Chapter 23
DAMIANO
His mouth is sloppy.
Clumsy.
Fucking incredible.
Caligula Clemenza is choking me down as well as he can, all that snotty pride of his stripped away.
I’ve got one hand buried in the sunset mess of his hair, the other gripping his thigh to keep his asshole speared on my tongue.
He’s panting through his nose, lips stretched wide around my cock, working like he’s got something to prove.
I guess he does, after what I said last time. Pretending how bad he was… I mean, he wasn’t great. But it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter one goddamn bit, it was still the most erotic fucking thing I’ve ever felt.
This time is better. Because this time, it really does feel like respect. My royal fucking reward for bleeding for him.
He tries to take me deeper, gagging again, and I bite back a grunt.
This…oh, this wasn’t the plan. If I used his body, I was supposed to use it against him.
I wasn’t supposed to worship at his asshole like a fucking shrine.
But here I am, eating him out like he’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted…
Because he is.
I ease up my hand on the back of his head and let him catch his breath, then push him down again. Slow. Deliberate. His hips twitch as I tongue into him with deep stabs that make him whimper around my cock. He’s drizzling all over me, his dick hot as a brand where it’s pressed into my chest.
He’s got the kind of body made to be used like this, tight in all the right places. And the sounds he makes—fuck.
“I didn’t say stop,” I tell him when he hesitates.
He tries again. More spit, more suction, more of that amateur enthusiasm that makes my balls throb. He’s a mess, and I’m getting lost in the wet slide of him, the heat of him.
I want to fuck him.
I focus on eating him out instead. Fingertips digging into the muscle of his ass, spreading him open for me.
He’s so fucking tight back there, that little knot clenching and unclenching around my tongue like it’s begging for something thicker.
I drive a finger into him, work him open while I feast on him, licking and sucking and fucking him with my tongue, my fingers.
He’s writhing against me, hot as a furnace inside, slick with my spit, that tight muscle strangling whatever I put in there.
He cries out, a choked, helpless sound that vibrates right down my shaft to my balls.
And pretty soon, I get what I was hoping for when he pulls away, panting into my hip.
“Please.” He’s flushed and sweaty, voice ragged as he lifts his head to look down at me. “Dami, I want you—inside me. I need it. Please.”
A second passes. Then two.
He’s trembling—whether from exhaustion or anticipation, I can’t tell. When I look down at him, his face is damp, the gold darkening to bronze in the strands stuck to his forehead. I spread a hand over his head and push him back down. “Finish what you started.”
He obeys. Caligula Clemenza doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing, but he still wants to do it right. Wants to be good at it. He’s learning to crave what he should fear.
He’s also learning that submission can be a kind of power. And I’m the damn fool teaching him.
I pull out of his throat and flip him around right side up, pinning him to the bed under me. He’s limp, pliant, submissive. “Say it again.”
His lashes flutter. “What?”
“Say it again,” I growl. “What did you beg me for?”
He swallows. Licks his lips. “I want you to fuck me.” A beat. His voice drops. “Please, Dami.”
I chuckle. “Told you you’d be begging for my cock one day.”
And there it is. That look. Like I slapped him right across the face, like he’s fucking surprised at my viciousness.
His pink flush of exertion deepens to something closer to shame, and his eyes cut away from mine.
The mood shifts fast, glass shattering under pressure.
And seeing him flinch away from my cruelty feels like swallowing all those glass shards.
I sit back on my heels and watch him. The rise and fall of his chest. The tremor in his fingers.
He’s still hard and leaking, that cute toy between his legs crying out for attention.
The golden eyes are hazy, his face flushed.
His mouth is swollen, lips puffy and red from working my cock.
He looks fucking destroyed, and I haven’t even started with him.
But there’s no way I’ll give him what he begged for. Not tonight.
Not after what I just said to him.
Anyway, I paid ten million dollars for that virgin ass. As long as I don’t fuck it, I’ve still got me a virgin. But he needs something from me. And Christ, I want to give him something…
I can’t fuck him.
I push two fingers into his mouth and press down on his tongue until he starts to suck. He blinks at me, dazed, but does what I want, sucking them in deep, licking between them. I pull my hand back, and his mouth tries to follow. He’s so eager. So easy.
He watches my hand drop, a little crease between his brows when I bypass his dick. “Spread your legs,” I tell him.
They fall open. Wide open. I watch his face as I circle his hole, then push both fingers into him at once, the way slick from all the spit I’ve worked into him. Those honey eyes go wide, a low moan escaping him.
“Does that hurt, golden boy?” I ask.
“No, no, no.” His voice is thin. He shakes his head, and his hands clutch at the sheets. “Don’t stop. Please. Don’t stop.” His cock rolls across his belly, leaving a silver trail that shows me exactly how much he likes what I’m doing to him.
I work him slowly. Teasing. Coaxing. I keep my fingers deep inside him, twisting them, curling them, until he’s rocking against my hand. Until he’s grinding on them, desperate for more.
It’s a beautiful fucking sight. “Look at you,” I murmur. “That virgin ass, taking it so well.”
“Please. I’ll beg if you want me to, I swear to God—”
“Be quiet,” I tell him. “You take what I give you. And you’re grateful for it. Aren’t you?”
