Page 40 of Madness & Mercy (Deadly Sins #1)

Luca steps further inside, papers rustling. He starts talking dates, routes, names, numbers. I can barely process any of it. My whole body’s screaming—throat on fire, chest burning as I swallow around him again and again, trying not to choke loud enough for Luca to hear.

Nico strokes a hand over my hair, deceptively gentle, before tightening his grip and shoving me down harder. My eyes roll, vision going spotty, tears streaming down my face. I can taste his heat filling every inch of me while I shake, helpless.

“Any issues with the port?” Nico asks evenly, like his voice isn’t vibrating down into my skull, like my throat isn’t clenched tight around him right now.

“Minor,” Luca replies. “But taken care of. The contact expects payment by Friday.”

My chest convulses, desperate for air. My nails dig into his thighs. He doesn’t let up, shifting his boot, grinding down harder until I bite back a sob. Humiliation floods me hot and sharp, arousal entwined with panic until I can’t separate them anymore.

“Good,” Nico murmurs. “Keep him in line. Anyone who crosses us—” He cuts off, yanking me all the way down again until my throat seizes tight around him. My vision blurs, stars popping behind my eyes. “—ends up like the others.”

“Understood,” Luca says. His voice is steady. He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know I’m here, on my knees, choking on his boss, every gasp broken and wet. He doesn’t know how close I am to losing control, to giving myself away with some humiliating sound I won’t be able to stop.

Nico pets my hair once more, almost fond, before shoving me back down again, deeper, harder. His boot grinds cruelly, and I can’t stop the muffled noise that escapes me this time; half whimper, half strangled moan.

Luca pauses for the briefest second, then keeps talking. He doesn’t notice. Or he pretends not to.

And Nico… Nico just smirks above me, his eyes fixed lazily on his right-hand man, as if nothing in the world is out of place while he keeps me gagging, breaking, on my knees under his desk.

After what feels like a goddamn eternity, Luca finally leaves, the door clicking shut behind him. The second he’s gone, Nico’s grip on me loosens. I collapse back, dragging in air like I’ve been drowning. My throat burns, chest heaving, lips wet.

“I’m impressed,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with amusement, his expression darkly satisfied. “You’ve got talent, piccolino.”

I swipe my hand across my mouth, glaring up at him. “You’re fucking insane.”

His eyes flick down, and that smug grin curves his lips. “And you’re still hard.”

My dick throbs, as if to prove his point.

“Be honest,” he presses, tilting his head like he’s studying me under glass. “You like the idea of getting caught, don’t you?”

The words sink into me like hooks, my pulse spiking as my neck heats. “Why the hell would I like that?” I growl.

Nico doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he closes the distance, his grip firm as he tilts my chin up until I can’t look anywhere but at him.

“Because you’re mine,” he whispers, the words brushing against my skin like fire.

God. I hate how much my body reacts to that tone, to his voice wrapping around words I don’t even understand.

“I don’t even know what that means,” I mutter, my voice rough.

He leans in close enough that his lips graze my ear.

“It means you’re my little whore,” he whispers.

The words hit me like a gut punch, stealing the air from my lungs. My body reacts instantly, betraying me in ways I can’t hide. Nico’s smirk deepens against my skin.

“Ah,” he drawls softly, voice soaked in satisfaction. “There it is.”

“Fuck you,” I grit out, but my voice trembles.

He chuckles, a low, dark sound that vibrates through my body. His thumb drags over my jaw, almost gentle, though it pins me in place. “You can curse me all you want, cucciolo. But your body tells the truth.”

My face burns, shame and need warring together.

I still think he’s hiding something. Maybe everything. And one day, I’m going to drag it all out of him. But right now, all I can think about is how much I want him.

“So what—you gonna fuck me over the desk or something?” I mutter.

Nico smirks. “That depends… you want me to?”

I stay silent, heat burning its way up my throat. My gaze flicks to the side, to anywhere but him. But he’s not having it. His hand comes up, fingers gripping my jaw, forcing my gaze back toward his.

