by J. C. Owens
Long fingers came up to wrap around his wrist, halting his touch, and he felt his heart sink.
A long, low growl rumbled from Enzo’s chest, and the fire in his eyes darkened still further. “Get up,” he ordered, the tone soft and yet dangerous.
He wanted to weep with the sense of failure that overwhelmed him then.
Sliding from Enzo's lap, he scrambled to the edge of the booth, trying to control his expression, feeling Enzo moving out behind him. He could not look up, could not meet those dark eyes.
He could not draw a true breath. His chest felt tight and painful.
He heard Enzo bark something at the bodyguards, at Sergei, then fingers shackled his wrist, pulling him along behind Enzo’s tall, intimidating figure. The Martinelli strode through the ranks of people, his mere presence seeming to create a path through the onlookers of the crowd, who watched him with wide eyes.
The rush of fresher air outside stung his lungs as he hurried in Enzo’s wake, grimacing at the tight grip that ground his bones together. His mentor was truly angry, and he had no one but himself to blame for being on the end of that fury. His behavior had been utterly inexcusable. Now he would pay the price.
He blinked back tears as he saw one of Enzo’s Jaguars pull up in front of them. Enzo yanked open the back door before the driver could even get round to open it for him and pushed him into the vehicle before following, slamming the door in his wake.
Chase pulled himself upright, cringing against the far door, rubbing his wrist slowly, wondering how much worse he had made things with his foolishness.
He felt Enzo move closer, then he was pinned against the door, Enzo’s mouth crashing down on his.
Chase let out a startled cry that was muffled by Enzo’s lips, disbelief keeping him motionless for long moments, then he let out a moan of need and responded with all the love he had kept bottled up for so long. He slid his arms around broad shoulders, and he gave himself utterly, completely pliant to whatever Enzo wished.
His submission provoked a rumble of pleasure from the older man, and he yelped as Enzo wrapped a powerful hand around his leg and yanked him across the seat, so that he lay on his back under Enzo’s body. The feeling of domination made him pant, whimpers echoing under Enzo’s kiss. Chase slid his fingers down powerful arms and then caressed over hard pectorals as he blindly fumbled for the buttons of the silky shirt. Skin, he needed skin. He had to touch, had to… Please, this couldn’t stop. He would die if this ended now. Just once, just…
Enzo ended the kiss, trailing his lips down over his neck, nipping, leaving reddened marks upon tender skin.
He reveled in the feeling of being possessed, of being wanted. This was so much more than he had ever received. He arched as much as he could under Enzo’s weight, pressing against the hard arousal he could feel against his own. He managed to unfasten several buttons with his shaking fingers before plunging his hand into the space provided, closing his eyes as he touched hot skin. He traced downward, his cock jumping as he felt a taut nipple rub over his palm.
Enzo shuddered, the first sign that he was not completely in control, and a growl escaped his lips as he returned the favor, contorting on the seat as he shoved Chase’s shirt up, and captured one of his nipples with his teeth, beginning to lash the captured flesh with his tongue.
His head arched back into the leather upholstery, staring with wide unseeing eyes at the roof of the car, a muffled scream locked in his throat. The sensations of pleasure and pain were all he had dreamed of, all he had imagined in the long lonely nights when he had wished for exactly this moment.
That this was happening was almost more than he could comprehend, but if this were a dream, he prayed that God would never let him wake. He would happily remain here for eternity.
He cursed as Enzo nipped hard, marking him, before moaning as he realized that Enzo had cleverly unzipped his fly, his now bare cock rubbing against Enzo’s pants with delicious friction.
Enzo twisted, unzipping his pants, pulling his cock free. Chase licked his lips, rising then to push Enzo back so he was sitting on the seat, bending over him. Without pausing, he swallowed that beautiful shaft, feeling Enzo shiver, a large hand stroking over his head, sinking into his hair to hold him close.
