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“Fuck, looking at you down there, your sweet mouth… My dick between your lips. You’re going to make me come too soon.” Vitari eased Francis off, then hauled him upright and thrust a kiss on his lips. Francis devoured him back, trying and failing to go slow. Vitari pinned him against the bar, leaned him back, and dribbled champagne across his left pec. The cool liquid tickled its way down his chest, and then Vitari’s mouth and tongue followed—teasing, kissing—as he looked up through his lashes, his eyes like two dark pools of sin.
“I want to make this last, but I also really need to fuck you into this bar.” Vitari tugged at Francis’s trousers, jerking them down.
With a smirk, Francis finished off the wine, glugging it down, then warm, tight lips sealed around his dick, and with his head spinning, he leaned back, surrendering to Vitari’s sinful mouth. The wine was definitely going to his head, probably helped along by the painkillers, because this was bliss.
Vitari fucked him with his mouth and hand. Francis could feel himself falling, feel the pleasure tightening.
“Not yet, Padre,” Vitari said, lifting off and gently turning Francis around. Vitari’s hand pressed between his shoulder blades, pinning him down. He heard Vitari spit into his palm, then his fingers dove between his ass cheeks and pushed inside. He didn’t care what Vitari did, just that he did more of it. He clutched at the bar, dick trapped under him, as Vitari stretched him, slickened his hole, then pressed his warm, firm cock to him and eased in, filling him.
“God,” Francis spluttered. If there was any more of it, he’d be tasting it.
“You’ve got the tightest fucking hole, Francis.” Vitari’s fingers dug into his back, applying downward pressure as his dick pushed in. “And you’re all mine.” His words brushed Francis’s spine, then his tongue and teeth worked their magic, sweeping and biting at Francis’s shoulder as his hips began to rock, dick pumping. “Fuck, you feel too good. Tell me how you want it.”
He wasn’t sure he could speak, let alone form a coherent order. Vitari always had a way with words. Francis just… “Just fuck me.”
“Love it when you swear. Say fuck again.” Vitari thrust hard, slamming Francis against the bar.
“Fuck!” His wounded leg barked in pain, then faded behind the ecstasy running through him. He’d be feeling that tomorrow.
Vitari’s hands gripped his hips. “Oh yes, Padre.” He thrust again, deeper, harder, and again. “Take it, fucking take my dick, Padre.”
“Oh God.” Electric shivers raced up his spine, and as Vitari sped up, pumping ruthlessly, the lines between pain and pleasure blurred, mixing into a glorious high. Then Vitari pulled him upright, hugging Francis’s back to his chest, adjusting the angle. Francis let out a low moan. Vitari dropped his hand and grasped Francis’s dick, kissing his neck and slow-fucking his ass; it all became a riot of feeling from head to toe. “I can’t…” He was going to come, the precipice was right there, he couldn’t hold back, and as Vitari’s hand pumped, Francis let go with a shout, spilling over Vitari’s fingers.
“Fuck, I never want this to end.” Vitari slammed him forward, gripped his hips again, grunted, and fucked, pounding faster, skin slapping skin. He choked on a cry, came hard, and slumped forward, hips stuttering.
Vitari’s gentle kisses rained down Francis’s back. “You are the blood in my veins, Francis. The heart in my chest. If I loved you more, it would kill me.”
Sparking twinges traveled up his ass. He’d have liked to have said similarly romantic things, but also, his body needed a reprieve. “I’m not sure I can do that again.”
“Padre.” Vitari chuckled, clutched Francis’s hips, and pulled out. “That was just the beginning. Give me a minute, then I’m getting a gun.”
“Oh.” Yes, yes he wanted that. Maybe he could take another pounding after all.
“You wanna get dirty with me and a gun, Francis?” Vitari whispered against this ear.
Clearly, Francis was getting fucked all night, and he’d never craved it more.
Vitari grabbed his chin, turned Francis’s head, and owned his mouth in a demanding kiss that left Francis breathless. “Grab another bottle of wine. I’ll be right back.”
Francis watched the thought-stoppingly naked Vitari saunter from the bar—semi-erect cock hanging low, ass like a peach—and forgot what he’d been asked to do. He blinked back to himself and looked around him at the sparkling luxury bar, on a drug lord’s stolen yacht, in the middle of the Caribbean with temptation personified in Vitari, probably about to use a gun in a way guns were not designed to be used.
This was a dream, wasn’t it? A little laugh fell out of him. Was he drunk? He didn’t feel drunk.
They’d done it—he’d done it. He’d found Vitari, he’d talked to Serpiente as though he belonged among the criminal kind, and he had saved Vitari from the bad men, and now they were here, drinking wine and devouring each other like animals. He felt lightheaded, elated. He felt… free.
Vitari returned carrying his gun and set it down on the bar like a promise of all the wicked things he planned to do with it later. It sat there, gleaming.
“The wine?” Vitari asked.
Oh yes, he’d forgotten he was supposed to get more wine. He opened the cupboards, gazed at countless bottles, and had no idea where to start. Vitari leaned in beside him, grabbed a few bottles of something dark and potent, and winked. “Enough to lift any inhibitions that might be lingering, Padre.”
“What are you going to do to me?”
“I meant for me.” Vitari laughed, popped the cork on a bottle of red, and refilled their earlier glasses. “You’re not the only one with hang-ups.”
He knew there was one thing Vitari couldn’t do. “I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to do.”
“Let’s see where we go,” he said, raising his glass to his lips.
