Page 22 of Until You Break

EMILIO

The door shut on the rooftop noise, leaving only the echo of his promise in the silence.

Damiano caught my wrist before I could think about flight, pressed me back against the wall, and bent close enough for me to taste the words.

“On your knees,” he reminded, low, filthy, final.

The crowd had roared for blood above us. Now he wanted mine.

My mouth opened, not to obey but to argue. “Those fights…what the hell was that? Do you always—”

His hand clamped my jaw, thumb digging until my lips parted. “No talking,” he said, velvet-cruel. “You want answers? Earn them. Strip. Crawl.”

I snarled, jerking my chin against his grip. “You can’t just—”

“I can. And I will.” His thumb smeared spit across my lip. “Knees, piccolino. Now.”

I should have fought harder. Every instinct told me to resist. But his eyes burned down on me, dark as embers, his black suit sharp against the dim light, his mouth curved in that smug, ruthless grin that both sickened and pulled at me.

His cologne, smoke and citrus, sat warm in the air from the climb upstairs.

My body betrayed me, pulse hammering, cock already half-hard.

I dropped anyway, not with obedience but with a flash of my teeth, daring him to lose a finger.

He only laughed, soft and pleased, settling back against the door like he had all the time in the world. He undid his jacket buttons with unhurried menace, loosened his tie, rolled his cuffs as if he were about to handle delicate instruments. Me.

My fingers fumbled with his belt, clumsy with nerves I tried to mask as fury. “You’re a bastard.”

“And you’re about to choke on me,” he said, freeing himself when I lingered too long. His cock sprang heavy and flushed, the head slick already.

I glared up, but the sight made my throat tighten.

“Lick.”

I dragged my tongue along the underside, slow, tasting salt and musk.

He hissed, his hand sliding into my curls, holding me just shy of where he wanted me.

I gave him the barest brush of tongue at the tip and pulled away, petty.

He clucked his tongue, amused, and pushed my head back down until my lips almost kissed the base.

“Good,” he murmured. “Now my balls.”

Shame burned, but I cupped him anyway, tongue teasing the heavy weight of them, licking, nipping lightly until his breath caught. His cock pulsed above my cheek like it wanted my mouth again. The vein along the side beat against my tongue when I dragged up slow.

“Christ,” he groaned, hips rolling forward. “Look at you, snarling while you worship me.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.” He pressed the head of his cock against my lips, smearing precum. “Open wider. Take it.”

He thrust in. I gagged, throat spasming. His grip tightened in my hair, forcing me to hold, spit slicking my chin. He paused there, cruelly deep, as if to measure exactly how much I could take, then eased out a breath and fed it to me again, slower, heavier.

“That’s it.” His voice was low and filthy. “Breathe through your nose. Look at me while you choke on my cock.”

I tried to close my eyes, but his other hand caught my jaw, thumb dragging down until my lashes lifted.

His ember-dark eyes burned through me, patient and merciless, pleasure and ownership twined together.

He stroked my throat with his palm, feeling himself slide in and out, and a pleased sound spilled from him like praise.

I sucked harder, dragging my tongue around the thick vein, hollowing my cheeks. He hissed my name, rough with possession.

“Good boy,” he whispered. “Now the slit. Taste me.”

My tongue circled the leaking head. He groaned, hips jerking.

His cock pulsed heavy on my tongue, veins ridged, skin hot.

I licked down the length, nipped lightly at the base, then licked back up, teasing the slit until his breath broke.

He let me set the pace for three slow strokes, then took it back, both hands in my hair now, using my mouth like he owned it.

Then he shoved me deeper. “Suck it messy. Show me you need it.”

I obeyed with a snarl, mouth hot around him again.

Spit dribbled down my chin, pooling at my collar.

He pumped his hips slow and cruel, pulling out until only the head filled my mouth before sliding back to the hilt, making me choke.

His balls slapped my chin with every thrust. Spit webbed from my lower lip to his cock when he dragged free, then snapped when he drove back in.

“Open your throat,” he ordered, stroking the bulge with filthy pride. “That’s it. Swallow around me.”

I clawed at his thighs, fighting, nails scraping cloth. He laughed, breath sharp, and held me there until my eyes watered. When he let me breathe, I surged forward first, sucking hard, because I hated that I wanted it and wanted it anyway.

“Look at you,” he said, feral-pleased. “Pretending you don’t love it while you drool on me.”

“Fuck—” I gagged around him.

“Yes.” His grin sharpened, tugging my hair to make me look at him. “If you keep sucking like that, I’ll finish down your throat.” He groaned, then shook his head, crueler still. “No. Not tonight. I’m going to come inside your ass.”

