Chapter 11

Shay-Lee

"Look who's here," the sexy man I waited for said.

Taking the Negroni the bartender just placed before me, I turned to meet Nero's dark eyes checking me out from underneath his Gatto mask.

With his back leaning against the bar and his strong arms crossed over his impressive chest, I took a moment to appreciate how hot one man could look. Unlike the other male Gatti in the club, who, when not naked, wore suits, Nero went for a black tank top, which he tucked into slacks of the same color. I loved how the fabric of the pants traveled down his strong legs and suited his long, sculpted muscles.

"Missed me?" I teased with a crooked smile before bringing the crystal glass to my mouth and taking a small sip from my cocktail. Ah, that's high-quality vermouth.

"Not at all, but I wondered where you'd disappeared to. It's been three days since you played that little game with Rojo."

"Rojo?" I gave him a raised eyebrow.

"The Gatto you thought would make me jealous."

"Oh, yeah, him. Well, it worked, didn't it?" Picking the orange slice out of my drink, I put it in my mouth and sucked the juice out of it. "Mhmm." Taking the peel out, I licked my lips clean. "After all, here you are, wondering where I've been for the last three days. A bit obsessive for a straight guy, isn't it?"

"Again with the straight guy?"

"Oh, right." I rolled my eyes. "Forgot you're not actually straight. You just have a rule about not sleeping with men. Why is it, by the way? I mean, if watching my dick made you hard, why not give it a try?"

Shifting his position so now one of his hands was on the bar while his big body blocked me from the room, he leaned closer. "Aren't you snarky?"

Having him this close affected me more than I would like to admit. It wasn't just his proximity but the heat radiating from his body, the scent of cigarettes I would have hated on anyone else but him, and his confidence. He was so goddamn confident, and it was blowing my mind away.

"I'm always snarky."

"That's right, Llorón."His eyes darted to my mouth. "But that's part of your charm."

When a half smirk pulled on his lips, I wanted to punch him in the face. He had no right to be this hot while refusing to fuck me.

"Have you seen Dion? I came here for him." I made that clear despite it being a complete lie, but knowing how curious Nero was about my relationship with his boss, I decided to provoke him.

"Why do you insist on playing games?"

"'Cause they're fun."

"They're pointless."

My lips curved mischievously. "Pointless is me having this conversation with you. If you're not going to fuck me, what's the point?"

Examining me as if I was some sort of an enigma, he shook his head. "Why is everything about sex with you?"

Rolling my eyes, I put my glass back on the bar. "It's a fucking sex club. People come here for sex." Not in the mood to argue, I moved to walk away, but he moved with me, stopping me from taking another step. He could have just grabbed my arm, but he didn't. It made me notice how, despite standing so close to me, not once did he touch me. The only time he laid a finger on me was that night, when he hooked his thumb underneath my chin and forced me to look up. Other than that, he kept his hands to himself.

"But you're not like the others who come here."

It was true. I wasn't like any other client in this club. But instead of asking him why he thought I was different, I said, "You never touch me."

"I'm sorry?"

"Right now, you moved your whole body to stop me from walking away when you could have just reached for my arm. And thinking back, I don't remember you ever touching me. Why?"

"I never asked for your permission."

His answer, so logical to the point of being a joke, filled me with shame. How damaged could I be that him respecting my body and my boundaries made me doubt him? Maybe because I didn't have any boundaries, I assumed others didn't as well. My self-respect was ripped out of me years ago, and receiving it in the last place I expected it confused me.

"Is everything okay?" Nero asked when I'd been quiet for too long. Repelled by my own promiscuousness, I didn't know how to act, so I did what I knew best.

"You can touch me whenever you want. I don't give a shit."

His eyes looked at me with sadness, as if he detected the lie slipping through my lips, which only worsened my shame and increased my anger.

"I've had enough from you." Trying to get away from him, I stepped back, but I'd forgotten that the bar was behind me and bumped into it. Typically, it wouldn't have mattered, except that my back was still injured from when my father tossed me over the weight rack. The sharp pain shot through my body like lightning, causing me to wince. Noticing my reaction, Nero quickly reached for my side to steady me.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I hissed because it hurt like a motherfucker. This stupid injury was why I hadn't shown up in the club or at school for the past three days.

Before I could tell him to let go, Nero slightly lifted my shirt to expose my back. I wanted to push him away, but my head was resting against his chest, and it felt so good being there, so right.

"Who did this to you?" His voice, low and dangerous, shocked me to my core. Why did he care?

