Page 135 of Madness & Mercy

“You gonna keep begging?” he whispers, his hand sliding down to cup me through my boxers. “Gonna tell me what you need like a good little traitor?”

“Yes—yes,please—”

“Then use your words,bello.” His mouth hovers just over mine. “Tell me exactly what you want from your king.”

“I want you to touch me,” I pant. “I want you toruinme.”

He chuckles darkly, fingers already tugging at my waistline, breath warm against my lips.

“Oh, I will.”

I barely have time to breathe before he grips my chin and tilts my head up, forcing my eyes on his.

“You wanna beruined,piccolino?” he murmurs, his voice thick with promise. “Then you know where you belong.”

His thumb brushes across my lips.

“On your knees.”

My legs give before I even think about it. It’s not obedience—it’s gravity.Need.I slide down the wall like I’m crumbling, and maybe I am. By the time I hit the cold basement floor, I’m shaking, breathless, high on the sound of his voice and the heat still clinging to my skin.

I look up.

Nico towers over me, his black shirt wrinkled from my fists, jaw tight, eyes storm-dark. His chest rises and falls like he’s barely holding himself back, but he doesn’t move.

He watches me kneel in front of him, as if waiting to see if I’ll regret it.

Idon’t.

I lean in, trembling hands going to his belt. “Please,” I whisper, not even sure what I’m begging for anymore. “Ineedyou.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, jaw clenching harder. “You need me?” he echoes. “You mean that,piccolino?”

I nod. “I mean it. I need you to—fuck—I need you touseme. Like you said, I’m yours. I don’t care what you do to me, just…” I choke on this next part.“Don’t send me away.”

That’s when something cracks behind his eyes. Something deep.

“Look at you,” he growls, threading a hand through my hair. “Beautiful little liar, begging for absolution with your mouth already open.”

His thumb presses into my tongue and I let him, eyes fluttering closed at the taste of him, salt and skin and dominance.

“You ever get on your knees for him?” he asks.

“No,” I whisper against his fingers. “Only you.”

He curses under his breath and undoes his belt with his free hand, like he’s daring me to forget who’s in charge. Like hewantsme to.

“You wanted to play with fire,cucciolo,” he says, guiding himself toward my mouth. “Now open up andburn.”

I take him in slow at first, my hands gripping his thighs for balance, cheeks flushed with heat and shame and something deeper.

He groans, low and guttural, one hand fisting in my hair while the other guides my chin. He sets the pace—harder, deeper, unforgiving—and I take it.All of it.My eyes water. My throat burns. My jaw aches, but I keep going. Iwantit to hurt. I want to feel the sting for days.

“Fuck,”he pants, his hips thrusting forward in a brutal rhythm. “You’re so fucking good like this. This pretty little mouth made for me. Mine.Mine.”

Every time he says it, something inside me breaks further, and Iwantto be broken. I want to shatter in his hands and let him decide which pieces are worth keeping.

He uses my mouth like he owns it, no hesitation, no mercy. Every thrust is a punishment, a reminder of just how gentle he’d been before. My body betrays me fast, hips twitching, throat clenching, tears rolling down my cheeks as I choke around him. I can’t stop the mess I’m making—on him, on the floor, on myself. Then he grinds his boot down on my cock, adding pressure that shatters me completely.