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“What do you want?” I ask him, my head lolling back against the couch as I stare up at him. “You,” Silvano answers easily. “At my side, at my feet. Bound and obedient, hanging on my every word.”
“Kyran, I have never once cared what you wanted.”
“Do you want me to whip you? Flog you?” I give him a sad smile. “Maybe I should hold a gun to your head and fuck your ass.” That’s what I’d done the first time I fucked him. Complete with zip ties, too.
Anybody else would have given up. Anybody else would have taken literally any other man, one who was easier, less dangerous, actually available. But no. I’d had a taste of Kyran, and no matter how many other lovers I took, the only one I ever truly wanted was him.
Everybody would want to give you a quick petting, of course, because they’ve never seen anything so exotic as you. A big, bad, submissive bruiser.”
“Professionalism is for people like Lombardi who want to kill both of you,” Evan says cheerfully. “Would you rather me be professional or good at my job? You don’t get both. I don’t have the attention span.”
If he wants to stop this, it’s entirely in his power. It’s always within his power. He has the height, weight, and skill on me physically, but we both know it’s not the physical aspect that ensures I maintain control over him when we’re together.
“I really, really wish we could be together, Silvano. I do. But stories like ours? They don’t have happy endings.”
So I lean in and kiss him because what the fuck else am I supposed to do? It’s only fair that this baptism of blood, this terrible stage of my life, begin with a kiss to the enemy.
Fuck my family, fuck their “values,” and fuck the mob for being so goddamn homophobic.
“I don’t know, Silvano,” I hedge. “You don’t have to know,” Silvano answers easily. “Because I already made the decision. You just have to do as I say. Just… submit.”
