10. Chapter Ten

Rylan wandered alone through the grounds of the sprawling compound, too distracted to pay much attention to his surroundings. The sun was hot overhead. He felt a sense of freedom out here in the open air, a respite from the relentless tension that pervaded the mansion. It was a false freedom, but for now it was all he had. And it was spoiled by the thoughts that preoccupied him.

The memory of Bautista's touch burned on the inside of his thigh. Why Bautista tormented him like he did he couldn't say. His thoughts swung back and forth on the subject, a hypnotic pendulum of doubt.

It was in this distracted frame of mind that he wandered down a path and into the wide open door of what he took for a storehouse. He was greeted by the sound of laughter and conversation in rapid Spanish, punctuated by rough, masculine posturing.

Immediately, Rylan realized he had stumbled upon the barracks. Men in cartel fatigues lounged about on beds and in chairs, playing cards, drinking and smoking. The room was thick with cigar smoke, the scent of leather, sweat and gunpowder mingling in the air. The atmosphere was rough, and dangerously masculine—a far cry from the safe, elegant world Rylan was used to.

"Look what we have here," one of them drawled, his voice dripping with disdain as he noticed Rylan's presence. It was the one called Giraldo. His smirk was predatory, sending an icy shiver down Rylan's spine. "What's a boy like you doing in this rough place? This place is for men."

Rylan swallowed hard, trying to maintain some semblance of composure. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came forth. Giraldo's dark eyes skewered him, pinning him in place with their cold intensity.

"Lost your way?" Giraldo taunted, rising from his seat and sauntering towards Rylan. His broad, muscular frame loomed, making Rylan only too aware of his own frailty. "Or perhaps you're here to entertain us?"

"Entertain you?" Rylan echoed, his voice shaking despite his best efforts. He searched for a retort, an escape from the unwanted attention. But Giraldo's gaze held him captive, stripping away any semblance of defiance. Was it coincidence that Giraldo was blocking the exit now?

The laughter of the other men filled Rylan's ears. One of them stood, and then another, and another. Rylan's heart thundered, fear and adrenaline surging through him as he realized there was no easy escape.

"Hey, maybe we could teach this little bird a thing or two," one man suggested with a lewd grin, causing the others to laugh even louder.

"?Callate!" A gruff voice cut through the chaos like a knife, silencing the men instantly.

All eyes turned towards the entrance where Carlos stood, his hard muscled body tensed like a coiled spring.

"Get back to your games and leave him alone," Carlos commanded, glaring at the men surrounding Rylan. They hesitated for a moment before reluctantly returning to their various occupations, their gazes lingering on Rylan with more than a hint of resentment.

Carlos strode towards Rylan, his face set in a grim expression. He grabbed Rylan's arm, pulling him roughly outside. "What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded in a low, harsh growl. "This place is off limits to you."

"I...I didn't mean to..." Rylan stammered, still reeling. "I was just exploring."

"Exploring?" Carlos scoffed, his grip tightening on Rylan's arm as he hustled him back toward the house. "This is not some playground for you to wander around in. Stay away from the barracks."

Rylan winced at the pain, trying to pull his arm free from Carlos's grasp. "I didn't know," he insisted, fear tightening his throat. "I won't come back."

"Good. And be careful with the games you play with Bautista," Carlos warned, finally releasing Rylan's arm. "They can have deadly consequences." His words were laced with venom, leaving Rylan in no doubt that Carlos was serious.

"You already warned me about that," Rylan said, feeling rebellious. He wasn't a child.

"This time, Carlos said coldly, "I don't only mean deadly for you." He gave Rylan a final stern look before turning away and leaving him standing on the mansion steps, alone and confused.

***

Night had fallen by the time Rylan was summoned to Bautista's study. His thoughts were a whirlwind as he approached the heavy wooden door, wondering what awaited him inside. He raised a hand and knocked softly. His breath caught in his throat as the door creaked open.

"Come in," Bautista's deep voice called from within the softly lit room.

Rylan took a hesitant step forward, his eyes immediately drawn to the figure of the kingpin. Bautista was standing in front of his desk with his back to the door. He was barefoot and shirtless, and the naked stretch of his shoulders was covered in intricate tattoos. Rylan stopped, staring. The biggest tattoo was in the middle of Bautista's back, a great elaborate crucifix. But surrounding the crucifix were roses, bright and bloody on his skin.

The sight of him stopped Rylan in his tracks. Mouth dry, he closed the door and went in.

"Kneel," Bautista commanded without turning around. The authority in his voice sent a thrill through Rylan's body.

He obeyed, sinking gracefully to his knees on the plush rug that covered the study floor. Bautista finally turned to face him, and Rylan let out a soft gasp at the sight of the kingpin's muscular chest, decorated with more ink—a human heart caged in roses, their thorns drawing imaginary blood.

