Season of Sin #3
And now that I have his mark on my skin, my family will never agree to take me back in. If word of it gets out, even laser treatment won’t save me.
“You’re shitting me,” I whisper under my breath.
Cesare laughs out loud at my whispered words.
“Nope, my little prince, I’m dead serious,” he says and pulls out his phone to show me a photo of the tattoo—a mafia symbol some of his men have tattooed on, but unlike the ones I’ve seen before, the one on my skin has his initials intertwined in the design.
“It’s permanent,” Cesare adds, because clearly I haven’t gotten enough blows below the belt as it is.
I can’t pry my eyes away from the screen, but when I finally manage to, I keep glancing between his face and the screen. “Why?” I finally choke out, hating how weak and defeated I sound.
He smirks at me and slowly stands up. “Why? Good question, my little prince. That mark on your neck is the literal proof that you’re my property. Everyone in this city will know who owns you.”
“I’m not your property!” I scream at the top of my lungs.
Cesare’s expression turns cold. He leans down, his face barely a few inches from the cage bars. “You are now. Whether you like it or not, that mark on your neck makes you mine,” he snarls at me.
“You’re crazy,” I mutter, then raise my voice again, “you’re absolutely batshit crazy!”
Cesare glares at me and slams his hand against the cage bars, making me jump. He leans in even closer, his voice dropping to a tone I’m sure he uses as a warning when he’s working. “Maybe I am crazy. But now, my little prince, do you want to know what crazy people do?”
“What?” I ask even though I don’t know if I want to hear his answer.
He reaches into the cage and grabs a fistful of my hair, pulling my face against the bars painfully and leans in so close that his breath hits my skin when he speaks.
“Crazy people do what they want, when they want it. And right now, I want to show you exactly how crazy I can be.” He releases his hold on me and shoves me back in the cage sharply before he stands up and smiles down at me, “breakfast.”
A wave of dread washes over me as I imagine the worst things he could’ve planned.
Cesare and food are the two things I don’t want to connect after the recent experience.
One moment I wake up with a tattoo, the next, I might not wake up at all.
Only the devil himself knows what that madman is capable of.
Time drags out as my mind conjures up the worst possible scenarios while my anxiety spikes to levels I’ve never experienced ever before.
Eventually, he returns with a tray of food, but this time, he’s not alone. Two massive and scary-looking men follow Cesare, positioning themselves at his sides like he’s some deity to be worshipped.
One of the men unlocks the cage, reaches in, grabs my upper arm and yanks me out of the cage so roughly, I seriously suspect he wants to rip off my arm, not get me out of the damn cage.
The other man joins in, grabbing my other arm the moment I’m out and both pull me up to hold me upright, ignoring every protest I make.
Cesare, in the meantime, only watches the scene with a grin across his lips. The grin only widens as one of his men grabs my jaw and forces my mouth open, adding enough pressure to his hold to tell me without words that he’s capable of crushing my jaw if I don’t comply.
“Eat,” one of them growls at me.
The food, I don’t even know what, is forced in my mouth by the other man so suddenly I choke on it.
Cesare watches the scene without showing any concern or sympathy. Instead, he seems almost amused by my discomfort and his men handling me like a rag doll. The guy who’s still holding my jaw releases his hold on my arm just to slap my back with too much unnecessary force.
“Do you know what else crazy people do?” Cesare suddenly speaks up while his men return their focus on forcing more food into my mouth. “They get off hurting people. Just like I’m doing right now.”
I manage to spit out the food and snarl at him, “you’re fucking sick!”
The man to my right instantly backhands me, which makes Cesare laugh. “Guys, guys, my little prince isn’t wrong, you know. Mentally, psychopathically, sociopathically—choose your poison, sweetheart.” He spreads out his arms and grins like he just announced himself the king of the world.
“Fuck. You.” I snarl, glaring daggers at him.
Cesare smiles while his stupid man doesn’t take my defiance kindly and slaps me again, way harder than the precious time. A low hiss escapes me at the sting of the pain and I taste blood in my mouth while the smile on Cesare’s face fades.
