5. Nightfall Temptations

CHAPTER 5

NIGHTFALL TEMPTATIONS

The pulsing beat of The Inferno nightclub thrummed through Rocco's body, drowning out the incessant voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Victor. He knocked back another shot, relishing the burn as it slid down his throat.

"Fuck Victor," he muttered, slamming the glass on the bar. "And fuck this whole goddamn family."

He'd snuck out of the penthouse as soon as night fell, desperate to escape the suffocating weight of expectations and Victor's constant, burning presence. Here, in the throng of writhing bodies and pounding music, he could pretend to be anyone. Just another pretty face looking for a good time.

A hand slid around his waist, warm breath tickling his ear. "Hey there, beautiful. Can I buy you a drink?"

Rocco turned, coming face to face with a tall, dark-haired stranger. The man was handsome in a generic way, all sharp cheekbones and bedroom eyes. Nothing like Victor's rugged, masculine beauty.

Rocco shoved that thought aside, plastering on his most seductive smile. "I don't know," he purred, leaning into the stranger's touch. "What else are you offering?"

The man's grip tightened, pulling Rocco flush against his body. "Oh, I think we can come up with something fun," he murmured, his free hand trailing down Rocco's spine.

A shiver raced through Rocco's body, but it wasn't the pleasant kind. Something about this guy felt off, dangerous in a way that set Rocco's nerves on edge. But the rebellious part of him, the part that was so desperate to prove he could handle himself, pushed that instinct aside.

"Lead the way," Rocco said, allowing the stranger to guide him towards a dark corner of the club.

As they moved through the crowd, Rocco caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. A familiar broad-shouldered silhouette that made his heart leap into his throat.

No. It couldn't be. Victor wouldn't...

But then the crowd parted, and there he was. Victor Kovac, looking like sin incarnate in a tight black t-shirt and jeans that clung to his muscular thighs. His eyes locked onto Rocco's, blazing with a mixture of fury and something darker, hungrier.

Panic flooded Rocco's system. He turned to his companion, practically shoving the man towards the back exit. "Let's get out of here," he said urgently. "I know a place we can go."

The stranger's eyes lit up, a predatory grin spreading across his face. "Eager, aren't we? I like that in a boy."

They stumbled out into the alley behind the club, the cool night air a shock after the humid press of bodies inside. Rocco's heart raced, adrenaline and fear creating a dizzying cocktail in his veins.

"So," the stranger purred, pressing Rocco up against the rough brick wall. "What did you have in mind, pretty thing?"

Rocco opened his mouth to respond, but before he could form words, a large hand wrapped around the stranger's throat, yanking him away.

"He's not interested," Victor growled, his voice low and deadly. "Walk away now, and I might let you keep all your teeth."

The stranger's eyes widened in recognition and fear. He held up his hands, backing away slowly. "Hey man, I didn't know he was spoken for. No harm, no foul, right?"

Victor's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Get. Out."

The man didn't need to be told twice. He turned tail and ran, disappearing around the corner of the building.

Rocco sagged against the wall, relief and frustration warring in his chest. "I had it under control," he muttered, unable to meet Victor's burning gaze.

"The hell you did," Victor snarled, crowding Rocco against the wall. "Do you have any idea who that was? What he would have done to you?"

Rocco's breath caught in his throat, arousal coiling hot and heavy in his gut despite the danger of the situation. "I can take care of myself," he insisted, tilting his chin up defiantly.

Victor's hand shot out, gripping Rocco's jaw. "Can you?" he growled, voice low and dangerous. "Because from where I'm standing, you're just a spoiled brat with a death wish."

Anger flared in Rocco's chest, hot and bright. He shoved at Victor's chest, but it was like pushing against a brick wall. "Fuck you," he spat. "You don't know anything about me."

Victor's eyes flashed dangerously. In one fluid motion, he spun Rocco around, pressing him face-first against the rough brick. His solid bulk pinned Rocco in place, one large hand coming to rest at the base of Rocco's throat.

"I know more than you think, little prince," Victor purred, his breath hot against Rocco's ear. "I know you're desperate for attention, for someone to put you in your place. I know you crave discipline, structure."

Rocco whimpered, his cock hardening in his tight jeans. He should be terrified, should be fighting against Victor's hold. But all he could focus on was the heat of Victor's body, the intoxicating scent of his cologne mixed with gunpowder and leather.

"That's not true," Rocco protested weakly, even as his body betrayed him by pressing back against Victor's solid warmth.

Victor's free hand slid down Rocco's side, coming to rest on his hip. "No?" he murmured, voice rough with desire. "Then why are you hard, baby boy? Why are you trembling in my arms?"

Rocco squeezed his eyes shut, overwhelmed by the onslaught of sensations. "I'm not... I don't..."

Victor's grip tightened, just shy of painful. "Don't lie to me," he growled. "Not about this. Tell me what you want, Rocco. Tell me what you need."

The use of his name, so rare from Victor's lips, broke something open inside Rocco. "You," he whispered, the admission torn from his throat. "I need you, Victor. Please."

For a heart-stopping moment, Rocco thought Victor might actually kiss him. But then the older man stepped back, releasing Rocco from his grip.

