Chapter 10
TEN
DARIO
Industrial fans push stale air through the underground space, carrying sweat and iron and anticipation. The ring dominates the center. Just a rectangle marked in tape on concrete; no ropes or barriers between fighters and spectators. Perfect for showing Rafael exactly what he's been trying to deny.
I have the sweetest of memories of fucking his pretty face, it was even better than I had imagined with all the gagging and drooling. It was hard for him, very hard, to take all of me and that I enjoy. He makes a very obedient little slut and I like that.
My security detail blends with the crowd, their careful positioning creating a net that will push him exactly where I want him. The text I sent was simple: coordinates, a time, and a reminder of the photos I still hold. His response came three hours later—just one word: "Fine."
But that's all I need. His pride won't let him ignore a direct challenge.
The regulars gather around the ring's edges, money changing hands as fighters warm up in shadowy corners. These matches run on old rules: no referees, no weight classes, and no limits except what the crowd's appetite demands. Blood darkens the concrete in places, telling stories of victories and failures that no amount of cleaning can erase.
A door creaks somewhere above, letting in a slice of moonlight before slamming shut. Boots on metal stairs, then Rafael appears at the bottom. He's ditched the lawyer costume for dark jeans and a black shirt that can't quite hide the warrior's grace in his movements. His eyes scan the space with practiced efficiency—exits, threats, advantages—before landing on me.
Just the sight of his pretty face brings back the memory of how much of a mess it looked when I was done with it. How good his lips looked stretched tight around my cock.
"Quite a change from your usual study spots." I push off the wall I've been leaning against, enjoying how his shoulders tighten at my approach. "No color-coded notes down here. Just pure instinct and earned pain."
He maintains his distance as I circle him, but his body betrays everything his silence tries to hide. Every muscle screams awareness of my movement, his old combat training surfacing despite his best efforts to bury it. The crowd parts around us, sensing something electric building between predators in their midst.
"Why am I here?" His voice carries that slight accent he can't quite hide when his control slips.
I smile, letting him see sharp teeth. "Because you need to remember what you really are." My hand finds his shoulder, feeling his heat through cotton. "And I'm going to show you."
The next fighter steps into the ring, bare-chested and battle-scarred. The dim light catches old wounds as he raises his fists, inviting challengers. The crowd's energy shifts, hunger rising as blood scents the air.
"Watch carefully." I keep my grip on his shoulder, making him face the violence he's tried so hard to forget. "This is our world. The one you're pretending doesn't exist while you hide behind legal briefs and classroom discussions."
The fight starts with brutal efficiency. No ceremony, no rules, just pure animal need to dominate. Flesh meets flesh with wet sounds that echo off concrete walls. Rafael's pulse jumps beneath my fingers as the first fighter goes down, blood painting the floor in abstract patterns.
"Your hands remember this." I lean closer, the words for him and him alone. "The impact of bone against bone. The satisfaction of a perfectly landed strike." My fingers trail down his arm, finding old scars hidden beneath careful facades. "Tell me you don't miss it."
He doesn't answer, but his breathing changes, growing deeper as another fighter falls. The crowd's roar builds around us, but I focus on how his body responds to each display of dominance. How his weight shifts automatically into a fighting stance despite years of pretending at civility.
"Your turn next." The words hit him like a physical blow. I feel him start to pull away, but my grip tightens. "Unless you're too afraid to show these people exactly what a Valenti heir can do."
His eyes meet mine, dark with something beyond simple fury. "I don't do this anymore."
"Liar." I drag my fingers up his spine, feeling him shiver. "You do this every day in your mind. Every time you check exits and catalog threats. Every time you stop yourself from responding to disrespect with violence." I pause as another fighter hits the bloodied concrete. "The only difference is, down here we're honest about what we are."
The fight ends with a wet crack and a cheer from the crowd. Blood drips from the victor's knuckles as he helps his opponent up—honor among wolves. Rafael watches with carefully controlled features, but I catch every tell: the way his fingers flex, how his breath catches at particularly skilled moves, the hunger he can't quite hide.
"Time to stop pretending." I step back, stripping off my jacket. "Show me what's under all that polish."
I can sense him submitting to my request, again. This is the one fight I’ve been so desperate to have.
The crowd forms a loose circle as Rafael steps into the ring, tension rolling off him in waves. He moves like someone who's done this before, despite his attempts to hide it. His stance shifts automatically to account for the uneven concrete, the poor lighting, and every variable that marks the difference between victory and defeat.
