Chapter 1
Matteo
“There you go. That’s a good boy. Suck it all down.”
I thread my fingers through the twink’s spiky purple hair and slowly pump my hips, sliding my cock deeper into his mouth. He’s young, eager, and skilled, all fine qualities for a quickie, but they’re qualities that would get him killed in my world. Few men with my tastes would survive in the Syndicate, and fewer still would thrive.
At the door to the club’s bathroom, my bodyguard Aron Martinez keeps a lookout for witnesses. Witnesses can be messy, but Aron cleans up my messes better than anyone else could.
“Guard makes his rounds in three, Matt. Clock’s ticking.”
Three minutes. I don’t like to rush things, but it should give me plenty of time to finish.
“Sorry, Nate. You heard Aron; time is of the essence.”
Nate’s eyes pop open wide, and he gags a bit as I thrust harder, picking up speed. Since I don’t have the luxury of taking all night, I chase my orgasm at a breakneck pace. Nate’s arms flail wildly. He smacks my hip, whimpering. Rather than letting up, though, I double down. He can manage a minute or twowithout air.
It’s what I’m paying him for, after all.
Despite his struggling, Nate still performs admirably. Once he gets his bearings, he sucks even harder, swallows me deeper, teases me more with his pierced tongue.
Peripherally, I’m aware of Aron’s brown eyes watching my every move, of that cool, detached gaze fixating on me. He leans against the door frame, and a wayward lock of chestnut hair falls into those eyes. I wonder sometimes if he knows the truth of these trysts, if he knows who I wish I could have at the other end of my cock. Not that it matters; like most people, I want what I can’t have. Human nature and all that.
At the one-minute mark, I come down Nate’s throat so hard that half of it oozes back out. He coughs and sputters as I pull out of his mouth and stuff myself back in my slacks. Finished with seconds to spare. Nice.
“Matt …” Aron’s warning tone is followed by the sound of footsteps down the corridor, audible even over the thumping of the bass upstairs.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m done.” I put a finger under Nate’s sloppy chin and tip him up until his eyes meet mine. “You’re a smart dude, right, Nate? You know better than to let a single word slip about who just fucked your face.”
Nate swallows hard and nods as he wipes his chin.
“Good boy.”
I wash my hands and follow Aron out of the bathroom without another glance at Nate, passing the guard as he makes his rounds of the club’s basement.
I’m not stupid enough to think the guard’s clueless about what occurred in the bathroom just now, but one of the benefits of being who I am is discretion. As long as I don’t get caught in the act, this stuff gets swept under the rug.
Even though I’ve been as careful as possible tonight, I brace myself for the inevitable lecture from Aron.
“You know, Matt …”
Here it comes.
“Tito’s not going to let this shit slide forever. Sooner or later, you know what he’s going to want from you.”
I brush off his concerns with a shrug. “If Dad wants grandkids, I’ll jizz into a cup for him.”
“It’s about more than that, and you know it. He’s been lenient up until now, but what are you going to do when he insists on a family from you? He tolerates your bullshit because he’s still young and healthy and more than capable of running things without your involvement. One of these days, he’s going to get sick or—God forbid—blown up, and then what? You can’t very well carry on indefinitely by yourself. Tito expects his lineage to continue after he’s gone, and since he's stubbornly faithful to your dear, departed mother, you’re it.”
Anyone who hears Aron might think he’s being a tad bit melodramatic, but Dad getting blown up is a very real possibility. Not that I don’t know what to do if that happens. Dad has drilled his contingency plans into me since I was old enough to hold a switchblade. I know all the passwords, all the security codes, and all the escape routes.
What I don’t know is what the fuck Dad expects me to do with a wife and kids. That’s not my style, and it never has been. In my opinion, they’d just be walking liabilities. Not every kid is going to grow up as self-sufficient as I have, and a woman? Sure, there are some who are tough enough for this line of work, but most would just be kidnap victims waiting to happen. Do I really need that kind of distraction if I’m trying to run things?
“You know, Aron, you’re lucky Dad likes you. This kind of talk might get other guards killed.”
“Your dad likes me because I’ve saved your ass dozens of times.”
“Oh, come on. Dozens? Please. At least half those times I could have gotten out of it myself.”