"No one." I tried to push out of his protective embrace, only for him to hold me closer.

He was finally touching me. Not just touching me. Nero was hugging me, and it felt good, too good for something that shouldn't be right at all.

His eyes locked on me. "Was it Dion?"

"What?" My brows pulled close, which only increased his anger. "No!" I quickly clarified. "God, no, it wasn't him."

He finally released my body, and I stepped back. "Why do you even care?" I asked while straightening my clothes after he messed them up by grabbing me. Mostly, I did it so I could calm down my racing heart. Why was I even reacting this way? It wasn't like I had never been touched by a man before.

If only that were the case.

"Come." Nero grabbed my wrist and started to lead the way.

Trying to keep up with his pace, I whined from behind him. "What the hell? What's gotten into you? And where the fuck are we going?"

Diesel

"You're fucking nuts."

"Just shut your mouth and lie on the goddamn bed."

"Don't tell me what to do," he hissed, and I tried to hold back a laugh because his protests made him sound like a feisty kitten. "I'm not going to let you massage my back like some creep."

Having had enough of his ranting, I took two steps and closed the distance between us.

"What?" he snarled as I reached him.

"You're fucking annoying," I said, bent down, and lifted him like a princess.

"Put me down," he squealed while trying to hit me.

Ignoring his pointless protests, I walked us both to the bed and then carefully placed him on the edge. "Clothes off."

"Excuse you?"

With a crooked smile, I repeated myself. "Clothes. Off."

He huffed and puffed but then started taking off his clothes. But the bastard didn't just get undressed. He stripped, and the guy sure had the talent for it. First, he unbuttoned his silk blouse, then began removing his pants. While slowly sliding them down his beautiful legs, the loosened shirt also slipped off his wide shoulders and hit the floor right next to his ankles. Next, he stepped out of his loafers until he was left in nothing but a pair of white briefs and the mask on his face.

"What now?" He tilted his head, his voice impatient.

"Lie on your stomach."

"Could we at least pretend you're about to fuck me?" he complained while climbing up on the bed and flopping down.

"Do you ever shut up?"

"No."

A weird essence of familiarity suddenly hit me, and I tried to figure out why. Something about the annoying way he enjoyed teasing me felt familiar. It wasn't the first time his behavior awoke this recognition. He reminded me of someone. And although the name of that person sat on the tip of my tongue, it wasn't enough for me to make the connection with anyone I knew. Maybe I was imagining it to explain away this intense draw I had toward him.

No, knowing there was no chance I had ever met my Llorón before, I dismissed the errant thoughts away, climbed into the bed beside him, and pulled out a small container from my pocket. Before coming to this room, which was one of the private suites in the club, we made a quick stop in the Gatti salon, where I took this cream out of my bag.

"It smells like mint," he said as I sat back on my heels, opened the lid, and put it aside.

"Because it's made out of peppermint and aloe vera." Shifting closer to have better access to his back, I took a moment to examine him.

Lying on his stomach, with his arms tucked under his head, he looked like a work of art, with his golden waves resting on his shoulders, tanned skin, and defined muscles. He shone so bright that he lit the dim room with his beauty. But what made him truly unique were the dark bruises decorating his smooth skin. They turned him human. Mortal. And it was fucking gorgeous. Up close, I managed to spot more bruises that almost vanished. They were foggy but were still there.

He tried to peek over his shoulder, so I pushed his head down. "Don't move."

"But you're too quiet."

"I'm trying hard not to hit you."

He laughed, and it was so rich and full of life. "Seriously, though, what's that shit you're holding?"

Putting a generous amount of the cream on my fingers, I touched his back and carefully applied the ointment to his skin. At first touch, he winced, but as I massaged his skin and the lotion grew warm, he relaxed.

"It's a pain-relieving cream I make myself. I find it very helpful." Since his muscles were warm, I applied more pressure, ensuring his blood vessels soaked everything in.

"You made it yourself?"

"Don't move." I forced his head down again. "Yes, I did."

"That's fucking amazing. How?"

"I know how to brew simple stuff like this. Mi madre taught me."

"Your mom—ugh."

Worried that I used too much pressure, I stopped. "Did I hurt you?"

"Nah, it's fine," he hummed. "So, your mom?"

"Yeah." Thinking about her brought a faint smile to my face. "She was into naturopathy… I grow plants, thanks to her."

"Holy shit, you're telling me you're a plant daddy?"

A plant daddy?

"You're ridiculous."

He shifted a bit on the bed. "I think it's hot. So, you're close with your mom?"

