Page 74 of The Beast Who Begged Me

I take him down my throat again, relaxing my muscles, letting him slide in deeper this time. I’m getting used to it. I can take it.

I can take everything he gives me. And I want more.

I grip the backs of his thighs, moving up and down on his thick shaft, taking him all the way to the back of my throat with each pass. My saliva is everywhere, coating his dick, dripping down my chin, soaking the carpet.

His good hand is tangled in my hair, guiding my movements, setting a pace that’s just on the right side of punishing. And I feel him starting to tense up, hear the change in his breathing. He’s close.

“Get ready,” he grunts as his thrusts become more erratic. “I’m going to drown you in it.”

I moan around him, the vibrations making him curse under his breath. He shoves himself deep, holds me there as he comes, hot and thick, pouring down my throat. I try to swallow, to take it all, but some of it escapes, leaking out the corners of my mouth, mixing with my spit. He pulls out, and I look up at him, my face covered in the evidence of what he just did to me.

He reaches down, scoops some of the escaped mess from my chin, and pushes it back into my mouth. I suck on his finger, cleaning him off, looking him right in the eye as I do it.

“Fucking perfect,” he says with satisfaction. He takes a few steps back, sits down on the side of the bed with his legs spread, his spent cock slumped over his balls.

“Your turn,” he says. “You can jack off right there on your knees. I want to see you bust.”

I wipe a hand over my face, collecting the remnants of him and coating my dick with the slick mess. I lean back on my heels and start stroking myself.

“Keep those pretty eyes on me,” he says. “So you know exactly who you’re coming for.”

I could never look anywhere else. Reality has narrowed to this one man who owns me.

And his eyes are on me, too. Unwavering.

“You’re dripping for me. Messing up the carpet. Good thing I already had to replace it. Are you going to come for me, Caligula?”

My name on his lips is all it takes. I cry out, splattering the carpet. I fall forward, catching myself with one arm, trembling. And I hear him rise, see his feet as he closes the short distance between us, feel his hand in my hair. “Good boy.”

I look up at him and I say what I know he wants to hear. “Thank you, Dami.”

He helps me up, leads me to the bed and pushes me down, face first. He spreads my cheeks, running a thumb over the sensitive skin of my perineum. “I’m going to eat you out until I’m hard again. And then I’m going to fuck this tight little hole, breed you so full you’ll be leaking my cum for days. Any questions?”

I can only moan, writhing against the bedspread. “Whatever you want, Dami. Whatever you want.”

“That’s the right answer.”

I turn my head to look at him, and he bends to kiss me on the temple before returning his attention to my ass.

We’ve always found it easier to touch than to talk. Tonight, we managed both. I told him what I needed, and he listened. And in the process, we obliterated that black hole between us.

All I see for us now is a future as fierce and blinding and unrelenting as the sun.

CHAPTER 24

DAMIANO

Christmas morning smells of coffee and something sweet Rosa has in the oven for breakfast. Ricky is at the kitchen table, wearing one of Sammy’s sweaters, and Vito is wearing a Santa hat.

There aren’t many presents. I never let my people spend their money on this kind of shit when we were at the old house, and the tradition holds here. Except that Sammy hands me an unwrapped drawing, apologizing for the lack of a frame until I tell him to stop being ridiculous.

It’s a picture of Caligula, drawn in lead pencil, with a bit of color here and there. Gold and bronze for his hair, and again in his eyes. Sammy got him just right. “It’s so fucking good,” I tell him, delighted, while he goes red and sinks down in his chair.

Upstairs afterward, we spend a while squinting at his ring. He holds it under the bedside lamp, then carries it to the window, but neither of us can make out the tiny inscription inside the band.

“Fucking useless,” I mutter, handing it back.

“I’ll get a loupe,” he says. “There has to be a way to read it.”