Chapter 5

I walk inside the twenty-four seven market and see Ramiel straight away. It’s quite impossible not to.

He’s built in all the right places. Those black jeans wrap around his muscular ass like a second skin, and his snug thermal shirt stretches over his big shoulders and trim waist. His thick mane of copper-red hair is messily falling down around his head. He turns, and those pondering pouty lips catch my attention, reminding me how tightly they sucked my cock dry the night before. I had to force myself not to come down his throat.

He’s got a light stubble. His gorgeous, light brown eyes are focused on the two bags of chips he’s holding.

I have never seen someone who looks that tempting and so completely puzzling at the same time.

He looks up, and his familiar naughty smirk curls his mouth—that erotic mouth I know very well what it’s capable of. But only one dimple comes out. I suddenly find myself wanting to see the other two.

“Grizzly! What do you think, barbecue or triple heat? Don’t tell me you’re a sour cream guy.” He pushes the bags toward me.

“Barbecue. What are we doing here?” I ask him, trying to ignore the way his fresh-green, heady smell affects me.

“Isn’t it obvious? Grocery shopping. Did I accidentally suck some brain cells through your cock too yesterday? It wouldn’t be the first time,” he jokes as he throws both bags in the cart and pushes it down the aisle.

A woman nearby sends us a horrified look before hurriedly moving away.

“Did you enjoy your massage? Tod gives happy endings, but you always choose Phil.”

I freeze for a second. “How the fuck do you know…? Did you and Serena follow me?” I’m filled with irritation—toward myself. I didn’t notice Ramiel. How the fuck is that possible?

“So cute of you to include Serena.” He presses his hand to his chest, looking all impish and shit. “And yes, we did. It was only fair to return the favor. Tod gives amazing massages.”

Does that mean he got a happy ending? A snarl starts in my chest, but I block it.

“Can you grab those chips? The taco-flavored ones,” he instructs me.

“You like strong flavors.”

“Yes, I do.” Ramiel wiggles his brows at me, licking his lips. The innuendo is very clear. And I do fucking remember how much he enjoyed licking his cum-covered fingers clean. Covered in my cum.

I grit my teeth and pass him the chips while noticing that he’s doing his best to avoid brushing his fingers against mine. He’s wearing gloves again. Blue ones this time. Is it to cover the burn on the back of his hand? He doesn’t seem like someone who cares about what people think. He almost screamed about blowing me a second ago in a supermarket filled with people.

“The Ford Explorer with your partial plate was found on the side of a freeway. It was reported stolen. No fingerprints. A bullet from your gun hit the trunk. I retrieved it, so the police won’t be able to link you to the scene.” He pulls the bullet from his jeans pocket and tosses it at me.

I study it under the store’s white lights, holding the nose of the bullet away from me. The number and size of the grooves and lands around the circumference are unequivocally from the barrel of my gun, and the direction of twist is left.

“Nice shot by the way,” he adds.

I ball my fist around the bullet. “How did you?—”

“I have connections.” He says it like it’s the most obvious explanation. “No cameras outside the cemetery, and no other cam caught the car or you,” Ramiel finishes.

I clear my throat. “Mm. Thank you for…this.” It’s awkward as hell. I’m not used to showing gratitude, and I still don’t know what’s his motive, his interest in all this. Does he have an angle? Why is he helping me?

He shrugs like it wasn’t a big deal taking evidence away from a police case.

I’m expecting a question regarding my visit to the cemetery, instead Ramiel switches gears. “You can tell a lot by watching a person’s cart.”

The way his brain works is, again, puzzling. Maybe he’s not interested in my life. Or it’s more plausible that he already knows almost everything.

“Look at that guy,” he keeps going. “He’s unhappily married and one step from dying of a coronary.”

“Like you are?” I point at the products in Ramiel’s cart. Among the pile there are five bags of chips, Coke, coffee beans, smoked sausages, some very stinky cheese, and a big bottle of Tabasco.

“Can’t be helped,” he explains, like he doesn’t have another choice.

I have to ask. “How do you know the guy’s marriage is an unhappy one?”

“He has tampons in his cart, which means married.”

“Could be for a girlfriend or a sister.”

