The doors slide open right as the last word leaves my mouth, and his smirk widens. He grabs the front of my shirt with a playful roughness that makes me gasp, and drags me out of the elevator, holding himself just close enough to me that every damn cell in my body aches to be closer. My door is the only one on this floor, so I don’t have to give him any directions as he walks me backward towards it without breaking eye contact.
“What do you want me to do to you?” he asks.
Every nerve ending, every inch of my skin is already tingling,beggingfor his touch. My cock drools eagerly, slicking my silk briefs with a steady stream of precum, and hearing that question in that deep, authoritative voice of his makes my knees quiver with the urge to kneel right here in the hallway.
“Anything you want,” I say without hesitation.
A flare of heat flickers in his expression and he drags his tongue along his bottom lip like he’s planning to devour me. He stops walking, but I can’t tear my attention away from him, completely lost in the hungry, dominant, fucking hypnotic look in his eyes.
“Open the door, Alessio,” he commands in a low voice.
“Yes, Sir.”
I swallow hard and reach into my pocket to fish out my keys, not taking my eyes off of him until I have to. My hands tremble—not out of any kind of fear, but excitement and adrenaline. I want him to take me apart. I want him to make me beg. I want to be whatever I need to be to make him crave me the way I can’t stop craving him. If he leaves again without giving me a way to find him, I’ll burn this entire fucking city to the ground in search of him, and I don’t give a damn if that’s too “obsessive”for anyone else.
We step inside and I flip on the light, then turn to him, ready to stop thinking, to stop fucking worrying about anything for the rest of the night other than being the slut he wants me to be.
“Do me a favor and go brush your teeth.” That wasn’t the first demand I was expecting, and his tone is much gentler than it was before.
“You don’t have to be so polite.” I laugh.
Spettro grabs the front of my shirt again and backs me up against the wall, bracing one hand next to my head while he fists the fabric of my T-shirt with the other. He brings his nose close to mine, his lips only an inch away.
“Why don’t you let me worry about what tone I’ll use with you and when,” he growls, and I hold my breath, waiting to see if he’s going to kiss me.Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.“Don’t worry, I can be polite every once in a while and still fuck you like I hate you, Alessio.” He nips at my bottom lip, and a moan rolls off my tongue. “Now, go brush your fucking teeth. Don’t make me ask you again.”
“Yes, Sir.”
GHOST
Alessio practically sprints down the hallway as soon as I let him go. I’m tempted to call after him and tell him to get undressed and bring supplies while he’s at it, but there’s a certain appeal in making him run back and forth, so I keep my mouth shut, smirking to myself as I make my way into his living room with my boots and leather jacket still on.
Spettro. The name has a nice ring to it. In seven years I haven’t missed having a name, I haven’t even really needed one. You don’t need to be called anything if you don’t bother having anyone in your life to call you. But Alessio giving me one makesme feel a little bit more like a real person again, like I’m more than just a faded memory left to haunt the people who made me this way. Like maybe some part of me is actually still alive.
I put a hand over my heart to feel the steadythump, thump, thumpof it. It’s a habit I got into after I left the hospital. Just a way to check every so often that I’m notreallya ghost, even if I feel like one. Even if most people look right through me.
Not Alessio though.
The surge of warmth that floods my chest makes my throat tighten and my pulse spike. I’m playing with fire. Not because Alessio is a Moretti, but because he sees me, even if I can’t understand why. Not once have I felt an ounce of fear sneaking around the Reapers’ clubhouse or cornering any of them in an alley, but the way Alessio looks at me is fucking terrifying.
I should leave. The possibility that the Morettis might be willing to help me finish off the Reapers isn’t worth the risk. But instead of bolting for the door, I find myself getting comfortable on the expensive leather couch, one foot up on the marble coffee table and an arm casually slung across the back.
I’m sitting exactly where Alessio was the other night when I peeked through the window, and that thought alone has my dick fully hard and aching for the wet, clenching heat of one of his holes. I groan and cup myself through my jeans, grinding the palm of my hand against the base of my cock for a few seconds of relief.
The sound of running water shuts off and I hear the pad of his footsteps. He must have taken off his shoes. I’m eager to see what else he’s already taken off. Just how impatient is he to have my hands and mouth all over his skin? It’s another minute before his footsteps finally start moving closer, and then he appears in the mouth of the hallway, stripped down to nothing but a pair of silk briefs, just like the night I broke in. They’rered this time instead of black, and I can already see a wet spot forming where the fabric is stretched tight across his cockhead.
Without a gun to my head this time, I have the chance to appreciate the view, from his pebbled brown nipples to the lean muscles of his thighs, the thick, dark hair on his chest and beneath his belly button. I squeeze my cock again and make an appreciative sound before raising my hand and crooking a finger at him to beckon him closer.
He doesn’t stumble over himself or hurry. His stride across the living room is confident and carefully paced, obedient without trying to appear overeager.
“Don’t put on a front for me, Alessio.” I use my foot to push the coffee table back, then spread my thighs to make space for him. “Having you play it cool doesn’t turn me on. Seeing you fucking needy and desperate does.”
With a small shudder, he drops the act and lets me see every ounce of submission and hunger in his eyes as he lowers himself to his knees in front of me. He has a bottle of lube and several condoms clutched in his hand. He sets the lube down on the floor and then meets my gaze with a mixture of surrender and confidence.
“I grabbed these in case it was a hard limit for you, but I prefer not to use them.”
A memory of his panted words from the last time I had him on his knees dances through my head. “Breed my throat. I fucking need it.”
I smirk and lean forward, bringing my face inches from his again. The lingering smell of booze is gone, replaced by a fresh, minty scent that doesn’t make my stomach clench or my skin crawl.