I shrug off my jacket, letting him see the raw power I usually keep hidden beneath designer fabric. His eyes track the movement, cataloging my reach and muscle mass with mechanical precision. The space between us charges with electric possibility as I mirror his position.
"First blood or surrender?" I ask, though we both know this fight won't end with either. This is about something deeper, something primal that lives in both our veins.
His response comes in the form of an attack: fast, precise, and perfectly timed. I barely deflect the strike, and his follow- up connects with satisfying force. The impact travels up my arm, igniting nerve endings that sing with long-denied pleasure. He responds with fluid grace, turning the strike into momentum that carries him inside my guard. His counter-attack comes fast and precise—textbook perfect, betraying years of training he can't erase.
The crowd fades to white noise as we dance across blood-stained concrete. Each movement tells a story of violence bred into both our bones: the way he shifts his weight between strikes, how his dark eyes track my center of mass, the perfect economy of motion that no amount of legal education could disguise. Beautiful. Fucking beautiful.
"Stop holding back." I drive my knee toward his ribs, forcing him to block. The defensive move flows like water, pure instinct taking over. "Show them what you really are."
His eyes flash dark gold under the industrial lights. Sweat darkens his shirt, turning black cotton translucent against skin marked with scars I want to trace with my tongue. His next strike carries more power, more intent. His mask of civility cracks further with each exchange .
Blood runs hot down my chin from a split lip. The taste of copper fills my mouth as I smile, savage and wanting. "Better. But still not the killer I know lives inside you." I circle left, testing his defenses. "What would your professors think if they could see you now?"
The taunt lands. His control slips just enough, just right. The next combination comes lightning fast: jab, cross, hook, each strike flowing into the next with deadly precision. I catch the last one and use his momentum to slam him against the nearest support column. Concrete dust falls like snow as the impact shakes the building's bones.
"Finally showing your true nature." I press closer, pinning him with my body weight. Raw satisfaction burns through me as his careful facade crumbles. "The heir your uncle always wanted."
The crowd's energy shifts, hungry for more intimate violence. They sense something electric building between us, something beyond simple combat. Rafael's chest heaves against mine as he struggles, but the position forces him to feel every point of contact, every line of heat where skin meets skin .
"Fuck you." The curse slips out in Sicilian, his voice shattered by rage and want.
I laugh against his throat, tasting salt. "That's it. Let him out. Let everyone see exactly what you've been hiding under all that expensive education."
He explodes into motion, raw power breaking my hold. The reversal carries us both to the ground, a tangle of limbs and shared breath. The concrete scrapes skin from my shoulders as he pins me, one forearm pressed hard against my throat. His eyes burn with something darker than simple fury, something that makes my blood sing with recognition.
"This what you wanted?" The words come rough with promise as he applies more pressure. "To prove I'm just like you?"
I buck my hips, using his momentary distraction to flip our positions. My hands find his wrists, pinning them above his head as I settle my weight across his thighs. "No, baby." I lean down until my lips brush his ear. "I wanted to prove you're exactly what they made you. What we both are."
His body goes wire-tight beneath mine. I catch the slight tremor in his muscles, the way his pulse races visible at his throat. The crowd's noise fades further, leaving us suspended in this moment of raw truth. Every breath carries the scent of blood and sweat and inevitability.
"I could break your hold." His voice drops lower, intimate despite our audience. "Three moves."
"But you won't." I shift my grip, letting him feel the strength I usually keep leashed. "Because you're tired of pretending. Tired of maintaining that perfect control." My thumb finds his pulse point, reading the chaos in his heartbeat. "You’re tired of denying what burns between us, aren’t you?"
Someone in the crowd whistles—in appreciation or warning, I'm not sure. The sound breaks our private moment, reminding us of prying eyes. Rafael uses the distraction to bridge up, nearly breaking my hold. The movement brings our bodies flush, and I feel the exact moment his resistance transforms into something else entirely.
"That's it." I roll with his momentum, letting him think he's gaining advantage. "Stop thinking like a lawyer. Feel it. The push and pull. The perfect dance of dominance and submission." Each word punctuates a shift in position, a redistribution of power between us. "This is what you were born for."
His response comes in the form of an elbow strike that nearly catches my temple. I counter, redirecting his force into a twist that brings us chest to chest again. My hand finds his throat, thumb pressing against his carotid just enough to remind him of his mortality. His pulse jumps beneath my touch, racing with more than simple combat high.