He snorts. “How many guys would do that for a sister or a friend? Wouldn’t a good P.I. know that?”

His crazy talk doesn’t shake my patience, since I’ve had to learn how to keep mine inside my house for the last two years. “The contents of his cart still don’t tell you if he’s unhappy in his relationship,” I insist.

“But the I-want-to-run-away expression on his face does. Plus, I just found him on Facebook.” Ramiel turns his phone my way. I can see the same guy holding hands with a woman. They are wearing matching gold rings.

I grunt. “How about yours? What do your groceries say, apart from the early death bit?”

“You tell me.” He likes to challenge me, dare me, provoke me. He’ll learn soon enough that I never back down.

“Messy. Puerile. Lonely.”

He puckers those damn plump lips again. “You forgot clean.” He raises the two bottles of detergent. “And horny.” The coconut oil.

My cock jerks at the mention of Ramiel’s horniness. “Can’t you buy lube?”

“Not in a supermarket.” He rolls his eyes. “Would you let me stop at a sex shop next? Do you feel a whisper of desire?” He turns his voice into a sultry murmur while mirth fills his eyes.

He’s fucking with me. He’s a rich—probably bored— eccentric genius with a dark hobby. He needs to be creative with how he gets his kicks.

But I do want to see that submissive, dazed expression on Ramiel’s face as he comes undone again.

I make myself stare at him until he breaks eye contact and glances down. My cock turns as hard as steel to see him yield in that small way. It might seem insignificant, but it’s actually the opposite. It means he’d let me have control over him, just like in the alley.

“So, what would your cart have, Grizzly?”

I growl at the nickname even though it doesn’t annoy me that much.

“Come on, humor me.” That mischievous smirk will be the death of me.

I think about the guys living with me. “Cereals, milk, a pile of veggies, eggs, pasta, meat. Normal shit, I suppose.”

“You cook?” He grabs a pack of peppermint Altoids.

Why all these questions? “You don’t?”

His eyes dim. “I’d love to.” I think he mumbles, “Hey, darling.”

I turn, and he’s staring ahead. He has a faraway look that appears on his face when he’s talking with Serena.

“Great.” His voice is chirpy again, like I only imagined the shadows in his eyes. “My informant has arrived. Let me pay, and we can go.”

“How do you talk to her?” Having an AI like Serena sounds very useful. I wonder what can she actually do.

“To Serena? Wireless microchip implanted under my skin and in my ear, plus the bracelet on my wrist…” He keeps talking, but I get distracted as he stops at the cashier and bends to get the things out of the cart. My eyes zero in on a red strip of fabric peeking out of the back of Ramiel’s pants.

What the fuck is he wearing?

He bends again, and the jeans waistband slides down revealing the intricate red-orange lace. I can see more of the delicate fabric now, and my cock plumps all over again. Is it lingerie? Sexy as fuck men’s lingerie?

I stop the grunt from leaving my chest. The erotic image forces me to adjust myself as my length continues to stiffen in my suddenly overly tight jeans. Ramiel turns around and smirks seeing what I”m doing.

But before he can say anything, the old woman working at the register steals both our attention. “Oh dear, are you okay?”

That’s when I notice Ramiel’s hand is pressing on the small cactus near the till.

He lifts it, and I can see his glove is filled with long, thin white thorns. What I can’t see is a reaction of pain anywhere on his face.

“I’m fine.” He moves his fingers. “The glove protected my skin. What a relief.” he smiles at her reassuringly. But reading facial cues is part of my job, and there’s tension and wariness there.

He takes the wallet out of his jeans, and placing it on the check-out belt, he tries to slide his credit card out with one hand.

I help him, and after bagging his groceries, we walk out to his car. A Hyundai Kona Electric.

I place the bags in the trunk, and Ramiel pushes them further inside. That fucking strip of lace is visible again, and I know he’s doing it on purpose. I bite my inner cheek and fist my hands, forcing my cock to behave while I follow him. Ramiel sits sideways in the driver’s seat. He’s trying to pull out the thorns from his hand—with his fingers.

I sigh and pull a small bag out of the inner pocket of my jacket before crouching down near him.

