Chapter 30. Florian
I was curled up on the living room couch, highlighter poised over my textbook when Knox appeared in the doorway.
He looked different somehow. His eyes found mine immediately, dark and beautiful.
That look always meant something was coming, something that would either thrill me or terrify me, sometimes both, both being equally amazing.
I set my textbook aside, suddenly unable to focus on sociology theories when he was staring at me like that.
"What?" I asked, feeling a smile tug at my lips despite my attempt to sound casual.
“You know how I like to spoil you, right?” he asked. That was so true, he spoiled me rotten. He moved into the room with that mischievous smirk.
“You're scaring me. Usually, I'm the one with that bratty smile,” I said. He chuckled, hands in the pockets of his tailored slacks.
“Pack your bags," he said, his voice low. "We're leaving tomorrow morning."
"Leaving?" I sat up straighter, the highlighter cap forgotten in my hand. "For where?"
"Italy." He watched my reaction with that infuriating half-smile. "My villa on the Amalfi Coast."
My mouth fell open. I'd seen pictures of the Amalfi Coast in travel magazines. Blue water, colorful buildings clinging to cliffs, the kind of place that existed in movies and Instagram feeds, not real life. Not my life, anyway.
"You're serious?" I managed, heart suddenly racing. "Like, actual Italy? With the pasta and the wine and the fancy people?"
Knox laughed. He crossed the room and perched on the edge of the coffee table directly in front of me, our knees almost touching.
"Yes, little one. Actual Italy. With pasta and wine and fancy people." He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering against my skin. "Though I'm only interested in one particularly fancy boy."
Heat bloomed across my cheeks. His casual affection could still make me blush like a teenager.
"But my classes," I said, reality crashing back. "And your work. And I have that paper due for Psychology, and…"
Knox placed a finger against my lips, silencing me mid-spiral. "All arranged. I've spoken with your professors. Your assignments will be waiting when we return, with extensions as needed. As for my work, that's the beauty of having competent people who are paid extraordinarily well."
I blinked at him, still processing. "You've already talked to my professors?"
"Of course." He looked mildly offended that I would question his thoroughness. "The moment the idea occurred to me, I made all necessary arrangements. Well, I asked Sarah to. But she's paid to do that. The only variable is whether you want to go."
"Whether I…" I laughed. "Are you kidding me? Italy? With you?" I threw my arms around his neck, nearly knocking him backward off the coffee table. "Yes. God, yes."
His arms wrapped around me, solid and secure, as he pressed a kiss to my temple. "Good boy," he murmured against my skin.
“Daddy, I still think I don't deserve all of this. You're spending so much money on me and…”
He stopped me right there, hands firm on my arms. "We talked about this," he said, his tone gentle but firm.
"You are not an expense. You are not a project.
You are my partner, and I want to experience the world with you.
I want you to have things you never dreamed were possible.
The money is mine, and I can do whatever I want with it. "
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak without ruining it by apologizing or minimizing.
“Yes, Daddy,” I said. He smiled, but there was something more there. He was playful, and I saw the spark in his eyes. I loved it when he was in such a good mood.
“Or are you trying to tell me how to spend my money, little brat?” He was just playing, but I felt my cock twitching immediately.
“I'd never tell you how to do anything, would I now, Daddy?” I answered back. He got my wrist and pulled me to him. I went easily. He planted a kiss on my lips.
“I don’t expect you to be so foolish.” He smacked my ass, hard.
“Ouchie! What was that for?!” I asked, pretending to be shocked, and he smirked.
“You know very well, and there's more coming,” he said and smacked me again. This time, I moaned. I couldn't help it. "You love it when I'm rough with you," he said. "Don't you, little prince?"
"Yes, Daddy," I whispered, mortified by how instantly my body responded.
"I spoil you because you are so, so good," he said as his teeth grazed my throat. "But sometimes you forget who you belong to."
He yanked me in for a kiss, heat and teeth, and I melted into him, shoving my hands up under his shirt, desperate to get at his skin, his chest, the hard muscle that had become my only home.
The edges of his stubble scraped my lips raw, and every time his tongue invaded my mouth, I moaned, shamelessly.
He broke the kiss and pushed me down, guiding me until I was kneeling on the carpet between his knees.
"Show me how much you want this," he said, one hand still buried in my hair.
I fumbled with his belt, fingers trembling. Damn, I was hard as hell. He was already hard too, straining against the expensive wool of his slacks. I freed him, my mouth watering at the sight of his cock, thick and flushed and perfect. He watched me the whole time, possessive and greedy.
I licked the head, tasting the salt of him, and he exhaled so sharply it was almost a growl. I loved how much he wanted me, how he was barely holding himself back. I took him deep, letting him fill my mouth, my throat, until I gagged a little and he moaned.
"Good boy," he said, and the praise made me shiver.
I sucked him in, bobbing my head, using my tongue in ways I knew he liked, hands wrapped around the base for leverage.
He fucked my mouth, and his grip on my hair was an ‘I own you,’ and it made me crazy.
