Chapter 6

XAVIARO

Wild is packed when I step inside, working to pull myself together. My lips are still tingling with the memory of Sparrow's mouth on mine, and the sturdy wall of control I've spent a lifetime building brick by brick suddenly feels like a dam about to break. My cock won't stop throbbing from the memory of his hand around my throat, and it feels like there's a live wire under my skin.

I run my fingers through my hair to smooth it back and shrug my shoulders in an effort to get my suit jacket to fall correctly. It doesn't work. My jacket feels askew… I feel fucking askew.

I shake my head wordlessly and skirt around each member of the half-naked waitstaff as they approach me on my way to Enzo's table. I manage to pull a thin veil of indifference over the fracturing foundation of my control by the time I reach our usual table. It's not perfect, but it'll do for now. I can find out what's got the boss so on edge, and then I'm going to go over to Sparrows and tell him he can't tug at my seams without putting me back together again when he's done.

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.

He's alone at the table, but I'm a creature of habit, so I pull out my usual chair anyway and take a seat. He doesn't acknowledge me right away, his gaze fixed on the dancer currently up on stage, grinding and shaking his ass to some song with a pounding bassline and words like ‘tongue'and ‘dirty'in the lyrics. But it doesn't look like Enzo is really seeing the dancer. It's more like the bronzed ass framed by an electric blue thong is simply something to look at.

"Where's the fire tonight, boss?" I ask when I get impatient waiting for him to speak first.

He answers without looking away from the show on stage. "Shouldn't you already know that?"

I wince at his cool tone. "I've… been a little distracted lately." I keep my own voice passive, smoothing a hand over my sleeve and quickly calculating just how badly I've been dropping the ball in recent weeks. It's possible I've been more lax than usual with my collections, opting instead to spend my time following a certain little bird around the city.

The dance ends and Enzo finally turns his head to look at me, his eyes roaming over me silently for several seconds. I've spent a lifetime honing the skill of never squirming under pressure, but tonight it's a damn near impossible task to remain still while he probes me with his gaze, taking me apart piece by piece.

He picks up a folder resting on the table and tosses it towards me. I catch it before it can slide off the smooth surface, and flip it open. There's a stack of photos inside and all of them are of me. Pictures of me sitting in my parked car, staring off into the distance with timestamps showing days and times I should have been working. I push those aside and find another set, these ones are of me disposing of Velcro's body last week. There are enough that you could turn it into a flipbook of my fuckup.

Getting rid of the body wasn't a fuckup, but not mentioning anything to Enzo certainly was.

If I were anyone else, my heart might be pounding right now and my palms might be sweating. I lay the pictures down and calmly close the folder again.

"Should I have left the body in the alley? I figured it was better to get ahead of a potential problem rather than wait for it to fester," I ask with a blank expression. "And since when are you having me followed? Is this some new policy to get more involved in all of your employees' lives, or is this special just for me since we've been friends for so long?"

"Cut the shit, Xav," he says, dropping the cool, formal tone. "Look, I've never been up your ass about what you do in your personal time. When I took over, I told all of you that it wasn't going to be like it was before. Fuck who you want, how you want. But when you're blowing off work to play stalker lapdog, it's my business. And yes, we have been friends a long damn time. Which is why I'm a little fucking pissed that you're hiding shit instead of talking to me about it."

Another tan, toned dancer wearing nothing but a jockstrap saunters up to our table with a sway in his hips and his eyes fixed eagerly on Lorenzo. I'm half convinced that most of the men who take this job do it because they're hoping to land the gorgeous, closed-off head of the Moretti crime family as their husband. As usual though, Lorenzo waves the man off with barely a glance, but not before tucking a generous bill into his waistband as a parting gift.

When we're alone again, I lean back in my chair and look across the table at Enzo.

"Catch me up here. Am I getting Daddy's belt because I've been dropping the ball on collections, or because you're pissy that I didn't pass you a note in class about my new crush?"

My flippant question earns a snort, followed by another flat look. "Both," he mutters, but the way he says it makes it clear it's mostly the latter. He tugs on his tie to tighten it and sits up a little straighter, blowing out a breath as he runs a hand along his lightly stubbled jaw.

"After he broke my nose, I was… curious about him," I confess what I probably should have told him weeks ago. "So I've been keeping an eye on him."

"Keeping such a good eye on him that you're cleaning up his sloppy murders," he notes dryly.

"Murder," I correct, an idea sparking in my mind. "He's got a vendetta against the Sleepless Reapers."

He hums in the back of his throat, making a face like he smells something bad. It's exactly the reaction I was expecting, and hoping for.

