4. Chapter Four
Chapter Four
Henny
M arco’s expression was priceless . Without knowing any better, one would assume we were forcing him into a root canal with no pain meds, not an expensive dinner at one of the hottest cocktail lounges in the city. If he scowled any harder, his face might snap in half. This was going to be a fun night.
The hostess brought us to the VIP section, sweeping a hand across the space like a Vegas showgirl. To be fair, it was nicer than even I expected—low, black leather couches ringed the periphery of the space with round tables situated here and there to accommodate drinks and food. The tabletop lighting was moody and dim and gave the atmosphere an oddly intimate feel that I could get behind. Music from the dance floor below filtered through the air as the distant pulsing strobes accentuated the illumination from the lamps on the tables. Yeah, this was going to be a great night.
Marco brushed the girl aside and plucked a menu card from one of the tables before throwing himself into the corner of the farthest couch. Even in a lounging position with one ankle perched on the opposite knee, he was so fucking stuffy. The intense desire to mess him up a little was incredibly hard to resist. A little surge of nefarious excitement rose in my chest as I overheard him order a bottle of Macallan 18-Year scotch. The last time I'd seen Marco get shitfaced was at Gianluca’s birthday party. I wanted more of that version of Marco. That guy was fun as fuck.
All of us were filled with frenetic energy and given a private pen to take over for our celebration. It had all the makings of an excellent night. I tossed my jacket on the couch beside Marco with a wink. If he thought he was going to be a wallflower for the event, he was sorely mistaken. My goal was to make him as miserable as possible, and I ordered my drinks accordingly—a round of tequila shots for the group and a double of Hennessy for me. Times two. After all, there was a reason I had a reputation for being the partier of the group.
Before long, the tables were littered with small plates of food, bottles in buckets of ice, dozens of empty shot glasses, and more cocktails than I could keep track of. If a glass was left on a table, it was fair game for me. The music from beneath us was just loud enough to move to but not so loud we couldn't mingle and converse. The liquor warmed my blood and brought a flush to my skin as I meandered around the space stealing sips off every glass as I nursed my own in a death grip. The burning sensation of eyes crawling over my body only added to the heat building in my core with every drop that slid down my throat. More than once, I caught Marco’s narrow-eyed gaze from his position on the couch. The pure hatred in his expression thrilled me to no end.
As one does when drinking to excess, I became more tactile and horny with every passing moment. We all did. Perhaps it wasn't a bragging right, but the fact that I'd slept with all but two of our crew made it easier for me to indulge in my constant need for physical affection. Even Poncho and Red were willing to play along despite being the straightest members of the group. Gotta love men confident enough in their masculinity to not be offended by a bit of heavy petting and a slow bump and grind between friends. The fact that my oversexualized antics put a look of disgust on Marco’s face was just the icing on the cake.
Jericho guided me away from Red, rudely interrupting my attempt at executing a lap dance. His arms wrapped around my torso as he pulled me flush against his body, my back to his front. Undeterred, I rocked back against him to the beat of the bass.
“You have an audience,” Jer whispered into my ear, pivoting our bodies as he kept rhythm with my movements. The blurry vision of Marco’s dour scowl had me grinning as I doubled my efforts to appear provocative and enticing.
“He looks disgusted,” I mumbled, lifting my arms to slide my fingertips through Jericho’s pin straight hair.
“He does. Are you trying to get yourself beat tonight?” Jericho’s hands shifted under my mesh shirt, hiking it up to reveal the tattooed span of my abs.
“Beat or hate-fucked into the mattress.” I rolled my hips again, earning me a soft moan from my roommate.
“You’re fucking nuts, Hen. Don't play with fire.” His lips trailed over my neck as he spoke, eliciting a shiver of delight. I was well on my way to drunk and every little touch, no matter who it was, brought my nerves to life.
“Or do. I'm okay with getting burned.”
“Mn. Don't say I didn't warn you.” He peeled himself from my back and I pouted. “No, you need to eat something before you go any further.”
I almost protested, but Jericho pushed me into the nearest couch and promptly straddled my lap to hold me in place. When a slider appeared in front of my lips, I begrudgingly took a bite. I vaguely remembered ordering them. I'd also immediately forgotten about eating as soon as the drinks arrived. Thankfully, Jer always looked out for me. That’s why we were best friends. Especially now that Gianluca was off living his best married life.
The uninvited thought of Gianluca brought down my mood. I missed his regular appearances with the crew. I missed him. Suddenly morose, I let my head fall back against the headrest.
“Nope, keep eating. You’ve drunk more than all of us combined.” Jer pressed the slider burger against my lips. “Open wide for Daddy.”
I jerked my head back and forth with a laugh. “Ew, no. You know the deal. I ain't your boy.”
