Chapter 5 #2
“Fuck.” His eyes rolled back, and he kicked out with both legs. They made contact, but I barely felt it. The man was a gnat. When he tried to strike me with his cuffed hands, I caught the chain before he could do any damage.
I bared my teeth at him. “Are you having fun yet?”
His chest heaved and his nostrils flared. “Rather…” he gasped, “…eat your dick.”
His words set me off. Before I realized what I was doing, I had four fingers stuffed in his mouth again, shoved to the back of his throat.
His body bucked under me as he choked. I withdrew my fingers an inch, splaying them wide as I watched his lips stretch around them.
His green eyes watered, and a few tears leaked from the corners as he stared up at me.
My cock, well on its way to fully hard, bulged between us like an unspoken threat.
“I decide what you eat, devil,” I growled, my mind nothing but a tornado of arousal and self-loathing.
I stroked his tongue with the pads of my fingers.
“I can do whatever I want with you. I can make you choke on my balls. I can come on this dirty floor and make you lick it up. I can stuff your ass with so much dick you’ll feel it for a week…
Or maybe I’ll just leave you here, completely alone, until you lose your mind.
” I jerked his head back forcing his neck into a painful arch. “I own you. Don’t ever forget it.”
He was practically panting, and his jeans stretched tight over his hard dick.
What the fuck was wrong with him? What the fuck was wrong with me?
I quickly yanked my fingers from his mouth.
He left it open, spit dripping from his bottom lip, as if waiting for me to put something else in there. And I almost did.
But I had another reason for returning to the shed this time.
When I straightened and stepped back, Devlin’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click.
His chest heaved, and he stared at me in confusion as I unhooked the chain from the cot and stepped toward the door.
I grabbed the paper bag off the floor, then gave the chain a sharp tug, forcing him to stumble to his feet. “Let’s go.”
He blinked. “Go where, exactly?”
I hauled the chain toward me, and Devlin slammed into my chest with a grunt. I gripped his chin. “You don’t ask questions. You don’t get an opinion. You don’t do anything but what I say.”
A visible shiver racked his body, and when his eyes flashed, I assumed it was anger. But he didn’t talk back. He only clenched his jaw, choosing to remain silent.
For fucking once.
I shoved open the shed door and tugged the devil behind me.
I didn’t stop to make sure he was on his feet—I’d drag him if I had to.
The setting sun cast long shadows on the back lawn as we entered the wooded area surrounding the creek.
The canopy dappled the ground with shade.
I knew the uneven path, but Devlin didn’t, so he stumbled and cursed under his breath the whole way.
By the time we made it to the edge of the creek, he was panting, pissed, and filthy.
We came to a stop, and he squinted at the water, then up at me. “You going to drown me? Not gonna lie—that is, like, the least metal way to kill someone.”
I pulled a knife from the bag and fisted his grubby T-shirt shirt. “Hey—” he cut off as I sliced it down the center and tore it away from his body. His mouth gaped. “That was a great thrift store find, asshole.”
I thought I’d made it pretty clear he wasn’t allowed to speak. I took what was left of his shirt, balled it up, and shoved it in his mouth.
Why can’t I stop putting things in his fucking mouth? It was a sickness.
Devlin glared at me, but he didn’t spit it out. I forced myself not to stare at his peaked nipples. Or his visible ribs. Or his belly button. Or the lean grooves on his hips.
My hands shook. This was supposed to be clinical. Get him naked and throw him in the creek. But I hadn’t considered how close I’d have to be to him, or that I’d have to watch his every move so he didn’t open a vein.
His skin was smooth and pale—no chest hair. Freckles dotted his shoulders. A scar cut across his collarbone, and another marked the skin on his inner forearm. I took a step back. “Take the rest of it off.”
His hands twitched, and he made a muffled sound through the makeshift gag that might’ve been a question.
I really hated repeating orders.
“Everything off. Let’s go.”
He pulled off his boots and socks, wincing as he stepped onto the rocky bank. Then he lowered his fly and shoved his jeans and boxer briefs down to his ankles in one motion.
Fuck me. He was still hard. His slender cock hung between his legs on a curve to the left, and it was nestled in a patch of red hair that was a shade lighter than his auburn locks.