"I don't see talking him out of it," I say casually.

"Well, certainly not with your tongue down his throat." His lips twitch with an almost-smile.

I clear my throat and press on, not about to get sidetracked thinking about the kiss again. "They've been a thorn in our side for years," I remind him. "The meth empire they've been slowly building is bound to bring the feds around sooner rather than later. And I know you don't like their reputation for sexual assault any more than I do."

Enzo nods. "So what are you proposing?"

I shrug. "Sparrow is angry. He's emotional."

"Fragile like a bomb," he murmurs knowingly.

"Exactly. But if I give him a hand with things, it will limit the potential for disaster. If we can get the Reapers scared enough of everything that goes bump in the night, they might clear out of town. Sparrow gets his revenge, we get a Reaper free city. It's a win-win."

He doesn't look totally convinced, but he sighs and tilts his head in acceptance. "But," he hedges immediately, "this is unofficial in every capacity. The last thing we need is all-out war with a bunch of methed-out Neanderthals. Keep this thing free and clear of Moretti fingerprints."

I grin, and one of the waiters walking by stops to gawk for a moment at the rarely seen expression on my face before hurrying off, just in case it's a precursor to murder.

"You got it, boss." I push my chair back from the table. "That all?"

"That's all," he says. "Just… be careful."

I'm not sure if he means with the Reapers or with Sparrow, but I nod either way. I'm a big boy, I can take care of myself.

There's only one thing on my mind as I leave the club, heading straight for my car and speeding out of the parking lot into the night. Sparrow might think we're done talking for tonight, but I'm far from finished. We still have a few things to straighten out.

SPARROW

I pace my apartment like a caged lion, ping-ponging back and forth between pissed and horny. How dare Xaviaro interfere with my revenge plot. Who does he think he is? Just because he's some Mafia hitman, doesn't give him any right to stick his nose in the middle of my business.

Also though, I feel like a novice chef who didn't realize Gordon fucking Ramsay was eating in his restaurant. Xaviaro must have a long list of notes on what I could have done better. Obviously he took issue with my lack of body disposal, but what about the rest of it? Did he find my virgin act skillful or too amateurish? What about the technique itself? Sure, I took Shit Stain out with a single well-placed stick, but that doesn't mean there isn't room for improvement.

I groan at myself, slumping over the counter in my kitchenette and banging my head gently against the cool surface.

I don't care what he thinks. And I don't care about the heat that simmered in his eyes when I had my hand around his throat. Nope, nope, nope.

I push myself up again and absently sweep my tongue along my bottom lip, sparking a hollow, needy ache all the way down to my toes. What if I hadn't run away? What if I had wrapped Xaviaro's tie around my hand and used it like a leash to drag him back here and put him on his knees?

The ache radiates to my cock. It's been hard and throbbing since the second I slammed the hitman up against the door and put my hand around his throat. I can still feel the way it vibrated against my palm with every word he spoke, his eyes fixed on me the entire time like nothing else in the world existed.

I shove one hand down the front of my jeans, a whine slipping from my lips as I grab myself roughly. A few strokes only ramp up my frustration. I don't want to be jerking off alone in this rat-infested apartment. I tug my hand free and stride over to the window.

No matter how many times I open it to climb out onto the fire escape, it still resists and groans every time. I curse and struggle with it for a minute. If that sexy, subby stalker hitman has been following me for weeks, then he must be out there in the dark now. If he's so fucking obsessed with me, if he's so desperate to do me favors I never asked for, then he can come inside and do me a fucking favor.

The window finally slides open with a screech of protest and I thrust my head out into the night.

"Xaviaro," I bark his name, squinting into the shadows of the alley below to see if I can spot him anywhere. "I know you're out there," I call when there's no response the first time.

A sharp rap at my door makes me jump, slamming the back of my head into the window. I hiss and pull myself all the way back inside, rubbing my head as I make my way over to the door. It's probably a delivery driver with the wrong apartment number or my neighbor from across the hall who's developed a habit of popping over to ask to borrow a cup of crack. It doesn't matter how many times I tell him I don't do drugs, he always seems to forget. Or maybe he thinks I'm lying and I just don't want to share.

I undo the deadbolt, fling the door open, and for the second time tonight, I'm struck silent by the sight of Xaviaro Saviano.

"You rang?" he asks, arching an eyebrow and leaning against the doorframe.

My mouth goes dry instantly as I rake my eyes over him. He looks just as put together as he always does, but I swear there's something else simmering under the surface. Maybe it's the slightly unhinged glint in his eyes or the uncharacteristically casual way he's standing. That kiss got to him. I got to him.

