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If barstools could develop ass grooves, this one would be perfectly shaped to my glorious, rock-hard posterior.
Not that giving up control is always a bad thing. It’s all about context, and let’s just say that I don’t trust whiskey to respect my safeword.
Criminals and lowlifes in Wildcliff have a few flattering nicknames that they whisper behind my back. The Grim Reaper, Sudden Death… Although most just mutter, “Oh shit,” under their breath when they see me coming.
Would it be inappropriate to propose to a man while he’s in the middle of threatening someone’s life? It would be a hell of a story to tell at our wedding, if nothing else.
Maybe a marriage proposal is too much, but what’s the etiquette on buying a man a drink after stopping him from cutting out someone’s tongue with a broken bottle?
It might be an inappropriate first thing to notice about the man whose nose I just broke, but rawrrrr.
The only thing I’m worried about is getting an eye for an eye. It’s not my fucking problem if the whole world is blind when I’m finished.
Pretty little Sparrow. Angry little bird. I’ve always been a sucker for that feral kind of beauty, more thorn than rose.
The most feared man in the city, Lorenzo ice-in-his-veins Moretti stands in the doorway wearing a pair of red pajama pants with little Dalmatians all over them and nothing else.
“You swing both ways, don’t you, Dante?” Alessio asks conversationally. “Violently, with a bat, from what I hear,” Sal pitches in, and Dante’s smile simmers, his eyelids drooping as he gives Sal a fluttering kind of look. “Careful with the sweet talk, baby. Unless you plan to put a ring on it.”
Who are you, Little Sparrow? Will you let me close if I promise to be everything you need? We could be so beautifully dangerous together. Until then, I’ll keep watching.
I’m a well-oiled machine, but you’re a goddamn hurricane, beautiful and violent, leaving a path of destruction in your wake.”
At first glance, Enzo looks relaxed, with his tie loosened, one leg crossed over the other, and an arm stretched out over the empty seat beside his. But I’ve known the man long enough to know that relaxed is one wrong move away from unhinged. In public, anyway. He prefers to come across as in control at all times when it comes to people outside of his inner circle, so it’s never a good sign when he lets the mask slip.
“Sparrow is angry. He’s emotional.” “Fragile like a bomb,” he murmurs knowingly.
“I want to wear a collar of your bruises, Little Sparrow. I want marks on my wrists and tenderness all over my skin to remind me of the places you’ve touched me. I want to be owned and used. I want to be a vessel for someone’s pleasure instead of everyone’s pain, just for a little while.”
“I want you to see all the ugly parts of me and accept me for them. But mostly, I just want to let go and trust that everything will be okay.”
“You’re a sweet little murder marshmallow, aren’t you?” I tease gently, and he lets out a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a choked sob. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”
I’m ten kinds of fucked in the head and there are a million ways this whole thing could blow up in my face, but whatever happens, there’s one thing I know for sure—I will fucking kill anyone who tries to come between me and this man.
“I’ll give you a three-minute head start. You’d better run.”
“You’re so perfect,” Sparrow praises me again in between tongue-heavy kisses. “So beautiful, so strong, so fucking good for me.” Each one of his purred words vibrates inside of me. “You’re mine, Xaviaro,” he growls, and stars dance behind my eyelids. He snaps his hips faster, rutting against me harder and more desperately. “And if anyone else ever touches you again, I’ll break their fingers one by one. Mine.”
For some reason, that just makes me like Sparrow even more. He’s a spitfire. He’s unpredictable and exciting. He’s chaos to my order, and maybe I should be worried about how much I already need him, but it’s too late. He’s in my veins and under my skin, and no matter what happens next, I’m already his.
“You really have been nice to me this whole time. Even when I’ve been a pain in the ass. Why?”
“It’s because I like you, Little Sparrow,” I whisper.
“I kind of like you too,” he confesses, and a grin tugs at my lips. “Thank fuck for that. Otherwise the stalking and kidnapping would’ve been way out of line.”
“You’re secretly a slob.” He picks up the toothpaste tube and waves it at me accusingly. I scoff. “I am not a slob. I was in a hurry this morning.” It’s a lie, my bathroom always looks like this, but how dare he accuse me of being a slob. I shudder at the thought.
He’s right, he has owned me since the second I laid eyes on him, but that goes both ways. He’s mine too, and there’s nothing I won’t do to keep him. There’s no death or destruction that wouldn’t be worth it in Sparrow’s name.
He would hunt me down if I ever left? He wouldn’t have far to look. I want to live under his skin. I want to handcuff myself to him so I can make sure there isn’t a second in his day when this stone cold, needy, perfect man is going unworshipped.
Waking up as the big spoon to a big, tough mobster who’s purring softly in his sleep is a kind of fucking heaven I probably don’t deserve. But it’s one I’ll claim all the same.
“Murder thoughts should never come before coffee,” Xaviaro murmurs in a sleep-rough voice.
“I would do absolutely filthy things for a cup of coffee if you’re really desperate for a way to take care of me this morning though.”
His easy shift from submissive boyfriend to Mafia hitman with ice in his veins is boner inducing to say the least.
“Can men be cunts?” Elio asks, tilting his head curiously like a little puppy. “Sure they can. That’s sexist, man,” Salvatore argues. “How is it sexist?” Elio frowns. “Women can be dicks, men can be cunts. You’ve gotta break your gendered thinking,” Alessio says, tapping his temple for emphasis.
“I thought you were the one who wears the leash in the relationship.” The image of Sparrow leading me around by a leash and collar sends a spike of heat through me.
Will he ride me again tonight? Tie me to the bed and fuck my throat until he’s shaking and sweating with pleasure? Bind my hands and tease me with his tongue in my hole until I’m begging for release?
“Must be something in the water around here, because all our compasses point north,” Salvatore says. “Is north gay?” Elio cocks his head. “Sure,” Alessio says, managing a completely serious expression. “North is gay, south is straight, east is bisexual, and west is Ace.”
