Page 52 of Until You Break
“You did well.”
“I did nothing.”
“You obeyed.”
He swallowed, then whispered, “Was it necessary?”
“Yes.” My answer was sharp, final. “And you’ll learn why.”
I kept my mouth at Emilio’s ear as we walked. “When we get inside,” I said, soft enough that only he could hear, “you’re going to strip on your knees and crawl to me. You’re going to take me out and ride me slow. You’re going to keep your eyes on mine while the city tries to hear you. And you’re going to come when I say.”
CHAPTER 17
EMILIO
The door shut on the rooftop noise, leaving only the echo of his promise in the silence. Damiano caught my wrist before I could think about flight, pressed me back against the wall, and bent close enough for me to taste the words. “On your knees,” he reminded, low, filthy, final. The crowd had roared for blood above us. Now he wanted mine.
My mouth opened, not to obey but to argue. “Those fights…what the hell was that? Do you always?—”
His hand clamped my jaw, thumb digging until my lips parted. “No talking,” he said, velvet-cruel. “You want answers? Earn them. Strip. Crawl.”
I snarled, jerking my chin against his grip. “You can’t just?—”
“I can. And I will.” His thumb smeared spit across my lip. “Knees,piccolino. Now.”
I should have fought harder. Every instinct told me to resist. But his eyes burned down on me, dark as embers, his black suit sharp against the dim light, his mouth curved in that smug, ruthless grin that both sickened and pulled at me. His cologne, smoke and citrus, sat warm in the air from the climb upstairs. My body betrayed me, pulse hammering, cock already half-hard.I dropped anyway, not with obedience but with a flash of my teeth, daring him to lose a finger.
He only laughed, soft and pleased, settling back against the door like he had all the time in the world. He undid his jacket buttons with unhurried menace, loosened his tie, rolled his cuffs as if he were about to handle delicate instruments. Me.
My fingers fumbled with his belt, clumsy with nerves I tried to mask as fury. “You’re a bastard.”
“And you’re about to choke on me,” he said, freeing himself when I lingered too long. His cock sprang heavy and flushed, the head slick already.
I glared up, but the sight made my throat tighten.
“Lick.”
I dragged my tongue along the underside, slow, tasting salt and musk. He hissed, his hand sliding into my curls, holding me just shy of where he wanted me. I gave him the barest brush of tongue at the tip and pulled away, petty. He clucked his tongue, amused, and pushed my head back down until my lips almost kissed the base.
“Good,” he murmured. “Now my balls.”
Shame burned, but I cupped him anyway, tongue teasing the heavy weight of them, licking, nipping lightly until his breath caught. His cock pulsed above my cheek like it wanted my mouth again. The vein along the side beat against my tongue when I dragged up slow.
“Christ,” he groaned, hips rolling forward. “Look at you, snarling while you worship me.”
“I’m not?—”
“You are.” He pressed the head of his cock against my lips, smearing precum. “Open wider. Take it.”
He thrust in. I gagged, throat spasming. His grip tightened in my hair, forcing me to hold, spit slicking my chin. He paused there, cruelly deep, as if to measure exactly how much I couldtake, then eased out a breath and fed it to me again, slower, heavier.
“That’s it.” His voice was low and filthy. “Breathe through your nose. Look at me while you choke on my cock.”
I tried to close my eyes, but his other hand caught my jaw, thumb dragging down until my lashes lifted. His ember-dark eyes burned through me, patient and merciless, pleasure and ownership twined together. He stroked my throat with his palm, feeling himself slide in and out, and a pleased sound spilled from him like praise.
I sucked harder, dragging my tongue around the thick vein, hollowing my cheeks. He hissed my name, rough with possession.
“Good boy,” he whispered. “Now the slit. Taste me.”