The underground space fills with the sound of flesh meeting flesh, of shared breath and bitten-back sounds that could be pain or pleasure. Light catches the sweat on his skin, turning him golden as he arches into my hold. The movement exposes his throat, a display of submission that makes something primitive in my chest purr with satisfaction.
"You remember now?" I ease the pressure just enough to let him speak. "You remember how it feels to stop pretending? To embrace exactly what you are?"
His eyes meet mine, pupils blown wide with violence and want. Blood from my split lip drips onto his chest, staining the black cotton even darker. The sight ignites something possessive in my gut. I want to mark him deeper. I want to carve my name into his bones until he can't deny what exists between us.
The fight has drawn us to the edge of the marked ring. One more move would carry us into darkness, away from the crowd's hungry gaze. Rafael reads the intent in my eyes. Of course he does; we speak the same language of violence and need. His resistance wavers, control slipping further with each shared breath.
"Time to choose," I murmur against his skin. "Keep playing student, or admit what you really want."
The underground air grows heavier, charged with possibilities. His hands fist in my shirt, caught between pushing me away and pulling me closer. Everything we are, everything we've been trained to be crystallizes in this moment of perfect understanding.
This is what I've been pushing for since that first night in the library. This perfect suspension between violence and surrender, between denial and truth. His careful walls crumble further with each heartbeat, with each drop of blood that paints his skin.
It's time to end this fight and start something infinitely more dangerous.
The fight ends with my opponent splayed across cracked concrete, more unconscious than not. Blood spatters my knuckles, wet and warm. I wipe it off on my jeans, letting the rough fabric scrape against split skin. The crowd's roar fades to white noise as I turn to face Rafael, tilting my head in invitation.
"Your move, killer."
After gathering his bearings, he stands at the ring's edge, shoulders tight under cotton damp with sweat and rust-colored stains. The dim light paints his features in harsh relief, all sharp angles and caged ferocity straining to break free. I see the war behind his eyes, the endless battle between who he pretends to be and the truth raging to escape.
I step toward him, deliberate and measured. "Come on, Rafael. Show them what a Valenti is really made of."
His throat works as he swallows. The simple tell sends anticipation spiking through my blood, electric and alive. He's close, so damn close to snapping. To admitting defeat and embracing the monster inside.
Around us, the crowd's energy swells like storm clouds. They sense the real fight building between us, the one that has nothing to do with exchanging blows. I catch flashes of money changing hands, side bets rising with each step I take in his direction.
"Last chance to run." My voice comes out rough, scraped raw with darker promises. "Last chance to pretend you don't crave this as much as I do."
His eyes flicker, a flash of amber in the gloom. For a moment, I think he might actually bolt. Vanish back into the shadows and the safety of his carefully constructed illusions. But then his chin lifts, stubborn pride winning out over self-preservation.
"I'm not going anywhere."
Satisfaction snakes through me, vicious and sweet. He's always been a fighter, even when he's fighting his true nature. It's what drew me to him in the first place, that fractured dichotomy. The perfect veneer hiding a core of pure violence.
I'm close enough to feel heat rolling off him now, to taste iron and fury in each shared breath. Close enough to see the pulse hammering at the base of his throat, his body already bracing for impact before a single blow lands.
"Good boy. "
The words unleash him. He explodes into motion, launching himself at me with a snarl erupting from that always tightly-leashed control. Fists fly and feet lash out, each strike precise and devastating. I respond in kind, savage elation surging through my veins as we clash in a blur of sweat-slicked skin and unleashed brutality.
This is what I've been craving. This pure collision of what we both are under the polish and pretense. Rafael's mask splinters further with every punch, every counter, every move and countermove. He's a force of nature, wild and lethal and so goddamn beautiful it steals my breath.
We hit the ground hard, grappling for dominance. Concrete scrapes my back raw, but the pain barely registers. All that matters is the heat of him above me, the weight of him pinning me down. His hands wrap around my throat, those elegant ink-stained fingers squeezing with the perfect pressure to make dark spots dance across my vision.
I buck my hips, breaking his grip and reversing our positions. Now it's my turn to loom over him, one hand pressed against his sternum to feel the frantic drum of his heart. His chest rises and falls rapidly, breath coming in sharp bursts. I want to taste the exertion on his skin, lick away the sweat and blood until he's stripped down to his most fundamental core.
"Finally." The word comes out guttural, almost unrecognizable. "You unleashed your true self. Not the good little law student. Not the dutiful nephew." I lean in closer until our lips almost brush. "The true Rafael Valenti."
