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Really, Bennett? Lusting after a man determined to kill one of your teammates? God, he was pathetic. He was smarter than this.

Only, Marzano didn’t seem entirely focused on the team at the moment, not with the way he was staring at Bennett’s mouth, like he was making plans of his own. Was he . . . interested? No, that seemed ludicrous. Bennett must be imagining things.

“Are we done here?” Bennett hardly recognized his own voice. It was thick and awkward, hardly the sound of a man who gave inspiring speeches and quotable sound bites for a living.

“No.” Marzano downed the rest of his drink and set the crystal on the wooden table beside him. “Because you keep staring at my mouth and it is giving me ideas.”

Oh, shit. Bennett was rendered temporarily speechless from that piece of information. Finally, he offered up a weak denial. “No, I’m not.” A lie, of course. Marzano was incredibly attractive, but he was also in the mafia. Bennett wasn’t stupid.

Marzano flicked his fingers, motioning. “Stand up.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m fucking ordering you to.”

The words had an edge to them and Bennett responded automatically. Chalk it up to years of hard-ass coaches telling him what to do, the drills and practices. Getting screamed at during games. Whatever the reason, Bennett’s limbs knew the sound of authority and acted accordingly. He stood.

Marzano continued to sit there, a king on a throne, assessing the situation. He dragged his fingers over his lips, rubbing back and forth, as if needing to draw Bennett’s attention there. “If I wanted to fuck you, what would be your response?”

Bennett’s skin went hot, then cold. Then hot again. It was like his body could no longer regulate its temperature. He blinked several times. “Are you gay?”

“Do you need to hear a label to say yes?”

“Maybe. Because I have no idea if you’re being serious right now.”

Marzano pushed up out of the chair gracefully and his long legs carried him around the table, closer to Bennett. He stopped when they were less than an arm’s length apart. “I am very, very serious.” Marzano’s hand landed on Bennett’s sternum, and the weight and warmth of that touch sank through his shirt, right into the bones beneath. Then the palm slid south, lower along Bennett’s stomach, down his abs. Marzano watched the progress, studied the trail as if memorizing the journey, and then he slid his hand atop Bennett’s half-hard dick, rubbing it like he knew what he was doing.

Does he do this often? Is he bisexual? Gay? What the fuck is happening?

Marzano squeezed and Bennett’s confusion was quickly forgotten. His heart banged out a furious rhythm as desire punched through his system, and he didn’t dare say anything to break the moment. The pulses in his groin increased as his shaft rapidly filled with blood, causing it to grow bigger and more sensitive.

You should stop him, his conscience whispered.

Bennett ignored his conscience. Maybe he was drunk, but he wanted this man to continue touching his dick more than he wanted anything else in the world, and he was terrified that it might stop. He let his eyelids flutter closed.

“Che bell’uomo,” he heard Marzano whisper, and it sounded spoken almost against his will. Then he said, “You feel very serious, as well.”

“You’re rubbing my dick. What did you expect? For me to go soft?”

“You should not lie to me, Bennett. Te lo prometto, this will go easier for you, if you tell the truth.”

“What will go easier for me?”

With a flick of elegant fingers, the buttons on Bennett’s jeans popped open. The zipper sounded loud and obscene in the quiet as Marzano lowered it, but Bennett didn’t care. The anticipation of feeling the other man’s hand on him, the need to know what it would be like, made Bennett light-headed. He must’ve wavered on his feet, because Marzano said, “Put your hands on my shoulders.”

Bennett grabbed thick shoulders encased in soft wool. God, Marzano was so fucking sturdy. The delts were like rocks under his sweater, and Bennett held on for dear life as Marzano’s big hand worked its way inside his briefs. Then there were warm, rough fingers surrounding his dick and Bennett’s knees nearly buckled. “Fuck.”

Marzano hummed in his throat, a noise of approval. As if he liked what he’d discovered.

Looking down, Bennett watched as Marzano’s strong grip stroked him a few times. No hesitation, perfect technique. There was his answer. This definitely wasn’t the first time Marzano had handled a dick other than his own. It felt so good. No, better than good. Fucking amazing. There was something about seeing his dick engulfed in Nico’s hand that turned Bennett on, like Nico being a murderer in his spare time didn’t matter at all. In fact, Bennett worried it might have the opposite effect entirely.

I want him to fuck me.

Jesus, the idea of being pinned under this man, having his weight pressing Bennett into the mattress as he rammed inside him . . . all that danger and mystery. A bead of precum appeared on the head of his dick.

“Molto bene,” Marzano praised. “We should go to your bedroom, no? Unless you have a special affinity for your couch.”

“Fuck you,” Bennett breathed, not really meaning it at all.