"Get in the car," Victor ordered, his voice clipped and professional once more. "We're going home."

Rocco turned, sagging against the wall as he caught his breath. "And if I refuse?" he challenged, unable to help himself.

Victor's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Then I'll throw you over my shoulder and carry you there myself. Your choice, princess."

Heat flooded Rocco's cheeks at the mental image. Part of him wanted to push, to see if Victor would make good on that threat. But the larger part, the part that was still reeling from the intensity of their exchange, knew better than to test Victor's patience any further tonight.

"Fine," Rocco muttered, pushing off the wall. "Lead the way, oh fearless protector."

Victor's hand came to rest on the small of Rocco's back as they made their way to the waiting car, the touch both possessive and steadying. Rocco's skin tingled beneath his shirt, hyper-aware of every point of contact between them.

As they slid into the back seat, Rocco couldn't help but notice how close they were sitting. Victor's thigh pressed against his, a line of heat that sent sparks skittering across Rocco's skin.

"You're playing a dangerous game, little prince," Victor murmured as the car pulled away from the curb. "One of these days, you're going to push too far. And I won't be responsible for what happens next."

Rocco turned to face Victor, pulse quickening at the hungry look in the older man's eyes. "Maybe that's exactly what I want," he breathed, leaning in close. "Maybe I'm tired of being treated like some delicate flower that needs protecting."

Victor's hand shot out, gripping the back of Rocco's neck. "Careful what you wish for," he growled, voice low and dangerous. "You have no idea what I'm capable of."

Rocco's breath caught in his throat, arousal coiling hot and heavy in his gut. "Then show me," he challenged, tilting his chin up defiantly. "Prove you're more than just talk, old man."

For a moment, the tension between them was electric, crackling with potential energy. Rocco thought Victor might actually kiss him—or hit him. Either option sent a thrill of excitement through his body.

Then Victor released him abruptly, turning to stare out the window. "We're not having this conversation," he said gruffly. "Not when you're drunk and reckless."

Frustration and arousal warred in Rocco's veins. He slumped back in his seat, crossing his arms petulantly. "I'm not that drunk," he muttered.

Victor's laugh was low and humorless. "Sure you're not, princess. And I'm the fucking tooth fairy."

The rest of the ride passed in tense silence, the air thick with unresolved sexual tension. By the time they pulled up to the Rossetti penthouse, Rocco was a mess of conflicting emotions—anger, desire, and a gnawing sense of shame he couldn't quite shake.

As they stepped into the elevator, Victor's hand came to rest on the small of Rocco's back, guiding him inside. The touch sent shivers racing up Rocco's spine, his body leaning into Victor's solid warmth despite his best efforts.

"You know," Rocco said, unable to bear the silence any longer, "if you wanted to spend time with me, you could've just asked. No need for the whole knight in shining armor routine."

Victor's eyes narrowed dangerously. "This isn't a game, Rocco," he growled. "You could have been seriously hurt tonight. Or worse."

Rocco rolled his eyes, even as his heart raced at the genuine concern in Victor's voice. "Please. I can handle myself."

In a blur of motion, Victor had Rocco pinned against the elevator wall, one massive forearm braced beside Rocco's head. "Can you?" he purred, voice low and dangerous. "Because from where I'm standing, you're just a spoiled brat begging for someone to put you in your place."

Rocco's breath caught in his throat, arousal coiling hot and heavy in his gut. He should be terrified, should be pushing Victor away and demanding to be released. But all he could focus on was the heat of Victor's body, the intoxicating scent of his cologne mixed with gunpowder and leather.

"Maybe that's exactly what I need," Rocco breathed, pressing himself more firmly against Victor's solid bulk. "Someone to show me my place."

Victor's eyes darkened, something primal and hungry flashing in their depths. For a heart-stopping moment, Rocco thought the older man might actually kiss him.

Then the elevator dinged, doors sliding open to reveal the penthouse foyer. Victor stepped back, releasing Rocco from his grip.

"Go to bed," he ordered, voice clipped and professional once more. "We'll discuss your punishment for tonight's little stunt in the morning."

Rocco's cock throbbed at the word 'punishment', his imagination running wild with possibilities. But he forced himself to nod, not trusting his voice.

As he turned to go, Victor's hand shot out, gripping Rocco's wrist. "And Rocco?" he said, voice low and intense. "Don't even think about sneaking out again. I'll know."

Rocco swallowed hard, nodding again before practically fleeing to his room. He collapsed onto his bed, body thrumming with unfulfilled need.

What the fuck was wrong with him? He shouldn't be lusting after his father's enforcer, shouldn't be craving Victor's touch and approval like a drug. But as he replayed the events of the night in his mind, Rocco couldn't deny the visceral reaction Victor sparked in him.

He was in way over his head, caught between his growing attraction to Victor and his desperate need to prove himself. One thing was certain: tomorrow's "punishment" was going to be interesting.

As Rocco drifted off to sleep, his dreams were filled with stormy eyes and strong hands that promised both pain and pleasure in equal measure. He was well and truly fucked—in more ways than one.