Bottled Up (A Broken Lives Short Story Book 4) Read online

  He grimaced. “Not like it makes any difference. She pro’bly constantly frigs herself while watching the pornos of me,” he said, referring to the ones that had been illegally taken of him. His ex-girlfriend had planted cameras in his room without his knowledge, doing the same to his brother, the videos all over the internet, Kara having a lot to answer for.

  “You still shouldn’t encourage her.”

  His grimace grew. “I ain’t encouraging her, I already told her to mind her own fuckin’ biz. Bloody pervo.”

  “Will you keep your voice down, you’ll wake Tyson.”

  His eyes went to Tyson, looking like he only just noticed him. A prickle of worry ran up my back, the same worry that had appeared the night I’d accused him of drinking.

  Dante walked over to the cot. Placing his hands on the bars, he leaned over, giving Tyson a gentle kiss on the head, so gentle that Tyson remained asleep. I softened a little, the sheer love on Dante’s face for his son beautiful to see, but that niggle remained, still worrying me.

  Dante let go of the cot and turned for the bathroom, disappearing into it without a word. I followed him, stopping in front of the shower as he stepped inside it. He turned it on, flinching a little, but remained underneath the spray.

  I opened the door and put my hand under the water. “Dante, it’s cold. Turn it up or you’ll get sick.”

  He turned to me with a glare. “Stop treating me like a kid. If I want a bloody cold shower, I’ll have one.”

  I stiffened, again not appreciating his tone or attitude. “Why are you even having a cold shower?” I asked, suspicious as hell. “You like it warm.”

  “I like a lot of things to be different, doesn’t mean I get what I like.” He turned his back on me and started washing himself, leaving the temperature the same, clearly doing it to annoy me.

  I reached past him and turned it off.

  He spun around. “What the fuck is your problem?”

  “Your attitude,” I replied, having had enough of it. “You come home in a foul mood, no hello, just snapping left, right and centre, then you jump into an ice-cold shower, rinsing your mouth out. Yeah, I saw that, it didn’t get past me.”

  He sneered. “You gonna accuse me of drinking again?”

  “I didn’t say a word about alcohol, but maybe I should since you didn’t kiss me like you normally do.”

  He leaned down and breathed on my face. I stiffened, definitely smelling booze on his breath.

  “You promised you wouldn’t drink,” I said, unable to hide my upset. “Promised both me and Tyson.”

  “I didn’t promise Tyson, he’s just a baby, he can’t even speak.”

  “You made a promise that you wouldn’t put your addictions before your family, a promise that you’re breaking every time you pick up a glass or a bottle.”

  He grimaced. “Maybe if I had all of my whanau ’ere,” he said, using the Maori word for family, “I wouldn’t break my promises.”

  I placed a hand on his arm. “Is this about your dad being in hospital? Jade said he’ll be all right.”

  He frowned. “I know that.”

  “Then why are you drinking?”

  He pulled away from me. “I want my daughter ’ere.”

  “Oh,” I said, feeling stupid for not thinking this was about her. “Well, you won’t get custody if you’re a drunk.”

  “I’m not a drunk, it wuz just one glass.”

  “That’s what every alcoholic says. Just one glass, which becomes two, then three, then a whole bottle. You can’t even risk a sip, Dante. It’s dangerous.”

  “For fuck’s sake, you’re overreacting.”

  “No, I’m not. Have you forgotten that I was a rehab counsellor? I’ve heard all the excuses you could possibly imagine, every line in the alcoholic’s excuse book.”

  He grimaced at me. “I’m not making excuses.”

  “And I’m not making excuses for you either, so don’t you dare come home again with your breath smelling of booze.”

  “Don’t I dare? What right—”

  “I have every right!” I snapped, finally losing my temper. “I understand you’re upset you can’t find your daughter, but understand this, if you continue drinking you’ll lose your son, because I will not let him see you turn into what your father turned into with your mother.”

  His eyes went big. “I wouldn’t get violent.”

