Chapter 4
ARATH “ARA” VAN DOREN
There’s something stupidly addictive about the way Elgin can’t control himself when I get my mouth on his cock. This is the third night that I’m sucking his pretty dick, and he thrashes wildly when I bring him to the back of my throat.
As I nuzzle my face into his groin, taking his cockhead deep into my throat and cutting off my air, I watch Elgin.
His hands grip my hair tightly. As if he’s holding onto a bull trying to throw him off.
His knees are bent and alternate between boxing in my head and splaying out wide for me. His back arches almost violently.
More than anything are the intoxicating expressions on his face.
The way he grits his teeth. How loudly he moans.
The moisture that gathers at the corners of his eyes.
He gasps, whines in his high pitch that grips my balls, and moans in such a needy tone that it takes a lot of discipline not to bend him over and own his damn body.
I didn’t mean to touch him the second night he was in my bed. The first night, I slept in a guest room. But that bed is not as comfortable as mine. Since mine is big enough for four grown men, I figured it’d be fine. There was plenty of room for both of us to stretch out.
Except I wanted to feel him against me. It wasn’t difficult to see his attraction toward me. In fact, it’s been a damn treat to watch him battle it every single day.
I admit that he’s cute as hell. His eyes are so clear and telling.
I can see his thoughts like his eyes are windows and I’m watching them play out.
The way he gets so offended when we don’t like hockey or don’t know what he’s talking about.
Of course, we know hockey. I’m the reason Van Doren Technologies sponsors the Philadelphia Hatters. But messing with him is so much fun.
Not as fun as sucking his dick, though. He’s got the perfect length.
Perfect girth. The perfect crown. The most addicting thing, though, is the way he loses his damn mind.
His cock is soooo sensitive. I’ve never met someone like this.
Someone that I can suck for a lifetime and get drunk off how wild they become.
“Coming,” he grits out. That’s as close to a warning as he manages. It’s cute.
I bear down, bury my nose in his groin, and suck as if my life depends on it.
Elgin lets loose. His body bucks and thrashes under me.
His cries aren’t exactly cries. They’re a hypnotic whine, sob-gasping combination.
He doesn’t have enough breath to truly cry out. Every sound he makes is choked off.
It’s gorgeous. I wonder if I get him off now, if he’ll be hard enough for me to suck him again in a few hours. I’m probably going to find out. I’d love to keep him unraveling with me. Tear down his walls. Face his attraction.
I pull off him long enough to suck in some air and swallow the load he deposited in my throat before I cough it up. That’s unpleasant. After I take a breath, I bury him deep in my throat again and concentrate on emptying his balls.
It’s not difficult to know when he’s finished. Those sexy orgasm sounds turn to whimpers. Sexy all in themselves, but that’s the sign that the tank is empty and he needs a break. Reluctantly, I slowly pull my mouth from his cock.
His legs fall wide, and his body collapses. Hell, look at this man. Have I ever seen someone so gorgeous before? His chest heaves like he just ran up a mountain. I lick up his stomach and chest until I get to his mouth and swallow his struggling breath.
Elgin moans into my mouth. Hm. I should have saved him some of his release. Wonder if he’s ever tasted his cum before. We’re going to find out, but not right now.
After a minute, I release his mouth and move back down his body to pull his pants up. He’s still limp. I’m not sure how they ended up around a single ankle. He must have wriggled his body so violently that they shimmied their way off.
I didn’t give him underwear tonight when I offered him bedclothes. They get in the way. This is much easier. He didn’t comment. I’m not sure he even noticed.
Once I have his pants up—to which he’s no help at all, just how I like him—I crawl back up the bed and pull him into my chest. Elgin sighs.
I don’t spoon him tonight. I slide his body so he’s practically draped over me.
With a hand on his ass cheeks, I adjust his pelvis so my throbbing, hard cock is tucked against the joint of his pelvis and leg.
He feels me. Elgin shivers, swallows deeply. I feel his cheeks burn. Yeah, sweet Ellie. That’s all for you, sweetheart.
Better than any sleep aid is an orgasm that wears you so thin that you’re out within minutes. I drained his balls and his body of energy. Elgin falls asleep almost right away. I smirk and let myself relax beneath him.
Ignoring my erection is maddeningly frustrating.
He hasn’t exactly hidden the fact that he’s struggling with his attraction toward me.
If I had to take a guess, he’s a straight boy, and this is his first adventure with a man.
So I’m not going to push him. I’ll let him take his time, get used to receiving pleasure, and wait for his curiosity to shine back at me.
It’ll come. It always does.
I’m dozing when I hear the quiet tap on my door. My eyes open as my door does, and I see Ross’ silhouette standing in the doorway. I know it’s him because his hair sticks up like a mohawk. All on its own most days.