“What’s that?” he asks as I slide out a pair of tweezers from mylock-picking kit. He leans toward me to look more closely, and I’m assailed by his cool, balmy scent.

“It’s your open sesame tool bag. Nice,” Ramiel says, with excitement in his gaze. His eyes are overly expressive. I can read him easily through them, especially when he’s turned on. They morph into melted caramel.

“Let me see.” I go to grab his injured hand, but he jerks it back.

“Sorry. Automatic reflex,” he explains and places his hand, palm up, into mine. It feels rigid, and he looks uncomfortable. Maybe he’s one of those people who like to do everything for themselves.

Well, not this time. I begin working on the thorns. “Who’s this informant?” I ask, wanting to distract him for some unfathomable reason.

“The son of a very powerful man.” Ramiel keeps it vague. Fair enough, I don’t like to out my informants as well. Still, I need a little more, just to be prepared in case something happens. “How do you know him?”

“We hang out in the same circles. How did you start your P.I. agency?” He changes the subject. I let him do it since he seems more at ease now.

“Didn’t you find out from my background check?” The next thorn I pull is thicker than the others. A drop of blood smears the glove, but Ramiel still doesn’t seem affected. He must have a high pain threshold.

He shrugs. “I’d like to hear it from you.” So, he really meant what he said in the café yesterday.

“Couldn’t be a cop anymore with a criminal record. Private investigator was the closest thing to it.”

“Do you like it?” He’s the first person to ask me. Opal never has, probably out of unreasonable guilt. The rest of my ex-friends pity me or don’t want to have anything to do with me.

“Yeah,” I reply, and it’s the truth. I like my job. “I’m free to bend the rules if necessary, don’t have to follow a schedule, and can choose my clients. I’m my own boss.” There’s also the fact that prison changed me. Five years in the jailhouse hardened me. I’m not the same young, naive, foolish, law-obedient guy ready to impart justice. I’m dirty, and I like it.

“Yes, filthy.” He gives me that tacky, almost lame wink.

Did I say the last part out loud?

I pull the last thorn and carefully take off his glove. His palm is filled with small red punctures.

“Do you have some disinfectant?”

“Hand sanitizer in the glovebox.” I round the car and get into the passenger seat to retrieve the little bottle of gel. Then I take his hand again—slowly this time—and drop a blob of gel on it. He doesn’t hiss, grit his teeth, or adjust his posture. Alcohol on any open wound burns like a bitch, but Ramiel looks totally unfazed. Who is this guy? He’s surely grasping my attention the more time I spend with him.

I rub in the sanitizer, and he softly utters a thank you. His head is turned toward the windshield, eyes staring at nothing in particular. Then he clears his throat and adds in his usual teasing tone, “You should put sexy nurse under your list of talents.”

Our gazes meet, and that triple-dimple smile is on his face. I feel an uncanny force pulling me toward him all of a sudden.

I half grunt, half snort and let go of his hand.

“Where are we going?”

“To a club.” He sends a very wicked smirk my way. “You’re going to love it.”

And I know the opposite will be true.

Twenty minutes later, we are in downtown Chicago entering a posh gay club called Sly Fox. The place is packed, the music too loud, bright lights keep changing on the dance floor. It smells like booze, sweaty bodies, mixed perfumes, and sex in here. It almost clogs my airway. The waiters are moving around, wearing only very tight red shorts and rainbow suspenders. Ramiel is smiling like a loon next to me. We sit at one of the tables around the dance floor.

“Where’s your guy?” I have to bend over the table to be sure he hears me over the loud music.

“He’ll be here,” Ramiel replies, signaling a waiter. He stops near our table, holding a tray full of empty glasses. He’s short, lean with a baby face, and his eyes zero in on Ramiel. He leans toward him, and although I can’t hear what they are saying, judging by their body posturing and facial expressions I know they are flirting.

I grit my teeth, feeling slightly annoyed by it, just like the time at the café. Only because it’s not professional—no other reason. Someone tried to kill me, and Ramiel finds the time to fucking flirt.

I turn toward the dance floor. The throng is swerving, twisting, and weaving in all directions. Faceless people grope and hump each other while following the loud music.

