Page 62 of The Beast Who Begged Me

“Then take it.” I pull out and slam back in, harder this time. He whimpers, and the dark need inside me roars with triumph.

The last of any self-control shatters as I start fucking him in hard, deep strokes that have him crying out each time. He’s writhing beneath me, begging for it.

And I’m giving it to him.

Letting out all the humiliation I felt when he made me kneel. All the frustration. All the anger that I had to stay and make nice over dinner instead of going out to hunt down my father’s true killer. All of it channels into this, the violence and terror of this thing between us.

And he loves it.

“Harder,” he gasps, sinking his blunt nails into my biceps.

I grab his hips, driving myself impossibly deep into him. His own cock is rock-hard, slapping against my stomach with each thrust. He reaches for it, but I bat his hand away.

“No,” I pant. “You come from this, or not at all.”

He whines again, and I feel a surge of power so intense it almost knocks me off rhythm. This is how it’s always been between us, a battle for dominance. Right now, he’s letting me win.

Or maybe I’m simply taking that victory. Taking it like he wanted me to.

He comes without warning, a small cry and a rush of hot cum over his stomach, and the sight of it, the sheer fucking helplessness of it, pushes me into it, too. I slam home one last time, as deep into him as our bodies allow, and let him have it, all of it.

I collapse on top of him, panting. I feel his heart hammering, his chest heaving as he fights for air, and I worry I’ll suffocate him. I roll off, our skin sticking together, and I pull out of him with a groan. He turns to curl into me immediately, like he can’t bear any distance between us.

I can’t bear it either.

My hand is screaming with pain in the aftermath as I hold him close, throbbing in time with my head. I work my good hand into his hair, gently testing the back of his head where it contacted the wall. There’s no lump, and he doesn’t pull away, so I think he’s okay.

I wish I was.

Sex between us never seems to lessen my voracious appetite for him. I can never get enough of him, and I don’t know how to make the hunger stop.

But I’ll never be satisfied. I know that now. What I crave is something he can’t give.

He doesn’t forgive his enemies.

So I’ll make what small amends I can, in plaster and wood, steel and safety, in sex and service, since everything else is denied me when it comes to Caligula Clemenza.

CHAPTER 21

DAMIANO

I killed fourteen men to give Caligula his first territory. Now I’m stuck here in the barbershop while a bunch of old bastards shut me out of the back room to make him their Don.

Even Caligula agreed I should wait out here.

The chair I’m leaning on has a split straight across the seat, yellow stuffing poking through the cracked pleather. I’ve been picking at it, trying not to listen to the low murmur of voices through the wall. Every so often, I hear Caligula, and I lift my head until someone else starts talking.

I insisted on checking the room first. Part of me wanted to insist I stay in there with him, too, but Caligula gave me a warning glance, like he could tell I was about to suggest it.

So I’m out here, watching the street through a window that hasn’t been cleaned since someone last cut hair in this dump. Vito is parked across the road, engine running.

Just in case.

The thing that’s pissing me off the most is that it didn’t have to be here. Another few days and I could’ve given Caligula the ceremony he deserved, in the house where his Family ruled for generations. His men could’ve been walking into the heart of his domain to swear to him.

Instead, they’re swearing to him in an out-of-business barbershop with a busted chair.

At least the Clemenza territory’s more than this shithole now, since the Alessis signed over the garage yesterday. On Caligula’s orders, Big Mike will be Capo there; he’s picking out a crew to reopen it. Just a handful of men.