  “No, but you’ll be a drunken mess, and there’s no way I’ll let Tyson see that.”

  “He’s a baby! He won’t remember shit if I get drunk once in a while, and I’m not even drunk now, just had half a glass of whiskey to take the edge off things.”

  “Stop lying to me, you said you had a full glass before.”

  “I said one glass, not whether it wuz full or not.”

  “One glass too much.”

  He flung his hands out. “I needed sumpthin’! I’m fuckin’ stressed to the max.”

  “Then, find something else to take the damn edge off.”

  He sneered. “Yeah, you.” He grabbed his cock. “You can take the edge off by sucking me off.”

  “Not with that attitude,” I growled back, his tone making me want to slap him.

  Still palming his dick, he cocked his head to the side, his sneer set in stone. “You have a bloody bad habit of talkin’ to me like I’m a child. You needa quit that.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “I will once you stop acting like one.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “I don’t act like a child.”

  “Unfortunately, you do. A lot of the time you act like a spoilt brat who hasn’t gotten his way.”

  He stepped out of the cubicle, the shower water making the colourful tattoos on his muscular arms glisten. Even the tribal one around his left eye looked brighter, the dark green more noticeable under the fluorescent light. “I lost a daughter, not a toy,” he snapped, “so don’t fuckin’ talk down to me.”

  I remained where I was, refusing to let him intimidate me, plus I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. It didn’t matter whether he was over six-foot and I was five-three, he was all talk and no bite. Yes, he had one hell of a temper, but it didn’t mean I was going to let him get away with drinking.

  “Then, don’t drink,” I growled, “or try to use sex to get your way.”

  He snorted out a laugh. “I didn’t offer sex to get my way.”

  “You have a short memory, you just told me to suck your cock. It’s always like this. If I say something you don’t like, you try to seduce me so I forget what I’m telling you off for.”

  He leaned his head down to mine, his face a breath away. “I’m a grown arse man, I don’t appreciate bein’ told off.”

  “And I’m a grown arse woman who doesn’t appreciate their partner falling into alcoholism again. Now, which is worse?”

  He straightened, giving me a scowl as he did it. “Okay, I shouldn’t have fuckin’ drank, I admit it, so get offa my bloody case. I’m allowed to be pissed off ’bout my daughter.”

  “As long as it doesn’t cause problems for myself or Tyson. I’m not having you wreck our little family over a daughter you’ve never met. I understand you need to find her, but don’t do your damn best to lose the son you already have in the process.”

  “I wouldn’t do that, and he won’t remember any of my shitty moods.”

  “Things snowball, Dante. One thing happens today, then another thing the next day. Look what happened to Ash and Tiana. From what I heard, they were a loved-up pair, until they allowed things to snowball. Small things at first, ones that grew into bigger problems, and now they have no chance of getting back together. Ash has moved on, leaving Tiana devastated. I won’t allow you to do that to me.”

  He blinked at me. “I would never leave you. I love you. Both you and Tyson mean the world to me.”

  “Then act like it, because right now you’re scaring me, Dante.” I breathed out, truly scared of his alcoholic tendencies. “I can’t lose you like Tiana lost Ash. It would des
troy me.”

  His face fell. He reached out, pulling me into a tight hug. I didn’t even care that he was getting me wet, all I cared was that he was holding me.

  I hugged him back, kissing his chest, right over his heart. “I love you so much, Dante. Love you more than my own life.”

  “Fuck,” he said, pulling back, his dark eyes roaming over my face, true remorse there. “I’m sorry.” He cupped my face, kissing a single tear rolling down my cheek, my emotions and fears getting the better of me. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, moving his lips to mine, kissing them softly, then hard.

  I lifted my hands to his head, twisting my fingers in his tangle of wet hair, kissing him back even harder, my heart pounding like crazy, Dante always having this effect on me. For those seconds, I tried my best to ignore the whiskey on his breath, on his tongue, but in the end I couldn’t, causing me to pull back, knowing full well he’d drunk more than a glass, the smell too strong.