"Rylan," Bautista began, his eyes as black as night boring into Rylan's, "tell me about your little encounter in the barracks today."

Rylan hesitated before stammering out an explanation, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. "I didn't mean to intrude," he added, unsure if Bautista would be angry.

Bautista let out a low, mocking chuckle, stepping closer to Rylan. He knotted a hand in Rylan's curls, forcing his gaze upward.

"You poor little idiot," Bautista said, his tone thick with feigned concern. "You're playing with fire. My men are dangerous, and they will not be gentle with you if you offend them."

Rylan suppressed a wince. "I don't mean to offend them."

"You offend them by existing. By being what you are, little maricón."

"I don't know what that word means," Rylan admitted, though he knew enough to know it was an insult.

"A man who runs after other men. Womanish." Bautista's fingers combed through Rylan's hair, almost tender. "They despise you for that. For being that kind. For looking at me in the way you do."

Rylan stiffened, but he couldn't deny the truth in Bautista's words. He knew how he looked at Bautista, and knew he was treading on thin ice, but being close to Bautista like this made it feel worth it. "I can't help it," he said. It didn't matter anymore. Bautista knew. Rylan had already begged him in the garden, shaming himself. There was nothing to keep from Bautista now.

"Is that what you want?" Bautista asked, his grip on Rylan's hair tightening. "To risk everything just to feel alive?"

Rylan's breath hitched, his body thrumming as he looked up at the powerful man in front of him. He knew he shouldn't crave Bautista's touch, his control...but he couldn't help it.

"Tell me," Bautista said, his voice low and mocking as he leaned down, the heat of his body washing over Rylan like a fever. "Are you so reckless because you simply cannot live without my cock any longer? Are you really that pitiful?"

Rylan's cheeks burned with shame and humiliation as Bautista's words sank in, but the truth of them was undeniable. He couldn't help himself; he needed Bautista in ways he could hardly comprehend, like a starving man craved food or a drowning man gasping for air.

"Answer me," Bautista demanded, his grip tightening painfully in Rylan's hair.

Unable to hold back any longer, Rylan pressed his face into Bautista's thigh, feeling the firm, warm muscles beneath the fine fabric. Tears of desperation and desire slid down his cheeks, dampening Bautista's suit pants as he choked out his confession.

"Yes," he said, the word torn out of his throat. "I want your cock. Please, please, give it to me. Please, I can't stand this anymore."

Bautista let out a harsh laugh, his free hand coming up to cup Rylan's chin, forcing him to look up at the kingpin's dark, dangerous eyes.

"Such a pathetic little thing you are," he sneered, but there was a glint of satisfaction in his gaze that made Rylan's heart race with anticipation. "You know what happens to little boys who beg so pitifully, don't you?"

Rylan swallowed hard. It would be awful. He knew it. But even the thought of pain and humiliation did nothing to quell the burning inside him.

"No, Sir," he whispered, trembling beneath Bautista's touch. "But I'm ready for it."

"So eager to please," Bautista murmured, his tone laced with mockery.

As he released his grip on Rylan's hair and stepped back, Rylan felt his chest tighten. Bautista's eyes roamed over him, taking in every detail with a predatory gaze.

"Go stand in the corner," he commanded, cold and authoritative. Rylan obeyed without hesitation, rising and backing into the familiar corner. "Face the wall," Bautista ordered, and Rylan complied, his heart pounding as he pressed his forehead against the cool plaster. He could feel Bautista's presence behind him, heavy and oppressive, like a dark storm cloud brewing on the horizon.

For a moment, there was nothing. And then a heavy hand settled on his shoulder. It squeezed hard, and Rylan yelped, but then the touch softened, and he felt warm, broad fingers spanning his back.

"Such a pretty little thing," Bautista mocked, his fingers trailing down, making Rylan shiver. "Desperate for my cock, aren't you?"

"Please, Sir," Rylan begged, the words spilling from his lips unbidden. He couldn't help it—the need for the powerful man's touch was all-consuming. "Please, I'll do anything."

Bautista's laughter echoed through the room, cruel and mocking.

Rylan squeezed his eyes shut. "Please, Sir," he whispered, tears slipping down his cheeks. "Please."

And just like that, Bautista stopped laughing. There was a heavy silence. It stretched on and on, and Rylan swallowed, sniffling up his tears, terrified of what this silence might mean.

He felt Bautista's hand running down his back once more, this time with a firmer touch that sparked along his nerves.

"Turn around," Bautista ordered, his voice barely above a whisper. Rylan did as he was told. Bautista leaned against the wall, his chin up, shoulders back, like he was facing something that needed all his poise and authority. "Kneel."

