I look down at Caligula. His hand is still making that “OK” sign behind his back.
“Deal,” I say. I unzip my pants, fish my cock out. It’s already half-hard at the idea. Because as sick as this fuck across the table from me is, I’m just as sick. Always have been. Always will be.
For the first time, I wish I could be different.
But wasn’t this my plan from the start? Humiliate the Clemenza. Break him down bit by bit until there was nothing left of him…
“Is it really true he was a virgin?” Andropov asks, leaning forward in his chair to get a better look at the action.
I slide a hand into the gold-bronze hair of my prize, and Caligula gives a little gasp of pain, even though I’m not even tugging. “He was,” I say. “But let me tell you, Grisha, since we’re friends now, I didn’t take his virginity.” I tug Caligula up so that he bends over the arm of the chair, positioning his mouth. “I obliterated it.”
My new friend laughs in delight. “So you have had the pleasure of training him. I saw the bruises on his wrists. Has he been difficult to tame?”
Bruises on his…? I glance down at Caligula’s wrists and see the marks I left on him from where I grabbed onto him while Rosa was stitching me up. Andropov has assumed they were left over from restraints.
But he’s not entirely wrong, is he? Not about me restraining Caligula. And I’ve done a lot worse to him than just chain him up.
I need to focus.
“He’s still learning,” I say. “He might choke a little.” I take Caligula’s jaw in my other hand.
“Let us hope he does,” the Russian says. “The Clemenzas were a blight on my brothers. There was much rejoicing after the old man was removed. And they will enjoy my tales of tonight.”
Under my hand, Caligula jerks as though stung.
“Well?” Andropov says eagerly. “Begin.”
I hesitate.
Because I don’t think I can do this. After all my talk at home, telling Caligula that he’d have to play submissive, cower in front of all these fuckers,I’mthe one who can’t play my part. And it should be the easiest part of all for someone like me.
Caligula gives me a quick squeeze on the thigh. The Russian is starting to look impatient. Another thigh squeeze, harder this time.
“Open your mouth,” I hear myself say.
He opens it.
And then he swallows me down before I can second-guess my decision.
“There we go, there we go,” the Russian encourages, leaning forward. “A little deeper, now.”
If Caligula wasn’t doing his best to keep me right there in my seat, hands pushing down hard on my thighs, I’d be punching the hell out of this fucker opposite me for talking like that. The Russian doesn’t deserve to see this.
But I need to keep it together. Keep Caligula safe while he puts on a show of humiliation for this Bratva asshole—a show I’m supposedly directing. When Andropov leans over like he wants a closer look, I shift my position slightly to block his view.
I thread my hands through Caligula’s silky hair. His tongue slides all over my cock, and then he makes a gagging noise.
That sound makes the Russian groan with pleasure.
This is all wrong. But we need that lead.
“Surely he can take in more than that.” The Russian grins when Caligula pulls off me to gasp for air. “Don’t feel the need to hold back on my account, Orsini.”
Caligula’s head is bowed, hair hanging in his face, and I feel his fingers curl against my thigh. A silent message.
We started, so we might as well go on. I lift Caligula’s face up to look at him, trace my thumb over his wet lips. “You heard him, Clemenza. I’m not going to hold back.”
There’s an amber flash as he glances up at me through his lashes, and that little bit of eye contact reassures me. He leans forward, mouth open, and takes me in again. His hands grip my thighs, not pushing me away, but bracing himself.