  I stepped away from him, forcing myself to say my next words. “If I taste whiskey on your breath one more time, I will move in with my father and take Tyson with me.”

  His eyes went big. “No! Why the fuck would you say that?!”

  “To give you a wakeup call, Dante. To make you choose me and Tyson over the booze.”

  He shook his head. “Nah, nah, you wouldn’t leave me, you fuckin’ love me.”

  “And that’s why I’d leave! Because I love you so fucking much,” I snapped, my swearing unusual. I rarely swore, but he needed to understand that I couldn’t let him continue drinking, because it wouldn’t just destroy me, it would destroy him.

  He glared at me, looking furious. “You wouldn’t bloody love me if you left me, taking my child with you. That ain’t bloody love!”

  “It is if it stops you from pouring more alcohol down your throat, Dante.” I shook my head at him. “Can’t you see that if you continue sneaking drinks it’ll eventually kill you?”

  “One glass—”

  “Stop saying that!” I yelled, knowing he was lying. “And the fact you’re not saying that you won’t drink again tells me a hell of a lot. I just told you I’d leave with Tyson if you don’t stop drinking, and you didn’t even bother to say it won’t happen again. What the hell, Dante? Are you planning on continuing drinking?”

  His jaw tightened, pretty much telling me he was.

  “Do you need to go back to rehab again?” I asked.

  “No!”

  “Well, I think you might since you’re failing out here. How much did you really drink before coming home? And don’t you dare tell me a sip or a glass, because it smells like a whole lot more.”

  He grimaced.

  “Dante, how much? And don’t lie to me.”

  He dropped his gaze, mumbling something.

  “I didn’t hear that.”

  “Half a bottle of Jack.”

  My eyes widened. “Where’s the car?”

  “At work. I got a taxi back.”

  I blew out an exhale, relieved that at least he didn’t drink and drive. “No wonder you stink of whiskey. You can’t keep doing this.”

  “I won’t.”

  “I’ve heard you say that before.”

  He shoved a hand through his wet hair. “Look, I’m just stressed, I promise it won’t happen again. I’m not gonna lose you or Tyson.” He let go of his hair and stepped closer to me, looking like he was going to pull me to him again.

  I stepped out of his reach. “Then, come with me to see a counsellor.”

  He screwed up his nose. “Why the fuck for?”

  “We need to get counselling to make sure we get through this.”

  “That’s for married people, we’re just partners.”

  “So, I’m not as important to you since I’m not your wife?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Then, we need to see a counsellor to talk our problems through, so we can stop them from getting on top of us. You also need to deal with your own individual problems, to voice them instead of taking off to get a drink.”

  He grimaced. “Counsellors are useless, they don’t help.”

  “I was a counsellor. So, am I useless too?”

  “Stop making this personal, also stop riding my back.”

  “Once you agree to see a counsellor with me.”

  “Fine! I’ll see one. Fuck, you’re bossy as shit.”

  “Because I love you and want to stay with you until I die.”

  “Then, we might as well bloody get married, cos you’re already bitching like a wife.”

  “Dante! Don’t be insulting.” A second later, what he’d said hit me. “Did you just ask me to marry you?”

  He pressed his lips together, but still nodded.

  My eyes widened. “You serious?”

  He nodded again. “Though, I didn’t wanna propose like that, but fuck, woman, you piss me right off sometimes.”

  I started shaking, not believing this was happening, not believing he’d just proposed, and especially after I’d told him off for drinking. “Why now?” I asked, worried that he had an ulterior motive. Was he just saying this to get me off his case about the whiskey, not intending on carrying through with it?

  “I wanted to marry you for a bit now, but bloody Jade,” he said, referring to his manager, “said it wouldn’t be good for my career. He wants my fans to think I’m single so they have a chance with me. Not like they would, I only want you, but he made me promise not to ask. But fuck him, if you say yes, we can go to a registry office and do it asap.”

  Completely stunned by his words, I blinked at him, wondering whether I was dreaming.

  “Are ya gonna say anything?” he asked.