“I’m gonna need an answer, amore mio,” he murmurs. “You want me to bend you over my desk and fuck you until you can’t think straight?”

My throat works. I swallow hard, pride falling to pieces. I nod.

That’s all he needs.

Nico rises from his chair, unhurried as he unbuttons his black shirt one snap at a time. His eyes never leave me, and the look he gives me makes my pulse stutter.

My knees fall weak as I stand, bracing myself on the sleek black desk. The surface is cool beneath my palms, a sharp contrast to the heat flooding my veins. Papers scatter at my touch, but Nico doesn’t care.

He grips the waistband of my pants, tugging them down in one smooth motion along with my boxers. The air is cold against my skin—until his hand comes down, firm on my hip, grounding me.

From the side drawer, he pulls out a bottle of lube and a box of condoms.

I snort. “Do you keep that shit in every drawer?”

He laughs, bringing his palm down hard on my ass. The sharp crack makes me jolt.

“Easy access,” he teases, slicking his fingers before pressing one inside me.

A sound breaks from my throat before I can choke it back. My body arches into him, betraying me, craving more. Goddamnit… maybe it’s the position we’re in, but he’s already driving me insane.

Files still clutter the surface beneath me. My eyes dart down, trying to distract myself, trying to breathe, to not let him see how quickly he’s unraveling me. But then his mouth is at my ear.

“You wanna see the files?” His voice is a devil’s whisper. He flips one open and slides it in front of me. “Go ahead. Read it.”

I glance at the words, letters swimming, but before I can focus, he smacks me again, harder this time. My breath catches.

“Out loud, amore mio.”

I bite down on the inside of my cheek, trying not to give him the satisfaction of a sound. My knuckles go white against the polished black surface of the desk. He slides another finger in, and I can’t hold back a groan this time.

“Read,” he murmurs, shoving the file closer to me.

The words blur for a second. I blink hard, forcing them into focus. The page is dense with lines of typed text, numbers in neat columns. Shipments. Dates. Locations. All so fucking ordinary in his world and impossible in mine right now.

I swallow, my voice shaky. “S–shipment… uh, twenty crates… p–port of Livorno, Monday…” My breath hitches when his fingers curl inside me, hitting that spot that makes my knees buckle.

“Keep going,” Nico says, his tone silk and steel all at once.

My eyes dart over the page. “U–uh… weapons inventory… three Kalashnikovs, two—f–fuck—two cases of ammo…” I squeeze my eyes shut, but his hand smacks my ass, sharp enough to sting.

“Eyes on the page, cucciolo,” he orders, tightening his grip on my hip.

I force them open, reading through the blur. My voice cracks. “Contact… n–name, De Rossi… p–payment… wire transfer due—ah—due by Friday…”

He twists his fingers just right and I jolt forward, my hands slipping on the desk.

I gasp, my chest pressed against the cool surface now.

“S–shipment… ah—s–scheduled for inspection… d–dock five, c–container number—” I can barely drag the words out between broken breaths, each one catching on the tremor in my throat.

Nico leans in close, his lips brushing my ear. “You’re doing so good for me. Keep reading.”

The file shakes in my hands. My voice is wrecked, stammering over every word. “C–container number 417… m–manifest… falsified… contents listed as… c–construction equipment…” My breath stutters, my chest heaving against the edge of the desk.

“Good boy,” he murmurs, dragging his teeth lightly over my jaw. “Even when you can barely think straight, you still do what I tell you.”

He pulls his fingers out slowly, dragging against me in a way that makes my whole body seize from the loss.

I hear the sharp tear of foil behind me, then the slick sound of latex sliding down. He‘s taking his time, like he knows exactly how badly I want this and is savoring the power. My fingers curl into claws against the desk, nails biting into the surface.

“Forget it,” I mutter, the words strained, my voice cracking under the weight of my own desperation. “Just… fuck me already.”

His laugh is low and dangerous, the sound of someone who’s already won.

“Such a needy little whore,” he murmurs, the words coiling hot through my chest.

Then he’s right there, the head of his cock pressing against my ass. My whole body tenses, spine bowing as I brace myself. The first push makes me jolt forward, a sharp gasp spilling from my lips.

