Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
GHOST
He’s not going to kill me.
His hand is rock steady, so I have no doubt he’s more than comfortable pulling that trigger, but I’m just as sure that he’s not going to.
It’s not just his barely concealed erection straining against the silky black fabric of his tight briefs or the heat that flashed through his eyes when I told him to go ahead and shoot me.
There’s something else, something more subtle, a look I’ve learned to recognize that stokes the heat already searing through my veins.
“Put the gun down,” I say firmly, holding his gaze and injecting my voice with the confident authority I’ve been using to melt submissives for years now.
When the memories of that night first came back, I thought I’d never want to fuck again.
I couldn’t imagine letting anyone near me, letting anyone touch me, kiss me, use me like that ever again.
My brain and my dick weren’t in agreement though.
My brain was fucking traumatized, but my cock still ached for release.
Eventually I managed to find a compromise they could both live with.
I can fuck, as long as I’m the one in charge.
Always. No one touches me without my say, which doesn’t happen.
And no one’s mouth comes anywhere near mine unless I order them to kiss me, which I’ve never done.
Pretty men kneel for me now, and I’m the one who uses them.
And unlike the Sleepless Goddamn Reapers, I never leave anyone dead in a fucking ditch, and I always get consent. Enthusiastic consent.
He lowers the gun and a smirk twists my lips. I can see the needy look in his eyes, the little twinkle of excitement.
“Good boy,” I purr, and his breath hitches.
Maybe I broke into the right apartment tonight after all.
I lift my hand and his eyes follow the movement.
Does he like the leather gloves? Something tells me he does.
I crook a finger to beckon him, and he leans down without hesitation.
“I think you owe me an apology for pulling a gun on me.”
He scoffs. He’s close enough that I can see the dark circle of his pupils expand, nearly obscuring the hazel of his irises, and his warm breath puffs against my face. Unlike the memories, the feeling is pleasant, sexy even, as long as I keep my eyes on him and remember that I’m the one in charge.
“You’re the one who broke into my apartment,” he reminds me.
I calculate for just a second. He put the gun down when I told him to, he leaned forward when I beckoned him, and his cock is still rock hard, the tip just shy of peeking over the waistband of his briefs.
It’s a risk, but a small one. I reach forward and grab his jaw roughly.
His long, dark eyelashes flutter, and a quiet, horny sound slips out from between his lips.
“And it’s the most exciting thing that’s happened to you this week.
You’re glad I’m here. The second you pulled my mask off and got a good look at me, all you could think about was tasting my leather gloves.
That’s why you asked my name, so you’ll know what to moan.
” I taunt him, flicking my tongue out an inch away from his mouth.
His lips part, just like I knew they would, and I take the opportunity to shove two fingers between them.
His eyes go wide and he lets out a muffled moan, his tongue snaking around my fingers.
“You don’t have to worry about my name though.
Your mouth is going to be too full to moan anything.
” I shove my fingers a little deeper and he gags, his dark skin flushing and a little bit of drool dripping from the corners of his lips.
My cock swells and aches with a combination of the adrenaline of being caught tonight—by a Moretti, no less—and the power that courses through me as he chokes on another stifled moan.
I fuck my fingers in and out of his pouty lips and lean forward, bringing my mouth right next to his ear.
“Kneel for me, slut.”
His eyes roll back and he sinks to his knees right between my legs, the gun hanging limp at his side and his cock visibly jerking in the tight confines of his silk briefs.
I press a kiss to his cheek, feeling the rough stubble on his jaw scrape against my lips, and I run my free hand down his arm towards his hand.
He doesn’t fight me as I slip the gun free, still fucking his mouth with my other hand.
“Don’t move,” I whisper into his ear again.
I slip my fingers out from between his lips and he whimpers.
Jesus, a mafioso on his knees fucking whining for my cock, this must be some kind of fever dream.