For once, he felt no shame of his sexual experience and skills. For this moment he blessed them, that he could give Enzo pleasure, confidence in every stroke of his tongue, in the relaxing of his throat as he took the thickness deep, before turning his attention to the broad dark head, lapping at its slit, moaning at the taste. He pursed his lips, sucking gently upon the head, drawing forth that slick moisture that tasted so amazing upon his tongue. Taking Enzo’s essence into his own body.
Enzo groaned, hips flexing, head flung back. Chase twisted his head just slightly, watching avidly, memorizing every expression of pleasure that flashed over the Martinelli’s face. He was so damned beautiful. When he finally looked down, those dark eyes flared into something dangerous, something primal and deep that knew no boundaries.
“Get those damned pants off,” the growl had him lifting his head, giving a last loving lick to the crown as he squirmed to remove the pants in the confines of the back seat. He glanced outside at the traffic, feeling heat rise in his cheeks, but also a kind of wild thrill at the exposure. The windows were tinted, but not that dark. More likely, it was the driver who was seeing this all quite clearly. All he could think of was pleasing Enzo, and the rest of the world hardly mattered.
Enzo pushed a finger within his mouth, and he sucked eagerly, never taking his eyes from his lover’s face.
The Martinelli watched his mouth, his breath becoming harsher, his other hand tracing his lips.
“Such a beautiful mouth,” he whispered, the sound harsh with want and need. “You looked good with my cock between your lips, stretched wide around my girth. I could come just from watching that, but I want to be in you, deep in your body. You better be ready, Chase, because you have wakened the dragon, and I am not going to stop, even if I hurt you. I tried to warn you.”
He released the finger, wet and hot, spreading his legs wide, and leaning forward to meet Enzo’s lips. “I want you. I am meant for you, and I will take whatever you give me with joy. Show me. Take me. I will not break, and I will not back away from you. Ever.”
Enzo snarled, lips curling, yanking him closer, as his wet finger pressed insistently upon his entrance, sliding in without too much resistance.
Chase gasped, breaking the kiss as he tilted his head back. His hips pressed back, desperately seeking more. When the finger pulled away, he left out a soft cry of protest, watching with half-lidded eyes as Enzo smeared two fingers through his own pre-cum, coating them liberally before reaching between his thighs once more.
A mewl escaped Chase’s throat as he was pierced, rising further up on his knees, his hands gripping Enzo’s shoulders through the soft shirt. His fingers kneaded restlessly over the hard muscles as he focused on the sensations within him, as those fingers scissored and thrust, opening his channel that fluttered around the beloved touch. He shook with need, eyes wide with wonder over how different this felt than what had gone before. The men who had used him without care—who had beaten him, raped him, seen him as less than human—had never touched him so gently, and it was as though Enzo’s touch was healing him from within…as though he were overlaying everything that had gone before with something so much greater.
He felt tears spill down his cheeks, and the movement of the fingers stopped for long moments, until he lowered his gaze to Enzo’s piercing stare. Those eyes searched his, then the inner touches resumed, harder and deeper. He writhed on the impalement, soft gasps escaping, eyes locked upon that fierce face.
With no more preparation, Enzo guided Chase over his rampant erection. He reached for it, positioned it, sinking down upon the length before Enzo could even thrust upward.
The burn was harsh and tearing, and he gritted his teeth, jaw clenching. Even this was good. Thi
s time there would be pleasure, a loving touch that came after. So different, so beautiful.
Enzo maneuvered him into place, hands settling on his hips, holding him firmly as he lifted him, then thrust up even as Chase sank down once more. He gave a short scream, pain and pleasure intermingled, as the Martinelli began to pump into him with harder, longer strokes that hammered his prostate with precise torment.
Everything faded away. The past, the present, what was to come. There was only this moment, the feel of Enzo beneath his fingertips, the thickness of his cock within his body, the heat and sweat and sheer pleasure of it all. His own cries overlaid with Enzo’s growls and harsh, ragged breathing. Each stroke seemed to lift him higher, and he began to shake uncontrollably, the sensations rising to a plateau he had never encountered before. He had been right. He was meant for Enzo, even as the other man was meant for him. Nobody would ever give him this much. Nobody else. Only his Enzo.
