Prologue

November

Five women on their knees. Five women ready to suck him off. Five hot, sexy, naked women with their hands tied behind their backs, blindfolds over their eyes, mouths open, ready for action—and Dante was staring at them with a scowl. Two blondes, two brunettes and a redhead, all for him, and his cock hadn’t even stirred. Reaching for the nearby bottle of tequila, he took a swig before reaching down to grab one of the blondes by the chin.

“Drink!” he snapped, pouring some of the liquor into her mouth. She swallowed greedily, as if she loved tequila, and licked her lips.

He rubbed his thumb along her full lower lip and watched her chest start to rise and fall a little faster in anticipation; she wanted him even though she’d been blindfolded before he entered the room and had no idea whose cock would wind up down her throat. The thought of these women wanting to suck a cock, any cock, made his dick jolt a little, showing the first signs of life in months and he released it from his leathers. Pushing it into the blonde’s mouth, he closed his eyes, willing his dark thoughts to fade into the even darker recesses of his mind. The warm wetness her lips and tongue provided gave him only momentary relief; instead of physical pleasure, all he felt was the draw back towards the mindlessness of the black abyss in his soul.

Grunting in irritation, he dug his fingers into her hair and rammed his cock deeper into her throat. He heard her gag and a tiny prick of guilt caused him to ease back, though his grip on her hair tightened in frustration. He didn’t want this one or any of the others; all he wanted was a mind-numbing release so he could go back to drinking. Pumping faster, he willed himself to get lost in her rough warmth. Relentless as he fucked her mouth, he finally felt the first spasms of ecstasy and allowed himself to spurt deep into her throat. She coughed but caught herself, swallowing as quickly as she could even though some of it dripped down her chin.

Dante looked down in disgust, stuffing himself back into his pants with disdain. He was about to tell them to get the hell away from him when he heard the door open and the click of high heels behind him. He turned, his face dark with annoyance at the interruption.

“That’s enough!” A tall, pissed-off blonde folded her arms across her chest and glared at him. “Let’s go! Now.”

He made a face. “What are you doing here?!”

“I said we’re going home,” she hissed. “Or I call Kate.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Dammit, Emilie, I’m not your—”

“You’re about to be my bitch if I have to ask again!” Though she was four months pregnant and probably no more than 110 pounds, even at 5 feet 9 inches, his friend Emilie Martensson didn’t look like she was kidding. An experienced dominatrix, Emilie could kick ass and take names, and the look in her eyes told him he needed to tread carefully. A hormonal Emilie could be dangerous, even if they were just friends, and he made a spontaneous decision to give in, though there was a fierce look on his face.

“Fine,” he snapped. “Let me get my things.”

Fifteen minutes later they sat in his plush limousine heading through the empty predawn streets towards his estate just north of Manhattan. Emilie was glaring at him and Dante simply stared out the window. For a while she watched him before finally scooting over so she was right next to him, one pale hand on his arm.

“Dante?” Her voice was much softer than it had been at the club. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself. It’s not going to make the pain go away.”

He grunted.

“Why do you even bother going to those places?” she asked. “You don’t enjoy yourself and you come home feeling more frustrated than before you went.”

“How the hell do you know what I feel?!” he growled, his eyes darkening dangerously.

“Because I’m your friend.” She laced her fingers through his, her sad blue eyes imploring. “Dante, please. It hurts me to see you doing this to yourself.”

For a moment, the harshness in his eyes faded and he gently touched her face. “Emilie, I don’t deserve your friendship. I’m in the deepest kind of hell right now—you shouldn’t be around me.”

“We live together!” she chuckled. “Where shall I go?”

He sighed, looking away. “This is the only relief I get, Em. It’s the only time I can get away from my demons.”

“You didn’t kill them,” she whispered. “It’s not your fault they died. You have to stop blaming yourself.”

“I brought that bitch into my home!”

“But you didn’t know she would turn on you.” Emilie stroked his muscular arm with slow, comforting movements. “You have to let go of this. You’re only hurting yourself, and while I don’t care what Larissa would have wanted, I know Trey loved you and wouldn’t be happy with you right now. Please, Dante. It’s hard to watch you self-destruct. I care for you, and I will call Kate if you don’t stop.”

He held up a hand. “Fine. Leave Kate out of it. She went through a lot last summer—she has a hard enough job being my publicist. She doesn’t need personal aggravation too.”

“She’s your friend and she’s worried about you, just like I am. How do you think I knew where to find you tonight?”

“She didn’t know where I was!” he muttered.

“No, but Jamie did, and he told Karl.” Karl was Emilie’s brother, as well as Kate’s husband, and Jamie was one of Karl’s teammates.

Dante made a face. “A man has no privacy.”

“A man like you has no reason to go to places like that! What do you get out of it? It’s not about sex for you and we both know it.”

“I don’t fucking know, Emilie,” he muttered after a moment. “But it’s all I’ve got right now.”

“You have to stop the behavior,” she said finally. “The sex clubs, the hookers, the drinking… I know it’s the off-season, but it will be time for baseball again before you know it and you’re not going to be ready. None of this is going to bring them back.”

“I know that!” he shot back. “But sex clubs and alcohol make me miss them less!”

“You have to learn to live with missing them,” she whispered, resting her head on his shoulder. “We all miss people.”

“Ah, querida.” Sweetheart. “So much loneliness in the house, yes?”

“No.” She shook her head. “We have each other and friendship makes up for a lot.”

“Friendship definitely makes up for a lot.”

“Promise you’ll move past this, Dante.”

“Emilie, I—”

“Promise.” She put his hand on her tiny stomach. “I need you to be the man I know you can be; both of us can’t be a mess.”

“You’re not a mess.” He sighed and softly kissed the top of her head. “But I promise.”