If it is, I hope I don’t wake up until I’ve finished having my fun with him.
His saliva drips off the leather, and I reach down to wipe it across the bare skin of his chest before I stand up.
I could make a run for it now. It would take him at least a minute to come out of the submissive haze he’s already sinking into, and I could be halfway down the fire escape by then.
But where would the fun be in that? I put the safety on and slip his pistol into my backpack.
I can sell that for a decent amount, if nothing else.
Then I grab the length of rope. I wasn’t planning to use it for bondage tonight, but it’ll definitely do.
I palm my cock through my jeans, squeezing my hard, throbbing length as I step behind him and admire the view again for just a second.
His dark hair is tousled, and from this angle I can see that his ass fills out the back of those briefs just as nicely as his cock does in the front.
It’s almost a shame I can only play with him once.
“Hands behind your back,” I command. Again, he doesn’t hesitate. Beautiful. Absolute perfection.
“There’s a good slut,” I murmur, and he quakes with the praise.
I stoop down and tie the rope around his hands, tight enough that he won’t break free right away, but not so tight that he’ll be stuck like this waiting for his maid to show up tomorrow.
I run my leather-clad fingers up his spine, up the back of his neck, and into his hair.
I grab a fistful and tilt his head back, nipping at his earlobe roughly.
He gasps, and my cock jerks with excitement.
“Your mouth is going to be too full for a safeword, so just snap if you want me to stop.”
He tries to nod, then realizes he can’t move his head.
“Yes…” he rasps, “Sir.”
A grin stretches across my lips. “I knew you’d figure out something appropriate to call me.”
I straighten up again and release my grip on his hair, reaching for my zipper as I move to stand in front of him. I kick the chair out of the way and look down at the stunning sight of him with his hands bound and his lips already parted, so fucking hungry for my cock he can barely stand the wait.
I reach inside my jeans and tug my cock free.
It’s hard and flushed and fucking throbbing to feel the wet heat of his mouth.
I stroke myself once, nice and slow, feeling the buttery soft leather glide over my shaft.
Leather isn’t my personal kink, but I get it.
It’s warm and soft as skin, with the added bonus of creating a barrier and a feeling of desperation, of wanting but not having.
That perfect ache of unfulfilled desire.
I angle the tip of my cock towards his mouth and drag it along his lower lip, leaving a smear of precum glistening there.
“Beg for my cock, slut,” I say gruffly, needing to hear that he wants this, even if I can already see the signs. He’s panting for it, jerking his hips desperately for relief that he’s not going to get from the silky glide of his briefs.
“Please,” he says breathlessly. “Shove your cock in my mouth, Sir. Breed my throat. I fucking need it.” He jerks his hips again and lunges forward.
I catch him by the hair and tug him back to sit on his heels again, a wild feeling of lust coursing through me.
He doesn’t just want to suck me off, he’s fucking feral for it, like he’ll die if he can’t taste my cum.
Heat pulses in my gut, and I force the tip of my cock between his lips.
We both moan, and I watch the way his eyes roll back again.
The frantic energy that was filling him a second ago is suddenly gone, replaced by utter, blissful calm.
He stops thrusting and panting and struggling against the grip of my fingers in his hair and goes still.
He moans again, the sound vibrating all the way down my shaft to settle in my heavy, aching balls as his jaw goes slack and his eyelids flutter closed.
“You really are a cock slut, aren’t you?
” I grunt, thrusting deep into his mouth until my cockhead hits the fleshy back of his throat.
He swallows, his muscles tightening around me, and takes me in deeper.
My cock jerks from the blissful heat and the greedy suction of his lips, his tongue stroking along the underside of my shaft, tracing the shape of my throbbing veins one by one.
He hums in agreement and the sound vibrates through my length again.
“You could have just asked for my cock instead of putting a gun to my head,” I tease through gritted teeth, pulling out just to feel the tug of his lips along my shaft before thrusting back in again.