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Roman obliged, the flogger biting deeper, drawing moans from Caleb’s lips, sounds he didn’t consciously make. The flogger ventured a little higher on Caleb’s back but focused mostly on his ass. Caleb couldn’t wait to see what it would look like. Jesus, he wouldn’t be able to sit for a week. And it would be totally worth it.
“Good boy,” Roman murmured, the words filled with pride, and Caleb’s heart soared.
“T-thank you, Sir.” The honorific slipped from his lips like a sacred vow. Sweat glistened on his taut body, and his muscles quivered under the dual assault of pain and pleasure. Pure adrenaline, with that blessed endorphin rush right on its heels, lifted him higher. The room echoed with the rhythmic impact of the flogger, Caleb’s sharp intakes of breath, and the grunts Roman let out every time he hit.
“Enough,” Roman said.
Caleb could’ve taken more, but he didn’t protest. He knew better, and besides, this session wasn’t for him. It was for Roman, and he’d done brilliantly.
With a nod from Master Mark, Roman untied Caleb, who stood shaking on legs that felt like jelly. Roman’s hands, steady during the session, trembled now as he brushed Caleb’s damp forehead.
“Hey,” Roman murmured, voice gravelly with raw emotion, fingers trailing over Caleb’s flushed skin, a silent promise of gentleness after the storm of sensation.
“Careful,” Master Mark said, his tone soft yet firm. “Now comes the most important part. Aftercare.”
Roman fetched a plush blanket from the nearby shelf and wrapped it over Caleb’s shivering form. His movements were tender, a stark contrast to the controlled ferocity of moments before. He carefully lifted Caleb, sliding beneath to cradle him in his arms and carry him to a couch, where he gently lowered them.
Caleb snuggled close to Roman. His ass was on fire, but it felt so good. So grounding. He’d wear the marks with pride.
“Take your time. I’ll be upstairs for the debrief later,” Master Mark said, and then they were alone.
“You did so well,” Roman whispered, lips brushing Caleb’s ear. “So fucking beautiful for me.”
Caleb’s response was a contented sigh, the tension easing from his limbs as he curled closer to Roman’s warmth. “Thank you, Sir.”
“I love you, Caleb. My precious boy.”
“Love you too, Sir.”
25
Watching Caleb drive off to Boston had been much harder than Roman had expected. He’d missed him before, but after this weekend, something had changed. Was it that they’d expressed their love? Was it because Roman now knew they had a future together? Or was it the growing intensity of their investigation into Whitman? He wasn’t sure, but it had been hell to let Caleb go.
Ryan and Alex had left for Boston that Friday night, just as Caleb had started his drive back, to see what they could find out about Joey DiMartino. Caleb had done a little online digging over the weekend but would keep chipping away at it as well. It was now Wednesday, and Ryan and Alex had returned from Boston to report back. One only had to look at Ryan’s tight face to know bad news was coming.
“Hit us with it,” Wander said, and Ryan rose. Alex turned off the lights, and the projector whirred to life, showing a picture of a handsome thirtysomething guy with short dark hair, brown eyes, and an aristocratic nose that hinted at his Italian heritage. He had a five o’clock shadow on his square jawline and a faint scar running along his left cheek. The combination was attractive but with a clear nod at the danger that simmered underneath.
“Joey DiMartino is third-generation Italian mob,” Ryan said. “He hails from Boston’s infamous South Side and grew up in a family with strong connections to organized crime. His great-grandfather emigrated to Boston around the turn of the century, and his grandfather was the one who developed the family business, so to speak. Joey’s father, Antonio DiMartino, still runs the empire. He’s done time for smaller stuff, but no one has ever been able to pin anything big on him, something that would put him away for a long time. Joey is thirty-four and married to his high school sweetheart, Allie, and they have two kids, Lucia and Marco. While Allie presumably knows Joey is involved in illegal practices, he keeps her and the kids completely out of it to protect them.”
“That’s not uncommon in the mob,” Roman said. “There’s an unwritten rule that you keep wives and kids out of it.”
“A rule that Joey adheres to. He’s not your run-of-the-mill mobster, though. He prefers to operate behind the scenes and is rarely seen with his father and uncles. It seems he has the role of enforcer, but everyone we talked to mentioned how smart he is and that he prefers intelligence over brute force. He’s not afraid to get his hands dirty but only as a last resort when nonviolent and often psychological methods have failed.”
Roman let out a sigh. “That fits with the threats against me.”
Ryan nodded. “It does. But make no mistake, Joey is unafraid to escalate to violence when needed. Remember those witnesses you had that changed their story?”
“Dorian Firestone and Leo Capatelli?”
“We spoke to Firestone. He identified Joey from a picture, but only after we put a lot of pressure on him and guaranteed him we wouldn’t force him to testify. All Joey did was hand the guy pictures of his grandkids. Firestone recognized the threat and buckled.”
Roman swallowed. “That’s the first real link between Whitman, Coldrick, and Joey DiMartino.”
“Technically, it links Whitman and Joey, but yeah, this is our first evidence that Joey is indeed doing the dirty work for Whitman through Isabella Coldrick.”
“And Capatelli?”
“He refused to talk to us, clearly scared out of his mind. They got to him, but you already knew that.”