I know I told him to stay the fuck out of it then ran away from him earlier, but he doesn't seem at all put off by the mixed signals when I grab his tie like I was daydreaming about a few minutes ago, and drag him inside. The door swings closed behind him as I wrap his tie tightly around my fist and slam my mouth into his again.

His lips part easily, pliantly… obediently. I moan and suck his tongue into my mouth the same way I want him to suck my cock—with eager strokes and greedy enthusiasm. Xaviaro makes a broken, horny sound that vibrates inside my mouth as he stumbles after me, led by one hand around his tie and the other threaded roughly through his hair.

Maybe something really did come loose inside my brain when my brother died. I have no business getting mixed up with the Mafia. I came to Wildcliff to get revenge against the men responsible for Benny's death, and then, hopefully, go back to some semblance of a normal life. I haven't thought too hard about how that will be possible given what I had to do to get here, to this moment in time, but I'm pretty sure getting involved with Xaviaro will be counterproductive to that goal.

But I can't make myself stop kissing him. I can't make myself untangle my fingers from his hair or from around his tie. I can't make myself stop coaxing muffled, breathless sounds from him with my tongue around his. I can't make myself stop, and I don't want to. I don't think he wants me to either.

I break the kiss, my chest heaving, and look into his eyes, seeing the same untethered feeling that's rising inside of me reflected back. His lips are damp and swollen, his normally stoic expression completely undone. I did that to him. The power of that thought courses through me like a shot of adrenaline, making my cock jerk and throb, eager for the heat of his mouth.

"Did you come over to kill me or to play?" I ask.

His kiss-bruised lips twist into another brief smile and a rumble of laughter works its way through his throat. "What do you think, Little Sparrow?"

I grin and give his tie a sharp tug. I drag my tongue along the bridge of his nose, feeling the flattened spot where it didn't heal quite right.

"I think that I like to play rough, and I'm not sure you're up for it," I warn.

He meets my eyes without flinching, fresh heat dancing in his gaze. "Try me."

My balls tighten and a shiver runs down my spine. "On your knees." I add the weight of authority to the words, letting the heady feeling of taking control course through my veins.

His eyelids droop and his lips part on a moan. Xaviaro doesn't hesitate, dropping to his knees without bracing for impact or slowing himself down, and without wincing when he hits the wood floor. Then he tilts his head up to meet my gaze again. His dark eyes soften, flickering with a vulnerability I'm not sure he wants me to see.

The big, bad Mafia enforcer, turned to a pile of quivering flesh by three simple words. Three simple words spoken by me. It's a thrill I didn't know I was craving until this moment, and one I'm not sure anyone else will ever be able to match.

"Good boy," I purr, gauging his reaction as I yank his tie again. His pulse flutters in his throat, speeding up immediately. He says thoughts of his own death don't get his heart racing, but apparently being called a good boy does. "Safeword?"

"Unicorn," he answers, and I let out a single laugh.

"Unicorn it is." I untangle my fingers from his hair to drag them over the visible bulge between my legs. "You want to choke on my cock, don't you?"

Xaviaro's eyes track the motion, his lips parting on a quiet moan. He nods absently, and I wind my hand one more time around his tie, yanking him closer and getting his attention back on my eyes.

"Words, please," I command.

His eyes cloud with needy pleasure. "Yes…" He pauses to lick his lips and I can practically see him weighing the next word on his tongue. Savoringit. "Sir."

My cock jerks and a hot flush works its way over my skin.

"Good boy," I murmur a second time, just as enthralled by his reaction as I was the first time. I stare down at him for a few seconds, putting together all of the pieces that lead up to this exact moment, doing my best to prove to myself that this isn't just a wet dream. If I wake up in five minutes humping my pillow, I'm going to be seriously pissed.

Then again, I haven't dreamed of much except murder lately. Even if this is a dream, it's a much-needed one.

I unwrap his tie from around my hand. The expensive silk is already wrinkled from the rough handling, just like the man it's attached to. Why is there always something so satisfying about messing up things that look perfect otherwise? Maybe that's why there was such an odd thrill about blowing up my life after Benny died.

I shake off the thought and run my index finger over Xaviaro's lips, tracing the shape of them and feeling every warm puff of breath he exhales. I work his tie free with my other hand, tugging carefully until it hangs loose around his neck. I slide it off him and devour the sight of him again, his hair standing up wildly, his olive cheeks darkened with arousal, his pants straining to contain his erection. Seeing him so undone grounds me. It gives me purpose and keeps my mind clear, in spite of the way I'm suddenly hyperaware of everything, from the feeling of my clothes against my overheated skin to the white noise of the traffic outside.