  “You really want to marry me?”

  He nodded. “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

  I raised my hand to my head, pushing my hair back, in total disbelief.

  He frowned. “Don’t cha wanna marry me?”

  I almost let out a laugh at the way he stuck his bottom lip out, sulking over me not saying yes straight away, but I didn’t, still too stunned over the proposal. I didn’t even care that he’d done it in the most unromantic way possible. He’d even insulted me while doing it. Yet, none of that mattered, only that he’d asked, not to mention that he’d been thinking about it, even wanting to propose earlier, would’ve if it weren’t for his controlling manager.

  “Are ya gonna say anything?” he asked, his expression now turning vulnerable, worry in his eyes, worried that I would turn him down. It made my heart clench, made me want to turn to goo and melt into the floor, this imperfectly perfect man standing naked before me everything I could’ve asked for and so much more.

  “Yes,” I croaked out.

  “Yes, what?” he asked, looking unsure as to whether I was accepting his proposal or answering that I was going to reply.

  “Yes, I want to marry you,” I answered. “I want to marry you more than anything in the world.”

  His face lit up. Before I knew what was happening, he was sweeping me off my feet—both literally and figuratively, making me cry out with happiness. Then my back was against the wall, with Dante kissing the hell out of me, his naked body crushing me against the cold panels. But I didn’t care how cold the wall was, all I cared about was the man engulfing me, making me forget all about why I’d been so angry at him, my happiness of being engaged eclipsing everything. The thought that he wanted to be with me forever, that I could be with him forever, made me feel like I was on a high.

  He started ripping at my dress, sending the buttons down the front flying everywhere. Before I could even react, he’d torn my knickers off and was lifting me up. I wrapped my legs around his waist as he pushed his cock inside of me, making me cry out into his mouth. He lowered me down onto his cock, turning my cry into pants. Carrying me to the sink, he rested my arse on the edge of the bench and started moving in and out of me, his eyes locked onto his cock as he speared my pussy. Then he raised his gaze to my face, a smile on those wick
ed lips of his. He pulled out and turned me around, lowering my feet to the floor as he pushed my stomach against the bench.

  He twisted my hair around his hand and pulled my head back so I was looking at the mirror. “Watch me fuck you,” he said, staring at my reflection. “Watch me take my fiancée.”

  He pushed back inside of me, making me cry out again, Dante never one to be gentle. Letting go of my hair, he shoved my bra up and grabbed onto my breasts, then started to fuck me, squeezing my nipple as he did it, causing me to shriek. Yet I didn’t tell him to stop, didn’t want him to either. Instead, I pushed my arse back at him, wanting to feel him so deep inside of me that his cock would leave me aching for hours after.

  Then he was coming, shouting out his release. I watched the ecstasy play across his face, the man so beautiful I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He was so sensual, so erotic, the tattoo around his left eye adding to it all.

  Once he’d finished coming, he pulled out and spun me around to face him. His hand went to my pussy, working me, making me pant like a bitch in heat while he watched me so intensely. I knew I was going to come within seconds—and I did, shouting out my orgasm as I stared back at him.

  He gave me that wicked grin of his again, telling me he was up to mischief, and he was. He lifted his hand to my mouth, his fingers wet with cum. I jerked my head to the side, Dante teasing, the dirty bugger no doubt wanting to stick his fingers into my mouth. He wasn’t a vanilla lover, sometimes getting me to do things I normally wouldn’t do, but I definitely wasn’t the type who wanted to taste myself on his fingers. I didn’t mind his cum, just not mixed in with anything that had come from me.

  He laughed and lowered his hand, sticking two of his fingers inside of my pussy instead, rubbing my clit with his thumb. “You’re just like that Bon Jovi album,” he said over my surprised shriek. “Slippery when wet.”

  “Dante,” I panted out, “stop that, I’ve already come.”

  “And you will again. Many times.” He brushed his lips over my ear. “Cos you’re mine until death do us part, baby. You said yes, we’re gettin’ married, I will soon own this pussy like you own my balls.”