Rylan's knees hit the floor at Bautista's feet with a soft thud, his heart racing as he looked up at his tormentor. Those black eyes betrayed nothing, but there was an intensity in them that Rylan had come to know well.

Without a word, Bautista reached down and unbuckled his belt. Rylan sucked in a breath, his body tingling with a rush of sudden, overwhelming excitement. He watched avidly as Bautista took out his cock. It was huge, thick, and uncut. Not fully erect, but harder than Rylan had expected. Bautista held it in his hand, close to Rylan's mouth.

When Rylan looked up, Bautista was gazing at him with an intensity that was almost painful. For a long moment, their eyes were locked. The air between them was charged with anticipation, making it difficult for Rylan to breathe.

He could smell Bautista's skin—rich, salty, and muskily masculine. It filled his nostrils and made his mouth water uncontrollably. He wanted nothing more than to taste him, to take him in, and to serve him completely.

"Please," Rylan whispered, the word barely audible as he gazed up at Bautista, his eyes pleading.

Bautista didn't respond immediately, watching Rylan with an unnerving expression. The silence dragged on, and Rylan began to worry that he had overstepped his bounds. But then something passed over Bautista's face, and he slid a hand into Rylan's hair, knotting his fingers tight. His thumb brushed against Rylan's bottom lip.

"Open your mouth." The command was simple, but the authority behind it went straight to Rylan's cock.

Rylan obeyed without hesitation, parting his lips and allowing Bautista to pull him forward onto the waiting cock. The taste of him was intoxicating—sweat, musk, and pure masculinity. Rylan moaned softly as he took Bautista in his mouth, eager and hungry.

Bautista said nothing as he guided his cock past Rylan's lips. Rylan moaned softly, feeling the stretch of his mouth around the girth. He wanted more, desperate to please, desperate to submit to this man who had claimed him. His senses were filled, his mind overwhelmed by the weight and texture of Bautista's cock, the way his saliva slickened its length as he took it deeper. Blood roared in his ears, and through it he caught the subtle noises that escaped from Bautista's throat as Rylan swallowed around him.

Bautista let Rylan suck on him, his head tilted back and eyes closed. He didn't speak, didn't encourage or chastise Rylan, but simply let him work. Rylan felt drunk. He sucked hungrily, moaning helplessly around Bautista's cock, watching in awe as Bautista allowed it. The muscles in Bautista's chest and belly convulsed with each stroke of his tongue, involuntary admissions of pleasure that made Rylan's cock ache in sympathy.

The room was silent but for the sound of sucking and the soft groans Bautista made as Rylan sucked on him, his fingers tightening in Rylan's hair to pull him deeper. Bautista said nothing, and the near silence felt almost too sacred to break. Rylan listened intently to Bautista's pleasure—the soft grunts and heavy breaths. They were different to the sounds he had made when he'd forced Rylan to listen to him with that woman. They had been utilitarian. This…this was something else, and Rylan reveled in the knowledge that he was the one drawing these reactions from the dangerous man above him.

He own arousal grew, aching and insistent between his thighs, but he focused on pleasing Bautista, knowing that was all that mattered now. He worked his tongue along the length of Bautista's cock, learning its contours and textures, seeking out the spots that made him twitch or gasp.

As Bautista's breathing grew ragged, Rylan knew he was close. With a final groan, Bautista released himself into Rylan's mouth, filling him with hot, salty spurts. Rylan swallowed eagerly, savoring the taste and the satisfaction.

For a few moments, they stayed like that, Bautista breathing heavily, his hands still tangled in Rylan's hair. Rylan's heart ran ragged and rabbit-fast, like it might run away from him into the night. I've gone mad, he thought in a daze. I've finally snapped. Why does this feel like this? Why do I want him so much?

The hands in Rylan's hair loosened, stroking almost tenderly across his scalp. Gently, Bautista eased himself out of Rylan's mouth, placing both hands under Rylan's chin to encourage him to his feet.

For a long moment he looked into Rylan's eyes with a strange, conflicted expression. And then, tantalizingly, he leaned in so close Rylan could feel the gust of his breath on his swollen lips. Rylan's heart fluttered.

But instead of a kiss— "Get out," Bautista said softly, almost gently. The order felt like a caress. Rylan blinked, confused. He had expected harshness, a cold dismissal, but instead, there was this strange tenderness to it that made no sense at all.

Stumbling, Rylan made it to the door. He opened it, hesitated, and looked back.

Bautista had turned, had one palm braced against the wall. His head was bowed, and his other hand covered his face. Across his shoulders, that great crucifix with its halo of roses looked like an accusation.

Rylan went out, closing the door behind him. He didn't glance at the man standing guard, just drifting away up the steps to his room, his body still humming with unsatisfied desire.

Things had to change now. They had to. There was no possibility of going on the way they had before. Rylan hugged himself, praying that this change wouldn't be the end of him.