I suddenly feel a foot slowly sliding along my calf, knee, then inner thigh. Ramiel”s still smiling at the waiter while he keeps his exploration going. I let the cheeky fucker reach higher than I should, and he halts his hike just before touching my hardening dick. His toes dig right between the base of my cock and my thigh. Massaging. Pressing hard, then gently circling. Tempting me.

Damn it! I hiss and catch his shoeless foot. “Are you done?”

“Not even started,” he mouths. His eyes are full of filthy promises, but he pulls his foot back. I tighten my grip on it before letting it go. My stiffened cock hates it. I don’t even realize the waiter has disappeared until he comes back with what looks like a glass of whiskey on the rocks for me and a Bloody Mary for Ramiel.

“Your favorite,” he lets me know, pointing at the drink in front of me and ignoring the huffing waiter. He puts the straw of his cocktail between his lips and sucks hard, looking straight into my eyes. The little shit likes to hit on everything that moves, it seems.

I wear my unbothered mask and take a sip from my glass. It is indeed my favorite whiskey. “You really did a thorough job in researching me.”

“I always do,” he replies, leaning toward me. After a few seconds, he turns his glowing eyes on the dance floor. “Art! There he is,” Ramiel yells. He leaves his chair, and before sauntering toward the dance floor, he bends over me, and his warm whisper hits my ear. “Take your time, Bear, to…deflate.”

I can’t make myself stand up. Primarily, because my cock is still hard. But also, because his teasing giggle resounds in my head even though he’s standing ten feet away, talking to a very conspicuous twink, who must be Art, the informant.

His neon green net shirt and barely-there gold shorts put on display his slim shoulders and long legs. He has shoulder-length long blond hair, and the black eyeliner turns his cat eyes predatory.

Art’s small hands go to Ramiel’s pecs, and he tilts his head all the way back to let out a laugh. Ramiel looks uneasy at the contact, but the twink doesn’t seem to notice or care as he starts jumping with excitement when a new song comes on. His narrow hips begin swaying with the music. Ramiel smiles at him, not the triple-dimple smile, but there’s lightness there.

They start dancing together while they talk. Ramiel keeps bending to his level to hear what he has to say, and the twink takes advantage of that, plastering himself against Ramiel’s heavily muscled frame.

He looks more relaxed now. Like he’s enjoying it. My fingers curl more tightly around the glass, and I narrow my eyes at them. Art is stroking his body all over Ramiel’s, spinning around and grinding his ass against the red-headed techie. The twink’s arms lift, and his fingers curl around Ramiel’s neck as he keeps shaking his butt.

But Ramiel’s eyes? Those heated, wicked, golden-brown babies are on me. Like quicksand, I’m sinking deeper into them. They compel me to watch. Force me. I can’t look away. I know he’s putting on a show for me, and my half-standing dick likes it and hates it—hates the sight of other hands on him, but likes the challenge in his gaze.

Still I don’t like these kind of games. And if he’s hoping for some kind of reaction, he’ll have one alright. I down my drink, enjoying the burning path it leaves inside my throat, and stand up with the intention of getting a new one when something changes.

Ramiel’s hands fall on Art’s hips, digging his fingers in, as he starts arching against him. And his eyes—he has that dazed look, the same lustful one he had when he was sucking my cock. He’s getting lost in the desire.

A hostile fire starts roaring inside my chest. It spreads quickly around, turning my hands to fists and pushing a vicious snarl out of my throat.

“Motherfucker!” I mutter under my breath, and in the next moment, I’m in front of them. One look at me, and Art takes a step away from Ramiel. Good fucking move.

“I feel a disturbance in the force.” Ramiel smirks, placing his gloved hands on his hips. My eyes fall to the hard bulge in his jeans, and my teeth clench at the proof of his enjoyment. The little twink smiles nervously, and I growl angrily in response.

Art yells my way, “You must be Grizzly. Rami told me some about you. Please don’t ruin my makeup.”

“He won’t,” Ramiel reassures him.

“So the furious, mauling stare is just an act?” Art asks dubiously.

Ramiel shrugs. The little shit is not even trying to hide his smugness.

“I thought you were smart, Ramiel.” I take one step toward him, dissolving the distance between us.

