Dance with the Devil: Epilogue

Two Years Later

Warm, calloused fingers graze the inside of my thigh, and I open my legs wider in response. Everything is hazy, and despite feeling someone’s breath against my flesh, it’s almost like I’m not feeling it entirely. Goosebumps erupt along my skin, and I arch my back when a breath of hot air fans against my neck. Something silky wraps around my wrists, holding them in place, and I writhe against the warm body between my legs.

“Wake up.”

I recognize the voice, but I can’t quite place it. Two hands spread my legs wider, and a finger hooks the band of my underwear, tugging it down. I roll my hips, waiting for something, but I can’t articulate what exactly it is. More of my senses start to wake up, and I smell something familiar—but again, I can’t place it. The sound of heavy breathing cuts through my consciousness, and then something hot and wet slides down my aching seam, and I gasp⁠—

I snap my eyes open and groan as everything comes into focus.

Dante between my legs, looking up at me with those darkened eyes, while his tongue works through my folds.

The white, gauzy curtains blowing into our large bedroom, and the warm, spring air grazing my skin from the open windows.

The pink orchid that sits perched on my bedside table, always flowering, always ready to give us the most beautiful blooms.

It’s dark—the middle of the night, most likely—and though I want to reach for the baby monitor out of instinct, I look down at my husband and attempt to stay in the moment.

“Fuck,” I hiss, reaching out and running my fingers through his soft hair.

His eyes lock onto mine, and my own roll back when he inserts two fingers inside of me.

“So fucking wet,” he mutters, making a slurping sound. “Look at me, Frankie.”

I prop myself on my elbows so that I can watch him. The way he devours me when he’s between my legs… it’s almost like he needs to taste me regularly to get his fix. I thought after the birth of our daughter that he would lose interest, or that things would slow down.

But he’s been even more attentive to my needs now that I’m a working mom.

“Dante,” I hiss, letting my head fall back. “Please⁠—”

“You think I don’t know what you need?” he asks, mouth wet when he looks up at me.

God—

“You think after all this time, I don’t know that this,” he murmurs, curving his fingers inside of me and causing my eyes to roll back in my head once more, “is exactly what you need?”

“I know⁠—”

“Or this,” he adds, laying his tongue flat against me and slowly licking up.

“I’m close,” I rasp. “Don’t stop⁠—”

A long, drawn-out wail from Lucia’s room cuts through our heavy breathing, and we both instantly go still.

“Shit,” I whine, throwing a hand over my face. “I’ll go⁠—”

Dante stands up and adjusts himself in his sweatpants. “Stay here. I’ll be right back. I’m not done with you.”

His gruff command sends a maelstrom of desire mixed with affection through me, and I lay down to catch my breath as he walks out of our bedroom.

A few seconds later, his low, paternal voice is picked up on the monitor, and I grab it up off my bedside table. Smiling, I watch as Dante reaches into our toddler’s crib and cradles her to his chest, walking them over to the rocking chair as she rests her little head against his shoulder and he pats her back gently. I can hear him singing to her, but I can’t make out the words or the song. Her small body is totally relaxed against her father’s chest, and after a minute, he walks her back over to her crib and sets her down, placing a kiss on her forehead before walking out.

I set the monitor back on the bedside table just as he walks into the bedroom.

“Where were we?” he growls, climbing between my legs without any preamble.

I reach out and place my hand against his shoulder. “Is she okay?”

He looks up at me. “She’s okay. I think it was just a nightmare.”

“Do you think it’s her molars? The pediatrician said they might be coming in soon.”

“Frankie,” he murmurs, placing a kiss on the inside of my thigh. “She’s fine now. Concentrate.”

“I know, but what if she needs some Tylenol? Did she seem like she’s in pain?”

Dante sighs and pulls me to the edge of the bed. “Does she sound like she’s in pain?”

I genuinely listen for any sign that our seventeen-month-old is fussing again, but it’s quiet aside from the white noise machine in her room.

“No,” I say glumly.

“Do you know what would take your mind off things?” he asks, flicking his tongue against the skin of my thigh. One of his hands comes between my legs and his index finger pushes inside of me. I let out a satisfied sigh, and as I let my legs fall open even farther, I feel his finger hook around my birth control ring.

I’d only just put a new one in this month. I didn’t want to take any hormones when Lucia was younger because she was exclusively breastfeeding,

“What are you—” In one swift motion, he dislodges it from inside of me and pulls it out, smirking. “Hey, I just put that one in⁠—”

“And I hated every goddamn second it was inside of you,” he growls.

My breathing turns ragged as his eyes blaze, dark and hungry, across my body. “But I thought you wanted to wait until Lucia was a bit older?” I ask, my voice hoarse.

“I changed my mind.”

