Dante stares down at me wolfishly.

"So tell me," he says, "while we've been apart, did you have someone make sure these delicate nipples of yours were getting enough attention?" He gives me another squeeze, then catches my other nipple in his grip. "Did he know how to make you whimper with just a twist of his fingers?" He hardly turns his fingers at all, and yet the motion draws a sound from my throat that could most definitely be called a whimper.

"No," I manage to ...