I looked up at him, eyes glazing, and the sight of him watching me, utterly focused, made me want to come on the spot.
He stroked my cheek with his thumb, so gentle in contrast to the way he held my head.
"You could make a saint sin," he told me, voice ragged. "Look at you. So beautiful, on your knees for me. My filthy, perfect boy."
I whined in response, sucking harder, and he tightened his grip. His thighs tensed under my palms, and I knew he was close, but he wasn't going to finish here. He wanted more.
He pulled me off with a soft pop, and I gasped for air, spit-slicked and dizzy. Knox stood and in one motion hauled me to my feet. He kissed me again, tasting himself on my tongue, and I whimpered against his lips.
"Bedroom," he said, voice an order.
I stumbled backward, bumping into the coffee table, giggling and shivering with anticipation. He followed, stalking me down the hallway. My cock throbbed against the inside of my sweats. I was so hard it hurt.
He pushed me through the bedroom door, then pinned me to it, kissing me until I was breathless. His hands were everywhere: rough on my ass, gentle on my face, fingers slipping under my shirt to find my ribs, my nipples, teasing them until I gasped.
He spun me around, pressing me face-first to the door, one hand at the back of my neck, holding me in place.
With the other, he yanked my sweats down, baring me completely.
I heard the bedside drawer slide open, followed by the familiar snap of the lube cap.
He warmed it between his palms first, always so careful with me, even when he wanted to fuck me raw, then I felt the cool slickness as he worked one finger inside, then two, taking his time, making sure I was ready.
His breath hitched when I pushed back against his hand, silently asking for more.
"Say you want it," he ordered, voice tight with need.
"I want it," I gasped, pushing my ass back against his hand. "Please, Daddy, I need it so bad."
He lined himself up, the head of his cock pressing against me.
He leaned in. "Good boy," he said again, and then he pushed in, slowly, stretching me until I shook.
It was crazy how much it hurt, and, at the same time, it made my knees buckle with want.
He held himself there, letting me adjust. My forehead thunked against the door.
His hand was still on my neck, grounding me, keeping me exactly where he wanted me.
He started to fuck me, slowly again. He was big, and I felt every inch of him as he split me, the stretch a reminder of how he always left me just a little ruined.
He kept one hand at the front of my neck, but not choking me, just holding me steady, a reminder of who owned me.
The other around my hip, fingers digging into bone.
He set his own rhythm, not letting me predict or control it, only letting me take what he gave.
With each drive of his hips, he forced the air from my lungs.
I could feel the roughness of the door against my cheek, the tremor in his arm, the slick heat of sweat gathering at the base of my spine.
There was no room in my head for anything but him: his low, broken moans, the snap of his belt buckle against my bare thigh, the vibrations of his voice as he made these guttural sounds.
“Fuck, Daddy,” I whispered. It was so much, too much, too good, too delicious, all at once.
He leaned in, and his breath was hot on my skin.
"Mine," he growled, not even bothering to keep quiet.
He bit down gently on the shell of my ear, making me yelp and then moan as he thrust harder, losing himself.
“All mine. No one else is ever going to fuck you like this. No one else even gets the chance.”
It hit a nerve in me I didn't know I had. I wanted to laugh, to cry, to claw at the paint and beg for more. When Knox said it, when he branded me with it, I felt safe. I wanted to be his. I wanted to belong to someone who would never let go, no matter how much I begged or bit back.
He fucked me deeper, unyielding, and I felt myself unravel.
Tears pricked my eyes from the pressure and the pleasure, from the simple fact of being so completely wanted.
He reached around with one hand and wrapped it around my cock.
He started stroking me in time with his thrusts, not gentle, and the shock of it made me sob.
"You're going to cum for me,” he whispered, lips right at my ear.
"Please," I gasped. My voice was unrecognizable, wrecked and wild.
He fucked me harder, deeper, both hands on my hips now, pulling me back to meet him with every thrust. I pressed my forehead against the door and let him use me like a thing, like a toy he owned and loved.
It was too much. I choked on a cry as I came, hard and sudden, my knees buckling.
I would have collapsed if he hadn’t been holding me up, still driving into me, riding out every spasm.
I came so hard I saw stars, splattering the door and my own stomach.
The feeling of me clenching around him did something to him; he lost control for a second and slammed into me, holding himself deep as he came. I felt him shudder, his breath stuttering.
He didn't let go right away. We stayed locked together. I heard the way his breathing rattled in his chest, felt the tremor in his arms. He pressed his lips to my shoulder, lingering there, the touch unexpectedly gentle.
He withdrew carefully, then pulled me into his arms, kissing the back of my neck, my shoulder, anywhere he could reach.
"I love you," I said, suddenly. I turned in his arms, resting my cheek against his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow.
"I love you, too, little boy," he whispered.
We went to the bed. He stroked my hair, kissed my forehead, and held me so close I wondered if he could ever let go.
"I can't believe this is my life," I admitted, still unsteady with aftershocks.
"I can," he said.