"She's dead."

"Oh." He paused. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be. It happened years ago," I said, trying to make him feel better, which was completely unlike me.

"Still… the pain never really goes away, right?" As if he knew what I was about to ask him, he continued. "My mom died when I was twelve. Not a day goes by without me thinking about her."

"I'm sorry."

"Look at us, bonding over grief. Who would've believed it?" He laughed, and I understood it was his way of changing the subject. "So why carry pain-relieving cream in your bag?"

He really did never shut up.

"For the scar I have on my back. Sometimes it hurts."

"That's right. I noticed it when I watched you dance. It's nasty."

I chuckled. "Thanks."

"It's also hot."

"Is there anything about me that isn't?"

"Your mask." His fingers tangled with the sheets. "It's stupid."

I agreed the masks we had to wear were bothersome and uncomfortable, but they gave us anonymity.

"Think about it this way. Without it, we wouldn't be here having this conversation."

"Why's that?"

"It's because I'm a faceless stranger that you feel safe enough to talk with. And vice versa."

"To be fair, I want you to fuck me, but you keep insisting on talking, which is boring, by the way," he complained in his snarky tone that, apparently, turned me on.

It appeared I had a thing for brats.

"So, how did you get your scar?"

"If I tell you, you need to tell me something in return."

"Who's playing games now?" he laughed. "But sure."

"A dog attacked me when I was a kid."

"Oh, shit. That must have hurt."

I tried not to laugh because it more than just hurt. Using her teeth and claws, the animal ripped me to shreds.

"Now, your turn. Tell me how you got that bruise?"

He was silent for a moment as if to consider whether to lie or not, but then spoke. "Ask me something else."

Not wanting to push, I accepted his request. "What made you come to the club?"

"I was bored. That's pretty much it," he said quietly, but I had a suspicion there was more to it than that. "What about you, how did you get into this field?"

"Nah, you already had one question."

He grunted and kicked his legs on the mattress before stretching his body and mumbling something under his breath.

"How do you know Spanish?" he asked.

"I told you, you already had one question."

He pouted his lips and looked awfully cute. With a chuckle, I answered him. "I'm Colombian. Although I was born and raised here."

"I knew it," he said proudly. "I just knew you were Colombian."

"So why ask?"

Looking at me over his shoulder, he gave me a mischievous grin. "Because I can."

Fuck, he's sexy. So sexy that even though the ointment was already completely soaked in, I still couldn't bring myself to remove my hands from his smooth skin. Instead, I massaged his lower back, my fingers almost sliding underneath the waistband of his briefs and going straight to his firm, tempting ass. Checking it out more carefully, I licked my lips. His ass was fucking perfection, all round and perky, ready to be spanked.

Fuck, now I was hard. Instead of listening to common sense and letting him go, I slid my hands from his shoulders down to the small of his back. The move made him moan, and the sound went straight to my hardening cock.

"Can you do that again? It felt so good." The way he almost begged me to repeat the movement, with his lips parted and his face half sunk into the mattress, turned on a switch inside me. Without thinking, I reached for his briefs and pulled them down until he was left naked. He didn't say a word and remained silent as I moistened my hands with more cream and started to massage all of him. His firm globes felt so damn good and fitted perfectly in my palms. Squeezing them in a way that was purely for my pleasure made him moan, and I loved how deep and throaty his voice was.

"Fuck," he groaned as I slid my hands up and down his body, digging my fingers into his flesh, admiring every inch and curve.

"It's unfair." His breath caught.

"What is?"

"You, touching me so gently," he panted. "It's unfair."

For a moment, I forgot where we were. I forgot about my rule and him being a client. I forgot about all the damn warning signs and common sense. But that was all that it took. One moment of weakness, and I had him sitting in my lap, naked and aroused. Shit, he felt good.

No.

He felt fucking perfect.

"What are you doing?" he asked, out of breath.

"Looking at you."

And I did. I examined every inch visible on his body, wishing the mask wasn't there, covering parts I so desperately wanted to see. From his deep blue eyes that looked like they captured the world inside to the beauty spot above his pink nipple, rosy complexion, and hairless skin. Usually, I didn't mind if my partner waxed, shaved, or went for a full bush. It was their choice, and I respected that. Yet, looking at his clean, hairless skin turned me on, especially with the mouthwatering porn-star tan line he had.

I pulled him closer, and his body pressed against my dark clothes, creating the most beautiful contrast. I fucking loved the idea of him naked while I was fully dressed.

"I'm going to touch you now."

