Chapter 41
DAMIANO
It’s a new experience to be kissing Caligula Clemenza.
It’s our first. I’ve never kissed him so far. Fucked him, sucked him, ate him out…
Never kissed him.
Didn’t want to cross that line. Seemed like the last betrayal of my purpose.
But here and now, it feels…right. It feels right to kiss my most hated enemy, the object of my obsession, the target of my vengeance.
Something between us shifted at the Obelisk. Something shifted as soon as I killed that fucking Russian. I still don’t know why I did that. Don’t know why I’m letting the Clemenza kiss me now, his arms around my neck as he hangs on tight. Don’t know. Don’t really care.
It feels right.
And the ghost of my father doesn’t feel so close as it usually does.
He breaks his mouth away from mine just to whisper, “I want you,” in my ear.
I want him, too. Which means we need to get upstairs as soon as we can, away from Sammy—and the rest of them, too.
I don’t know what any of this means, and I’m not in the mood to examine it.
But letting slip in front of the household that Caligula and I are…
whatever, is not how I want this day to end.
I pull away from his mouth, push him gently back when he tries to kiss my neck, my jaw. “C’mon,” I tell him. “We need some privacy for that.”
We head back through the kitchen fast, and I pause only to bring down the security doors again. Sammy’s already disappeared, and Rosa and Vito are flirting over dirty dishes. “Night,” I call over my shoulder, pulling Cal along with me.
“Goodnight!” he echoes.
We get no response, which is fine by me. The less they notice about us, the better. And besides, I’m being driven by my dick now, the part of me that wants to get back into a part of him. All that fucking we did last night, and then again in the shower before dinner, and I’m still ravenous for him.
I don’t know what it means. Don’t plan to stop and figure it out.
But when we get back into my bedroom and stripped off, Caligula Clemenza still manages to surprise me. He pushes me back on the bed and climbs on top of me, stretching out carefully. “Put your arms around me,” he tells me.
I obey.
Fuck, right now I’d do whatever he told me to. He’s the most beautiful man I ever laid eyes on. How did I not see that before? I always knew he was pretty, but he’s much more than that. He’s a heartstopper. Weak at the knees, launch-a-thousand-ships, drop-dead gorgeous.
He lowers his mouth to mine to kiss me again, and I let him do it. Let him kiss me as much as he likes. Whatever he wants right now, I’ll give to him. “Tell me what you need,” I say when he finally pulls away again.
“I need you inside me again.”
“You’re not too—”
“No. I’m fine.”
There’s something off about the way he says it, but I’m too focused on the idea of getting inside that tight little hole again to take much note.
I slap around with my right hand for the lube, which I left sitting right there on the nightstand, until eventually Caligula grabs it himself and pushes it into my hand.
“Like this,” he says, rising up to straddle me. “I want to ride you.”
“Yeah you do.”
My dick is already taking control, but I pause long enough to prep him, to squirt some of the lube over my fingers and then slide them into him.
He takes them easily. I can tell he’s sore, but he seems to be enjoying the attention anyway.
And I like feeling him from the inside, that wet heat that just about sends me crazy.
It’s even better when he sinks down onto me, slow and easy, until his asshole is clamped right down at the base of my shaft, my whole dick buried inside him. I reach up and run my hands over his chest, pinching at his nipples as he starts to rock, just a gentle back and forth that makes me groan.
He hasn’t taken his eyes off of my face.
I can’t take mine off of his. How did I not see it before, such rare beauty? Or was it always there and I was just too blind to see it? I reach up to trace the line of his jaw, and he turns his head to kiss my palm. Such a sweet, small gesture, but it makes my cock jump inside him.
He leans down to brush his lips over mine, and I need to kiss him again.
I grab the back of his neck, angle his head just right, and plunder his mouth.
There’s no gentleness in it, just raw need, a hunger so sharp it borders on violence.
It’s a stark contrast to the slow, languid way he rides me.
But he meets me kiss for kiss, his tongue dueling with mine, hands gripping my shoulders hard.
I know this is wrong.
I know it.
But I can’t stop myself. Can’t stop the betrayal of my father’s ghost, can’t pretend this is anything but surrender. And it’s breaking my heart at the same time Caligula Clemenza is filling it up, making me feel something for the first time since...
Since thirteen.
He figured me out, this clever little Clemenza. He knows exactly what I am. Even threw it in my face when we got back from the Obelisk, just to make me fuck him. Told me I was a coward.
He’s more right than he knows.
But here and now, with him riding me so good, that tight little asshole milking me just right, I can’t do anything but let Caligula take his pleasure.
He’s going faster now, finding the friction he needs, and I rock up to meet him, to push deeper, to find that sweet spot inside that makes him groan and throw his head back.
He rides me with a wild abandon, something in his eyes keeping me pinned in place while he does, so that all I can do is lie there and let him use me. God knows I’ve done it enough to him. A little payback might be good for him.
Might take that desperation out of his face.
I reach up to touch him, slide a hand over his cheek, a little worried at the intensity. “You okay?”
“Harder,” he gasps out.
My back’s getting sore, the stitches tugging at my skin, but I can only obey. I thrust hard up into him, that sweet knot gripping my dick like it never wants to let me go. I thrust into him again and again until he falls forward, one hand on the wall and the other on my chest as he braces himself.
He lets me fuck him like that until he’s right on the edge, his cock drizzling and leaking all over my belly, and then he changes the pace again, slowing so he can lean down to my mouth, present his for more kissing.
