Page 46

“Antonio, please,” he gasps.

I brace one hand against the trunk beside his head and take his chin in the other, tilting his face toward the faint light reaching us from the motorcycle.

His lower lip is split, with a thin smear of blood at one corner of his mouth, his glasses are sitting crookedly on his nose, and his hair is disheveled. Tears have left damp tracks down his cheeks, and he's still breathing hard from the chase, his chest rising and falling against mine as he stares up at me.

I straighten his glasses with my thumb, then brush a tear from his cheek before letting my gaze rest on his injured lip.

He looks fucking delicate like this

Mine.

“You think you have a choice here?” I growl, pressing the butt of my Beretta against his sternum. Alexander goes rigid beneath my hand as he looks up at me through his crooked glasses. “You think you can leave me a fucking note and I’ll let you be? Have you learned nothing in the three months since you met me, little stripper?”

His lips tremble, and tears gather in his eyes. “I can explain,” he says, his voice barely carrying over the rustle of leaves around us.

I withdraw the Beretta and tuck it into the waistband of my trousers. “You’re going to get double the punishment. Once for lying about Trenton and again for leaving today when I didn’t tell you you could.” I feel his cock twitch in his shorts, and he gasps. I step back from him with a smirk. “Remove your clothes.”

The evening air is warm for May, and we're deep in the woods that the distant sounds of The Bloodrot have faded entirely. The motorcycle stands beside us, its headlight casting a narrow beam across the trail, while the trees around us are little more than dark shapes against the night sky.

He stares at me without moving, his fingers curling into the hem of his shirt. “Antonio…”

“Remove your clothes, little stripper.” I say, my voice low and firm. “I won’t tell you again.”

Alexander begins undressing with unsteady hands, pulling his shirt over his head before dropping it onto the leaves at his feet. The moonlight filtering through the branches illuminates his pale skin as he removes the rest of his clothes. When he's left standing in his underwear, he folds his arms across his chest, his jaw tightening as he looks at me.

I raise an eyebrow, and he lowers his arms and drags down his trunks. His cock is fully hard, his balls hanging heavy and dusted with brown patches of hair.

I take the bottle of lube from my pocket and toss it to him, but he doesn't catch it, and it lands beside his feet. “Prep yourself.”

Alexander looks down at the bottle without making any attempt to retrieve it, then lifts his chin and fixes me with a glare. I remove my gun from my waistband and train it at him before tilting my head to the bottle. His eyes narrow behind his glasses then he bends to pick up the lube, straightening with it clenched in his hand.

“Bend over the bike,” I tell him.

Alexander moves to the Diavel and folds his body over the seat, gripping the handlebar closest to him. He pops the cap off the bottle and squirts some onto his index finger before moving his hand between his thighs, and I watch the flush spread from his neck to his cheeks, vivid even under the low light. When he pushes the finger inside his hole, his breath hitches and he bites back a moan, but he doesn't stop glaring at me through his crooked glasses.

His anger makes him beautiful, and his desire makes him devastating.

My cock hardens inside my trousers as I watch his finger move in and out of his hole. When he adds another finger, his knees buckle and he grips the handlebar tighter, and throws his head back as he bears down on his fingers, a look of pure ecstasy on his face.

I remove my clothes and discard them on the ground before moving closer to him. “Stop.”

He freezes at once, and he slowly withdraws his fingers, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he turns his flushed face to me . “Get on the bike.”

Alexander looks down at my cock, then lifts his gaze to my face and shakes his head. “It’s going to hurt.”

I gesture with my gun. “Climb.”

His entire body trembles as he climbs onto the Diavel, placing his hands against the fuel tank to steady himself. I climb on behind him, keeping both feet firmly planted on the ground, the motorcycle shifting beneath our combined weight. I lift his legs one at a time and draw them back until they rest against my thighs. He has the good sense to brace them against mine without being told.

I wrap the hand holding my Beretta around his throat and use the other to run my cock up and down his crack before pressing inside his hole.

Alexander cries out, his hands slipping against the smooth surface of the tank. “I need more prep, it hurts.”

I feed him another inch of my cock, and his cries dissolve into whimpers and shuddering breaths as he takes it. When I move past the tight ring of muscle, I drive forward in one thrust and bury my cock deep inside him.

His body jerks and I catch him before he can lose his balance. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” he gasps through gritted teeth.

I pull out to the crown of my cock and drive back in, the Diavel shaking beneath the force as my hips strike his ass repeatedly. A broken sound tears from the back of his throat, but it only spurs me on, the pleasure intensifying with the grip of his tight hole around my cock.