Page 71 of Until You Break
The pace returned, faster now, each thrust angled to hit the place that had him shaking. I kept my hand at his throat, tight, then easing, then tight again, until his body learned to breathe where I allowed it. He was gorgeous like this: wet, red-mouthed, sweating, moaning into the kisses I took from him.
“Say my name,” I said.
“Damiano.”
“Louder.”
“Damiano.”
“Again,” I ordered, and fucked him harder when he obeyed.
He broke first. His cry was raw as he spilled across his stomach and my hand, his body clenching around me so hard it dragged my own edge closer. I didn’t let him look away. I praised him through it, telling him how gorgeous he looked coming apart for me, how perfectly he milked me. His lashes clumped with tears, a flush streaking his throat, every breath catching on another whimper. His hands trembled against the sheets, then clawed for me as though only my body could hold him together. Each word I gave him dragged another sound out of him, until he sobbed with the force of it. My obsessionburned white-hot. No one else would ever see him like this, begging, ruined, exquisite. I watched every twitch, every broken noise, the moment humiliation turned into relief and relief into desperate want again. I rode him straight through it, my hand easing at his throat only when he forgot how to breathe without me. His eyes met mine, wet and dazed, and I forced him to hold that gaze through every twitch and clench. Shame and ecstasy warred across his face, his moans breaking as I told him again how beautiful he was, how perfectly he belonged wrecked beneath me. The piano swelled in the background, notes rising and falling in time with his shudders, every chord scoring the sight of him undone under me.
“That’s my good boy,” I said, still fucking him while he jerked and shook under me. “Look how beautifully you come when I tell you. The whole city should see you like this. On your back, ruined, begging with my name in your throat.”
His heat milked me tight, dragging every drop out of me with greedy pulses I couldn’t fight. My orgasm hit violent, spine arched, breath torn out like a growl, cock spilling hard while his body shook around me. The sound I made wasn’t for the crowd. It was for him.
I gripped his jaw, kissed his open mouth, and let myself go, pace roughening, breath breaking, a low, unpretty sound torn out of me at his ear as I came deep inside him, pulse beating in time with the throb at his throat under my palm.
We stayed like that until the piano ended. I loosened my hand, felt his breath fill all the way again, and counted it with him until the fight left his muscles.
I pulled out slow, tied off, and tossed it away. He flinched when the sheet brushed him. I liked the reminder.
By the end he was marked in sweat, bruises, and my voice inside his breath.
In the bathroom, I ran a cloth warm, wrung it until steam rose, and came back to the bed. I wiped him clean in patient strokes that were not penance. They were possession done neatly. I brushed his hair back from his eyes with the clean edge, then took his hand and turned his palm up, kissing the heel of it before I let go. Obsession pressed hot in my chest—no one else would ever get to care for him like this, no one else would see him softened in my hands.
“Shower,” I said, pulling him up with me. Steam fogged the glass, the piano still faint through the door. I worked soap across his shoulders, watched it slide in rivulets down his chest and thighs, rinsed him slow under the hot spray. His skin steamed, flushed against mine. He grinned suddenly, playful, dragging wet fingers down my stomach. “Maybe I should paint this view instead.” I shoved him gently into the tile, made him laugh, then caught his mouth in a kiss under the spray. The music bled faint through the bathroom door, softer now, each note falling like it washed him as clean as the water did. By the time I dragged the towel rough down his chest, then softer along his arms and hair, the piano had quieted to a hush that seemed made for this—our breath, the steam, his body warmed and pliant against mine.
“What about today?” he asked as I buttoned my shirt, eyes flicking to me in the mirror.
“I’ve got work to do,” I said. “But I’ll be back later to take you out. A suit will be waiting for you to put on.”
“Where are you taking me?” he pressed, playful, tilting his head while he stepped into his clothes. He waggled his brows when I didn’t answer fast enough. “What if I don’t like surprises?”
“It’s a surprise.” I stole a kiss as I tightened my cuff. His pout only made me smirk. “Doesn’t matter if you like surprises. You’ll wear the suit I give you, and you’ll sit where I put you.” I tuggedhim closer, my mouth brushing his ear. “And you’ll thank me for it after.”
He kissed me back, sweet, a thank-you whispered for the phone. Guilt twisted through me for waiting this long to give it. “If you want to see Enzo today,” I added, brushing damp hair from his forehead, “ask Adrien to drive you. Neutral ground only. Not Valenti territory.”
He groaned, half smile, half complaint, and tucked closer. “Then you’d better make it worth my while.”
I caught his chin, made him meet my eyes. “Careful what you ask for,piccolino. I always collect.”
The piano lingered as we dressed, soft notes carrying through the room. Each chord felt like it marked him here, mine, before the city could touch him again.
CHAPTER 24
DAMIANO
The day ran its course. Meetings. Calls. A final check with Luciana to make sure that everything was in place for tonight. By evening, Palermo burned gold at the edges, the sea throwing light like coins onto the horizon. I came home to Emilio.
He was waiting by the window.
Black suit cut close, a sketchpad balanced across his knee. The record spun low, the piano soft against the hush of the room. Evening sun pooled on the floorboards and climbed his legs, gilding his black curls, turning them copper where the light touched. His eyes, usually dark, shifted lighter in the glow, a warm hazel that caught me for a moment. He looked up as I entered, a quick smile breaking across his face like he couldn’t hold it back.
“Got your message,” he said. “I’m ready. All set. Still don’t know where we’re going. I wondered. Nobody wanted to say anything.”
I let my gaze travel over him, from the shine of polished shoes to the loosened knot of his tie. He was beautiful, sharpened to perfection by nerves and anticipation. “They know how to keep a secret when I ask.”
