Chapter 7
Rico was already balls-deep inside him when Demario finally quit lying to himself.
This wasn’t power, it was just pure, nasty fucking.
strokes that left Demario’s hole stretched wide and slick around Rico’s thick dick, every inch dragging against that swollen spot that made his vision go soft and white at the edges.
Rico’s heavy body pinned him flat to the guest-room mattress, one forearm braced beside Demario’s head, the other hand locked under Demario’s thigh, shoving it higher so he could sink in even deeper.
The wet, filthy slap of skin and the obscene squelch of Rico’s dick plunging in and out filled the quiet house.
Keisha was upstairs. Rome was across the city.
Nobody else needed to know Demario was getting his guts rearranged like a whore who couldn’t get enough.
Demario’s dick lay heavy and ignored against his own stomach, leaking steady, clear strings of pre-cum every time Rico bottomed out and ground against his prostate.
He didn’t touch it. He just took it, thighs forced open, hole fluttering and clenching around the thick length stretching him, chest heaving, eyes locked on the ceiling like he could still pretend this was strategy instead of pure, desperate need.
Rico’s rhythm stuttered. “Fuck-D-I’m gonna,”
“Don’t you fucking cum yet,” Demario ordered, voice rough and broken. “Not until I say. You keep that dick hard and buried in my hole until I decide you can dump that load.”
Rico groaned like the words hurt, but he obeyed.
Hips rolled in tight, grinding circles that kept Demario balanced right on the edge, dick head rubbing that spot over and over, balls pressed flush against Demario’s ass, the wet sound of it getting nastier with every stroke.
Sweat slicked every place their skin touched.
The room reeked of sex, musk, and the faint metallic bite of the bandage still wrapped around Demario’s shoulder.
When Demario finally came it was sudden and messy, thick, hot ropes striping across his own chest and stomach, some of it catching the edge of his collarbone and dripping down toward his nipple.
His hole clenched hard around Rico’s dick, milking it in rhythmic spasms. Rico’s forehead dropped to Demario’s shoulder with a broken, desperate sound, but he still didn’t finish.
He stayed buried to the root, trembling, dick throbbing deep inside Demario’s guts, waiting like a man who knew exactly who owned that load.
Demario’s hand found the back of Rico’s neck and squeezed once. “Clean it up. Lick every drop off me.”
Rico didn’t hesitate. He pulled out careful, dick glistening and dripping with Demario’s cum and his own pre-cum, then shifted down the bed and dragged his tongue through the mess on Demario’s chest. Slow.
Thorough. Filthy. He licked up every thick stripe, tasting Demario’s release like it was an order he wanted to obey, sucking the last drops from Demario’s skin, tongue swirling around the nipple where a streak had landed.
When he reached the end he looked up through his lashes, mouth shiny with cum, and waited again.
Demario hauled him back up by the hair and kissed him once, hard and open, shoving his tongue into Rico’s mouth so he could taste himself.
Then he flipped them so Rico was on his back, shoved those thighs wide, and finally let the man cum, three deep, brutal strokes that made Rico’s eyes roll back, a quiet, wrecked moan tearing out of him while Demario held him down making sure every drop stayed buried where it belonged.
Afterward they lay in the dark with the sheets kicked to the foot of the bed. Rico’s head was on Demario’s chest. Demario’s fingers traced idle patterns along Rico’s spine like the touch meant something it wasn’t supposed to.
Rico was the one who broke the quiet.
“You should get rid of her.”
Demario’s hand stilled. “Keisha.”
“She’s a liability. You know it. I know it.
Every time she leaves this house something follows her back.
Malik. The Italians. Whoever the fuck else she’s been spreading for.
You keep her because you love her, but love is how men like us die.
” Rico’s voice was soft, almost careful.
“I could handle it. Quiet. No mess. You wouldn’t even have to look at the body. ”
Demario stared at the ceiling. The old analytical part of his brain, the part that had kept him alive through five years of concrete and the streets before that, catalogued the offer the way it catalogued everything else.
He didn’t answer the suggestion. Instead he said, “You still thinking about that corner on Lexington?”
Rico’s fingers flexed against Demario’s side. “Yeah. Easy money if we move the right people in. Your old lieutenant used to run it before he flipped. Place still has the same hidden exit onto the alley behind the bodega. Nobody watches that side.”
Demario’s pulse stayed even. He had never told Rico about the back exit onto the alley. That detail lived in three heads only: his, the dead lieutenant’s, and the one man still breathing who had helped build the original security plan five years ago.
“I hear things,” Rico added, casual.
Demario filed it away.
Ten minutes later Rico shifted, propping himself on one elbow so he could look down at Demario’s face. The post-nut softness was still there, but something sharper sat underneath it.
“You know the Russo safe house on the Upper East? The one Sofia uses when she doesn’t want her father watching?
” Rico’s mouth curved. “Private elevator. Keypad code changes every seventy-two hours. Last rotation was 4-9-2-7. They’re moving product through the basement freight entrance on Thursdays after midnight.
Small loads. Nothing that would draw attention. ”
Demario’s fingers resumed their slow path up Rico’s spine. He kept his voice flat. “Where’d you get that?”
Rico shrugged, the motion easy. “People talk”
“Get some sleep,” he said. “We’re moving on Lexington tomorrow night.”
Rico settled back against his chest like the conversation had never happened. Within minutes his breathing evened out.
Demario waited until the house was completely still. Then he slid out from under Rico’s arm, pulled on sweatpants, and walked upstairs to the study with his phone already in his hand.
Rome answered on the second ring, voice low and alert. “Everything good?”
“I need you to look into Rico.”
Silence stretched for half a second. Then Rome laughed once, short and disbelieving. “You’re joking.”
Demario stared out the window at the black line of trees beyond the glass. “I’m not,” Demario said and he ended the call before Rome could ask another question.
In the dark of the study he opened the encrypted folder Rome had built for Russo money trails and started a new one. He labeled it with a single word. Rico
Then he sat back and waited for the first piece of the truth to surface.