Something flashes across his face, there and gone too quick to name. His eyes are black in the low light, pupils swallowing the irises until only a thin ring of amber remains. I feel more than hear his sharp inhale, watch his nostrils flare as he sucks air between bared teeth.
Then he's moving again, a blur of furious grace. An elbow cracks against my jaw. A knee digs into my ribs. The strikes flow like water, unstoppable and devastating. I give it back as good as I get, tasting copper and triumph as we roll across the filthy cement.
The crowd screams, baying for blood. But they fade to insignificance compared to the firestorm raging between us. This moment is ours and ours alone, an inferno of pent-up need and denied truths and the purest fucking recognition.
We end up against the far wall, Rafael's back pressed to rough brick. My fingers anchor in his sweat-dampened hair, holding him still as we pant into the charged space between our mouths. Every ragged exhale mingles, tasting of salt and iron and the inevitable.
"Say it." My grip tightens, arching his neck back. "Say you want this. Say you want me." Because I need to hear it. I need him to admit it out loud instead of just with the raw hunger darkening his gaze.
He stares at me, chest heaving. A war rages behind his eyes, denial grappling with dark desire. I can practically hear the cogs turning, all that sharp intelligence wrestling with baser instinct.
"Fuck you," he finally snarls, but there's no real heat. No true rejection.
I laugh, the sound coming out jagged. "Oh, baby. We'll get to that."
And then I'm kissing him, a brutal clash of lips and teeth and tongues. He responds instantly, just as wild, just as desperate. Fingers fist in my hair, blunt nails raking down my neck. I groan into his mouth, licking away the coppery tang of split lips.
It's heaven and hell, agony and ecstasy. The culmination of every heated glance, every loaded threat, every electric point of contact. I want to crawl inside him, pry him open, and live within the twisted gorgeous wreckage. I want to resurrect every violent impulse he's ever repressed and make him embrace the darkness.
A bottle shatters nearby, jolting us back to the present. I pull away slowly, reluctantly. Rafael's eyes are glazed, his lips bruised and slick with my blood. He looks debauched, stripped down to his rawest foundations.
Shatteringly perfect.
"We're not done." My tone is rougher than gravel. A promise and a vow. "Not even close."
I step back, putting distance between us before I do something truly unforgivable, like drop to my knees and worship him right here in front of everyone. The crowd slowly filters back in, their raucous cheers washing over me like static.
Rafael straightens, a dazed sort of awareness returning. He swipes at his mouth with the back of one hand, smearing the evidence of our explosive collision. I track the movement, hunger a living thing inside my chest.
"This doesn't change anything." But the words lack conviction. It’s just an empty platitude that can't hide the seismic shift in his eyes.
My answering smile cuts like a blade. "You keep telling yourself that, killer."
I turn away, already calculating my next move. The game has changed, the stakes ratcheting up to dizzying heights. There's no going back now. No pretending the fragile boundaries between us haven't been obliterated.
Rafael Valenti may have walked into this underground temple to violence as a law student playing dress-up. But he'll leave as something else entirely.
Something infinitely more dangerous.
Something that's finally ready to accept the brutal inheritance carved into his very bones.
My blood sings with savage anticipation. Because this dark victory is only the beginning. Soon, very soon, I'll tear down every last one of his defenses .
And make him truly mine.
The aftermath of our explosive confrontation lingers in the air, a tangible charge that even the crowd's raucous jeers can't dispel. Rafael's chest heaves as he slumps against the wall, his eyes never leaving mine. The intensity of his gaze sears through me, a silent acknowledgment of the line we've just crossed.
No more pretense. No more denial.
I jerk my head toward the back exit, a command and invitation in one. He hesitates for a heartbeat, the last vestiges of his carefully cultivated control warring with the hunger I've dragged to the surface. But we both know it's futile. The truth is out, raw and undeniable.
He pushes off the wall, his movements fluid despite the battering he's taken. I lead the way through the throng of spectators, their whispers and speculative glances following us like a physical weight. They know something pivotal has just occurred, even if they can't quite grasp the magnitude.
I push open the door, and the back alley greets us with a blast of cool air, a sharp contrast to the sweat-slicked heat of the underground fight club. The space is narrow, wedged between crumbling brick buildings that have seen their share of dark deeds. Graffiti snakes across the walls, vibrant slashes of color that barely register as I turn to face Rafael.
He stands a few feet away, his shoulders rising and falling with each ragged breath. Shadows paint his features in stark relief, intensifying the coiled tension radiating from every line of his body. His gaze rakes over me, lingering on my split lip and the fresh bruises blooming across my skin.
