Page 79 of At The End Of The Day

“Oh, god, yes. Unh, this feels so fucking good.”

I fell into the haze, abandoning all doubts and inhibitions. Lost to the desire, I sped up, grunting in both pleasure and agony. “Unh, Vinny. That’s a good fucking pussy. Oh, shit, I want that dick in my ass. Oh, my god, I want you to fuck my ass so fucking hard.”

My stomach coiled and my balls tightened. Looking down, his cock was flexing, cum spurting up to his chest. Moaning, I fell over the edge and broke. Jerking and coughing, I exploded, cum pouring into his ass, filling him because there was so much. Every time I thought it was done, my dick twitched and more shot out.

“Oh, fuck,” I actually croaked, falling forward, my face on his chest. “Oh, fuck, Vinny, that pussy got me fucked up. Oh, shit, oh my god.”

Well over a minute ticked by before my cock stilled and began to tingle as it softened. My muscles giving out, I collapsed on top of him, panting, gulping air into my cold lungs. Groaning at the agony that stress brought to my body, I forced myself to get off him, flopping to my back next to him. A little further down the mattress, my feet were hanging off the end, my head on his bicep.

I left him because I love you and now he’s dead. Because I fucking love you, he’s dead.

My pulse skipped and I craned my neck to peer up at his profile. Did he mean it? Was he truly in love with me? He was so distraught when he said it, I seriously doubted he was in the frame of mind to say something that wasn’t authentic. Besides, he’d never lied to me before, why would he start now?

Rising to my elbow, I cupped his cheek and gently tugged so I could see his whole face. It was a fucking honor that this man was in love with me. After learning about this Billy guy, to know he loved me after only ever loving him was a fucking honor.

My strength draining, I cursed under my breath and forced myself to get out of bed so I could clean him up and redress him before he woke. Limping to the bathroom to get a towel, I returned but stood there a moment, just staring at this large, naked man lying in my bed.

“Fuck,” I whispered, prickles running down the length of my spine. That looked fucking amazing.

My focus paused on the cum on his chest and my mouth began to water. Lowering to my knee, I bent over and winced, my arm curling around my stomach. Snaking my tongue out, I lapped up every drop, making myself dizzy with lust all over. Though I wanted nothing more than to bury myself deep inside him again and fuck my own cum out his ass, I had neither the time nor the energy. I’d strained my body too much and had no idea how much longer the benzos would last.

“Dammit.”

Disappointed, I crawled off the bed and wiped at his stomach, then tucked the cloth between his legs to dig my jizz from his ass. Dropping it to the mattress, I cried out in anguish to gather his underwear and jeans from the floor. Feeling them almost dry, I began to panic, realizing I’d taken longer than I’d thought. Working through the pain, I rushed to fully dress him, pulling the zipper right as he emitted a small, breathy moan.

A sudden inhale hitching the back of my throat, I bolted to my feet and froze, my arm crossed over my torso. Holding my breath until my lungs burned, I waited for him to settle back down before moving, not ready for him to wake just yet. When it was safe to make noise, I snatched the towel and went to my bathroom as quickly as I could. Quietly closing the door, I went to the black, granite countertop and turned on the water.

I stared down at the towel, my heartbeat racing wildly. Glancing at the door, I pressed my face into the softness and pulled a slow, deep breath, inhaling his scent. Lightheaded with arousal, I swayed with a long, guttural groan. “Fuck.”

I dropped it to the floor, leaned forward, and splashed water on my face. Gripping the edge of the sink, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I just bred a man’s ass and loved every fucking minute. I wanted more. My insides sank and I paled, my eyelids rounding.

“Oh, shit. I’m gay.”

Chapter 33

Dario “Dash” Mangiacavallo

A chair from my dining room table set in the corner of my bedroom, beneath the television mounted above, I sat low on the cushion, my ankles crossed, my feet propped on the trunk that normally sat there. My head resting on the wall, my fingers were twined over my abdomen, my thumbs tapping together. To my disappointment, Vincent had stayed unconscious much longer than I expected. After cleaning us both, I’d had time to sweep up all the shattered glass, get a piece of plywood from the shed, and nail it over the broken door. Even managed to Google a contractor and called, setting up a time for someone to come out and replace it within the next few days. I very well could have fucked him at least two more times by now.

It had been nearly two hours since I slipped him the benzos. Was this just how he reacted to them, or was he out longer because of the emotional trauma he was suffering beforehand? Perhaps his psyche just needed the extra rest. Regardless, I would have to test the waters at least once more to gage a proper timeframe because fucking Vincent was my new favorite thing, and since he either wanted to play games or life wanted to interrupt, I’d take him any way I could.

I had never seen a grown man cry as hard as he did over Billy. It pissed me off. It made me insane with jealousy. Truth be known, I was glad the fucker was dead, it saved me the hassle of getting rid of him myself. The man used Vincent, he took him for granted and kept him on a short leash. Billy was allowed to have a life outside of their relationship, but he wasn’t? How was that fair?

He was in love with me. When did that happen? How? What moment in time switched things up where he saw me as more than a friend, as a brother?

For over an hour, I had barely taken my sight off him. Since I got the chair, I planted my ass and hadn’t moved. Until I knew he was in a good, stable headspace, Vincent was on lockdown because if he finished what he tried to start this morning, I would absolutely go ape shit. He may as well take me out, too. Just like he didn’t want Violetta to go alone when we thought Jackyl had killed her, just like he didn’t want Billy to go alone, Vincent wouldn’t die alone, either.

Who would take care of my little Piera? With Mary gone, she had no one. I guess I could have her sent to live with my parents. Since she was a little girl, perhaps they would actually notice her. They had a clean slate to sculpt the next perfect athlete to bring honor to their name.

Fuck that. No way in hell my acorn was going to suffer the same inadequate insecurities I had growing up. Mary’s dad was dead and her mother had been MIA since she was thirteen, so there was no one on that side of the family.

I guess I could call my cousin, Maximus Giordana. He was a good, solid dude. Of course, that meant she’d grow up in the mafia, but that wasn’t so different than living with the Serpent life. He was a single man, however. Would he want to suddenly be a daddy?

Violetta. I would send her to Violetta and the bitch. They would be amazing role models. They knew what it was like to grow up with shit parents. After getting to know Tyler, I knew, without a doubt, he was going to be one hell of a father. Piera would need that if I had to follow Vincent out of this world. She already looked just like the Eddies, no one would suspect they weren’t actually siblings.

Movement outside the window caught my attention. Watching a little squirrel fluff its tail on the side of the sixty-year-old elm tree, my mind drifted a bit, trying to decipher my own feelings. I didn’t know if I was full blown gay because when I thought about other men going at it, my stomach curdled. When I pictured tits and pussy, I still got excited. It was Vincent. There was something about him that changed me. Something about that precise time, in that house in Georgia, that man struck a chord in my soul and forever made me a different person.

Strangely, I wasn’t all too upset about it, either. I kind of enjoyed being the object of his affection. For a man who was in his thirties and had only ever loved one other person, to have found something in me special enough to close his heart to that man and look at me was pretty fucking remarkable. I’d never felt so damn special or prioritized. None of the women I’d ever been with cared this much.