awake.

I shift my hips slightly, and a guttural moan escapes her lips from the friction. I stare into her eyes, and she must realize I’m not asleep, because her expression goes from sated to panicked. She attempts to scoot up the bed, away from me.

“What are you⁠—”

I pull out of her, sit back on my knees, and flip her over by twisting her legs.

“Did I say I was done with you, Francesca?”