Chapter 16 Sandro #2
"That's witness intimidation. That's obstruction. That's—" He stopped. Rubbed his face with his free hand. "I can't know about this. Legally, professionally, I can't know about this."
"Then forget I told you. As far as you know, we left the gala early because I had business to handle. You don't know what business. You don't know what happened to Antonio. You were in the ballroom the entire time talking to Senator Williams about campaign finance reform."
"Plausible deniability."
"Necessary protection." I pulled him closer. "I'm sorry you're caught in the middle of this. But Antonio threatened you. Multiple times. With increasing severity. He needed to understand that those threats have consequences."
"So Matteo broke his nose."
"Matteo broke his nose, possibly cracked some ribs, and made it very clear that any future threats would be handled significantly less gently." I brushed his hair back from his forehead. "You're under our protection now. All of us. That means something in our world."
"It means violence. It means intimidation. It means everything I've spent my career arguing against."
"It means you're safe. That's what it means." I held his gaze. "I won't apologize for protecting you. Not to you. Not to anyone."
He looked at me for a long moment. Then leaned forward and rested his forehead against mine. "I should be horrified."
"But you're not."
"No. I'm relieved. And grateful. And completely aware that those feelings make me complicit in everything you just described." He pulled back. "What does that make me, Sandro? What have I become?"
"Someone who understands that the world isn't black and white. That sometimes protection requires force. That loving someone means accepting the things they do to keep you safe." I cupped his face. "You're not corrupt, Emilio. You're just finally seeing clearly."
"That's exactly what a corrupt person would say."
"Maybe. But it's also true." I kissed him softly. "You can process your moral crisis tomorrow. Tonight, let me take you home and remind you why choosing this was worth it."
He kissed me back. Hard and desperate and tasting like acceptance and resignation and the kind of desire that came from knowing you'd crossed too many lines to ever go back.
When we pulled apart, his eyes were dark. Pupils blown. "Take me home."
"That's the plan."
Thomas pulled up to Inferno and we took the private elevator straight to the apartment. The moment the doors closed, Emilio was on me. Kissing me like he needed it to breathe. Like the only way to forget what he'd learned tonight was to lose himself in this.
I let him set the pace. Let him push me against the elevator wall and kiss me breathless. Let him take what he needed.
When the elevator opened, we stumbled out still kissing. Made it to the bedroom in a trail of expensive formal wear. The tuxedo I'd had made for him ended up in a heap beside my own. Shoes scattered. Bow ties abandoned.
We fell into bed and I took control. Rolled him beneath me and pinned his wrists above his head. "Tell me what you need."
"You. Just you. Make me forget everything except this."
"I can do that." I released one wrist to trace down his chest. "I can make you forget your name if you give me enough time."
"We have all night."
"Then I'm going to use every minute of it.
" I kissed down his body. Started at his throat where his pulse hammered against my lips.
Spent time on his collarbone, biting gently until he gasped.
Worked my way down his chest, tongue tracing the lean muscles that shifted under his skin with every harsh breath.
I found the spot on his ribs that made him squirm. The place just below his navel that made him curse. The sharp jut of his hip bone that made his hands fist in the sheets.
"Sandro—" My name came out strangled. "Please—"
"Please what?" I looked up at him from where I'd settled between his thighs. His cock was hard and leaking against his stomach. Flushed and desperate. "Tell me what you need, Emilio. Use your words."
"Your mouth. I need—" He broke off when I licked a stripe up the underside of his cock. "Fuck. Yes. That."
I took him in my mouth slowly. Sank down until he hit the back of my throat.
Heard him choke on a moan. His hands flew to my hair, gripping tight but not pushing.
Just holding on while I worked him with lips and tongue and the kind of skill that came from years of practice and genuine enthusiasm for the task.
I pulled off before he could get too close. Ignored his whine of protest. "Not yet. You don't get to come until I'm inside you."
"Then get inside me." His voice was wrecked. Desperate. "Stop teasing."
"This isn't teasing. This is making sure you're ready." I grabbed the lube from the nightstand and slicked my fingers. "Spread your legs wider. Let me see you."
He obeyed. Always did when I used that tone. Spread himself open and let me look my fill. Flushed and wanting and absolutely beautiful in his surrender.
I pushed one finger inside and watched his face. The way his eyes rolled back. The way his mouth fell open. The way his whole body tensed and then relaxed as he adjusted to the intrusion.
