I make a sound that I wish I could un-hear. It’s not pain, not protest. It’sneed. Unfiltered need from the deepest part of me.
He was right. I’m all hunger. Hunger and need…
Dami bottoms out. Holds still. His hand is in the small of my back, keeping me where he wants me. His breathing is controlled.
So I reach back and grab his hip.
“Is that allyou’vegot?” I ask breathlessly, using his own words against him. “It’ll take more than that to put me in my place, Dami.”
I hear his breath catch, and the sound of that tiny, involuntary hitch sends a bolt of triumph through me.
He might have me bent over a couch.
But I havehim.
He answers me by pulling out, leaving me empty and aching, and then slamming back in all the way. Hard. So hard the sofa frame gives a warning crack under the force of it.
And then he keeps going. There’s no finesse. Nothing gentle about it. The worst part, the humiliating part, the exquisite part, is how much I love it. He shifts his angle, hitting that spot inside me that makes me cry out.
“That’s it,” he hisses. “Sing for me, little prince. Let me hear how much you love it.”
He grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls me up, flush against his chest, my cock dragging over the rough fibers of the sofa. Every thrust becomes a relentless stimulation that’s pushing me toward climax faster than I ever thought possible.
The shame is sharp enough to hurt, but the pleasure is so intense it eclipses everything else. And the open door isn’t a threat anymore. It’s athrill. I almost wish someone would climb up those stairs, see me like this…
I hate him for it. Hate him and want him at the same time, more than I’ve ever wanted anything. I’ve never felt so alive, every sense heightened. I can smell the dusty air, hear the slap of flesh on flesh, feel the stretch in my ass…
“Look at you,” he says again, but this time, it sounds different. Impressed. Even awed. “Look at you taking it so well from me.”
Pride wells in me along with the need to shoot. The pressure is building, my balls pulling up high and tight. But I want to hold on, to drag it out. I want to savor this strange, violent intimacy. And I don’t even know if he’ll let me shoot this time.
But then he puts his lips to my ear. “Come for me, golden boy.”
That’s all it takes. My body obeys him before my mind can even process the command. I come for him without a hand on me, spilling all over the already stained sofa. And I’m not alone; he’s burying himself deep inside me with a guttural groan, filling me up, making a mess of me.
We collapse forward together, a sweaty, panting flop over the back of the sofa, which gives another ominous creak. He’s still inside me, his weight a heavy but comforting presence on my back. I feel the frantic trip of his heart against my shoulder blades, and then his forehead drops against my spine. I feel the slide of his wet brow, the heat of his breath.
And his lips, pressing against my skin.
He heaves me up again, his cock sliding out of me, but he grabs my face, forcing me to turn, to listen to him. “Well, would you look at that,” he murmurs. “You’re still alive. And not a single fucking Morelli or Clemenza around to protect you. You couldn’t even protectyourself. What does that tell you?”
I blink at him, dazed and uncomprehending.
He seems almost disappointed by my lack of response, but says nothing more. He gets off the couch, zipping up his pants. “Get dressed,” he says. “Vito’s waiting.”
I stagger off the couch and pull my pants back up, wincing slightly at the mess I can feel soaking into my underwear.
Dami is already at the door, not looking at me, the line of his shoulders much more tense than I’d expect from a man who just had an orgasm that almost broke a piece of furniture.
I don’t know what any of this means. I don’t know who Iamright now. Not my grandfather’s heir, not Dami’s prisoner, not the Don those men came to follow.
Snakes shed their skins. That’s what this feels like. A shedding of identities.
But what, exactly, will I be left with?
CHAPTER 28
DAMIANO
