Page 90 of The Beast Who Begged Me

Caligula bends to take it from my fingers. His mouth is warm against my skin, and I have to make myself let go of the bread. There’s a faint sheen of oil on his lower lip when he straightens.

Then he turns my injured hand palm down and reaches for the dish of oil. I watch his fingers dip into it before he traces the curve of the “C,” careful to follow the unbroken skin beside the healing mark. The oil catches the light.

I’m pretty sure that’s not part of the usual ceremony, based on what Ferraro told me to expect. But I like it.

I want to kiss him. Christ, I want to kiss him bad enough that I almost miss what he says next.

“Bear witness to Damiano Orsini.” He looks around the room. “A man of honor. A man of the Clemenza Family.”

Ferraro speaks first. “Welcome to the Family, Orsini.” Then Giordano says it, and the others follow, voices filling the room. And the formality dissolves away as someone slaps me on the shoulder and Ferraro comes forward to grab my hand and inspect the scar.

“Could be our new tradition,” Ferraro says, grinning wide.

“Could be, old man.”

He pulls me in and kisses me on each cheek, then lets me go so others can congratulate me, but I don’t miss the damp eyes.

The old bastard has a soft spot for me. I fucking knew it.

Caligula watches the proceedings with that proud smile of his. And I meant every word I swore tonight. His word above mine, his life above mine.

But once these men have cleared out and we’re upstairs with no witnesses, the only order my Don will be giving me tonight is “Don’t stop.”

CHAPTER 29

CALIGULA

The men don’t leave nearly fast enough for my liking. I appreciate their enthusiasm for welcoming Dami into the Family, but I’d appreciate some privacy considerably more.

Eventually, Rosa and Vito get back, and Rosa starts shooing everyone out of her kitchen. “Go to a bar,” she tells them. “If you’re determined to get drunk, you can do it somewhere else.”

“No one’s getting drunk,” I counter. “You all have too much work to do.”

“That’s right,” Ferraro says loudly. “All of you, back to work. Time to make your Don proud.”

They disperse slowly, each apparently needing one last word with Dami before leaving. By the time I’ve shuffled Strike Ferraro out the door, I’ve had quite enough of sharing him.

“I thought they’d never go,” I say, shutting the door behind him. I grab Dami’s hand and start pulling him toward the stairs.

“They’re good men,” he says.

“They’re good men who need to learn some fucking social cues.”

He chuckles. “Patience is a virtue, Don Clemenza.”

Don Clemenza. I’ve heard Dami calling me that before—sometimes sarcastically, sometimes not—but now that he’s actually sworn to me, part of the Family, it sounds different.

I like it.

On the landing, I turn to him and run my fingers over his tie. Then I pick it up and tug it. Like a leash. “Well, we have our agreement, Orsini,” I say, looking up at him through my lashes, the way I’ve learned gets him every time. “And I’ve had my turn.”

He catches on immediately. “Your turn,” he repeats with a slow smirk. “And now it’s mine?”

“It is.” I back toward the bedroom, drawing him with me. “Come and boss me around, Dami.”

I don’t need to ask twice. He kicks the bedroom door shut behind us, shoves me up against it, and pins me there with his body. His mouth crashes down on mine, all the pent-up feelings from the day pouring into it.

My hands are already on his belt, his cock hard against my thigh, ready to take me, to make me scream his name until I forget all about being a Don and remember only that I’m his.