His eyes narrow. “I dunno. We’ve been in the club for at least fifteen minutes now, and I don’t have your dick in my ass or my mouth, so how smart can I be?”

“That what you want? The twink can’t give you that?” I spit out between my gritted teeth. We are nose to nose now, his head is tilted up to make it possible.

“The twink’s name is Art, and he can’t do that because he doesn’t want to die in a grizzly bear attack,” Art replies hesitantly.

“Why are you referring to yourself in the third person?” Ramiel turns his head toward the twink, and I don’t fucking like it. I want his gleaming brown eyes on me and only fucking me. I grab his neck and tighten my fingers around it, watching as his expression changes rapidly from startled to befuddled.

“There are private rooms in the back just for what you’re about to do.” Art’s voice is barely audible. “Can I watch?” I snarl at him. “Is that a no in bear-anese? Bummer. But when you get fed up with Rami just let me know.” He slides something into my jacket pocket, and it’s Ramiel’s turn to glare at him.

“Nobody gets fed up with—” I push Ramiel backward, cutting off his offended retort. There’s a dim corridor on the left, and I drag him there, still holding his throat. I try the first door, but it’s locked. The second one opens. It’s a small room with a sofa and a little table with a bowl filled with condoms and packs of lube.

I press Ramiel against the wall, and he impatiently takes off his gloves and slides his hands under my clothes, rubbing, grabbing, and scratching my chest and belly.

“You’re so damn sexy.” His loud moan is like a slick fist pumping my cock. He bites my chin hard. Fuck, why do I like this feisty side of him so much?

His pupils are blown, small noises full of desire come out of his mouth.

“You want to be my Black cock’s slut?” I grunt, loving the feel of his soft hands on me.

“Fuck you!” he chokes out, but there’s no heat behind his words, only lust.

“I will, Red.”

“That took you too long,” he complains. But I see the usual teasing in his smirk for a second.

“What?”

“Nicknaming me.” Our dicks rub together, and the dirty sound that escapes his mouth in addition to the sting of his nails digging into my pecs make me feral.I stare at his square jaw and large red lips made for stretching around my dick.

“On your knees,” I hiss. I release his throat to open the buttons on my jeans and take out my throbbing shaft. Him kneeling at my feet all strong and built in such a submissive position is truly a gorgeous sight.

He slides his hand inside my pocket and after retrieving Art’s piece of paper he crumples it in his hand and then tosses it somewhere on the floor.

I raise a brow at him, but he only answers with a glare. I guess he doesn’t like the idea of other hands on me, as well. The thought fuels my inner fire making it burn higher.

“Stick out your tongue.”

He opens his mouth wide, and fuck me, he’s really gagging for it. I run the tip of my dripping cock over his top lip, painting it with my pre-cum, before rubbing the underside over his warm, wet tongue. A growl leaves me as I repeat the movement again and again.

“I know I deserve this mouth, but do you deserve my cock?”

He hurries a nod, lustful eyes locked on mine. I grab a fistful of his hair and slide my dick over his cheek, placing a cum-filled ball inside his mouth. He greedily sucks it in, inhaling deeply my cock’s smell, and then gives the same treatment to the other.

My muscles tighten against the immeasurable pleasure and I pull back. “Words, Red.”

He opens his mouth to reply, and I shove my cock inside on a groan. His lips immediately wrap around it.

I have no clue what this is, but I do know that the way Ramiel responds to me is a dream come true. Both my hands grip his hair as he bobs up and down, blowing my damn mind after only a few seconds.

He then sinks all the way down, taking me deep in his throat. “Fuck,” I groan, and he moans.

I’m barely able to keep my orgasm at bay between his vacuuming throat and his rough fingers tightening around the base of my cock, dragging me closer and closer to the edge with every hard jerk of his fist.

I see him grab a pack of lube from the bowl, and then hear the sound of a zipper opening. His hand moves to his back and starts pumping. He’s prepping himself for me.

“Greedy whore,” I tell him while starting to fuck his face.

He sends daggers up at me, but his lips remain pliant, throat relaxed, letting me do whatever the fuck I want. He loves to be dominated, mistreated a little, and I love how obedient Ramiel is behind the glares. His needinessgoes straight to my balls, and my hips buck faster, riding his mouth harder.