His balls hung full and heavy, swaying as he stepped out of his clothes and kicked them to the side.
He straightened and faced me, chin up, defiant even in his nakedness.
He was lean and muscular, and although he could probably bulk up if he wanted to, he’d never be a big man.
His features were too narrow. Too petite.
His face was just… too pretty. It was a face still streaked with my cum, and I liked seeing him like this—marked by me.
But if anyone else saw him like this, it was a recipe for disaster.
My men knew I was bisexual, but fucking a man in a club and coating my captive’s face in cum were two very different things.
I reached into the bag again and pulled out a small bar of camp soap. Then I unlocked his cuffs, letting them drop to the ground with a clink.
“Clean yourself in the creek. If you run, just know the area is fenced. You won’t get far. I will hunt you down, and you won’t like what happens when I catch you.”
Apparently, he still didn’t understand, so I allowed him to take the T-shirt out of his mouth. He glanced around and then raised his eyebrows at me. “You want me to… wash?”
“Yeah. Wash. You reek like sweat and me.”
He sucked in a harsh breath, and his stomach contracted as I tried not to stare at his muscles. Letting him get naked had clearly been a mistake. In the shed, it was easy to reduce him to a mouth. But out here…
Devlin snatched the bar of soap from my hand, then turned to wade into the water.
Letting him go was my second mistake, because now I could see what was underneath the ill-fitting jeans.
His ass was just as muscled as the rest of him, with dimples dotting the top of his rounded cheeks.
The back of his right thigh was deeply scarred, a thick pink slash on his pale skin.
“What’s that?” I pointed at his thigh.
He glanced at me over his shoulder, then followed my gaze downward. “Stab wound.”
“Looks fresh.”
“Year ago.”
A year ago. One year since the devil had fallen from his throne.
The details of his downfall were still muddy.
Most people thought the Detroit Devil had been killed, even though we’d obviously found him alive.
The rumor was that he’d been taken down by his long-time rival, Soto.
And it seemed he had left his mark. I had always wondered why Soto didn’t just kill him.
“They wanted it to hurt,” I said.
His eyes met mine. “It did. And I deserved it.”
His tone was so matter of fact. It didn’t garner any sympathy, at least not from me.
I watched Devlin wade out to the middle of the creek.
The water reached about waist height on me, but on Devlin it came nearly up to his nipples.
He ducked his head underwater, and for a moment, I wondered if he’d just let himself float downstream.
But he resurfaced in a spray of water, pushing his hair back from his face.
In the dim light, his wet locks gleamed rich mahogany.
He worked the soap through his hair and over his face, then rinsed and waded into shallower water to wash the rest of his body. I could have turned away, but I didn’t. And I told myself it was to make sure he didn’t run.
But Devlin Walsh, naked and wet, was an undeniably erotic sight. Rivulets of soap and water ran down his chest and back, between his ass cheeks, and along his thighs. Suds dripped from his cock. He blew out a spray of water and met my gaze from under clumped lashes.
“Wanna join me?” he asked with a grin that made my dick twitch.
“Fuck off, devil,” I shot back.
Devlin taunted and mocked and pushed buttons. He was charismatic like a dictator, and he cycled through masks faster than I went through a pack of cigarettes. But I didn’t know him, not really, and I couldn’t afford to let my guard down.
I couldn’t tell what he thought of me, and I hated that I cared.
Compared to the empire Devlin once ran, the O'Shea’s were a bunch of nobodies.
Which was probably why he’d gotten rid of my father—minimal blowback.
But I knew my worth, and the worth of my crew.
I was loyal. I was smart. I fought hard to keep my crew safe, and we all protected each other.
Devlin Walsh was the nobody now.
I didn’t need his respect. But as I stood there, staring at the devil, I wondered if I’d earned it anyway.
“Get out,” I barked. I was over this shit. I needed a cigarette. I needed food.
I needed to get the fuck out of this man’s presence.
Devlin suddenly tossed the bar of soap onto the bank. He lowered into a slight crouch, muscles tensing, emerald eyes flashing in the fading light. I should have seen this coming. I was about to be fucked with—and not in a way I would enjoy.
“Nah,” he shot back, tongue wetting the corner of his lip. “I want to play a game.”
Then he let out a loud whoop, and dove underwater.