Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Fallow
The meeting wasn’t actually finished, much to my dismay. Someone like me was not meant for meetings. Pedantry, in general, makes me want to rip my skin off.
So, I focus my attention on Colm while he rambles about Aryans and blood feuds, and everything else I couldn’t give two fucks about.
Because Colm—despite the fact that he tried to hide his identity from me like a sneaky little bitch—is more intriguing than he should be.
There’s an even, imperturbable air that he manages to maintain, even when his temper is beginning to fray.
He’s controlled. Too controlled. It makes me want to claw through all that mild-mannered-mafioso bullshit until I can watch his brain unhinge itself and spill the contents all over the floor.
I want to cause pressure that fizzes inside of him so relentlessly, he’s forced to crack.
And then I want to devour everything that spills out.
It’s been a long time since I’ve hungered for someone quite like this.
I lick my lips, realizing I’ve let myself get too carried away with my thoughts, and now I’m breathing a little more heavily than I should as blood begins to fill my cock.
Realizing it doesn’t make me stop, though.
I keep staring at Colm, tracing the way each thick body part he owns moves through the air.
Now he’s staring back at me, a frown marring his expression and his gaze fixed on my chest.
He’s watching me breathe. He doesn’t miss a beat in whatever he’s rambling about, but he’s staring at me as my chest heaves and I get closer and closer to panting for him like a dog.
The tingle of arousal is quickly taking over my entire body, forcing my blood to rush through my ears and drown out any droplet of sense I may have still contained.
I reach down to adjust my erection, already close to full-mast, and sink into all the sensations.
I can picture him on his knees for me. Bent over for me. Bleeding for me, then staying perfectly still while I paint my body with it before fucking him raw.
That. That’s what I need right now.
That’s the exact palate cleanser I’ve been looking for to revive myself after weeks of pointless, bloody murders and dead-end leads.
Thinking about that makes my mind brush up against memories of why I came here in the first place, which begins to bleed stress into my cloud of arousal. I beat back the stress with a fucking stick, because I deserve this. I’m out of leads and I’m exhausted. I need to refuel.
And the expression Colm makes when he’s pretending he’s unaffected by me, even though I can see his fingers twitching to reach out… it’s like fucking jet fuel. I could fly to space on this feeling.
By the time I wake up from my fog, I realize we’re finally alone in the room.
Colm is still staring at me from across the table like he can’t decide if he wants to snap my neck or suck on it—as if I’d let him do either—and everyone else seems to have slipped out.
I distantly realize that I still have a hand resting on my dick from when I adjusted myself before, still rock hard, and everyone probably saw exactly where my head was at.
Judging by Colm’s expression, he’s not happy about it.
Delicious.
“How was the meeting?” I ask, leaning my chair back to kick my feet up on the table, while leaving my hand exactly where it belongs.
I even let my fingers massage my shaft through the denim for a few seconds, hissing at the sensation.
I’m too keyed up not to. “I think I zoned out a little there. Did you solve all the problems and scold the naughty mafia brats until they listened to you properly?”
There’s a flex of skin that I can just see as Colm seems to clench and unclench his fists where they rest on the table.
Yes. Just try it, little torture victim.
For a second, I think he really is about to try something. Then his expression shutters, his body stays stiff but not aggressive, and he pushes himself up abruptly from the chair. Without a word to me, he turns around and walks out of the room.
Oh, absolutely the fuck not. Get to fuck if you think you’re escaping me that easily.
I’m already flushed with excitement just by having to get up and chase the fucker down. Clearly, my time here will be more interesting than I first expected.
Colm moves quicker than I would have expected from someone his size. I’m trailing him down the narrow hallways of this old house, everything smelling a little of farm and wood rot, until he opens a door-seemingly at random—and puts himself behind it with a definitive click.
I stop outside the door, staying silent for a moment to see what he’ll do. I can’t actually hear him breathing on the other side of the shitty pine, but it’s as if I can feel it.
Feel him.
The way he’s hungered for me since he first saw me—mouth agape and dick getting hard for me even as he was strung up like a treat—is nothing short of intoxicating.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” I say in a soft, sing-song voice.