Ramiel’s hand leaves my dick to trail up my soft belly. Way too many beers and pizzas, but he seems to love it. He’s trying to push the layers of clothes up, moaning at the sight and feel of the soft hair peppering my skin.

I pull him off my dick, which he does with a disagreeable sound.

“Up.”

His glower is hot, but useless since he compliantly lets me spin him to face the wall. His hands fall forward for balance, and he kicks his shoes away as I push his pants off only one leg. Fucking finally, I can see that red-orange lace in all its glory wrapped around the most perfect piece of ass I’ve ever seen. The lace teases between his meaty cheeks, skimming over his hips. They were clearly designed for men.

I’ve never thought about men wearing lingerie. But fuck, it’s the hottest thing. It makes sense given that I like to call a man’s fuck hole a pussy. It started in prison. Homophobia there is spread like confetti, which is ironic since most guys fuck or take dicks. I had a couple of guys I’d do it with—consensually—and one of them liked the man pussy kink. And fuck, I found out how hot it makes me.

I’m gay and have no problem with my sexuality. Don’t flaunt it, but neither do I hide it. And I know pounding Ramiel’s cunt while he’s wearing this expensive lingerie is going to make me come so damn hard.

I twist the fabric in my hand and pull, making the lace disappear in the crack of his ass and his round cheeks push out toward me. I slap one hard, loving the way it jiggles and how his white, freckled skin quickly turns red under my eyes.

He whimpers and turns his head. His mouth open, eyelids half down, and desire fills his eyes.

“More. Touch me. More,” he begs like he’s about to die if I don’t do what he says. He hastily takes off his shirt, and every muscle in his back looks sculpted to perfection. He’s a thing of beauty. I can’t resist him.

My hand trails slowly down, brushing his shoulders. My dark fingers such a stark contrast on his diaphanous skin. I flatten my palm on his lower back, and he jerks beneath me. He can’t control the trembling, the grunts, and moans every time my fingers stroke him. I like all this power he’s giving me, it’s intoxicating.

He has small scars all over his back, but that’s expected of a fighter like him. I should know that well.

The delicate lace suits him perfectly, even though it’s such an antithesis to his powerful body—or maybe because of that. My hand pulls on the soft fabric harder as a sudden thought crosses my mind. I stop touching him, and he whimpers.

“Who did you wear these sexy panties for?”

“You, you kinky bastard,” he easily confesses. And fuck, the knowledge fills me with such satisfaction.

“Keep touching me.” I feel his impatient hand sliding inside my pants and grabbing my ass, molding it, pulling me more firmly against him. I oblige him since I fucking like to feel him quivering against me.

I almost tell him that I’ve never fucked someone who responds so blatantly to my touch, so driven completely crazy over being with me. So damn horny. But I don’t. Instead, I reach for his peachy ass again and spank it hard, wanting to hear more of his slutty moans.

Holding on to his sexy lingerie, I grab a condom from the table and open it with my teeth.

“I’m on PrEP,” he lets me know. I pause for a second, but then I slide the rubber on with one hand, anyway. PrEP doesn’t protect from STIs.

I grab another pack of lube, and when my eyes fall on his butt again, he’s finger-fucking himself. The sucking sounds and the sight of his three fingers ramming his hole mercilessly, the red lace pushed to one side, force pre-cum out of my slit.

I squirt a long line of lube onto my dick and swipe it around messily on the condom. I pull his fingers out and take hold of his wrists, placing them on the small of his back. Then I stare for a moment, transfixed by the guy’s lasciviousness. He’s the incarnation of desire. The slight quivering in his broad shoulders, his red hair falling like shiny fire on his thick neck, the fast rise and fall of his ribcage as he breathes expectantly.

I line up my cock with Ramiel’s hole. But before sinking into his tight grip, I feel the need to tell him, “You look so fucking good like this.”

“Just fuck me already,” he whines, pushing his ass back.

“I decide when I fuck you.” I need to remind him who’s in control here.