Suddenly, he starts shouting at his men—his face turning bright red with anger, a vein on his temple looks like it’s about to pop. “Get the fuck out! I said feed him, not ruin his fucking face!” He screams at the men.
As soon as his men leave, Cesare drags me to the couch and orders me to sit down, muttering under his breath. “Fucking idiots, hit your pretty mouth…”
He doesn’t order me around, just glares sharply enough for me to understand I better stay put and walks out of the room. A brief moment later, he’s back with a first aid kit. “Lay back,” he orders gruffly and I do, mainly because I don’t want to be slapped around like a puppet again.
Cesare sits far too close to my comfort and pulls out an antiseptic wipe, pressing it against the split of my lip so roughly, I hiss at the sting and squeeze my eyes shut.
His eyes snap up to meet mine and for a brief second, it looks like an emotion that’s almost human crosses his features, but of course, it’s gone as soon as it appeared.
I watch him drop the first aid set on the coffee table and move to sit closer to my feet. There’s a pause of absolute silence as Cesare watches me with intensity I’ve never seen before until he speaks again. “Spread.”
My eyes widen comically large as I sputter. “W-what?”
“Spread your legs,” he repeats slowly, using a tone that really leaves no room for argument, but I still hesitate. Cesare doesn’t look away as he grabs my ankles and growls, “do it before I break them.”
I’m sure my face pales, but somehow, I manage to swallow the fear and slowly spread my legs, hoping against hope he isn’t planning what I think he is.
The corner of his mouth twitches as he watches me comply.
Cesare’s eyes focus on my crotch, and fuck, do I hate losing that bet with my sister and having to wear a skirt because it gives this damn freak such easy access to the places on my body I wouldn’t let him touch with a ten-foot pole if I had the right to choose.
Apparently, I’m too slow, because Cesare lets out an annoyed groan and slides his hands up, grabbing my thighs and spreading me out like I’m his prize, not his prisoner.
A loud, surprised gasp escapes my lips as he pushes up the damn skirt, leans over my body and presses his open mouth against my crotch.
His lips trace over the shape of my dick through the boxers slowly, then he presses his tongue against the bulge, his eyes never leaving mine as he begins to suck on the tip of my cock through the boxers.
“Wha—” I try to speak, but he slaps a hand over my mouth to silence me as he grabs the waistband of my boxers and yanks them down, freeing my traitorous dick that is far too hard for this situation.
“Shh, my little prince, stay quiet now,” Cesare whispers and wraps his mouth around the tip of my cock, then hollows in his cheeks and slowly guides my length down his throat.
Cesare pulls his hand away from my mouth just to wrap it around the base of my cock, giving me slow pumps while his mouth works absolute wonders on me. Holy shit, the most dangerous man in the city is my best blow job, and he’s barely starting.
My brain short-circuits, then suddenly decides to remind me of who he is. “Wait,” I gasp, despite the fact that my hips are already moving and I’m thrusting upward, trying to force myself deeper down his throat. “Wait—”
He ignores my pleas as his mouth and hand keep working on me. Cesare hums around my cock, the vibration sends unfairly pleasurable shivers down my spine.
I bite the inside of my cheek in an attempt to stay quiet, but the asshole doubles down on his efforts, sucking harder and faster. His tongue laps at the sensitive head of my cock, collecting the precum I’m already leaking.
Then, just because he can, he forces his head down and removes his hand, taking my entire length in.
“Holy—” I hiss and let out a deep, guttural moan because I’ve never felt pleasure like this before.
He instantly pulls back and looks up, winking at me with his lips still wrapped around my cock. Cesare goes back down immediately, deepthroating me like an absolute professional.
“Cesare,” I moan, trying to sound angry, but end up sounding needy and desperate. “Fuck.”
He pulls back again and meets my gaze, clearly fighting not to smile.
He holds my gaze long enough for me to start wondering if this is another form of torture—that he’ll leave me hanging.
With his eyes still boring in mine, he smirks, spits directly onto my cock and growls, “shut up and let me suck your fucking dick.”