Gently, I slide Elgin off me. He sighs in his sleep, turns to his side, and stills. I tuck him in securely before stepping into my house shoes and following Ross into the hall.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he says. “We have Monkey in custody.”
“Monkey,” I repeat.
He meets my eyes with bemusement. “That’s the name he gave us. Curious that he wants to be called Monkey, right?”
I hum as I follow him through the house.
Chester is passing us on the way with his rifle to stand guard outside my bedroom door.
It’s overkill. I know that. There’s no way someone is going to make it past all my security, into my house, and to my damn bedroom door before being shot down. I know that.
Most of the time, I talk them off this assignment of guarding my bedroom door. I have my own weapons stashed throughout my bedroom, including a knife, a bat, and a shotgun, all within reach of where I lay my head every night.
But with Elgin here, I let them take up the station. I’m not any less convinced that my bedroom is perfectly safe, but… I like the idea that Elgin can see that he’s safe. He’s being protected all the time, especially when he’s asleep and vulnerable.
We don’t often bring our prisoners into the house, but there is a room in the basement set up specifically for questioning. Yeah. Questioning.
I step into the room and find a man in a chair. He’s not tied up because I like them to feel like they have some control over the situation. As if they could defend themselves.
He’s covered in tattoos. Not cool tattoos like guys do when they use their body as a giant tapestry. This one is filled with shitty line work, fading blacked out areas, and gang symbols. There’s a giant monkey on his neck. I can see it disappear into his shirt.
Monkey meets my eyes as I walk into the room. He thinks he’s all big and bad as he leans back in his chair carelessly. I nearly roll my eyes.
He has no cards here.
“Do you see this portrait?” I ask and walk to the wall of framed mafia members. Why is it there? I like to remind the silly men of Philly’s streets what an actual criminal mastermind looks like.
Monkey’s eyes follow me as I bring him to Sammy the Bull. Carlo Gambino. John Gotti. Salvatore Giuliano. I point to the mirror on the wall, mixed in with the bosses, and angle it so he can see himself. “Do you see the difference between you and them?”
He stares at himself and then looks at the framed faces again.
“You are a wannabe. You are a lower-level gang loser pretending to hold the same clout as one of the greats.”
Monkey’s eyes flash with anger, but he doesn’t respond.
“We can do this one of two ways. You can tell me what I want to know, and I’ll kill you quickly. Or we can have fun with you.”
Behind me, Sylvan opens the doors on the cabinet against the wall, revealing all the tools that we use to play with our targets.
Monkey’s eyes widen. He stares at the knives, saws, chains, scalpels, nails, hammers, and other fun toys.
His eyes flicker around the room, finally taking in the seriousness of his situation.
The single camera in the corner. The hose spigot in the wall.
The three drains in the floor. Yeah, man. This is a torture room.
He resolutely clenches his jaw. Silly man. No. Stupid man.
“I’ll keep the first question simple. Why are you targeting the hockey player?”
No answer.
“I’m feeling very impatient tonight, so you get one more chance to answer me like a man before I ask my friend to introduce you to my toys. Why is your pathetic little gang after the hockey player?”
Monkey’s resolve remains, though he warily watches the two other men in the room.
“Let’s see if we can loosen his tongue,” I say, and lean against the wall.
Sylvan chooses the least offending item hanging on the pegs. A spray bottle. Monkey gets to his feet as Sylvan walks toward him. He shuffles around the chair and backs up. Puts his fists up like he’s going to defend himself.
Sylvan raises the spray bottle and squeezes the trigger.
Monkey raises his hands to block his face as if Sylvan is throwing a punch.
The contents land on Monkey’s hands. A second passes before he begins screaming.
His hands drop, and he stares at them as they turn red and angry. Blisters begin to bubble. Small ones.
He looks up at Sylvan as he sprays the bottle again. This time, in Monkey’s face. His scream turns guttural. Filled with agony.
“Welcome to my little friend,” Sylvan mocks as he turns around and heads back for the cabinet.
Ross snorts.
Monkey carries on for ages where he sank to the tile floor. When he’s finally quieted down, I ask again. “Why are your little friends targeting the hockey player?”
“We’re not,” he spits. “He saw us.”
I roll my eyes. “Now for the more challenging questions. Names, Monkey. Give me names. All of them.”
He shakes his head. “They’ll kill me. You don’t snitch.”
“You’re already going to die here. Your only choice now is how you’d like to die. Quickly and with relatively little pain. Or we can torture you for days. Which do you choose?”
Silence. A minute passes.
“Not answering doesn’t mean you get the former. It means we get to choose what we want to do with you,” Ross says. “Quite frankly, we’re tired of your stupid club’s antics. Do you want to take the brunt of our frustration right now?”
“Perhaps another sample of the toys we have to play with,” Sylvan suggests.
Monkey winces and curls in on himself. He doesn’t offer any names, though.
“Go ahead,” I say. “What else can we introduce him to?”