I hang his tie around my own neck, then slip both my hands under his suit jacket, dragging them over his firm chest and up to his shoulders, feeling the way his muscles tremble invisibly under his clothes. The button came loose during our initial kiss, so the jacket slides off easily, exposing the leather holster strapped just under his left pec. Xaviaro doesn't move a muscle aside from the almost imperceptible quiver that he can't seem to control.

How many men has he gotten on his knees for like this? How many men has he submitted himself to? I have no right to wonder, but the question burns itself into my brain like it's made of acid.

I push his jacket farther down his arms, moving to stand behind him so I can arrange him exactly the way I want. Even the back of his shirt is perfectly crisp, clearly ironed just before he put it on this morning. The only spot that's disturbed is where his holster rests, bunching the shirt unnaturally.

"Hands together," I instruct, and he clasps them behind his back obediently, seeming relieved to be given an easy task so he can show just how well he can follow directions.

I run one hand between his shoulder blades while I twist up his suit jacket with the other to keep his hands in place. I check his fingers and test my improvised binding to make sure it's not too tight but that he can't get loose easily without my help. Then, I stand up behind him again and wrap both of my hands loosely around his throat from behind.

I bend over to bring my lips to his ear, the scent of sandalwood and sweat tickling my nose and making my cock throb again. "Do you trust me?"

His pulse is fast but even under my palms. I can feel the bob of every breath and swallow that works its way through his throat.

"Yes, Sir," he answers, and his words rock something deep inside of me, making my bones and organs twang with reverberations.

"Why?" The authority in my voice slips for just a second.

"I don't know," he answers, sounding just as confused as I am.

I clear my throat and tighten my grip for a moment, barely enough to interrupt his breathing as I brush a kiss against the sandpapery stubble on his jaw before letting go and coming back around to his front again. I'm not sure how I've held myself together this long when all I want to do is unzip and force feed him my cock. I want to fuck his face until I spill down his throat. I want him to think of me for days after I send him home with marks around his wrists and his throat sore from the rough treatment.

A dribble of precum trickles from my slit and dampens my underwear at the thought of it. I want him to think of me anytime he touches himself or lets anyone else touch him. I want to mark him up in ways that linger longer than bruises can.

I've been spiraling for so long with nothing to grab on to, and for some reason, Xaviaro's eager submission is the anchor I didn't know I was looking for but that suddenly feels as vital as breathing. Even if this is a one-time thing, it's a one-time thing we both desperately need.

I get on my knees in front of him with a wicked grin forming on my lips. Our height difference seems a lot less extreme from this angle, with his face not far from mine, his chest coming within an inch of mine each time it expands with an intake of his breath.

"Have you been thinking of me?" I ask, even though I already know the answer. I want him to say it out loud anyway. I need to hear the quiver of neediness in his voice.

I comb my fingers gently through his hair for a moment, remembering the bruises around his eyes that I never got a proper chance to make up for before they faded. Even though they're long gone, I lean in and press a soft kiss against the spot under each of his eyes.

Xaviaro's breath catches and then speeds up. I'm worried he's about to have a panic attack, but then he settles and nods.

"More than I should, Sir," he answers.

"That makes two of us," I murmur, kissing one cheek and then the other, working my way down towards his lips.

His chest hitches again, his pulse and his breathing going wild from the gentle treatment. I talked a big game about being rough and here I am kissing him like he's made of fine china. But if he's disappointed, it doesn't show. Besides, I intend to make up for it before I send him on his way.

He lets me sweep my tongue between his lips again, stroking and teasing it slowly over his while I work his belt open and undo his pants. My cock aches with every painfully slow movement, but the muffled whimpers he feeds me make the torture more than worth it, building the tension that works itself tighter and tighter in the pit of my stomach, desperate for release.

I reach into his pants, unsurprised to find his boxer briefs feel like they're made of the same expensive silk as his tie, and that his cock lives up to every bit of his big dick energy. It's almost too thick to wrap my fingers all the way around, sweltering hot and pulsing in my grasp. My hole twitches and my mouth waters.

He makes a choked sound around my tongue, his muscles all tensing and quaking as I give him a few leisurely tugs. Other than that, he still doesn't move. He doesn't buck his hips or struggle to free his hands. He doesn't even beg. If anything, Xaviaro melts for me, leaning into me and softening his mouth even further, wordlessly offering me anything I want.

My heart pounds and every inch of my skin tingles as I rub myself up against him like a cat in heat. I grind my throbbing erection into his thigh and stroke him even slower as I wind my tongue around his again. With my free hand, I reach up to tug his tie from its resting place around my neck. I break the kiss and he lets out a shuddering breath as I stop stroking him and start to wrap the tie around his cock.