"More," he demanded. "I can take more."
"I know you can. But I'm going to take my time anyway." I worked that single finger slowly. In and out. Twisting. Finding the spot inside that made him cry out. "Going to make this last. Going to make you feel every second of it."
By the time I added a second finger, he was rocking back against my hand. Chasing the sensation. Muttering a steady stream of curses and pleas that went straight to my cock.
"That's it. Take what you need." I scissored my fingers, stretching him open. "You look so good like this. Desperate and needy and completely mine."
"Yours," he agreed breathlessly. "Completely yours. Now please—please, Sandro—I need—"
I added a third finger and his back arched off the bed. "Need what? Say it."
"Need you inside me. Need you to fuck me. Need—" His words dissolved into incoherent sounds when I crooked my fingers and nailed his prostate.
I worked him open thoroughly. Made sure he was ready. Made sure he'd feel this tomorrow. Made sure he'd remember exactly who he belonged to every time he moved.
When I finally withdrew my fingers, he made a sound of loss that was almost painful to hear.
"Shh. I've got you." I grabbed a condom and rolled it on. Slicked myself up. Lined up and pressed against him. "Look at me. I want to see your face when I fill you."
His eyes locked on mine. Dark and dilated and full of trust that I'd never earned but somehow had anyway.
I pushed in slowly. Watched his expression shift from want to satisfaction to something that looked almost like relief. Like this was what he'd needed all along. Like being filled and claimed and possessed was the only thing that could quiet whatever was screaming inside his head.
"Fuck," I breathed when I was fully seated. "You feel perfect. Like you were made for this. Made for me."
"Move," he demanded. His legs wrapped around my waist. Heels digging into my ass. "Stop talking and move."
I pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in. Hard enough to make him shout. "Like that?"
"Yes—fuck—exactly like that—"
I set a brutal pace. Deep and hard and exactly what he needed to stop thinking. To stop processing moral implications and ethical violations. To just feel.
He met me thrust for thrust. Nails raking down my back hard enough to leave marks. Mouth open in a constant stream of moans and curses and my name said like a prayer.
I shifted angles slightly and nailed his prostate. He went rigid beneath me.
"There?" I did it again. "That the spot?"
"Don't stop—please don't stop—right there—"
I braced one hand beside his head and wrapped the other around his cock. Stroked him in rhythm with my thrusts. Gave him everything he needed and more.
"Come for me," I ordered. "Let me feel you. Let me see you fall apart."
His orgasm hit him like a freight train. Back arching. Mouth open in a silent scream. Cock pulsing in my hand as he came across his stomach and chest. Ass clenching around me so tight I saw stars.
I fucked him through it. Chased my own release while he trembled and gasped and held onto me like I was the only solid thing in his world.
When I came, it was with his name torn from my throat and my teeth on his shoulder. Marking him. Claiming him. Making absolutely sure he'd have a bruise to remember this by.
I collapsed on top of him. Both of us breathing hard. Sweat-slick and satisfied and completely spent.
After a moment I rolled to the side. Dealt with the condom. Grabbed tissues from the nightstand and cleaned us both up with efficiency born from practice.
Then I pulled him against my chest and just held him while our breathing returned to normal. While the endorphins faded. While reality started creeping back in around the edges.
"Three weeks until trial," he said quietly.
"Three weeks. Then we destroy them in court and Antonio learns that threatening you was the worst decision he ever made."
"You already taught him that lesson tonight."
"Tonight was a preview. The trial is where we really make him regret it." I pulled him closer. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow we go back to trial prep. Tonight, just rest."
He was asleep within minutes. Exhausted from the gala and the revelations and the moral gymnastics required to justify staying with me despite knowing what I was capable of.
I held him and thought about Antonio bleeding in that service hallway. About Matteo's loss of control. About how close we'd come to creating a bigger problem than we'd solved.
But Antonio had threatened Emilio. Had laughed about terrorizing him. Had made it clear he wasn't done making Emilio's life hell.
So yes, Matteo had handled it. Perhaps not perfectly. Perhaps not with the subtlety I would have preferred. But effectively.
Antonio wouldn't be laughing anymore. Wouldn't be running his mouth. Wouldn't be threatening anyone under our protection.
And if that made me complicit in violence and intimidation and witness tampering?
I'd live with it.
Because I protected what was mine.
And Emilio was mine completely.
Whatever it took.