Page 80 of The Beast Who Begged Me

Gallo’s mouth drops open a little, but he nods quickly.

“And you better remember who’s giving you this chance,” I tell him. “You sell this conversation to Big Gee, you’ll wish I left you next to Russo.”

“I won’t sell you out,” Gallo says. There’s no grin this time, and he keeps looking at Caligula. “I’ll get you the names, Don Clemenza.”

Caligula nods. “Cut him loose, Strike.” Ferraro takes out his knife, still looking like he’d prefer to put it somewhere more useful, but he does as he’s told.

Caligula glances at me. “Let’s go,” he says.

Once we get back into the car, the privacy screen is barely up before the Don is gone, melting away in the dark. Caligula takes my bandaged hand, turns it over, and presses my fingers around his throat. His pulse runs quick and eager under my fingers, and his eyes, when they meet mine, are honey dark.

“I’ve had enough of being the Boss for one night, Dami. Now it’s your turn.”

I pull him close and kiss him, devour him, while he kicks off his shoes, shoves down his pants, underwear and all. I slide a hand between his cheeks and get my next surprise: he’s nice and wet, his asshole drenched and prepped for me.

All that time he was strategizing and threatening, he was also anticipating this.

I grab his ass and pull him onto my lap. “Get my cock out,” I order through clenched teeth. He fumbles with the zipper with one hand while he steadies himself on my shoulder with the other. I shift beneath him, helping him work me free.

When I’m finally out, hard already and desperate for him, I waste no more time. I grab Caligula by the hips and position him, lining the head of my cock up with that perfect, tight pucker. “What are you waiting for, Don Clemenza?” I ask.

He grabs my shoulders and sinks down onto me, a long, slow slide that makes us both groan. He stays there for a moment, letting us both adjust. His face is flushed, his lips parted, and when he looks down at me, his pupils are so wide he looks high. He takes a shuddering breath, then starts to move.

His hips roll in a languid circle, then lift slightly before dropping back down. He’s testing the angle, finding the rhythm that works for him, and I can tell when he finds it, because his eyes roll back. He finds it again, then a third time, and then I just have to hang on as he starts to ride me in earnest.

Each bounce brings me deeper into him until my cock is buried to the hilt. The car is filled with the wet, rhythmic slap of skin against skin and our ragged breaths. I can’t take my eyes off him. The way he moves, the way he throws his head back, the muscles in his neck straining, the sweat on his brow. He takes my cock like he was born for it. And he’s not afraid to lose himself in the pleasure I give him.

If this is what he meant about taking turns, I’m more than happy to play.

I pull open his shirt and take a nipple in my mouth, rolling it between my teeth, flicking it with my tongue. He arches into my mouth, gasping. My free hand finds the other nipple, pinching and pulling until it’s a hard, pebbled point.

“You like that, golden boy?” I murmur against his skin. “You like my cock in your ass and my teeth on your tits?”

“God, yes,” he chokes out, grinding down harder on me. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

I wasn’t planning on it. I let go of his nipple and slide my hand down his sweat-slicked back, over the curve of his ass, between his cheeks. I feel where my cock is stretching him open, where we’re joined together. It’s so hot, so wet. I push a finger in alongside my dick, just to feel him, to feel how tight he is.

He cries out, his body convulsing around the fresh intrusion, a shudder running through him from head to toe. He’s close. So close. He’s fucking himself on me now, desperate, chasing his release. His cock is bouncing against his stomach, leaking all over himself.

I grab it, give him a few hard strokes. “Come on,” I growl. “Show me. Show me how good it feels.”

He arches back, his whole body tightening like a knot. He clamps down on me as he spills, wet and warm, all over my shirt.

The sight of it, the feel of him clenching around me, is too much. I grab his hip with my damaged hand and drive up into him. I fill him until I’m completely empty, until I can barely breathe.

We stay like that for a long moment, me still inside him, him draped over me, both of us shaking. Then he shifts, a slow, careful slide as he lifts himself off me.

He reaches for his underwear, but I push my fingers back into his dripping hole, then bring them to my lips. His taste is sharp, musky, mixed with my own bitter salt. A filthy, perfect combination.

“You’re a goddamn mess,” I tell him, my voice rough as I lick my fingers clean. “All filled up with me. Look at you.”

He slumps back against the opposite door, his legs spread wide.

The sight sends another jolt of desire through me, and I have to stop myself from flipping him over and taking him again right there on the leather seats.

“I better get dressed,” he pants. “Or Vito will never get the stains out.”

He struggles back into his clothes as we turn onto Park Avenue. Then he snuggles against me, cradled in my arms, and I feel a strange sense of peace wash over me.