"Dirty Little Sparrow," he says in an uneven voice like he's barely holding himself together. That's okay, he doesn't have to hold himself together. That's my job for the next half hour or so.

I chuckle, then nip at his bottom lip. "It's still ‘Sir'for now," I remind him, paying attention to how tightly I'm winding the tie around him, working my way up to the thick purple head.

"Dirty Little Sparrow, Sir," he corrects.

"That's better." I grin and run out of material to work with just as I cover the tip. I encircle him with my fingers again, the smooth slide of the silk making my strokes that much easier. I can feel the heat of his cock even through the silk, and the way the thick veins along his shaft flutter with his racing heartbeat.

Xaviaro's chest heaves as I get to my feet, his silk encased cock jerking and twitching involuntarily as he struggles to keep himself still. Standing over him again, I grab his jaw roughly, just like I did in the alley before I kissed him earlier. His eyes are hazy now and his cheeks are even more flushed than they were before. He looks fucking beautiful like this. All mine. For tonight, anyway.

"You can come when I do," I tell him, undoing my own pants and shoving them down around my thighs, letting my long, slim cock swing free in front of his face.

He whimpers and nods, opening his mouth like his greatest wish in the world is to be my favorite fuck toy. I moan and give myself a couple of slow strokes, threading my fingers through his hair again.

This whole night has been more than enough foreplay as far as I'm concerned, so I don't waste another second before taking what's offered and thrusting into his warm, willing mouth.

"Fuck," I groan loudly when my cock hits the back of his throat and his muscles constrict around me with his attempt to swallow. I hold myself there for a minute, feeling the flutter of his throat around me and the stroke of his tongue along my shaft as he slowly runs out of oxygen.

His eyes roll back with pleasure and his cock starts to jerk wildly again before I ease out and let him draw in a breath. His nostrils flare with the inhale and his eyes find mine again. The same vulnerability is back and I'm not sure what to do with it. All I know is that it's making me feel strangely protective of a man who's clearly more than capable of protecting himself.

I fill his throat again, snapping my hips forward with a rough, jarring thrust this time. Xaviaro's moan vibrates around my cock, and he laps and slurps at my length even more enthusiastically. I have no idea if he's more eager for my orgasm or his own, and it doesn't really matter. Good boys can have both.

I grab his hair in both fists now, using it like reins to fuck harder and deeper. I shed the gentleness from a few minutes ago in favor of the rough treatment I promised him that he seemed so eager for. Saliva and precum dribble from the corners of his lips as I find a punishing rhythm, filling him over and over again, my balls bouncing against his chin with every thrust.

The sound of his eager slurps and muffled pleasure are almost as good as the feeling of his hot, wet mouth suctioned around my cock. Electric heat pools in my gut and spreads between my legs, tightening my balls with every snap of my hips. The tie around his cock darkens at the tip, soaking through with his precum as his thighs quiver and his eyes lose focus.

I fuck his throat faster and faster, animalistic sounds tearing from my chest as my muscles tighten and my balls constrict fully. I can't make myself look anywhere but Xaviaro's face, an expression of pure, blissful calm making his features slack. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I did that for him.

That thought sends me over the edge with a shout, slamming my hips against his face as my cock swells and then starts to pulse, waves of pleasure making my knees weak as I spill down his throat. I gasp and grunt, dragging my cock over his tongue with small, uneven strokes. Xaviaro shivers and groans, swallowing every drop I feed him with that same relaxed look on his face, until I sag on my feet and brace my hands against his sturdy shoulders.

I let my head hang while I catch my breath, my eyes catching on the flood of thick cum oozing through the fabric of the silk tie around his softening cock. Another hot quiver runs through me and I drag my own flaccid cock against his lips once last time. His tongue chases it, catching my oversensitive head with the tip and drawing a hiss from between my teeth.

He lets out a raspy chuckle, leaning in and resting his forehead against my stomach. I card my fingers through his hair while I catch my breath. His shoulders move up and down with each of his gradually slowing breaths.

Without the benefit of lust clouding my mind, the reality of everything settles around me. Am I in over my head? Even if I am, do I have any desire to save myself?

I grab Xaviaro's hair a little tighter and tip his head back so I can see his eyes again. They're sharper now, the haze of sex and submission starting to fade. But the vulnerability hasn't been locked away just yet. It sends a final little shiver through me, this one settling in my chest and making my heart ache with the absolutely insane thought that this man somehow needs me.

Maybe part of me needs him too.

But Benny still needs me more.