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Vitari rocked, and Francis moaned, driving his ass back against every thrust. Vitari shallowed his angle, pushing downward, right where Francis would feel his cock inside him the most, and shallow-fucking him, he wrapped his fingers around Francis’s dick again. This time, he wasn’t going to stop until Francis spilled his load.
“Ti amerò per sempre,” Francis said, in passionate Italian. He might have said more, but his panting became grunts of pure animal need. A sound Vitari knew well from him.
“Come for me,” he demanded in his ear. “Come for me.” He was close too. So fucking close.
Francis whined, not wanting to come but already falling. And Vitari was done, out of his mind, consumed.
Francis bucked, thrusting into Vitari’s hand, and warm cum wet his fingers. Vitari long-stroked him, wringing the last drop of pleasure, then freed his dick, shoved him down, and fucked his hole. With Francis still coming down, his guttural snarls tipped Vitari over the edge. He came so hard it was a good thing they were propped against the counter.
The comedown felt like moving through warm molasses, his head light, his skin tingling. Like a vivid dream. He kissed Francis’s back, his shoulders, his neck, and skimmed his fingertips down his spine, relishing his every tremor.
“There is no place, on Heaven or Earth, I’d rather be than here with you.”
Vitari wrapped his arms around him. “Except, maybe, a bed?”
“Our bed is also good,” Francis agreed with a chuckle.
Vitari opened his eyes and peered into the bedroom’s gloom. The dark outside the window suggested it was still late, or early. A few stars twinkled, and a soft breeze teased the drapes.
He wasn’t sure what time they’d finally fallen asleep, tangled together, but it couldn’t have been long ago. He glanced at Francis’s soft face, lashes fluttering as he dreamed. Damn him for being so perfect. Smiling, Vitari eased from the bed, careful not to wake him, threw on a shirt but left it unbuttoned, and underwear, then wandered from the bedroom, down the short back hall, and into the living room.
He stopped.
Dying embers from the fireplace illuminated a broad figure seated in the chair, and a boy on his knees at the man’s boots, hands bound, mouth taped. Aldo.
Sasha Zhokov leaned forward, bringing his face into the firelight, so there could be no doubt.
Light licked over the silenced gun in his hand.
Aldo’s eyes widened. He mumbled behind the tape, suddenly animated now he’d seen Vitari.
Sasha smacked the gun across the back of Aldo’s head, silencing him, then gestured with the gun for Vitari to sit in the opposite chair.
“Do I explain what happens if you anger me?” Sasha asked, pointing the gun at the back of Aldo’s head.
Vitari perched on the edge of the chair. He didn’t have a gun—should have taped one under the coffee table, but Francis had said not to, in case Aldo found it. There were knives in the kitchen, but Aldo would be dead before he could reach them, and Sasha would probably put a round in Vitari’s back right after killing the boy. Then go after Francis, asleep in their bed.
“What do you want?”
Sasha’s smile flashed in the dark, full of white teeth. “Apology.”
“An apology?” He almost laughed. “What the fuck for?”
“You ruin my life, my business, everything.”
Vitari braced his elbows on his knees and pressed his hands together. “You want an apology from me for ruining your life?”
“Da.”
“You don’t see the irony, do you? You’re that fucking selfish.”
“Careful, Angel. Or I take everything from you now.” He nudged the silencer against Aldo’s head, prompting Aldo’s whimpers.
“Like you took my mother? Like you took me, put me in that fucking hellhole.”
Sasha tilted his head. “You were popular, one of the most desirable. Those… Italian eyes.”
Vitari shot from the chair. Sasha lowered the gun, pulled the trigger, and Aldo barked behind the tape, falling forward. Then he pointed the gun at Vitari, freezing him a few steps from Aldo, who was writhing on the floor. Blood spread through the kid’s shirt at his shoulder. But that was good, a shoulder wound wouldn’t kill him. The message was clear. The next round would go through Aldo’s skull.
