“No need for a promise of food?”
His eyes widen and he waves his hand when suddenly the glass slides between his fingers, hits the hard floor, and breaks. Shards of glass spread around as a drop of blood appears on the side of his bare foot.
“Fucking pain in the ass,” I grumble, taking another long sip of whiskey before hauling him on my shoulder. My leather boots make crackling and smashing noises over the glass on the floor as I take him to the kitchen island. He starts to wiggle, so I spank him, and he yells.
“Such a feminine scream,” I sneer.
“What’s wrong with being feminine, anyway?” He punches my back.
I set his ass on the counter after wiping the surface with my arm, making the discarded, empty food boxes fall on the floor. Then go get the first aid kit and my glass of whiskey.
“Nacho! Please don’t let him go near the broken glass.” His worried tone makes me sigh. I grab the dog by the scruff and lock him in the bedroom. When I’m in front of him again, I lift his foot and place it on the island.
“It’s just a small cut, I’ve had much worse,” he reminds me, trying to pull his foot away.
I don’t let him. I know he’s gone through worse; I’ve seen his back. And even though I’m trying so hard not to, I want to know who did it. Because I know it couldn’t have been consensual. Art is not a masochist. I tilt my glass and let some liquor fall on the wound.
“Ouch!” He hisses, grabbing my wrist and digging his nails into my skin. That just reminds me of the half-moons he left on my shoulders when I fucked him into the mattress.
“Is this your idea of torture? Why don’t you give me a nice paper cut, too, and some frozen milkshake brain freeze?”
I ignore his nonsense. “There’s no shard of glass in the wound.”
“I know it’s just a scratch. Haaaa!” He screams in surprise, losing his balance when I lift his foot in the air toward my face.
I smirk at him. His response is a murderous glare, which turns into a shocked expression with a hint of desire when I start blowing on the cut. The Band-Aid won’t stick if the skin is wet.
“Push your thumb against the roof of your mouth,” I say, letting his foot back down on the counter. “My mother taught me that.”
“What?”
“It helps with brain freeze,” I explain. There’s a box of Band-Aids in the first aid kit, and I use one to cover the cut.
“That’s mine,” I tell him when he lifts the glass near his lips.
“I know. Mine is too far.” He points at the coffee table.
“You always do what you want?” I drop my hands, palms slapping on the counter on each side of him.
“Asked the kidnapper,” he whispers, leaning toward my face, his darkening gaze on my lips.
I know that seductive smile he’s giving me. He’s bright-eyed, snarky, and bushy-tailed most of the time, until he turns into a provocative vixen.
If he wants to play, I’m in. I need to vent my long-lasting anger and frustration, so why not do it on his ass? The other two Enzinos are unreachable, so this one will do for now.
“Entertain me,” I demand, walking to one of the two chairs near the counter. I take off my jacket and toss it on the island, then I light one of my cigars and grab the whiskey bottle, taking a seat. Waiting. Eyes on my toy for the night.
He bites his lip and then slides down the counter until he stops right in front of me—if I stretch my arm, I can touch him. I take a sip from the bottle as he starts to spread his legs slowly, uncovering a pair of white panties with a black bow on each hip. His hand pulls the t-shirt’s fabric up until I can see the veins of his hard cock through the lace.
“You need to do better than this.” I tsk, even though I can feel my shaft slowly growing inside my boxer briefs.
He glowers, muttering something, surely a curse at me. I watch with interest as he pulls his t-shirt over his head, showing me another body chain, more delicate-looking than the others, and only covering the upper half of his chest.
His fingers slowly brush the strips of metal until they reach his sexy panties again. He pulls at the strings on one side, loosening the knot, then the other side. The lace slides down, releasing his hard dick, head slick with pre-cum.
Fuck! He rubs a finger over it and then leans toward me, stroking my lower lip with it. My lips part, and I close them around it, biting down hard. He curses while I growl at the first taste of his intimate essence. How can it be sweet?
My mouth lets go of his finger, and he moves back. His ass is on the edge of the counter, feet planted on my knees. His poutinglips and narrowed gaze are focused on me as he grips my necktie and pulls. He doesn’t let it slip all the way down my neck, but just takes the length he needs. There’s a little blood on the fabric, but he doesn’t seem to care when he wraps it around his dick and starts jerking off with it.