When he finally pulled free, spit and precum smeared my mouth. He caught my bottom lip between his fingers, pressed until it bloomed darker, then thumbed the mess across my cheek, grinning wider. “Stand up.”

I staggered to my feet. He spun me, bent me over the table, and yanked my trousers down in one brutal pull. Cold air hit me, humiliating, my cock flushed and leaking. The wood was cool under my cheek; my breath fogged the polished surface and left small crescents of heat that faded fast.

He pressed his palm over my cock, pinning me to the wood. “Already wet for me. Perfect.”

“Fuck you,” I rasped.

“You will.” His slick fingers spread me open. He teased first, rubbing spit over my rim, circling too long, making me squirm. He blew on it, obscene, cool air on hot skin, then traced the pad of one finger across me again until I shivered.

“Stop—”

“Beg for it.”

“Never.”

He pushed one finger in anyway. The burn stole my breath.

“Relax,” he ordered. “Let me in.”

I snarled, biting my lip, but my body gave. He curled his finger, pressing deep. My cock slapped the table, smearing precum. He watched the way my muscles gripped him and hummed approval, slow, maddening.

“Beautiful,” he murmured. “More?”

“No.”

“Say it.” He twisted, stroking until my vision blurred. He didn’t seek anything but the stretch; he wanted me to feel the invasion and recognize it.

“More,” I gasped, furious at myself.

A second finger slid in. The stretch doubled, sharp. I choked on a sound, shame hot as fire.

“Don’t hide it.” He pinned my arm when I tried to cover my face. “Every sound belongs to me.”

He worked me on two fingers until my thighs shook, slow in, slower out, twisting so I could not mistake how much he was taking. Then he stilled, poised.

“Third.” His voice turned low and cruel. “Say you want it.”

I shook my head, trembling. He worked me slow, then harder, until my back arched against my will.

“Say it, or I stop.”

“Fuck…fine. More.”

His smile ghosted my neck. “Good boy.” The third finger pushed in, slow and merciless. I hissed, body stretched to breaking. He scissored, withdrew a fraction, pushed again, patient as ruin. My legs shook.

He pumped me until I sobbed, hips pushing back despite myself, the stretch turning from sharp to something I could ride if I let it. I didn’t let it. I did anyway.

When he finally pulled his fingers free, I gasped at the loss. Then his cock pressed at my entrance, blunt, impossible.

“No—wait—”

“Shh.” His mouth closed on my shoulder, teeth sinking until I cried out. “Breathe. Take me.”

The first push split me, fire and pressure, my nails clawing the table. He groaned, deep and raw. “Christ, you’re tight. Mine.”

He pressed deeper, inch by inch, a slow, ruthless claim. My body clenched, then yielded. When his cock brushed that spot inside, I jerked, a cry tearing from me I didn’t recognize.

“There.” He stilled, savoring. “That’s your sweet spot.” He pulled back and fed it to me again, precise, cruel, generous. I cried out, not in pain but something worse, pleasure I couldn’t deny.

“That’s it,” he said, settling into a rhythm that felt engineered to unmake me, each stroke angled perfect. “Cry for me. Let them hear you.”

I bit my lip until I tasted blood, but every thrust dragged a moan out of me. My cock leaked across the table, each grind pushing me closer. My hips found his rhythm at the edges, fighting and following in the same shudder.

His lips brushed my ear. “Feel that? My cock owning your prostate. That’s pleasure, not pain. That’s me teaching you who you belong to.”

Shame and heat tangled until I sobbed, “Yes.”

“Say it.”

“You. I belong to you.”

“Good boy.” He kissed me, filthy and soft, then pulled almost all the way out before sliding back in slow, humiliating. “Hear that? Your ass already knows me.”

I whimpered, shaking. He laughed, thrusting deep again until the table rattled. He changed the angle and stars burned at the edges of my sight.

Heat coiled, unbearable. “I…I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” His hand wrapped around my cock, slick with my mess. “You come when I say.”

He tormented me, stroking slow while pounding my prostate hard. My body twisted, desperate, begging without words. His breath roughened at my neck, the heat of him a brand I would carry into sleep.

“Please,” I rasped, humiliation scalding.

“Now,” he ordered, voice sharp. “Come for me.”

I shattered, spilling across the table, body convulsing as pleasure ripped me apart. My cry broke high and wrecked. I couldn’t have stopped it if I’d wanted to. I didn’t want to.

He groaned, grinding deep, spilling inside me. His weight crushed me down, cock twitching until every drop filled me. He held there, burying the last of it with a low, satisfied sound that vibrated through bone.