He doesn’t rush. He eases in with steady pressure, stretching me wide, inch by inch, until my jaw aches from grinding my teeth. My breath breaks on every shallow pull of air, heat crawling up my neck, all the way down my chest.

“Relax,” he says softly, mockingly, one hand pressing down on the small of my back, keeping me pinned. “Take me, piccolino. You can handle it.”

The words drag another moan out of me. My body burns, fighting to adjust, but the deeper he goes, the more something inside me unwinds, loosening under the pressure.

By the time he bottoms out, I’m shaking, forehead pressed to the desk, nails carving deeper into its surface.

Nico doesn’t give me time to catch my breath. His grip on my hip tightens, and then he pulls back just enough before slamming back in. A raw moan tears out of me. The stretch, the burn, the sharp crack of his hips against my ass—it’s as overwhelming as it is addictive.

“Fuck—” The word rips out of me, strangled and desperate. My throat works uselessly for more air, my chest caving under the weight of sensation.

Nico laughs low in his chest as he leans over me.

“Already falling apart for me, piccolino? I’m just getting started.”

He drives into me harder, faster, setting a brutal rhythm. Every thrust shoves me forward, my knees threatening to give out, my fingers clawing for purchase on the desk that offers none. My cock grinds against the cool surface, every drag making me twitch uncontrollably.

“Listen to you,” he murmurs against my ear, his breath hot on my skin. “Moaning like you were made to take this cock. Say it. Say you’re mine.”

My teeth sink into my lip hard enough to sting. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction, but then his pace shifts, angling deep, hitting that spot inside me that makes white fire lick up my spine.

“Say it,” he growls, slamming into me with each word, until my eyes water and my throat burns from holding back the cry building up inside me.

My pride shatters in the same instant my voice does.

“I’m yours,” I gasp, broken and trembling. “I’m—fuck, I’m yours.”

His hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back so I can’t hide my face. His other hand slides down, pressing hard against my cock trapped against the desk. I buck violently at the contact, my body begging, surrendering to his touch.

“Good boy,” he whispers. “Now come for me.”

I shatter. Helpless and wrecked, my release spills hot against the desk as my whole body convulses around him, every nerve fried and trembling with overstimulation.

Nico doesn’t stop. He fucks me through it, drawing out every shudder, every broken sound, until I’m nothing but a ruined mess spread over his desk.

By the time he finally pulls out, my legs are useless. I slump forward, chest heaving, sweat dripping down my temples. My arms feel like lead, trembling so hard I can barely keep myself upright.

Behind me, I hear the rustle of clothes as Nico adjusts himself. A low hum escapes him, satisfied and smug.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his hand sliding possessively down my spine. “Completely ruined. Just like you asked me to.”

I groan, too wrung out to bite back. My body aches, every nerve raw, but he’s right. Some sick, twisted part of me wanted this.

Nico grabs a towel from a cabinet, wipes me down with infuriating care, then pulls my pants back up for me like I can’t do it myself. His fingers linger on my waistband before he steps back.

“You’ll stay out of trouble now, won’t you, piccolino?” he asks.

I turn my head just enough to glare at him over my shoulder. “Fuck you.” My voice cracks, wrecked and hoarse.

He chuckles darkly, leaning in to kiss the corner of my mouth. “Already did.”

Heat creeps up my neck, but before I can fire back, he’s straightening the scattered files on his desk as if nothing happened. Like he didn’t just break me over it.

“Go get cleaned up,” he says smoothly, already sinking back into his chair and reopening the laptop. “I’ve got work to do.”

My fists clench, torn between storming out and crawling back onto his lap like a damn addict. Instead, I push off the desk, my knees still weak, and drag myself toward the door.

Before I leave, his voice follows me, calm and commanding.

“Don’t forget, amore mio—you’re mine.”

The words stick to me like chains as I step into the hall, my body still trembling, my mind a mess of frustration, shame, and—fuck me—desire.

This isn’t just reckless anymore… it’s dangerous.

And something tells me there’s no turning back.