The muscles of his thighs cramped, his body tightening to where it was hard to breathe, hard to…
His breath exhaled in a keening wail as he exploded, his body arching until his shoulders lay against the back of the passenger seat, his head tilted so he never lost sight of his lover’s face. He had to watch, had to see…
Enzo’s eyes were fixed upon him in return, and the fire, the darkness within, rose and twined together, before he thrust a final time, deep and with such force that Chase was lifted up, impaled utterly, suspended for a long moment. The Martinelli gave a groan that rose into a roar, his body shaking as he came, fingers spasming on Chase’s hips, bruising him with the force.
There was no sound then but their panting breaths, the noise of traffic around them. He felt hands grip his waist, slide around his back, pulling him forward so that he draped over Enzo’s body, his head laying over his shoulder against the top of the back seat. He could feel Enzo’s hot breath against his shoulder, feel the tension that flowed out of the other man to leave him lax against the upholstery.
Enzo hummed and laid him down upon the seat, looming over him for a deep kiss.
Chase lifted a trembling hand to comb through the rumpled dark hair, searching Enzo’s eyes with wistful intensity. Had it meant anything to the Martinelli at all, or had it just been that he had driven him to that need, that want? A simple matter of sex.
The darkness that dwelt within Enzo did not show in his eyes at this moment, there was a hint of confusion, a scrap of softness that Chase had never seen before, except with his small family.
Enzo bent and laid his lips over his, and Chase flowed into the kiss with all his soul.
Whatever would come after this, he would hold Enzo’s touch in his heart. This had been a gift beyond price.
Chapter Eight
Enzo stepped from the helicopter, bent low as his enforcers ushered him to the waiting car. Free of the overhead blades at last, he straightened, nodding to the man who held the car door open. He slipped into the back seat, Sergei and Raymond close behind him.
“The hotel, sir?” The driver met his eyes in the rearview mirror, his expression respectful.
He nodded, then sat in silence, hands folded upon his lap, staring out the tinted window to his right.
They left the private airfield and pulled into busy traffic, the long, dark car accelerating smoothly.
“I am worried about you meeting Carlos.” Sergei’s tone was even and low. “He’s slipping away from us. He’s part of this somehow, I know it.”
He never disputed his security chief’s hunches. He could not say the thought had not crossed his own mind. Something was off.
Still, his mind was wandering, not focused on the moment as it should be. He had left a warm bed—and a sleepy, sated Chase in it—and it had almost unbearable to pull himself away. That alone was warning. Never had he felt the pull to remain at someone’s side, felt reluctance to part. He frowned disapprovingly. Perhaps it was just the novelty. Surely soon it would die down to something manageable, proper.
He clenched his jaw.
“You made the reservations for me to meet Ren at Bello’s, Raymond?”
His aide nodded. “I made it for after the meeting with Carlos. Ren is liable to take this poorly, and I don’t want you going into this angry. Carlos is skittish as it is.”
He just nodded.
Silence fell for the rest of the trip. The car pulled into the ornate entrance of the Estrada, a luxury hotel he had bought fifteen years ago. It was one of his most lucrative investments, and more to the point, completely free of any drug links. It was part of a chain of holdings that he had cultivated over the years, so that he had properties that could not be traced back to him. If anything happened, these could not be taken away. He wanted all this to be part of a network that would continue on after his own death, providing for Kirith, Laura, Chase, and perhaps now, his own child.
They would never be without financial aid, even if he was no longer here to provide it.
He had reserved here under an assumed name. To them, he would be just another rich business man. Only the elite stayed here, so someone with bodyguards was not out of place. As they pulled up to the front doors, he slid on his sunglasses and stepped out of the car.
