9. Leo
9
LEO
W hat is wrong with me? Why am I sitting on this lunatic’s lap, letting him cut my clothes off and choke me like a ragdoll while I grind myself against his dick.
Because it’s hot as fuck and you’re a kinky, horny slut with a death wish. Duh.
I should push myself off him, run back to my apartment, and lock the door behind me. Pack us up and move far away from him before he consumes me whole.
But I ignore the voice in my head and unbuckle his pants instead. His hard length springs out, and my mouth waters as I remember the last time I saw it, how salty and delicious it tasted while he fucked my face with it.
I catch myself licking my lips, and so does Rocco. He grabs my face and captures my lips in a filthy, wet kiss that makes my thighs shake. His tongue explores the space, and I let him. At this moment, I’d let him do almost anything to me.
He pulls away, then extends his open hand to me. “Spit.”
His order has me leaking precum onto his pants. Something about his dark, gravelly voice makes me feral for him. Makes me forget why I’m sitting on his lap in the first place. I spit into his hand, and he wraps it around us, pumping our cocks together in torturously slow movements.
I try to thrust into him to pick up the pace, but his other hand holds my hip, keeping me in place. His smug smirk is one of victory. He’s doing this to me on purpose as a punishment.
“You want more, toy? You want me to play with you?” he coos condescendingly.
Shocks of pleasure radiate up my spine as he swipes his thumb over the tip, then drags his hand all the way to the base. I need more, even though I know no matter what I do, Rocco Vettore won’t yield or bend—he does what he wants, when he wants.
“Yes, Sir, yes. Yes, please, more,” I pant as he rolls my balls in his hand, hard enough that it’s just on the acceptable side of painful. Holy fuck, that feels so good.
“Shhh, be quiet, or my guard will come back,” he whispers before spitting into his own hand.
He works me over faster this time, bringing me to the edge so fast I don’t see it coming. I fall forward, groaning into his ear, babbling nonsense because it feels so fucking good to have his hand on me.
“You greedy little toy,” he says in a dark, playful voice. “You’d take anything I gave you, wouldn’t you?”
“Fuck, yes,” I chant because my self control left the building already, and I swear I’ll say anything to keep feeling like this.
He freezes, keeping his hand on us as his dark laughter unfurls around the room. My soul ricochets inside me, begging for a release that may never come.
“I told you to be quiet, toy. What if my guard comes in and sees you? I bet you want him to see you naked and pleading like a needy little whore on my lap.”
His words should hurt, yet they flip a switch inside me, making me melt into a puddle of want and lust. He has me begging for my life, because I’m sure I’ll die if I don’t come soon.
“I’m sorry, Sir, please. Please . Please, don’t leave me like this,” I babble in his ear, silently praying he’ll keep going.
“What a good boy, begging for me.”
He moves slow and hard, building me back up with intention. I leak more with each pass of his hand over us, until the telltale shiver of an orgasm builds in my spine. His breathing gets heavy, and I lick the sweat that trickles down his neck, savoring the salty taste.
“You’re gonna be quiet for me when you come, right lionheart? You’re mine. No one else gets to see you fall apart but me,” he rasps into my ear.
He sinks his teeth right over the bite he left before, and hot, white ropes of my cum explode all over his hand and shirt. I bite the inside of my cheeks to stay silent.
He follows me seconds after, and I slump against him as a wave of fatigue rolls over me. My eyes close, but only for a second. Just until I can get my breathing back to normal again.
My body is warm, covered with something thick and soft. I move my face, but the feeling of chest hair abrading my cheek gives me pause. As I open my eyes, I realize I’m in Rocco’s bed wrapped around him with my face on his chest. He lays on his back, his strong arms cradling me. I move my face again, through something wet… Oh fuck, I even drooled on him in my sleep.
“Do you know you snore, lionheart? It’s soft and sorta cute.” His voice drizzles on me like liquid sex. How can someone so dangerous sound so warm and inviting?
“I’ve never snored a day in my life.” I refuse to admit the truth.
He laughs softly, squeezing me tighter and rolling on top of me, weighing me down with his firm, muscular body. I run my hands up his defined shoulders, down the flowers tattooed on his neck and pectorals, then over his biceps. When he grinds into me, I realize we’re both naked, the same as when we were on his couch.
Wait—what time is it?
“Shit, what time is it?” I turn to grab my phone off the nightstand, except I realize it isn’t there. He ordered me not to bring it, so I left it at home. “Oh my God, what time is it?! I left the girls alone in the apartment!”
“It’s 3:30. You seemed tired, so I let you sleep. They’re fine, your apartment is watched, remember? No one could get in or out without me knowing.” He waves his phone at me, as if to prove none of his guards messaged him.
The memories from last night come rushing back, each one kicking my anger up a notch until I swear my ears are smoking.
He has cameras in my bedroom. He watches me, like a fucking creepy pervert.
“I’m leaving, now .” I wriggle out of his beefy arms and almost trip vaulting myself out of his bed. I scan the room, and find my clothes in a pile on the floor near his couch.
They’re cut. I can’t wear them out. Fuck. He lays back against the headboard, a lazy, toothy grin on his face. He’s obviously happy with his handiwork.
