Chapter 22

The gratitude he offered while lowering his eyes sounded incredibly strained and nervous, even to his own ears. Unable to comprehend why he had suddenly become as shy as a virgin, he desperately wanted to run away despite having just gained a precious, coveted chance to be pressed up against his ex. If he stayed trapped like this for even a few seconds longer, he felt as if his face might embarrassingly turn bright red. That, at the absolute least, could not be permitted to happen.

After entering society without going to college the exact moment he legally became an adult, Dante had quickly learned that to avoid being looked down on at a young age, you could never act like an innocent, clueless fool. You had to be entirely confident, display zero weakness, and stand tall if you wanted an ounce of respect. Because he had spent long, grueling years in the military where hierarchy was absolute, this ironclad rule had hardened even further into his psyche.

Perhaps for that exact reason, Dante tried his absolute best never to show embarrassment or vulnerability in front of people, whether they were lovers or friends. Before meeting Rhys, there hadn’t been much to be embarrassed about anyway. Even during his sensitive high school years when teenage emotions ran high, Dante Bellini had always been a well-prepared teenager who knew exactly how to mask awkwardness with a booming laugh.

In any case, for a man who lived by such a rigid rule, there was absolutely no way he could display an ugly, flustered side in front of the exact person he was currently trying to seduce—even more so when that person was an ex-lover who claimed to have grown thoroughly sick of him.

Desperately wanting to escape the suffocating proximity, he pushed firmly against Rhys’s broad shoulders, trying to slip out of the embrace. Since Rhys had bristled and snapped whenever Dante so much as breathed in his direction earlier, Dante naturally assumed the man would instantly let him go.

But the heavy arm locked around his waist didn’t loosen an inch. If anything, a terrifying amount of brute strength suddenly entered it.

At the sheer arm strength tightening around his midsection so hard it nearly drove the oxygen from his lungs, Dante snapped his head up in pure surprise. As if waiting for him to look, their eyes locked instantly. Rhys was staring openly down at Dante, his pupils darker and more dilated than usual. That vivid, heavy gaze seemed to physically bind Dante’s entire body to the spot. For a terrifying moment, he couldn’t even twitch. He felt a chilling sensation wash down his spine, an instinct whispering that if he violently twisted away to escape right now, Rhys might genuinely sink his teeth into the back of his neck.

A sudden tremor—one he couldn’t properly identify as pure excitement or raw tension—spread finely through his entire nervous system. His heart began hammering against his ribs, his pulse spiking into the red zone. The small trembling that had sunk all the way into his gut beat against his lower abdomen with a heavy, rhythmic vibration. Thump, thump. The exact place where Rhys’s large hand supported the small of his back grew burning hot, and his throat went entirely dry. Forgetting even to draw breath, Dante stared blankly into Rhys’s eyes.

I’ve felt it several times today, but… why the hell is he this strong?

The arm firmly locked around Dante’s waist felt like a solid slab of unyielding stone. Dante knew Rhys kept his body in excellent shape, but he had never once entertained the thought that Rhys might actually be physically stronger than him. The training Dante routinely underwent was high-intensity, brutal rescue exercise specifically designed to pull dead weight out of violent, crashing seawater. It was only natural for a civilian artist like Rhys to have extreme difficulty handling his baseline strength. But from what Dante was physically feeling right now… it felt as if Rhys could easily overpower him if he wanted to.

No way.

Thoroughly confused by a terrifying, dominant emotion he had never once felt from Rhys in four years, Dante deliberately forced himself to focus on Rhys’s beautiful features. As he looked at that face, like a pristine white lily blooming elegantly in a gallery, the suffocating tension in his chest eased slightly.

How can a human being look like this?

With those delicate, plush lips so unlike an ordinary man’s, and those sweeping, long eyelashes, Rhys possessed the exact kind of ethereal appearance that made Dante’s protective instincts flare. Because his real name, Iris, had been taken directly from a flower, its owner too was beautiful like a single, precious blossom.

This harmless, stunning face was entirely far removed from any real threat. This was the gentle Rhys Dante actually knew. When Dante focused entirely on that comforting fact, his racing heart calmed down a fraction.

“…If you keep holding me like this, I’m going to take it to mean you want me to kiss you.”

Still desperately hiding the internal trembling of his voice, Dante lowered his tone to a rough murmur.

At the words, the deeply submerged gray-blue eyes finally wavered, and Rhys sharply furrowed his brow. Seeing Rhys look visibly shaken actually put Dante more at ease, so he deliberately leaned his upper body even closer, testing him, trying to make Rhys recoil. The exact moment Dante approached as if he really meant to smash their lips together, the iron grip around his waist instantly released him. He had fully expected to be violently shoved away, but that didn’t happen either.

“Step back.”

Instead, a low, dangerously sunken voice delivered a chilling warning.