“You been good to me, Mr. Martinelli, and it don’t seem right, what I seen going down.” Carlos was a victim of his own product and obviously in need of it right now. No doubt he had held off to be straight enough to speak to Enzo. The thin man had a shake to his hands, and his eyes darted to and fro, never landing on anything for very long, from Enzo, to Sergei, to Raymond. His fidgeting form was in stark contrast to Enzo’s motionless, deadly intensity.
The silence made Carlos worse, and sweat began to bead upon his forehead. “I had to let you know that Santos is pullin’ out, bad-mouthing you to the south, but sendin’ you messages that everything is good. Don’t trust him no more, sir.”
“And do you know the reason for Santos’s withdrawal? Hear any names? Get a feel for why he feels safe enough to start talking?” Sergei’s tone was even enough, but his eyes were dark and intent upon Carlos.
Carlos shrank under the scrutiny, his face now gleaming with moisture. He swallowed hard, then looked pleadingly at Enzo. “I don’t know no more than that. Just knew it was important and you had to know.”
Enzo leaned back in his chair and reached for a chocolate on the dessert tray next to him. “Good man, Santos. It will be sad to sever our connection so violently. You did well. I’ll be sure to see you get another percentage in your take.” His tone was even, his expression cold and dark.
Carlos nodded jerkily, his eyes flitting between Enzo and Sergei, trying to avoid Raymond’s silent form by the window.
Sergei rose to his feet and jerked his head toward the door.
Carlos shot up as though he were on strings, bowed to Enzo, and scurried in the security chief’s wake.
Enzo chewed the chocolate thoughtfully, enjoying the burst of flavor across his tongue. He took his time. He had long ago learned to savor everything in his life, no matter how small. He did not overindulge in anything, choosing instead to enjoy a sensual exploration of surroundings; food, drink, sex. The glory of a sunset, the feel of wind upon his face. Little things.
He had never expected to live this long.
Now someone sought to turn him against a friend. A very good friend. Santos Mendoza had saved his life more than once. When his father had sent him for sniper training down in Peru, with an allied family. Only fifteen, alone, and desperately missing his brother, he had started pitting himself against the enemies of the Mendozas. A family as cold and hard as the Martinellis. And yet, he had found a friend in Santos, the oldest son, a young man two years older than him. When Santos was only twenty-one, his father, Alonzo Mendoza, had been killed and he had taken over operations in Peru. Santos had worked with Enzo’s father, but had been greatly pleased when the man was killed by Kirith. He had seen too much of what Enzo had endured under his father’s hands. They were close—very close—and En
zo trusted him completely. Raymond had come from Santos, an invaluable gift, and now a true friend.
Sergei returned and sank down into a chair with a grunt, expression dark.
He eyed him for a moment, before reaching for his glass of wine.
“Someone is trying to turn me against Santos. Get word to him. Let him know his security is probably breached and to check the south connections. See how far this goes.” He took a mouthful of wine, letting it swirl, before swallowing slowly and glancing at Raymond.
“I want Stacey moved to Italy right away, put in a safe house. I will explain to her the benefits of agreeing to such a thing.”
Raymond nodded, watching him intently.
He put the fragile glass back upon the table, nodding at Sergei.
“Let Carlos deliver his message. Then kill him. You were right. He is in on this.”
Sergei’s smile turned feral.
Ren looked up with a brilliant smile as Enzo approached the table, half rising, until the Martinelli gestured him down. Enzo seated himself, speaking briefly with the deferential maître d’. The man smiled, bowing his head respectfully, before leaving.
Their table was in a corner, private and sheltered from the rest of the room, although the other diners could be seen vaguely through the ornate latticework that separated their area.
Ren reached over and laid his hand over Enzo’s, stroking over the long fingers.
“I missed you. You would have enjoyed the play. We could still…”
He gave a brief smile, grasping Ren’s hand and giving it a small kiss.
“No, amico mio. Sono venuto a parlare.”
Ren frowned at something in Enzo’s tone, his expression becoming somewhat guarded.
“You came all this way to talk? Must be serious.”