I gasp when he inserts another finger. “Are you sure?”

He knows my stance. He knows I loved being pregnant—at least after the twenty-week mark—and that as soon as she was born, I wanted another one.

He convinced me to wait until she was two.

Though now that I think about it, he was quite grumpy when I put the birth control ring in a couple of weeks ago.

“I’m sure. I want another baby,” he says, kissing my clit before his tongue darts out. “I want two or three more, actually. And I want them all with you.”

I arch my back as he adds a third finger. “I feel like we should talk about this some more⁠—”

“Why? Lucia was spur-of-the-moment, was she not?”

I huff out a laugh. “That was different and you know it.”

He moves up my body so that his face is near mine. His lips are wet from tasting me, and his eyes peer at me intently.

“Was it?” he asks, one hand coming to my throat.

God, I love it when he does that⁠—

“Please,” I rasp. “Harder.”

He chuckles as his other hand frees his cock, and then he pushes into me. At the same time, his hand grips the flesh at my throat tightly. Despite him knowing not to cut off airflow, the compression against my blood vessels causes the room to spin around me. The lightheadedness and euphoria that come next send me sailing straight into my orgasm, and I cry out as Dante drives into me.

“Fuck—”

His hand releases from around my neck, and as the oxygen floods my body, I begin to convulse with pleasure.

“That’s it,” he grits out, and a second later, his body goes rigid as he empties inside of me.

I squeeze my eyes shut, and when he’s done, he collapses on top of me—being sure to hold himself up on his elbows so that he doesn’t suffocate me.

“Frankie,” he murmurs, kissing me across my lips. “I love you⁠—”

Another wail sounds from the monitor, and Dante quickly pulls out of me. “I’ll clean up and take care of it.”

“Okay,” I tell him, completely sated on the bed. I hear him quickly rinse himself off in the sink, pull a shirt on, and then he’s out of the bedroom.

The room sways as my lids get heavy, and the next thing I know, Dante’s lips are on mine as he wakes me up.

“You should use the bathroom,” he says, helping me up.

We both walk into our en suite together, and I sit down to pee. “How’s Lucia? Is she okay?”

He smiles as he runs a hand down his tired face. “She’s fine. I gave her some Tylenol in case it is her molars.”

“Thanks.”

After wiping and standing, I smile as he holds my oversized t-shirt out, helping me into it as he pulls my hair off my neck. We walk into the bedroom together, and I collapse face down. Turning my head to the side, I feel Dante pull the duvet over my body. He scoots closer.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, kissing the side of my face.

“For what?” I ask, my voice muffled with exhaustion.

“For this life.”

“You paid for it,” I tease, referring to the five-bedroom house he bought us when I was six months pregnant with Lucia. My things hardly filled one room, and even though a lot of it is his furniture from his old house, the majority of it is stuff we picked out together.

My car—a small Volvo SUV—is the only thing I bought for myself.

And even though I make way less money now that I don’t work for him, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.

My baby blanket business just struck a deal with a major retailer, and I get to spend my days at my sewing machine, fulfilling orders and bringing people joy.

“Very funny. You know what I mean. Thank you for not running away.”

I swallow as I turn my head to face him. “You mean in San Francisco?”

He nods. “It easily could have ended very differently.”

“Well, it doesn’t hurt that you’re hot.”

He huffs a laugh. “I’m trying to be serious right now, Francesca.”

“I am, too. One look at you in those work pants and I was a goner.”

He chuckles and lays his head right next to mine. “Thank you for making me feel a little less like a monster.”

I place a hand on the side of his face. There are still some nights when I wake to him hovering above me, that familiar vacant look on his face. His parasomnia might never go away, but we work through it together, and if need be—like when I was newly postpartum—I sleep in the guest bedroom.

With the door locked.

He’s much more apologetic about it now.

It’s also something we’ve never told anyone else—almost like it’s our dark, hidden secret.

Just us.

Him and me.

“If you’re a monster, then I’m one, too,” I tell him, brushing my thumb against his beard.

“Never,” he whispers, closing his eyes.

I watch him as he begins to drift off to sleep, admiring his face and the way he’s such a devoted husband and father. The way he constantly questions if he’s good, if he’s moral. If doing the things he does in his sleep makes him a bad person.

But I didn’t fall in love with him because he was good. I fell in love with him because there was some kind of darkness inside of him that called to the darkness inside of me. If he’s a monster, then I somehow found a kindred spirit in him. It’s the kind of love that owns me, body and soul. It cuts deeper than anything else I’ve ever experienced. It’s the kind of love that was discovered in the darkness—the kind of love that took the most monstrous parts of us and blended them together to create something beautiful.

Every minute with him is a testament to a bond that transcends the ordinary.

I fell in love with him in the dark, but our love burns brighter than the sun.

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