Page 92 of The Villain

I gently lapped at him with the flat of my tongue. I drew each of his balls into my mouth, one at a time. His thighs clamped around my ears as he rolled his hips against my face. “Holy shit, that feels so good,” he panted.

I’d eaten ass once, years ago, with a woman I’d made the rare decision to see more than once. I hadn’t thought a whole lot about it at the time, but as I speared my tongue into Devlin’s ass and tasted my own cum, I knew exactly why I’d never been that into it.

No one had been Devlin. Him—and this delicious hole—were meant to be mine.

I devoured him until he was hard again. Until he was nearly sobbing as he begged me to fuck him.

I was half-hard already, but once I stood over him again and slid inside his slick, stretched hole, my cock swelled.

I took things slow this time, working us up until we both came with soft cries. I filled him up once again, and he slicked our stomachs with his release. Only then did I collapse next to him on the bed with a groan. I had a stitch in my side. My dick was sore, and my balls ached. Devlin rolled on top of me, all soft smiles and flushed skin. Our legs tangled together, and I linked our fingers before I brought his hand to my mouth and brushed my lips over his warm skin.

Devlin’s shoulders shimmied, and he pressed a gentle kiss to my lips. Then he was quiet for a long while as he lay with his head on my chest, right over the steady drumbeat of my heart.

We showered, then ordered more room service. Devlin lay on his stomach at the end of the bed, wearing a pair of grey sweatpants as he ate cheesecake and watched a baseball game. After pulling on a pair of jeans, I headed out to the balcony to call Rhys, leaving the sliding door open. We’d texted back and forth a few times to check in with each other, but I wanted to hear his voice.

He answered on the first ring. “Finally,” he greeted me.

I lit up a cigarette and blew the smoke into the darkness. “Yeah, yeah. I know.”

I could hear Jace in the background. “Cian?”

Rhys mumbled something back to him that sounded like an affirmative.

“How is everyone?” I asked.

“Laying low. Hack’s been monitoring the chatter. Mads has been asking around in that way he does. The Bianchis are too quiet.”

“Tyson okay?” He’d been the only one seriously injured. “The rest of the men?”

“Yeah, all good.”

“We’re coming back tomorrow. We’ll deal with everything then. Might have to make the first move and reach out to Paolo Bianchi myself.”

“The man who wants you dead,” Rhys growled.

“He didn’t get what he wanted before, and he won’t now. Maybe he’ll be more open to talking now that we’ve taken out his pet assassins.”

Rhys grunted, then he was silent for a few moments while I smoked. From inside the room, Devlin let out a loud whoop, and I squinted at the TV to see that the Tigers had hit a home run.

“That him?” Rhys asked.

“Yeah. He’s a baseball fan, apparently. The Tigers.”

“Gross.”

“I know.”

“Better than the Yankees at least.”

I smiled. Rhys’s dad had been a long-suffering Mets fan. “True.”

He waited a beat. “He like the ocean?”

Before the Russo raid, I’d told Rhys about my planned trip to the beach with Dev, since he’d never been.

“Yeah. Burns like Casper, though.”

“Of course. He’s an Irish ginger, Cian.”