Page 128 of The Beast Who Begged Me

“No,” I say hoarsely. “We’ll do it right here. Where he can see.”

Dami’s pupils flare, black fire swallowing the brown. He understands. A brutal grin slashes across his face. “Goddamn right.”

We have a tradition, after all, which started when he fucked me on the floor where my grandfather died. And I’ve always performed best with an audience.

Even one that’s stopped applauding.

He backs me up to the nearby shipping container and tries to strip my clothes off, but he’s defeated by his newly bandaged hands. He can only fumble at the knot of Nick Fontana’s borrowed pants, and I feel the growl building in his chest before I hear it. “Get these fucking clothes off.”

“Okay.” I catch his wrists, careful of the gauze. “You’ve done enough with these hands tonight. Just watch.”

I take my time. The oversized sweatshirt comes over my head, and I toss it aside. Then I loosen the knot, hook my thumbs into the waistband, and slide the pants down my hips. I kick the pile away, and then I’m bare in a Morelli warehouse in January, but the cold can’t touch me at all.

I’m burning with a different kind of heat now.

Dami is looking at me the way he did the night he bought me. Triumphant. Hungry. He no longer has to hide it, and I no longer have to tell myself I don’t want it.

He looms over me, caging me in with a bandaged hand on either side of my head, and presses his body against mine to pin me to the cold corrugated side of the shipping container.

Caged. Pinned. But not trapped.

I am exactly where I want to be.

I slide my arms around his neck, and he gets his forearms beneath my thighs, lifting me before I can remind him about his hands. The container supports my back as I wrap my legs around his waist.

“Show me,” I tell him. “Show me who I belong to.”

His mouth comes down on mine again, harder this time, tongue shoving in to stake his claim. I moan into it, and he swallows the sound. By the time he breaks the kiss, both of us are panting into the frigid warehouse air.

He peels me from the wall and spins around, carrying me a few feet to set me on the edge of a freestanding wooden workbench. Before I catch my breath, Dami is on me again, his body covering mine, hips driving my legs apart, his mouth fusing with mine once more.

I feel him fumbling with his fly, the bandaged fingers clumsy. I reach down to help, get the zipper down. He shoves his pants down just enough to free his cock and pulls his mouth away from mine to say, “Inside pocket. Left side.”

I slide my hand into his jacket…and come out with a foil packet. I look at it. I look at him. “You brought lube. To a rescue.”

“I carry it everywhere now.” He takes the packet from me and tears it open with his teeth, scowling as he hands it back. “But you’ll have to do it.”

I squeeze some onto my fingers and leave the packet within reach. Then I slide off the bench and turn to face it, presenting my ass to him with a little wiggle.

This position is better anyway. Leaning over the bench, I can look across it at Daniel King, his sightless eyes staring back at me as I reach behind myself to work two slippery fingers into my asshole.

Dami’s boot knocks my ankles farther apart. The same boot that took King’s life from him. My cock fills out as I play with myself, and I feel Dami’s bandaged palms spreading my cheeks wide so he can watch my fingers work.

“Enough,” he says at last. “My turn. Get me slicked up.”

I withdraw my fingers, squeeze out the rest of the packet, and obey. I’m doing it blind, reaching behind me as I stroke him from root to tip, my hand gliding up and down.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Now guide me in. Show me exactly where you need me.”

I arch my back and draw one cheek aside with my left hand. With my right, I position the head of his cock at my ring.

He doesn’t wait. He pushes forward in one relentless thrust, splitting me open. I catch myself with both hands against the wood and push back onto him.

He bottoms out, and his forearm comes down across my shoulder blades to pin me in place. He stays there for a long moment, letting me feel him throb inside me.

“Head up, little prince,” he says at last. “You wanted him to see. So let him see.”

I lift my head as far as I can. “Fuck me,” I gasp out. “Make me feel it for a week.”