Chapter Eight #6
“Want to strangle you and wreck your ass,” I grunt, my words fraught with restraint.
“Do it.” He takes my hand and wraps it around his throat. “Lash your anger on me. Use me. Get it all out, baby.”
I love it when his wild side clashes with mine in a fucked-up symphony of lust and depravity.
“Then take what you deserve, bitch.” I tighten my fingers around his neck just enough to make him pant.
“Always,” he whispers. It sounds like a fucking prayer.
I’m ramming into him, so fucking far inside I’m digging a new space, pinning him firmly against the glass so that I can let go of his ass cheek to tweak his nipple. I twist the hoop, pinch the bud, and pull on both. I hate tattoos, but his, just like the piercings, it suits him.
He starts stroking his erection, clearly desperate for release. Oh, no. I slap his hand away and push my thumb over his slit.
“No!” His frenetic cry makes me snarl with satisfaction. My hips give it to him hard.
“Please.”
My fingers leave his neck as I batter his ass like a beast in heat.
My palm finds his scars on his lower back, and those conflicted feelings reemerge.
I’m about to let go of his dick when he starts screaming.
Ecstasy shoots through him, his hole spasms like crazy.
His head is pressed back, neck straining.
There’s no cum anywhere. Did he just have a dry orgasm?
It’s suddenly too hard to hold back, and I let go.
I roar, pulsing and shooting inside his quaking body again and again.
So fucking good. Yes! Oh, fuck. I groan with each throb.
I have him impaled on my cock as more cum spurts out, and I hear him moan and groan.
His body is twitching against mine, his thighs shaking.
He’s still coming, milking me dry, such a whore for cum.
It takes a minute for my mind to stop spinning, for rational thoughts to float back into my brain.
I took him bareback. Damn it! What the fuck am I doing?
Does it matter? In less than four days, he’ll go.
I should just enjoy while it lasts. It was so fucking amazing, I want to do it again.
He took my cum, took every drop. And I want to see it.
I slowly pull out, my dick feels sensitive, and yet still not ready to quit.
I put him down and grip onto his hips to spin him around.
His palms fall flat on the glass wall, but he doesn’t say anything.
Looking drowsy, spaced out, in a post-dry-orgasmic haze.
I roll my hips, jutting my cock down to slide the head under his soft balls as I look transfixed at the small bead of cum dripping out of his hole.
“You look like a used whore full of my juice.” My voice comes out, gruff, deep, mischievous.
I spread his bruised ass cheeks, and with my thumbs, I stretch his gaping hole a little.
More leaks out, and I keep gliding my dick against his balls while I have to stifle the possessive snarl that wants to get out.
It’s too much. I abruptly let go of him and walk toward my jacket to get a cigar.
He follows, getting the lighter before I can and sparking it up.
His face is relaxed, and his tone is playful when he says, “I can’t believe I put that thing in my ass.” He points at my half-hard dick.
“The burn will be so real, my hoo-hoo needs a ton of aloe vera, unless your cum has natural healing properties.” He shakes his ass and winks so lamely a snort rips out of my chest—I can’t stop it. He starts laughing, and we end up looking at each other. The atmosphere feels light.
“Why aren’t you afraid of me?” I suddenly ask, taking a puff of smoke.
Darkness falls over him, and the lively, ballsy brat disappears.
“There are worse evils in my life.” His eyes are empty, devoid of any feeling. “You can try to hurt me and hate me all you want, but it won’t change anything.” His voice turns low at the end.
He closes his eyes and shakes his head like he’s trying to push away a thought, a memory, a belief.
“I’m going to take a shower,” he then states before turning around and heading toward the bathroom.
My cum is leaking down his thighs, the inner skin looks shiny.
He halts for a moment still giving me his back.
“Luca.” My name on his lips, voiced in that flat tone, feels wrong. “Sometimes I wish I hadn’t been born in this family. Italian Mafia are so proud of their origins, but I’d have preferred never knowing about any of it, of them.”
It feels like those long scars are screaming frantically at me until he disappears inside the bathroom. I know his family did it. He just told me. The sudden protective feeling almost chokes me. What the hell is he doing to me? This was not supposed to happen.
Suddenly, the pendant around my neck feels too hot against my skin. I lift it and kiss it. But the vivid images from my past still resurface and refuse to leave, reminding me why I hate today’s date so much. I look at my watch. It’s past midnight.
Happy fucking birthday to me.