In that exact moment, Dante was profoundly glad Rhys was being sharp and hostile with him. If that bizarre, suffocating current from a moment ago had continued for even a second longer, his brain might have melted into a complete mess.

Dante backed away instantly, as if he had been actively waiting for the green light to flee. The moment their physical bodies parted, the oppressive heat that had been rising through his core finally settled down. He could finally breathe normally again, and the rigid tension in his shoulders loosened.

The instant their tense embrace ended, the curtain separating the galley pulled back, and a flight attendant appeared.

“Gentlemen, would you please return to your seats? The seatbelt sign is currently on, so please refrain from using the lavatories until it is turned off.”

Perfect.

Dante had been intensely worrying about what pointless, awkward thing he should say to smooth over the bizarre encounter that had just transpired, but the flight attendant appearing right on cue gave him the ultimate excuse to retreat. He had been utterly desperate to be close to Rhys just an hour ago, but in this exact moment, he desperately needed physical distance.

The Rhys who had just held him up felt far too fundamentally different from the Rhys he had dated for four years. Dante had been so intensely nervous he felt like he was losing his mind. It felt as if he had just been handled by a total stranger.

“Yes, understood,” Dante replied smoothly.

Before heading down the opposite aisle to his suite, Dante stole one final glance at Rhys. By pure coincidence, Rhys looked at him at the exact same time, and their gazes tangled in the narrow corridor once more. Dante had foolishly thought he had calmed down, but the split second he met those blue eyes, a sudden rush of heat flooded straight into his fingertips.

Turning his head away as if literally fleeing a fire, Dante quickly returned to his seat. Only after he sat down and firmly slid the electronic suite door shut did he finally let out a ragged, desperate breath.

He snatched the premium water bottle from the side storage compartment, unscrewing it and drinking it down in one massive go. He breathed deeply several times, trying to force his pulse to return to normal, but his heart showed absolutely no signs of slowing down. His throat kept burning with a strange thirst, his lips felt parched, and his core kept trembling so violently that a wave of genuine nausea rose in his throat.

Covering his mouth with a trembling hand, he stared blankly into space, sinking heavily into his thoughts. He simply could not comprehend what the hell had just happened in that galley aisle.

The scene replayed on a loop in Dante’s blank mind: Rhys’s distinct, intoxicating scent from up close, the unyielding, hard arm locked like a vise around his waist, and that dark, heavy gaze that had made him feel as if he were prey about to be bitten. After turning the exact moment over dozens of times without moving an inch, the truth finally, slowly dawned on Dante.

Just now, for the absolute first time since the day they had met four years ago, he had been intensely, hyper-consciously aware of Rhys as a man.

Until this exact moment, Dante had always regarded him strictly as someone absurdly beautiful—a delicate, younger lover he needed to fiercely protect. A fragile partner who cried easily over sad things. A cute, sensitive person who was as gentle in his speech as he was soft in his demeanor, whose entire sexual repertoire essentially consisted of sweet bird kisses.

A substantial, vital amount of the raw, erotic element had been entirely missing from Dante’s love for Rhys. Even though they had regularly slept in the same bed and kissed for years, none of those physical acts had ever truly stimulated Dante’s primal, animalistic desires. What Dante had been doing all this time was closer to quietly appreciating a priceless piece of art in a museum. He had touched, observed, and been thoroughly satisfied simply by having the most beautiful living creature he had ever seen close to him.

But the Rhys he had met again after their brutal breakup was different enough to make Dante seriously question whether this was even the same person. The cynical expressions and sharp, biting speech with which he pushed Dante away were one thing, but that raw, rough physical behavior—the absolute antithesis of his usual gentle quietness—was entirely unfamiliar.

Without even realizing what he was doing, Dante lowered his hand and lifted the hem of his shirt slightly. Staring down at his firm, cut abdomen, which held absolutely no softness, he fumbled over the skin near his hip where Rhys’s large hand had clamped down. It didn’t seem like it would leave a visible bruise the way his wrist had.

An inexplicable wave of pure, carnal regret passed through him. Dante closed his eyes, vividly recalling the sensation of Rhys holding him tightly against his chest. As he mentally turned over that fierce, dominant strength that had seemed to dig directly into his skin, a dark desire he had forgotten for a very long time pooled heavily in his lower abdomen.

It had been almost five years since he had last experienced sex rough enough to completely wipe his mind blank.

Part of that was simply Dante’s inherent sexual preference, but the primary reason he craved forceful, intense sex was because of the absolute sense of wholeness the climax provided. When sweat-slicked skin pressed together, tongues tangled deeply, and heavy bodies overlapped again and again in a frantic rhythm, it truly felt as if two separate entities had fused into one.

He had often had intense sex like that with his last girlfriend before Rhys. Whenever they were occupying the exact same physical space yet he didn’t feel as if they were actually together, Dante would reach for her. Since the only thing she actually wanted from Dante was his exceptional physical body, they had sex constantly. It was intense, breathless, violent sex—violent enough that absolutely nothing else existed in his head except the friction happening right then and there.

