The Mafia's Obsession novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Hit Me Again

The fight turns into the first night, and afterward Silvio finds a folder of photos of himself.

The punch landed square on Vittorio's jaw, and his head turned with it.

Silvio's knuckles burned.

Vittorio touched his lip, looked at the blood on his thumb, and smiled.

"There he is," he said.

Silvio swung again with the left, and this time Vittorio caught his wrist and turned.

The wall hit Silvio's back hard enough to knock the air out of him.

Vittorio pinned both his wrists above his head with one hand.

His body pressed full length against Silvio's, hot and solid, and Silvio felt every inch of him.

"Again," Vittorio said against his ear. "Hit me again."

"Let go of me."

"Say it like you mean it."

Silvio said it, and he did not mean it, and both of them knew.

His hips had already moved forward without asking him.

Vittorio's thigh slid between his legs, and Silvio's cock, already hard, pushed against it through two layers of wool.

A sound came out of his throat.

"There," Vittorio murmured. "That's what I thought."

"I hate you."

"I know."

Vittorio kissed him, and it was nothing like the chapel.

It was open and wet and hungry, his tongue sliding along Silvio's, the taste of blood and mint in both their mouths.

Silvio bit his bottom lip, hard, and Vittorio groaned and ground against him harder.

The groan went straight to Silvio's cock.

He pulled at his wrists, not to get free, but to get his hands on that wide back.

Vittorio let go.

Silvio grabbed his shirt with both fists and tore the buttons off.

They skittered across the floorboards.

"Good," Vittorio said, breathing hard. "I'll buy more."

He pushed Silvio's jacket off his shoulders and dragged his tie loose.

He undid the shirt, one button at a time, slowly, with his eyes on Silvio's face.

Silvio's chest rose and fell under his hands.

"Beautiful," Vittorio said, and it sounded like it hurt him to say it.

Silvio didn't know what to do with that, so he reached for Vittorio's belt.

His fingers fumbled with the buckle.

Vittorio watched him do it, then pulled the belt out of the loops himself and let it drop.

He put his mouth on Silvio's neck, just under the ear, and sucked hard enough to leave a mark.

Silvio's head fell back against the wall.

"Mark me," he heard himself say. "Go on."

"I'm going to mark all of you."

Vittorio's teeth scraped down his throat to his collarbone, then lower, and closed over his nipple.

Silvio swore and thrust his fingers into that black hair.

Vittorio's hand pulled open his fly and shoved his trousers and briefs down in one move.

His cock sprang free, flushed and wet at the tip.

Vittorio wrapped a big warm fist around it and stroked him once, slowly, from the base to the head.

"Fuck," Silvio said.

"Soon."

"Now."

"Not yet."

Vittorio worked him with a slow, tight grip, thumb sliding through the wet at the tip.

Silvio's legs trembled and his nails dug into Vittorio's scalp.

"Stop teasing me."

"You haven't earned it."

"Vittorio."

It was the first time he had said the name.

Vittorio went still, and then he made a rough sound and took his hand away.

Silvio nearly cried out at the loss.

Vittorio picked him up by the thighs, and Silvio's legs went around his waist.

He carried him across the room and dropped him on the bed.

Silvio bounced once and propped himself on his elbows, naked from the waist up, trousers around his knees.

Vittorio stripped in front of him without any hurry.

Shirt, undershirt, trousers, until nothing was left but broad shoulders and a hard stomach.

His thick cock curved up against his belly, dark and heavy.

Silvio stared.

"Like what you see?"

"Shut up," Silvio said, and his voice cracked.

Vittorio grinned, took a bottle of oil from the nightstand drawer, and knelt over him.

He pulled Silvio's trousers the rest of the way off and tossed them over his shoulder.

"Turn over."

Silvio rolled onto his stomach.

He had been with men before, but not like this, and not in years.

None of them had looked at him with such starving hunger.

Vittorio's hand pressed flat between his shoulder blades.

"Stay down."

"Make me."

A low laugh, then the cold slide of oil between his cheeks.

A thick finger circled him, pressed, slid inside.

Silvio gripped the sheets and pushed back onto it.

"That's it. Take it."

A second finger joined the first, stretching him slowly, crooking to find the spot that made him gasp.

Silvio's whole body jerked.

"There?"

"Yes. Fuck. Yes."

Vittorio did it again and again, until Silvio was rocking back on his hand and begging into the pillow.

"Please. Vittorio. I need you in me."

"Say it properly."

"Fuck me. Please. Fuck me."

The fingers left him.

The blunt head of Vittorio's cock pressed against his hole, and Silvio held his breath.

Vittorio entered him slowly, one inch at a time, a hand on each hip.

It burned and it filled him, and Silvio bit the pillow to keep from shouting.

"Breathe," Vittorio said, his voice shaking. "You feel incredible. God, Silvio."

Silvio breathed, and his body gave.

Vittorio sank to the hilt and stayed there, trembling, his forehead against Silvio's spine.

Then he pulled back and thrust in again, hard, and Silvio saw white.

The bed hit the wall.

Vittorio set a punishing rhythm, deep and rough, one hand fisted in Silvio's hair, the other gripping his hip hard enough to bruise.

Every thrust drove Silvio's cock against the sheets.

"Mine," Vittorio growled in his ear. "Say it."

"No."

Vittorio slammed into him again.

"Say it."

"Yours," Silvio gasped. "Fuck. Yours."

"Good boy."

Heat poured down Silvio's spine at the words, and he hated that he loved them.

Vittorio reached under him and wrapped his fist around Silvio's cock, stroking in time with each thrust.

It was too much.

Silvio came with a shout, shaking, spilling hot across Vittorio's hand and the sheets, his body clenching around the cock inside him.

"Fuck," Vittorio said. "Silvio. I'm going to..."

He drove in three more times, deep and ragged, and then he came with his teeth sunk into Silvio's shoulder, pulsing hot inside him.

They collapsed together.

For a long time there was only breathing and the crackle of the fire.

Vittorio rolled onto his back and pulled Silvio against his chest.

Silvio let him, because he was too tired to fight, and because the arm around him was warm.

Vittorio fell asleep first.

Silvio lay there with the bite on his shoulder throbbing and told himself he would leave in the morning.

At some point he got up to find water.

He opened the wrong drawer of the desk by the window.

There was a manila folder inside, thick, with a rubber band around it.

The top photo was of a boxing ring in the Providence Armory.

The boxer in it, nineteen and bleeding from the eyebrow, was Silvio.

He turned the next page.

There were dozens, taken over years, of his fights, his gym, his father's funeral.

In the funeral picture a younger Vittorio stood at the back, in a black coat, looking at nothing but Silvio.

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