“Do you have something I can wear out?” I begrudgingly ask.
“Who said you can leave?” he teases me.
“ I do. My sisters are my responsibility, Rocco. They’re the most important people in the world to me, and I can’t leave them in the apartment alone overnight, even if they’re guarded. That’s not okay.”
Fuck, I’m the worst brother in the world. I left the girls alone in the apartment overnight and came all over an obsessive, stalkery psycho. What the fuck is wrong with me?
Don’t forget he murdered someone, because of you.
Wow, thanks anxiety. I needed the reminder that the man I came all over last night is a cold-blooded murderer.
He huffs out a disappointed sigh and points to a door across from his bed. “Pick a pair of boxer briefs and a tee shirt out of my closet. Even with a drawstring, my pajama pants won’t stay up.”
My eyes roll so far into the back of my head I almost miss the door on my walk over there. His underwear is in the top drawer of a dark oak armoire, and his t-shirts are hung neatly in a block on the casual side of his ginormous walk-in closet. It’s double the size of the excessive one I have in my apartment a few floors down.
When I reach to take the shirt off the rod, his arms wrap around me from behind and pull me back into the heat of his body. His lips skim the outer shell of my ear, his warm breath tickling the skin.
“You can stay…” he suggests. “I can have the guards check on them and report back to us.”
My fingertips just reach the shirt, and I pull it off the hanger. “No. I’m sure you won’t miss me. Just watch me through the camera in my bedroom, stalker.”
He laughs, then spins me around and puts the shirt over my head with an unexpected tenderness. “You think it’s creepy stalking, I call it protecting what’s mine. Tomato, to-mah-toe, lionheart.” He puts each arm through the sleeve before kissing the bite mark over my neck. His mark of ownership over me.
That’s my new reality. I’m not Leo Costa anymore—I’m Rocco Vettore’s whore. His slut. His toy he can play with anytime he wants. My life isn’t mine anymore…it’s in his hands.
That hard truth equally disgusts me and turns me on. My mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, emotions, and shame. Feelings I can’t unpack right now while he’s wrapped around me, kissing up my neck.
I shove past him, grab my keycard out of my ruined pajama pants, and walk through the penthouse to get to his private elevator, trying my hardest not to have a panic attack in front of him. Rocco would use any weakness I show him as leverage to have more control over me.
I can already feel my breathing stutter. My heart is banging on my chest, screaming ‘let me out of here!’ like the dumb bitch that always gets slashed first in a horror movie. It may be a fickle organ, but it knows the danger I’m in every time I’m near that man.
I feel faint and drop my keycard on the floor. Rocco picks it up, keeping it right out of my reach.
He holds the back of my neck in his firm grasp, rubbing this thumb up and down the side. My traitorous body leans into the touch, letting it keep me upright.
“I’ll take you home, lionheart.” Rocco’s firm tone leaves no room for argument.
After the elevator doors close, it feels like the walls are closing in on me. He pulls me into him, keeping one hand on my neck while he wraps the other one around my back. He squeezes me hard enough that I can feel my joints pop, until long after we reach our floor. He keeps holding me, and as each second passes, I can feel myself come down from the whirlwind of emotions I felt upstairs.
My breathing events out. My tears dry. The faint, dizzy feeling I experienced recedes, resigned to come back another day. The panic that sometimes devours me fizzles out.
He pushes the button and the doors open. As we walk down the hallway, I spot the man standing at the end of the hall wearing joggers and a tee shirt, acting as if he’s entering his apartment.
“He’s one of the guards assigned to your apartment,” Rocco confirms my suspicions. “I told you, you’re always watched over.”
When we get to my door, he tips my chin up. His green eyes glow in the dim light, and no matter how badly I want to ignore them, I can’t. They suck me in every time. He’s a star, orbit and all.
“Good night, lionheart. I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.” He presses his lips to mine, lingering there a moment before pulling away.
“Rocco, why do you call me lionheart?” The nickname is a stark contrast from ‘toy’, and doesn’t make a ton of sense. A lion is a predator, a toy is helpless—an item maneuvered by its owner.
“Because you jumped in front of a bullet for me. You think it’s the worst decision of your life, but I think it’s a brave one.” He rubs his chin in thought before continuing. “You may be a fool for fighting this inevitable thing between us, but you’re a brave fool.”
My mouth drops in shock. I literally can’t begin to process what he said. He rubs my cheek, then walks back to the elevator.
I let myself back in, tip toeing through the dark so I don’t wake my sisters up. After checking on both of them and ensuring they're both sound asleep, I climb into bed. My mind is racing, going over everything we did and said tonight, not the least bit tired.
He thinks I’m brave…
He took over my life…
He watches over me…
He has a camera in my bedroom…
The city lights illuminate the room enough that after a few minutes of scanning the room, I find the camera. It’s embedded in the frame of the landscape of Central Park across from my bed.
I can’t help but stare at it. Is he watching me now? Does he watch me when I sleep…when I dress?
Sitting up, I suck in my bottom lip as a plan forms in my mind. Rocco Vettore better enjoy the cameras while he can. He may think I belong to him, but I refuse to make keeping me easy.