If he wants to play hide and seek, I’m more than happy to be the big bad wolf.
More silence follows, but I can wait. I tap my fingers lightly against the wood to remind him I’m here.
To serve as an even greater temptation. Because he may be remarkably composed for a mafioso—famously a short-tempered demographic—but I can smell the stink of desire on him.
He just needs to be reminded of his place.
More silence.
“If you don’t come out and keep me entertained, I’ll be forced to go socialize with your men,” I eventually call through the door. “I’m sure at least one of them would be happy to provide some amusement for me.”
That gets the reaction I was hoping for, and the door wrenches open to reveal my prey behind it.
He’s flustered. Most people wouldn’t notice, I think, but I can see the tension in the creases next to his eyes, and the way his breath is coming quickly through slightly parted, unfairly plush lips.
Delicious.
“Is that a no?” I ask when he doesn’t say anything.
Colm breaks his stare to snag the front of my borrowed, uncomfortable t-shirt and yank me into the room with him.
It’s a bedroom, spartan and depressing. But that’s not what I’m interested in.
“Why are you harassing me?”
The words are growled into my face, his mouth unnecessarily close to mine. I forgave his temporary lapse of touching my shirt, but when his fist doesn’t immediately release the fabric, I bat it away with enough force to send Colm back a step.
“What did I say about touching?”
I’m not as mad as I should be, though. The high of the world’s shortest chase is still fizzing in my blood, so my words come out as more of a purr than a true admonishment.
Colm squints at me.
“If you still don’t want me to touch you, then what do you want?”
I pause. That’s a good question.
I decide to seize the bull by the horns.
“Just because you can’t touch, doesn’t mean I can’t.
” Colm’s eyes widen at me. “Unless you really don’t want me to.
I’m not interested in playing with anyone who doesn’t want to be played with, I have so many other delightful avenues for violence in my life.
But if you’re just playing hard to get, that is something I’m very, very interested in. ”
Still, Colm stays silent. Now’s his chance to tell me to get fucked, and all he can do is stand there, swallowing hard as his pulse flutters visibly in his throat. I can’t tear my eyes away from his, but I know without a doubt that if I looked down, I’d see him getting hard for me all over again.
“Questions? Comments?” I ask, still getting silence in return. That’s confirmation enough for me. “Thought so.”
With a sharp, hard movement, I hit Colm’s chest with the flat of my hand and send him lurching backward. There’s a bed a few feet behind him, and it only takes one more push before his calves hit the edge of it and he lets his big body fall.
Colm ends up flat on his back, his feet still on the floor and his knees spread apart a little more than they need to be. I take the invitation for what it is, and step between them.
“Good. Good rabbit.”
Colm cocks an eyebrow at me, clearly reaching for some sort of righteous indignation to drag to the surface, but I don’t give him the chance.
Reaching down, I grab hold of his thickening cock through the fabric of his trousers and give him a slow, dragging stroke.
I’m squeezing hard enough that it has to be more painful than pleasurable, but the masochist buried inside him is clearly out to play because all he does is gasp and shiver.
His eyes are wide, pupils blown out and a flush creeping under all the dark ink that covers his skin. He looks like a wanton thing.
He looks good enough to eat. I just can’t decide which part I want to devour first.
Going with my gut, I climb on top of him and switch from groping to straddling his cock. I grind my hips down into him, pulling more shallow, desperate noises out of his mouth, and remind myself of how he looked under me just a few hours ago.
Colm’s hands are in the air, hovering over my spread thighs. I can tell he wants to touch, but he’s stopping himself.
Obedient, too.
I could get used to this.
Another roll of my hips has him hissing, and his hands tremble in the air. I push them both down to the bedspread to help him avoid the temptation, before leaning over him. I suddenly wish his hair was long enough to grab, but I’m sure I can think of something else.
With my face suspended a few inches over his and one hand braced on each side of his head, I begin to grind into him in earnest. I can feel him getting harder beneath me, and when his hips start to thrust up to meet my movements, I know I have him.
He’s trying so hard to stay quiet. Ragged inhales and the occasional soft grunt are all he’s giving me.
Doesn’t matter. I’m going to make him come in his pants, anyway.