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Ezekiel need not take off his clothes. It seemed like, once again, we were going to fuck while he was still dressed. The moment his cock was free, he took my thighs in his hands, spread me a bit wider, and then slammed into me with a grunt. He filled me with a single thrust, and I wrapped my arms around his neck and cried out.
He was no priest when he was inside of me. He turned into an animal, thirsty and ravenous. He pumped his cock into me like it was his sole purpose in life, like he always meant to find his way to me.
And maybe he was. Maybe this whole thing had been a long time coming.
Ezekiel worshiped me by fucking me. He held me close, his arms inescapable, and even though the countertop was cold beneath my ass, the heat between us more than made up for it. There was no place I’d rather be.
He fucked me with fervor, with a grasping urgency I could match only by my heavy breathing. His cock filled up my core with each thrust, heat and desire filling every other part of me. In that moment, I was his and his alone.
Maybe it was the relief that a certain someone’s comeuppance would come soon, or maybe it was simply the degree of hunger I felt towards this man, but a familiar pressure built within me as he claimed me, the need to unleash my own pleasure undeniable. The orgasm crept closer and closer with each pump of his cock.
My body trembled as the orgasm approached, the pressure in me balling up until I couldn’t take it anymore. I became a slave to the pleasure, unable to fight it. I threw my head back as the orgasm exploded within me. My arms tightened around his neck. A cry left my lips. My inner core tightened around his length as my clit pulsated from the sudden release of pleasure.
I was delirious after that, high on bliss. Every touch, every thrust; it all felt amazing. I could hardly think straight. It was a good thing Ezekiel continued to do the work, because if I was on top right now, I think I would’ve collapsed in a heap. My body felt like goo. High off of an orgasm, but still goo.
Ezekiel pounded into me with wild abandon, low moans escaping his throat every few seconds. He pumped his hard cock in me so hard, so fast I swore I saw stars—but maybe that was a lingering effect of the orgasm.
His movements soon became jerky, uneven, and I knew that meant he was close. His hips lurched against me, and he pushed his cock as deep inside me as it could go as he emptied his seed inside me. Hot cum filled me, its warmth a quick bloom in my pussy. He breathed hard, his back shuddered, and he slowed to a halt, his cock twitching inside me, in the mess that was my arousal now mixed with his cum.
I opened my eyes, able to see just above his shoulder. Though my arms were still around his neck, I could see Rocco’s unconscious body on the chair in the center of the room. His mouth hung open slightly. Even unconscious, he was a disgusting man, and the only thing that made being in the same small room as him bearable was the man whose cock was currently still nestled inside me.
I did not want this moment to end. I didn’t want Ezekiel to pull out of me, nor did I want his arms to let me go. I liked his arms, his hands, every body part of his. I’d learned to accept and need him… to trust him. A far-cry from where I used to be.
Ezekiel let out a calming breath before taking a step back, slow to release his hold on me and work to put himself away. I slipped off the counter and got dressed, well aware that I could feel his spent cum starting to ooze down my inner thigh. It’d get dried on my leggings soon enough.
Rocco was still out cold, but that did not stop Ezekiel from hatefully glaring at the restrained man. He said, “Do you want to be alone with him when he wakes? If that is what you want, I can wait in the hall, or go upstairs to give you more privacy.” He did not ask what I was going to do with him; I didn’t think he cared.
Rocco was a dead man on borrowed time. We both knew it. And even though a part of me wanted to keep him alive for as long as possible—simply to have more time to inflict more pain and more misery upon him—I had bigger fish to fry.
Could not forget about Miguel. Rocco was only the first stepping stone.
“Actually, I think I’m going to need your help,” I started, and then I told Ezekiel of my plan. I’d told Zander to keep listening to the bugs he’d installed in Miguel’s office, to try to find out what else he had up his sleeve when it came to the Hand, but I couldn’t wait around with the hope that the man who’d shot me would miraculously do his part.
No. If I had my way, Rocco would be spilling every single dark secret to me before he breathed his last breath.
An unknown amount of time passed. There were no clocks in the windowless room, no signs to tell me what time it was. I had the phone I’d commandeered from Cade, but I dared not touch it. I couldn’t take my eyes off Rocco, fearing if I did, he’d wake—and I wanted to see the horror on his face as he realized just how hopeless this whole thing was for him.
Ezekiel had brought me in a small stool so I could sit beside Rocco. I was alone in the room, though Ezekiel wasn’t too far away. The door to the room was cracked, which would allow Ezekiel to hear everything.
Rocco had no idea what flavor of pain was headed his way. No idea at all. And I think that made it all the sweeter for me.
All right. Maybe I was vindictive and petty and furious. Could you blame me? I’d imagined killing Rocco a thousand different ways, but I could honestly say that having him restrained in the basement of Cypress’s church wasn’t one of them.
Funny how things changed, huh?
Eventually, Rocco began to stir. The first thing that alerted me to his consciousness was the muffled groan that came from his lips. Then his head moved side to side, his eyebrows furrowing, as if he struggled to fully wake and open his eyes. His wrists tugged at the thick leather straps holding him down, but not with fervor, and that told me he wasn’t quite awake yet.
I waited. I didn’t rush things. I waited and watched as he slowly came to, taking his good old time to do it. Rocco’s eyelids lifted after a while, and once he grasped the fact that he stared at an unfamiliar, slightly dingy ceiling, he tried to sit up.
Course, he couldn’t sit up due to the strap around his neck, so he remained right where Ezekiel and I put him.
“What the…” Rocco angled his head to the side as his tugging at the restraints grew, and that’s when he saw me sitting beside him, watching him without a hint of emotion on my face—something I’d learned from Ezekiel.
Sometimes, what unnerved people the most, was the calm before the storm.
“What the fuck did you do? Let me go,” he hissed out the order, as if he could. As if he held any power here. “Let me go and I won’t tell Miguel about any of this. I’ll never mention your name again.”
Ah, pleading with me now, realizing he didn’t have any bargaining chips. The first sign he understood his impending doom.