…Oh, God. Am I completely insane? Why the hell am I thinking about this right now?

Dante yanked his shirt back down with a curse. To think of a toxic past lover out of nowhere while actively trying to win back Rhys—a deep wave of intense guilt rose in his chest, accompanied by a wave of acute self-loathing. Grimacing hard, he pressed his thumb firmly into the space between his brows, swallowing down a heavy sigh. He had never once thought of his old flames after meeting Rhys, so apparently going entirely without sex for a mere two months had turned him into a desperate animal.

Rhys and I never once did it like that.

Recalling the lukewarm, gentle sex he had shared with Rhys—which always seemed to cool down before ever reaching a boiling point—Dante looked back objectively on their relationship. His past girlfriends had always left Dante feeling incredibly lonely, but Rhys had never once made him feel that way. Whenever they were in a room together, Dante could feel Rhys’s intense gaze constantly resting on him, and even during the brief moments they were apart, he always believed Rhys existed entirely within the fabric of his life.

Because of that profound emotional security, sex rough enough to drive him out of his mind hadn’t been particularly necessary. Even when he sometimes felt sexually frustrated, knowing they weren’t especially compatible in the bedroom, he had never viewed it as a dealbreaker. Rhys loved him completely, and Dante loved him just as much. For Rhys, Dante was willing to do absolutely anything. That was the exact mindset with which he had willingly given up his backside simply because his pretty, lovable partner wanted it.

For a man like Dante, who had dated exclusively Beta women his entire life, accepting that he would become the passive partner being penetrated had required an astronomical, terrifying mental decision. But for Rhys alone, he had borne it without a single complaint. As long as Rhys was happy, nothing else in the world mattered. He wanted Rhys to feel absolute pleasure in their relationship.

But looking back objectively now… perhaps Rhys hadn’t felt much pleasure either, just as Dante hadn’t.

Then… I didn’t actually give Rhys anything.

Clasping both hands tightly over his face, Dante stared into the dark interior of his palms. An older boyfriend who dramatically claimed they should break up every other day, who wasn’t even sexually compatible with him in bed. Put that brutal way, it was honestly a miracle Rhys had endured the relationship for four long years. Would it have been strange if Rhys had dumped his ass much earlier? With a face like Rhys’s, he could have easily found a rugged man who looked like Dante anywhere in New York within an hour.

Contradictorily, Dante realized he had been a terrible, negligent boyfriend only to the one person who had actually cherished him with his whole heart. He had treated his toxic past lovers—the ones who had actively cheated on him and used him—far better than they ever deserved. The worst part was that Dante still couldn’t give up on Rhys, going so far as to stalk him onto the exact same international flight.

“For someone who followed me all the way to the airport and begged to get back together, you looked rather happy.”

He vividly remembered the biting words Rhys had spat right before they boarded the aircraft. Rhys had sneered at him simply for making casual conversation with the female ground staff employee. Dante had foolishly thought that, aside from the times he intermittently caused a scene by threatening to break up, he had been a fairly decent, attentive boyfriend. But maybe, in the dark recesses of Rhys’s mind, Dante was a worse partner than he could ever possibly imagine.

“I know. I saw it enough times to get sick of it while we were dating.”

Did I really look that cheap to him? I wasn’t genuinely enjoying myself when I talked to anyone who wasn’t Rhys.

“People don’t change anyway. There’s no point in saying it.”

His carefully manufactured confidence was gradually, entirely disappearing. He had been chasing Rhys across the globe with the desperate hope that Rhys still hadn’t forgotten him, but now a dark wave of self-reproach rose, making him wonder if his frantic actions were nothing but pure selfishness for his own emotional gratification. He had firmly believed Rhys still harbored intense feelings for him, reasoning that this was why Rhys pushed him away so violently yet still reacted to his presence. But even if that assumption was true, he didn’t actually know if dating Dante again would be good for Rhys’s well-being.

…But I can change. I just didn’t realize Rhys would interpret my casual behavior that way after seeing it all this time. Now that I know it hurts him, I can fix it. It’s not as if I smiled at other people because it had any deep, romantic meaning.

You’re the only one who matters to me, Rhys.

Thoroughly confused and miserable, Dante silently suffered in the dark cabin, raking both hands roughly through his hair before hitting the electronic control panel to recline his seat. As he held down the button, the luxurious chair steadily extended until it lay completely flat like a bed. Once his physical body became comfortable, all the toxic thoughts that had been tormenting his mind soon began to fade into the background. He had spent the entire day thinking far too deeply, and he desperately wanted to empty his head.

Being able to lie down completely flat on a plane is absolute madness.

Only four hours after takeoff did he finally utilize the premium seat’s proper function. Fascinated despite his dark mood, he played with the alignment buttons for a moment, then closed his eyes once more, using the rhythmic rattling and gentle swaying of the massive airplane as a comforting cradle.

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