"What now?" His voice is a low rasp, barely audible over the distant thrum of bass from a club. "You got what you wanted. Made me admit what I—" He cuts himself off, jaw clenching.
I stalk closer, each step deliberate. "What you are? What you've always been?" The words come out as a purr, dark satisfaction lacing every syllable.
He doesn't retreat as I invade his space, holding his ground with that stubborn tilt to his chin. The barest hint of a smile tugs at my mouth. There's the fighter, the survivor. The man I've been chasing beneath the veneer of civility.
"I am more than my family's legacy." But the declaration rings hollow, uncertainty threading through his tone. "I’m more than violence and brutality."
"Are you?" I'm close enough now to feel the heat rolling off his skin, to catch the scent of exertion and metallic blood. "Then why are you vibrating with the need to make me bleed? Why are your fists clenching with the urge to finish what we started?"
His gaze darts to my mouth, to the crimson stain painting my lips. The simple action sends a bolt of pure electricity down my spine, igniting nerve endings still raw from our clash. I let my eyes flutter closed for a fraction of a second, savoring the simmering tension.
"This doesn't have to be a fight, Rafael." My voice drops to a whisper as I lean in, breath ghosting across his jaw. "Not anymore."
A shudder ripples through him, so faint I almost miss it. When I pull back to meet his gaze, the conflicted swirl of emotions there steals my breath. Anger, desire, fear, longing— all battling for dominance in those amber depths.
"What's the alternative?" His question emerges rough, scraped raw with things long suppressed. "Surrendering to the monster inside? Letting it consume me? Letting it dictate who I am?"
I lift a hand to his face, my thumb grazing the edge of a darkening bruise. He tenses but doesn't flinch away, his skin fever-hot beneath my touch. "The only monster here is the one you've created by denying your true nature." I apply the faintest pressure, feeling his pulse jump erratically. "Stop fighting it. Stop fighting yourself."
His lips part on a sharp inhale, chest shuddering with the force of it. I watch, transfixed, as his tongue darts out to wet the abused flesh. The sight ignites a hunger so intense it borders on pain, a clawing need to taste and claim and possess.
"Dario—"
The rest is lost as I surge forward, capturing his mouth in a searing kiss.
He meets me halfway, a low growl rising from his throat. This isn't the frenzied clash from before, all teeth and desperation. This is something deeper, something that takes root in my very marrow. A connection forged in blood and darkness and the inescapable pull of destiny.
His hands find my hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. I welcome the sting, evidence of his unraveling control. My own grasp settles on his waist, anchoring him to me, to this moment where the world narrows down to heat and want and the inevitable.
I lick into his mouth, chasing hints of liquor and adrenaline. He responds beautifully, angling his head to deepen the kiss. It's a dance of give and take, dominance and submission. A nonverbal conversation that lays bare every unspoken truth between us.
I tear away only when breath becomes a necessity, my lungs screaming for air. But even then, I don't go far, resting my forehead against his as we pant into the scant space separating our lips. His eyes have drifted shut, his long lashes creating delicate shadows against the tops of his cheekbones.
"Look at me." A command and a plea.
Those striking dark brown eyes open, pupils widened and glittering with unleashed heat. The last of his walls crumble, leaving him exposed and wanting. I feel a thrill of primal satisfaction at the sight, at knowing I'm the reason for his surrender.
"Rafael..." His name is a reverent whisper, flavored with all the dark promises I intend to fulfill. "Let go. Let me show you how good it can be when you embrace what you are."
Something snaps behind his gaze, the final thread of his resistance giving way. Then he's moving, hands fisting in my hair, dragging me back into a kiss that sears my very soul. I meet his urgency with my own, blood singing a twisted hallelujah in my veins.
This is where we've always been heading, from that very first charged exchange in the library. This volatile collision of shadow and bone, a primal recognition of like to like. I want to devour him. I want to worship at the altar of his darkness. I want to make him forget he ever tried to be anything else.
I push him against the damp brick wall, the cold surface a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his body. I trace my tongue over his lips, tasting the coppery tang of blood—my blood—from our violent kiss. His breath hitches as I nip at his bottom lip, a soft moan escaping his lips as I soothe the sting with my tongue.
I grab his hand, guiding it to my sweat-slicked chest, feeling his fingers dig into my skin. His touch is electric, sending sparks of pleasure coursing through my veins. I can feel his dick hardening against my thigh, a testament to his desire. I smirk, a wicked grin spreading across my face as I drop to my knees.