I take the chance eagerly. I never knew kissing could be so addictive, but Caligula Clemenza is the most potent drug I’ve ever tried. My tongue slides into his mouth as he reaches back to pull my legs up, drive me deeper into him.
I’ve never felt so connected to another person in my life.
So close to him that I feel every heartbeat, every breath.
The scent of our sweat and sex fills the air, and I want to bottle it, keep it with me forever.
His skin is hot and slick under my hands as I grip his hips, his muscles bunching and relaxing with every movement. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever felt.
He pulls away from my mouth just to say, “I’m close, Dami. I’m so close…”
My own orgasm is building too, a tight, hot coil at the base of my spine.
My balls are drawing up. A tingling starts at the back of my thighs.
I drop a hand to his dick and he arches back.
It only takes a few tugs and then he’s there, splashing all over my chest and stomach.
I keep pumping into him until I empty myself, filling him with so much of my spunk that it’s trickling out and making a mess of the sheets.
He collapses onto me, panting. And I hold him, stroking that soft hair while our breathing evens out. We roll over onto our sides eventually, and his lips find their way back to mine, kissing and kissing like we can’t get enough of each other.
“Dami,” he murmurs against my mouth at last. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For teaching me so many valuable lessons.”
I push him back a little, puzzled. “What do you mean?”
He smiles. But it’s a private smile, not aimed at me. “Well, I’m definitely not a virgin anymore.”
“Is that…okay?” I ask.
“Of course,” he assures me. “I mean, it had to happen sooner or later, right? I had to lose my innocence eventually.” I’m about to snort and tell him ‘innocence’ is not a word I associate with him, when he kisses me again.
“I’m just glad it happened with you,” he says after, his voice all soft and sweet.
I kiss him back, just as soft and sweet as he sounded. And partway through, I realize how screwed I really am.
Because I can’t hurt him anymore. I can’t even imagine it now. All those dark fantasies I used to have, they make my belly twist in disgust.
But that means I’ll fail my father. He’ll never be avenged.
So what does that make me?
“I should clean up,” Caligula says.
“Yeah,” I say vaguely. “Yeah, sure.”
While he’s in the bathroom, I wipe myself down with an old t-shirt, unwilling to get rid of his scent completely. But by the time he makes it back to bed, my mind has gone down too many rabbit holes to count.
“What’s wrong, Dami?” he asks, sliding back into my arms. “You look worried.”
I lie without thinking. I can’t tell him what was going through my head, not before I figure my own shit out. “Ah, just everything. The Bratva. The guy hunting you. Your cousin. Whether they’re the same, or—”
“Oh, Dami,” he sighs, turning over in bed and pulling me close to big-spoon him. “We can worry about all that tomorrow. Right now, we should get some sleep.”
He’s right. Having him here in my arms, warm and willing, is the only fucking thing that matters right now. I reach back to turn off the light, and then snuggle my nose into the back of his neck and breathe him in.
Tomorrow. We can figure everything out tomorrow.
But when I wake, I’m alone in the bed again.
I give a rueful grin, wondering at myself.
He must be in the bathroom. I’ve gone pretty hard on his ass—literally—the last forty-eight hours.
But when I listen, it’s quiet in there. I get out of bed, wincing a little at the ache in my back, and knock softly on the door. “Hey. You okay?”
No response.
I open the door. It’s not locked, and swings open to show an empty bathroom. Slightly alarmed now, I check the walk-in closet, and that’s where something catches my eye.
The clothes. All those clothes I bought him, they’re in a heap on the floor under where they used to be hanging in the closet, as though someone was looking through them quickly, discarding fast what they didn’t need.
The coat is gone. The Tom Ford herringbone that he came with. And some of those sweaters the Benedettis sent, slim enough to wear under a coat. And the brown boots, and the jeans…
And other shit has gone, too. I don’t know what—clothes aren’t something I notice much—but there are more hangers than there are clothes dumped on the floor.
I pull on my robe and go straight downstairs. It’s too early for even Rosa to be up, so the kitchen is dark and quiet. He’s not there. But he has to be in the house. Security is still active.
He has to be in the house.
Right?
I head straight back to my bedroom and slam my finger down on the biometric reader that opens up the door to the viewing room. I haven’t been in here for days, not since I let Caligula Clemenza out of the basement last time.
And now I see I should have put him right back down there as soon as he was healthy enough. Because when I scrub back through the footage of the last few hours, my bedroom door opens, and a slim figure emerges with a stuffed backpack.
He’s wearing the long coat, jeans, and the brown boots. I switch cameras to watch him head down to the kitchen, where he methodically goes through the cupboards, grabbing protein bars and trail mix packets and a whole box of granola to throw into his bag.
He exits the kitchen and I pick him up again in the garage.
He goes straight to the keypad and enters the code.
The metal barricade rattles up, and the Clemenza hits stop when it’s only a foot or so open.
He shrugs off the backpack, throws it under, and rolls out after it.
The door shudders down again, locking us all inside.
I have cameras on the outside of the house, too. But after Caligula Clemenza crosses the street diagonally and jogs off down the road, I lose sight of him.
I stare at the camera for another few seconds as I process what I’ve just seen. And then I raise my fist high over the desk and slam it down hard enough to shake the screens on the wall.
He played me.
He fucking played me.
I should have killed him when I had the chance. I should have chained him to the wall in that basement and flayed the skin from his body an inch at a time over three hundred and sixty-five days. I should have—should have—
I slam my fist down, over and over, until one of the screens blacks out.
I’ll find him again.
And this time, I won’t hesitate to kill him.