Chapter Fifty-Eight
Sitting in the orchestra box, I’m up in my head while we await the start of the show.
I can’t believe Mansur is here. Since when do governors attend random plays in the city?
Could be a publicity move…
Showing up to support the son of the late governor he was obviously going to beat if he hadn’t died. The person whom he’s now going to great lengths to investigate, uprooting everything the dead prick spent decades putting into place.
No matter. These things don’t affect me, so I’m not concerned. Especially now that Alabaster Penitentiary is no more, and the board has been dismantled.
Still, I’m so deep in my thoughts that I barely notice the show has started until music startles me.
“Are you okay?” Angel whispers in my ear, and I nod.
But when he goes to pull away, I slip my hand onto his thigh, hoping to keep him close.
I need his proximity right now. It’s the only thing that truly pacifies me; quells the endless stresses of my life.
The show gets started, and Michelangelo is a revelation. The kid is truly talented, and I’m awed by his performance. Still, it’s not quite enough to draw me away from the tasty little snack sitting next to me.
Mi pajarito, who smells like fresh gardenia and sugar cookies.
My hand roams subtly, shrewdly hidden by the lack of light. And because my Angel is perfect—and infinitely needy for me—he parts his legs wider. Just enough for my fingers to slip in between.
Trailing them up and down, gradually, we’re both watching the show, or pretending to. But I couldn’t tell you a single thing Michelangelo is doing or saying. I’m far more invested in the way Angel’s breathing has shifted, and the eager rumbles for only my ears.
He leans into me, appearing as if he’s resting his head affectionately on my shoulder, though I’m watching the slope of his throat in my peripheral. Adam’s apple sliding, perfect flesh I want to leave scattered with black and blue.
“Diablo…” he breathes, this sort of mewl by my ear that throbs my balls. “Touch…”
“Are you wet?” I whisper. He nods, thrusting gently up to my hand. “Is your pussy aching?”
“Si… yes, Daddy,” his voice is like a siren song. A taunting melody for me alone.
“I would love to fuck you right here,” I tell him on a growl. “Sit you on my lap… Stretch you open and just stay still inside, rubbing on your clit until you gush all over my big cock.”
“Jesus, fuck, Diablo…” He snaps his legs closed, trapping my hand. I chuckle and he rasps, “I’m gonna come in my panties if you running your filthy mouth like that.”
I brush my lips over his earlobe. “Maybe that’s what I want…” Then I flick it with my tongue.
“Mmff… why am I wearing a goddamn bodysuit…?” He grumbles, and I chuckle.
“Guess we’ll just have to wait, hm, love? Until I can get you naked…”
“But Diablo, I want you now,” he whines.
I’m wound up so tight I can’t even think.
So I purr, “Meet me around the corner in five minutes.”
Standing casually, I saunter off, up the steps and around the corner to this small alcove that goes nowhere and is completely dark. Tucking away, I wait for my pajarito. And sure enough, he shows up only moments later, restlessly pawing at me right away.
“We can’t fuck,” he hums. “I can’t get naked right here… not with everyone I know and the damn governor sitting a few feet away.
I snicker, nipping his jaw while I unfasten my belt and open my pants. “Well, I can still touch you…”
I swirl my fingers around on his sensitive spots, turning away, giving him my backside. “Put your fingers in, pajarito.”
“Mmffuck, baby…” He moves in behind me, sucking his fingers. “You’re so fucking hot.”
Leaving them dripping with saliva, he stuffs them into the back of my pants, gliding them between my cheeks.
My head drops forward. “God, yes… you are perfection, baby.”
Angel kisses and licks my neck while nudging his middle finger against my body’s resistance. “Relax and let me in you, Diablo…”
“Uhh… I l-love you,” I stammer when his fingertip breaks in, and he lulls it nice and deep. Up to the knuckle. “Unnghhfuck, baby, bueno. Touch it…”
He moves his finger, and my loins throb. “Like that?”
I nod fast, biting my lip raw to keep quiet.
“Bend over, Daddy,” he croons. “Let me finger-fuck that ass.”
“Y-yes… Dios…”
Another goes in, then another, and I’m writhing into the feeling, humping back against his hand like a greedy slut. I don’t even care that I’m leaking in my tux, or that I’m probably going to come all over myself with fingers in my ass a few feet away from hundreds of people.
I’m desperate, needy, and unkempt for this kid. The love of my life.
My every single thing.
That’s how I know…
Angel is grinding himself against my hip, fingering me deep and shallow, his free hand over my mouth and his lips on my ear.
“You gonna come for me, Manuel?”
I nod frantically, whimpering behind his palm.
Yes… yes yes ohh fucking yesss…
And I reach just in time to pull my cock out and milk my hot cum onto the floor, so I’m not leaving this place with a giant cum-stain on my tux.