He suddenly straightens and turns his head, just enough that his lips can suck hard on the base of my throat, no doubt leaving a hickey. That annoys me as much as it arouses me. He’s so fucking unpredictable. He humped that twink a few minutes ago, and now he marks me with his mouth? When I see the bruise in the mirror tomorrow, I’ll remember this moment. His erotic moans, the smoothness of his shoulder against me, the smell of cum in the air, his stubble scratching my skin.

He pulls back and bites my chin with a glower on his face. “I swear to Satan that I’ll kick your balls back inside you before finding somebody who’s actually salivating at the idea of fucking me.”

I groan. He grunts back.

“Try me.” His challenge unleashes something inside me. He’s talking to me like I’m not two seconds away from fucking him.

I grab him by his neck again and pull him flush against me, my shirt-clad chest to his back. Ramiel’s hair smells damn divine, and his ass is grinding back against my raging hard-on as he sighs in bliss.

I slide the lace aside and line my cock up once again with his hole. “We both know that this?” And I slam it all the way in with one ruthless thrust. Ramiel takes it with a loud cry while I growl in bliss. “It’s the only cock that can give you want you want.” Another hard thrust. And another.

Thrust.

Thrust.

Thrust.

Can’t fucking stop or slow down. He feels so fucking amazing, clenching all around my dick.

All men have an asshole, but only the best bottoms have a good pussy. And fuck, this is the best cunt I’ve ever fucked.

Our bodies move in sync. A perfect rough dance. I shove inside, and he takes it all and pushes back, constricting his walls every time I leave his hot, tight, hungry hole.

“You love to be used,” I rumble in his ear, taking a big gulp of his fresh scent into my lungs. “Are you one of those guys assuming the position in front of the hole in public bathrooms?”

“Fuck you!” he slurs, but his tightening cunt just confirms how much he likes to be roughed up when I fuck him.

“Like the idea of getting rammed by every willing raw cock, Red?”

He moans. I let go of his neck to grab his panties again.

“How about my Black cock? You’ve never had one this thick. This long. I get it so fucking deep, where no one has ever been.” I like that idea. Too much.

He seems to like it too. I stop my thrusts since Ramiel is riding me like a pro, and use my hold on the lace and his wrists to guide his bouncy ass back.

I fucking love the sound of hard flesh smacking wet flesh. So damn hot.

“That twink would have given two pumps before coming in this hot fucking paradise.” The thought of Art inside Ramiel makes me buck my hips again and speed up the rhythm to a powerful drilling.

“Holy shit. Holy… Yes!” he screams.

“I take it your cunt feels good?” I keep the tempo, starting to feel my balls draw up. I push him down, bending him over and sticking his ass out.

He breathes out some incomprehensible words in response as I bounce him like a rag doll.

“You like when I call your fuck hole a cunt?”

“C-call it whatever you want.” He stops to let out a filthy sound. “Just keep fucking it.” He turns his head, his eyes go to my mine and then fall on my chest where the Henley has risen over my slightly round belly. He looks so fucking hypnotized by it.

“Goddammit!” His hole is strangling me now. “I’m going to seed this pussy so full, your belly will get round.”

His eyes roll back as I rail his abused hole. I’m mesmerized by how receptive Ramiel is. He looks utterly lost in pleasure.

I let go of his panties as I grab his cock in a tight grip and start jerking him off. It’s hard and smooth, shorter than mine and less thick, but damn it feels nice in my hand…and would in my mouth too.

His lips part in silent pleasure as I keep a fast hand rhythm.

“Come for me! Come on my cock, Red!”

He arches his back as I pound my hips forward hard enough to spank his ass cheeks with my balls in a repetitive, obscene smack that has me aching with the need to unload my cum into the condom. My growl fills the room, combined with Ramiel’s mindless moans as I piston into his tight, hot ass.

Then finally, his body shakes and spasmodically jerks as his bouncy ass clamps tight around me. He releases a long, loud whimper, and fucking hell, I like how vocal he is. I feel his cock erupting in my hand, and some of his cum drips on my fingers.

“Such a good cock-taker,“ I groan, pulling him up again and closing my other hand around his neck. I push as deep as I can inside him. Fireworks set off in my dick, and I start coming like never before. I bellow a roar as I pump fresh spurts of cum into the condom, wishing that the latex barrier wasn’t there, and I was filling Ramiel’s ass with my hot jizz. Fuck, where did that thought come from?