His eyes grew wide, and his lips parted. And the fact he was surprised I asked for his permission, his consent, crushed my heart.

He nodded.

It was a shy and hesitant nod that didn't sit well with his sassy nature, but it was real. It was honest.

Moving my hand between us, I wrapped my fingers around his thick length. It was the first time I'd held another man's dick in my hand, but it wasn't odd or repulsive. Not even close. It turned me on so much, making it clear I wanted more of this man.

"Nero." His Adam's apple bobbled as he swallowed back his words.

"What?"

"Your hand."

"What about it?"

"You—" He let out a soft moan. "It feels good."

"Yeah." Leaning closer, I bit on his earlobe. "I know."

Saying it felt good would be an understatement. Holding him this way felt euphoric. It was like capturing a piece of heaven in your hands and trying desperately not to let it slip away.

Crossing his arms around my neck, he held on to me as I jerked him off. My palm, still moist from the cream, eased the friction as I rubbed him from the tip to the base and then again. Gasping with pleasure, he thrust his hips as much as he could, fucking into my tight fist.

Captured behind the zipper, my cock was on the verge of exploding, and the lewd sounds coming from Llorónonly made it harder to tame myself. But I had to. Despite my fist milking his sweet dick and how it made my whole body burn with an unfamiliar desire I craved to explore, I wasn't about to fuck him. Why? Because this moment wasn't about my pleasure but his. And pounding his sweet hole the way I ached for was too damn dangerous. The way he stirred my insides without even so much as trying was addicting, and he wasn't an addiction I was willing to risk. Yet.

"Oh, fuck," he groaned.

"You like that, don't you?" Biting my bottom lip, I smirked. "Fucking into my fist like a dirty little slut."

"Y-yeah, God, yes."

Pressing my lips to his neck, I slowly dragged them over his skin, feeling his pulse underneath my touch before biting him, breaking the skin and causing him to moan with pain.

"Look at you, so fucking wet for me," I said, my lips brushing the fresh mark I left on his neck as I moved my hand over the crown of his cock, collecting his precum to use as lubricant.

Increasing my pace made his dick pulse and twitch, so I squeezed him harder, pulling out a throaty groan. He was close—I could feel it by the way he whimpered on my lap and throbbed in my hand.

"Such a needy little kitten, aren't you, Llorón.Are you going to come for me? Make a mess?"

"God, yes," he cried out as his hips jerked, and he came all over my fist and shirt. Watching him come on my lap, all sweaty and needy, was probably the hottest experience of my life, and I didn't even come. Truthfully, at the moment, I couldn't care less about my orgasm. All I wanted was to keep watching him submerged in pleasure, and that was what I did. Pushing him onto his back, I moved to lie above him, my eyes not leaving him for a second.

"Suck me clean," I ordered as I brought my cum-soaked fingers to his lips. Parting them, he darted his tongue out and licked my digits before taking them into his mouth and doing precisely what I'd asked. Moaning, he closed those beautiful eyes of his and started to suck one finger at a time, swallowing his own load. Opening his eyes, he made sure I was looking at him as he worked his marvelous mouth around my thumb, probably knowing it was my cock I imagined he was sucking on. The fucking brat.

Once done, he opened his mouth and waited for me to pull out my thumb. I did, but not before stroking his tempting red lips on the way.

If only his mask wasn't there, I would have seen all of him.

He then pushed his hips up, rubbing himself against my erection. "Are you going to fuck me now?" he purred, and although I wanted to say yes, I shook my head. Disappointment shone in his eyes, and he looked hurt. "Why?"

"Do you ride motorcycles?"

Going with the direction of my odd question, he shook his head.

"Fast cars?"

"Yeah." The most innocent smile I'd ever seen pulled on his lips.

"So, do you know that moment when you're flying down an open road, and you're just dying to hit the gas, to cross that limit you know is dangerous just for the sake of the high?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

"But you don't do that." A blond curl landed on his mask, so I pushed it away and tucked it behind his ear. "You don't do that because of the fear of crashing." My lips curved slightly, and I deepened our stare to stay longer in this intoxicating moment. "That's you. You're the high before the crash. Fucking you would be as thrilling as driving a race car off a cliff. Absolutely exceptional until you die."

"But what if we die together?"

His words were… alarming but, even more so, appealing. Despite that, I shook my head.

Taking a deep breath, he shifted beneath me. "What makes you so sure I'm fatal?"

"It's written in your eyes." I rested my palm against his mask and watched how instinctively he leaned into the touch.

"What is?"

"Death."