“Shut up and eat the food.” Jericho’s fingers clamped down around my jaw to hold me still. He didn't release his hold until I had consumed the entire thing. He even managed to get me to swallow down a few fries.
“Okay, fuck. Enough. You're gonna kill my buzz.” I pushed my friend from my lap with a grunt. “I need to move.”
“Just ease up on the binge drinking. I'm headed out in a little while to meet up with someone, so I won't be here to scrape your ass off the floor.”
“Ooo, a play date?” I used his body to drag myself to my feet and held tight until the world stopped spinning. When his face came back into focus, the fawn complexion was rosy and flushed. “That’s a yes.”
“Fuck off. I'm telling you nothing.”
“Good luck, man. I’ll be home later if you need a consolation fuck.” I pushed away from him with a sloppy grin and a stumble. Jer was a good guy. We’d gotten closer ever since my best friend fucked off to live happily ever after. No one else in our friend group knew about Jericho’s longing for a relationship with someone who was willing to feed into his Daddy kink fantasies. He tried that shit with me the first time we hooked up and I had to put a stop to it on the spot. To each their own. I wished him nothing but luck in his search.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as the sensation of being watched intensified. Slowly turning in place, the figurative spotlight of Marco’s gaze reignited the nefarious flames of mischief making. I reveled in the visible tension that rose with each step I took toward him where he remained rooted on the couch. Honestly, I was surprised to find him still sitting there. Not a single person save for the waitress had dared approach him all night.
I downed the remnants of my drink and placed it on the table beside his with a slow smirk. “Someone looks grouchy.”
“Leave me alone—”
“Shh, Sad Panda. Let me make it all better.” I pressed a clumsy finger to his lips and all but fell into his lap, straddling his thighs with a laugh. “Half a bottle of scotch to your head and you're still so tense.”
I pressed a palm to his chest, which rewarded me with a low growl and a tight grip on my wrist.
“Don't. Touch. Me.”
“Awww, but where’s the fun in that, your Highness?” I rolled my hips side to side.
“Brandon, I will slit your fucking throat if you don't stop.” His grip tightened to the point of pain, but it only served to drive me wild.
“Your mouth is saying no, but your eyes are saying fuck yes.” I leaned closer until only an inch separated our faces. “Come on, I've always wanted to know if you fuck as good as your baby brother does.”
His expression shifted into something deadly dangerous. It was like watching a hurricane roll in off the water. I knew it was potentially lethal, but I couldn't look away from its mesmerizing intensity. With force and strength beyond my wildest imagination, he slung my body to the side. My back hit the firm cushion of the couch and before I could draw a startled gasp through my lips, his hand seized my jaw and his massive frame loomed over me like a predator on the precipice of delivering its killing blow.
“Shut. Your. Whore. Mouth.” His words pushed through his gritted teeth. His whole body trembled from head to toe. The fury in his eyes sent the blood rushing to my dick as a whimper escaped my constricted throat. With zero sense of self-preservation, I brought my hands to his sides and pulled his crisp, neat white button-down from the waistband of his pants until my palms found what I was looking for—miles of smooth, burning hot skin stretched taut over his quivering muscles.
He reared back as though it was my touch that burned him and not the other way around. That's when I saw it. The cracks in his polished veneer were visible for only a second as his eyes went wide and wild. His chest heaved, up and down, up and down, as he struggled to catch his breath. A quick flash of his tongue as he licked his lips was gone in the blink of an eye. His rumpled shirt, disheveled hair, and rage-red, sweat-glossed face were the picture of unhinged. My cock twitched in the confines of my jeans over it. He’d never looked more delectable.
He took a half-step backward as I sat up on the couch. He took another half a step as I swung my feet to the floor. When I made to stand up, he pivoted on the spot and stalked away. My laugh chased him as he descended the stairs in a hurry while tucking his shirt in. Perhaps big, bad Marco d’Ambrosio wasn't quite as unflappable as he’d have us all thinking. The hoots and hollers from my friends only added to the delight. That singular moment, there and gone, became my newest obsession in an instant. I'd get him to crack, one way or another. I'd crack him right open and leave him vulnerable.
I swiped the bottle of Macallan off the table and hoisted it toward my friends. To the winner went the spoils, and I had most definitely won that round. With cause to celebrate, I rejoined the tumultuous fray of my comrades with my grip firm around the neck of the bottle. If Marco wasn't willing to play tonight, surely one of my friends would be. I wasn't picky. As much as I wanted it to be the drop dead gorgeous older brother of my best friend hate-fucking me tonight, I'd settle for one of my friends in a pinch. I knew deep down, in that part of my depraved core that fed on the things no one talked about out loud, I'd eventually get what I wanted.
And I wanted to break Marco d’Ambrosio. One way or another, I'd break him. And I knew without a shadow of a doubt that it would be the single greatest moment of my life.