Just as I’m regaining my breath, Ramiel tries to move away. I don’t let him, tightening my grip on both his neck and cock. He moans, and I feel new cum dropping on my hand. I don’t want to pull out of his incredible hole, not yet. Not when shudders of pleasure are still riding both of us.

“Stay,” I whisper my command in his ear.

After a few seconds, he relaxes in my arms. My dick keeps pumping leisurely inside him, twitching every time I get deep. I feel his hands hesitantly move back and then slowly brush my hips and thighs. It’s like wings of a butterfly against my skin, tickling my skin, but damn I want him to keep going.

My thumb is stroking under his ear where I feel a protrusion. Is that the microchip he told me about?

“Is Serena listening to us?” I ask him. Don’t know if I like the thought of the AI eavesdropping.

He snorts, then turns his head, tucks it under my chin, and inhales deeply. Is he smelling me?

I’m still sliding my cock in and out, in and out, unable to stop.

“Warmest hole I ever fucked,” I tell him, and I feel his sigh against my neck. I take my hand off his cock and lift it near my mouth to lick his cum off my fingers. He tastes warm and salty.

“Are you sore?” I ask. My interest is weird. I don’t usually care about my hookups after the deed is done.

“A little.” He gasps and his whole body turns stiff again. This time, when he pulls away, I let him go, even though my dick jerks a couple of times, as if trying to reach his ass again.

With his back to me, he wrestles his jeans back up and then grabs his shirt, rapidly yanking it on. He looks in a hurry but pauses to hiss and stare at his injured hand with a dumbfounded face.

I want to ask him what’s going on, but it’s none of my business. So I follow his example, and after throwing the condom in the wastebasket, I tuck my sedated dick back in. I pick up his gloves from the floor and hold them up for him to take. When he grabs them, he frowns at me and wrenches them out of my hand with force.

Okay, what the fuck is going on with him?

He’s silent. No jokes. No teasing. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down.

He enjoyed being fucked. I’m sure of it. I can still feel the way his body gripped me and sucked me back in, milking me fucking dry. Did I hurt him? Was I too rough?

“So, Art…” he suddenly utters. His eyes are darting toward the door like he’s uncomfortable, like he wants to leave.

I know this isn’t his first rodeo. And when he sucked my cock yesterday, he looked cocky and smug of himself afterward, not awkward as fuck. Is he afraid that I want more? Because I don’t.

Why does the thought of having hurt him make my skin crawl?

“He confirmed that there’s a hit on Malcom Bindy. Those mercenaries were contract killers and not the only ones interested.”

Never thought the little twink could be involved with assassins.

“Serena, darling, we need to find Malcom ASAP.”

His rigid pose and uneasy behavior push my protective buttons. I can’t stop myself from asking, “Are you okay?” I stroke a nervous hand over my buzzed head.

“Getting soft?” He lets out an empty laugh and sounds a little defensive when he adds, “I came, didn’t I?”

That he did. So why is he acting all prickly and vulnerable now? And why do I care?

We work together. I need him to find out who wants me dead. The excuse isn’t very convincing, but it has to do for now.

“Did I…hurt you? Force you?” The words taste like bile on my tongue.

“What the fuck?” He turns toward the door, and I reflexively place my fingers on his arm. Ramiel flinches back, and I lift my hand up to placate him.

This is not automatic reflexes. This is something else. Only a few minutes ago he begged me to touch him, and now he’s acting like my fingers on his skin disgust him.

“You didn’t hurt me, Hunter, okay?” He swallows, his eyes darting around the room, and for once, I can’t read him. “I’ll call you when I find Malcom’s location. There might be a connection to you. Art gave me…another lead to follow.”

“What lead?”

“I’ll let you know. Now I have to go.” His words sound final.

Even so, I have to force my body still as I watch him reaching the door and turning the knob.

“Keep me posted. My life is on the line here.” My voice is deeper and rougher than I intended it to be.

He nods without turning around, leaving me there with a head full of questions and annoyance.