I make quick work of his belt, my fingers fumbling with the buckle in my haste. His dick springs free, thick and hard, a bead of precum glistening at the tip. I lick my lips, my mouth watering at the sight. I wrap my hand around the base, feeling the pulsing heat of his dick against my palm.
I look up at him, meeting his gaze as I slowly lower my head, my tongue darting out to taste the salty precum. His eyes roll back in his head as a guttural moan escapes his lips when I take him into my mouth, my tongue swirling around the head. I bob my head, taking him deeper, and my hand pumps in time with my mouth.
His fingers tangle in my hair, guiding my movements as I lavish his shaft with my tongue. I can feel him growing harder, his breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. I pull back, my tongue tracing the vein that runs along the underside of his dick, feeling him twitch with uncontrolled pleasure against my lips.
I stand up, my lips crashing against his in a bruising kiss. I can taste his desire and his need mingling with my own. I turn him around, pushing him against the wall, my hands roaming over his body, feeling the firm muscles beneath the fabric. Then I pull down his pants.
I trace my fingers over the curve of his ass, my dick throbbing with need. I drop to my knees, my hands spreading his cheeks as I bury my face in his ass, my tongue tracing circles around his hole. He gasps, as I lick and suck, enjoying his moans.
He tastes like sweat and something else, something earthy and raw, something unmistakably him. I wonder what his previous sexual experiences were like and I bet they were nothing like as feral as the places I will take him to sexually.
“I’m going to destroy this sweet little hole of yours,” I growl as I take a breath .
I push my tongue into his anus and he groans loudly.
“Oh, god.. I’m going to..” I hear him moan and I know he is close.
I pull away. “Not yet you won’t. You’ll come with my dick in your ass sweet Little Valenti. That’s how little slut boys like you should come. And if you don’t come from that, that’s not my fucking problem.”
I hear him swallow and adjust himself, but he doesn’t protest.
I stand up, dropping my own pants, my dick pressing against his ass.
He wants this. It is damn fucking clear he wants this. I reach into my pocket, pulling out a small packet of lube. I tear it open, slicking up my dick with my hand.
“If you want it, you’ll bend over and pull your fucking cheeks apart and show me your sweet little hole.”
I’m testing him, we both know that and there’s a pause while he absorbs the request before he moves into position obediently bending forwards and reaching his hands round pulling his cheeks apart.
I can see the tight hairy pucker of his asshole as it seems to pulse with want for me .
My dick is throbbing at the very thought. I wonder what will be sweeter, fucking his ass or his throat. I guess we will find out soon enough.
“Beg me,” I say. “Beg me to destroy your ass.”
There’s another pause and we both wait. I can’t take my eyes off his asshole as I stroke my lubed cock.
It comes eventually, his plea, his submission. “Please,” he gasps, his voice raw. “I want you to fuck me. I want you to destroy my ass. I want you to use me.”
I don’t need asking twice.
I laugh heartily, “That’s it Little Valenti. Good little slut.”
I grip his hip with my left hand as my right guides my rock hard cock to his entrance, pressing against his asshole. I feel him begin to open at the pressure.
I know my dick is big and I probably should use my fingers to warm him up, but I don’t want to do that right now. I need him to submit to me entirely and take my fucking cock completely. And I don’t care if it hurts him.
He cries out loudly as I force my way inside him, hands on both his hips, pulling him onto me, my dick stretching him wide open. His body tenses.
“I know it hurts, sweetheart. That’s what I want from you, ultimate sacrifice. Just relax your body, that will help with the pain.”
“Your dick is so fucking big…” he winces as I push further inside him until I’m all the way in. His ass pulses around me, it feels electric on my dick.
“Of course it is, baby,” I growl. “All the better for fucking you with. You are going to feel me inside you for weeks.”
I start to move, my hips thrusting in a slow, steady rhythm. His yelps become moans that fill the air, mingling with the distant sounds of the city. I can feel my orgasm building, a tingling sensation spreading from the base of my spine. I thrust harder, faster, using his ass, chasing my release.
A few minutes later, I can feel him tensing, his dick pulsing as he comes, his cum splattering against the damp ground. I follow suit, my orgasm crashing over me like a wave, my cum filling him up.
I pull out, my dick still hard, slick, and throbbing. I turn him around, pushing him down to his knees.
"Now you fucking clean it,” I whisper, a wicked grin spreading across my face.
His eyes widen and his mouth opens. My head tips back and my eyes close to the sweet pleasure of his tongue and mouth.