“Look at that big dick,” he purrs in my ear, watching over my shoulder as I knead my orgasm out. “Eres monstruoso… So so sexy, Manuel, coming so pretty, baby.”
“Mmm mm mmm,” I tell Angel I love him behind his hand, whining and panting through my orgasm.
“I h-have to… come.”
His hand slips. “Go ahead, naughty girl. Come in your panties.” I’m still pulsing, clamping on his fingers. “Mmm fuck… Daddy will clean you up.”
“Ohh God, I love you,” he shudders, and I feel him releasing. Pressing his hips into me while he comes. “Fuck, Manuel Blanco, I love you so hard, baby.”
“I love you, Angel Alvarez.”
We manage to stop pulsing, detach from one another, and fix ourselves up just in time for intermission. I use the opportunity to escort Angel to the restroom to get cleaned up, and we return to our seats with no one the wiser.
The former inmates likely assume we snuck off to fool around, because they’re quite skanky themselves, but they say nothing.
That secret little rendezvous just reminds me of why Angel Alvarez is the perfect person for me. Why I know I will never find anyone else as long as I live, and I wouldn’t even try.
He’s it for me. All of it and then some.
I left Alabaster Isle behind so that we could begin a life together, starting fresh in a new place. And every day since has been an adventure with my beautiful little bird.
Now I think it’s time to make it official.
After the show, we go backstage to congratulate Michelangelo on a wonderful performance. Sure, I missed most of the first half while I was getting my ass fingered in a dark corner, but what I did see was really something else.
“Guys, this is the producer, Cross Carlisle,” Michelangelo introduces us, fawning while being subtle enough.
Apparently, this is the mercurial genius he’s sleeping with, according to Byron and Trevel—who told Angel, who told me. I’m not in the gossip game directly anymore, but I’m not dead. Tea is a delicious beverage.
“Charmed,” the guy murmurs indifferently, saying the same word Trevel always uses, but somehow sounding a million times more bored and pretentious?
I’m not sure I like this bloke.
“Fantastic show,” Dascha attempts to lure out his non-dick side—if he has one—glaring at us until we all begin murmuring.
“Amazing show.
“Inspired.”
“Michelangelo, you were phenomenal,” I tell him honestly.
He waves me off, blushing.
“He was lovely for a Broadway baby, wasn’t he?” Cross tilts his head at Michelangelo, whose brows furrow as if he’s not sure what to make of that remark.
The feeling is mutual.
“Well, I thought you were bitchin.” Ren grins.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Cross rumbles. I don’t think he’s looked at us once.
His hand slides off Michelangelo’s lower back as he leaves, which would indicate some minor intimacy… if he weren’t leaving to go talk to some of the half-naked dancers.
Michelangelo frowns.
“He seems nice,” Leah chirps awkwardly.
“He’s actually terrible,” Michelangelo sighs. “But his dick is…” He sighs dreamily. “Well, ya know…”
“Oh, trust me, we know.” Angel smirks, peeking at me while I feign outrage.
“Magic?” Ren grins deviously.
“Yes. Very much so.” Michelangelo nods enthusiastically.
“Figures,” Byron hums while Yari and all of Angel’s friends murmur in agreement.
“Treacherous men always have beautiful dicks,” Trevel professes.
I can’t help the snort that bursts out of me. And the rest of them erupt into cackles and conversation, discussing where to go out.
“Magic dick, hm?” I hum to Angel while we leave the theatre.
“Oh yea. Mucho,” he nods. “Yours casts spells on me all the time. Why do you think I was so obsessed with you?”
“Really?” I chuckle. “I didn’t know that was all about my dick, pajarito.”
“I’m telling you, it hypnotized me,” he teases. “Then you went in for the kill.”
Grinning, I take his chin. “Too bad I couldn’t kill you either, huh?” He chuckles, and I kiss him softly. “I love you forever, my sweet Angel.”
“I love you always, Diablo.”
I’m suddenly itching to drop down on one knee right now. But I should really wait until we get home.
After all, I have something extra special for my little bird.
We’re back in Vegas. Back from our trip to New York, which certainly filled our cups. Angel got to see all of his friends, I got to get nasty with him in a Broadway theatre—and in the elevator of The Plaza—and we discussed some things with Byron and Trevel regarding the history book.
Overall, I’m thrilled for this project. I think it will be just the thing to immortalize Alabaster Isle within the pages of history. And also make me feel like I’m still connected to her.
Losing the Isle was a hit, and I won’t deny that. I don’t regret surrendering to Jonathan, giving him the island or the mansion. But it is a very special place, and I miss it.
Hopefully, having the history recorded will give me a physical piece of it to hold on to.