He nods frantically. A minute later, instinct takes over, and he tries to reach down and grab himself. I slap his hand away. “Are you fucking serious?” I growl.
“S-sorry,” he hisses.
“You touch it without permission, I’ll put it back in a cage.” He grips the sheets instead. His face twists, and he whimpers. “Shhh.” I push another finger inside him. Three now. Stretching him wider. “I’ll give you what you need. Just relax.”
He’s already so fucking close. He’s riding my hand, his dick an angry red, his balls tight and high. Usually his face is cold, unreadable, but right now he’s wearing a mask of exquisite agony.
“Dami, please,” he says, his voice raw.
“Again.”
“Please.”
“No,” I grit out. “My name. Say my name again.”
“Dami, please, please.” He’s desperate for it. His voice is broken, and the way he says my name—
“What are you?” I demand.
“Yours,” he gasps. “Your property.”
Good boys get rewarded. I want him to learn that.
I reach for his dick with my other hand, give it a hard stroke, root to tip, then another and another—and he’s done.
His eyes roll back in his head, and he shoots, spurting across his belly and chest. His mouth opens in a long, choked groan, and his ass clenches around my fingers so hard my hand could go numb if I leave it in there much longer.
It’s not a pretty orgasm. It’s messy. Filthy. Loud. His hair is sweat-soaked, his cheeks flushed, his body limp. Totally spent.
And he’s never been prettier.
He looks up at me, still panting, and smiles—a slow, sweet smile that doesn’t belong on his face right now, and sure as fuck shouldn’t be aimed at me. I stare back at him, wondering why my heart is pounding so hard.
I roll off the bed and grab the towel he dumped just outside the bathroom door, my dick wagging like a dog tail. It dies down a little as I wipe off my face, and then I turn back to him and clean him up without a word. Wipe away the evidence of what we just did.
He doesn’t speak, too fucked-out to do anything much except lie there.
I go wash my hands and face and then come back to bed, settling up against the headboard.
He curls into me like a hopeful stray dog who doesn’t know if it’s welcome or not.
I put my arm around him because I’ve got nowhere else to put it, and the stitch job Rosa did is aching.
His breathing evens out, and I swear to God, he’s falling asleep in my fucking arms.
I need to return him to the basement. To his proper fucking place.
But…he’s still hunted. Still mine to protect. “They won’t stop,” I say finally.
He gives a little jerk as I yank him off the train to Dreamland, and tilts his sleepy face up toward mine. “Hm?” he mumbles.
“Whoever’s cleaning up what’s left of the Clemenza mess.” I ignore the throbbing pain in my arm as I shift him closer, hold him tighter. “They want you dead, little prince. And they’re not going to stop until they finish the job.”
I reach up to run my fingers through his hair. It’s like damp silk between my fingers. I’ve enjoyed gathering it up in my fist to hurt him. Now I can’t stop stroking it gently, like he might dissolve away if I’m not careful enough.
“You think they’ll try again?” he asks at last.
“Yeah.” I pause, let him soak in that idea for a minute. “But you belong to me. So I’ll stop them, Caligula. I can promise you that.”
His eyes flutter closed. “I—” He starts, then pauses.
“What is it?”
“Most people—my friends—they call me ‘Cal.’”
“I’m not most people. And I’m definitely not your friend.”
He sucks in a breath. “Are you going to put me back in the basement?”
My fingers stall in his hair. Is that what he thinks this is, a reprieve? A temporary escape from his punishment? Maybe he’s been playing me tonight, pretending he wanted my dick just so he could sleep up here.
But no one fakes an orgasm like the one he just had.
The basement is secure. Impenetrable. But the thought of him down there alone after what happened tonight…
He’s a target. I don’t want him anywhere I can’t reach him in seconds. “Not tonight,” I say. “You’re staying here. With me.”
His brows lift slightly. “In your room?”
“In my bed.” I lean across to grab my phone.
It’s been blowing up with texts and calls, but they can all wait until tomorrow.
I switch into the security app and check every window, every lock, every camera.
The house is a fortress around us, and I have enough firepower stashed away to hold off a small army.
“I need to make sure I can protect you,” I tell him as I toss it back on the nightstand. “And the best way to do that is to keep you close.”
But then I reach out and wrap my hand around his throat. Gently—so gently. Like he’s the most fragile porcelain. I could crush his windpipe without effort, but I hold him just firm enough to remind him who owns him. And just soft enough to remind myself that he’s priceless.
The last direct Clemenza heir.
“If you think that means you’re not still owned…if you think you don’t need to obey me at all times…” I apply the barest pressure. Just enough to feel his pulse flutter against my palm. “Or if you think I won’t have my revenge, golden boy, you’re sorely mistaken.”
He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t test the boundary. He just nods.
“Good boy.”
I let go and slide down beside him under the sheets. His breathing’s uneven, but not scared. Not anymore. Just alert.
I pull him close and feel him settle against my side.
This definitely wasn’t the plan. He was supposed to be my trophy. My victory over everything his Family represented. My gift to my father’s ghost.
Now I’m bleeding for him. Letting him sleep in my bed. Giving him orgasms that blow his fucking mind, keeping him warm and fed and wrapped up in soft cotton sheets like he’s the final piece of a collection instead of the final piece of my revenge.
Well…I waited twenty-one years for it.
I can wait a little longer.