Dark Soul Vol. 2 Read online

  “I’m right here. Just a breath away. How are you feeling?”

  “I’m hard. God, I’m hard. How do you do that?”

  “You’re doing most of the work.” Gianbattista’s voice was so fond and tender that Silvio imagined he’d stroke his cheek if he were here. “Take the dildo. Suck on it so I can hear you.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Later.”

  Silvio reached over and took the dildo. The glass was cool and unyielding in his hand, smooth, substantial like a weapon. He opened his lips and teeth, pretended somebody was pushing the dildo into his mouth, and tilted his head back as if getting ready to deep throat. Not in a million years would it go that far. He ran his tongue around the bulb that would soon be inside him and put pressure where he craved it, then along the length that would take it there. He allowed his teeth to clink against the glass, then closed his lips around the top, sucking like he meant it. And shit, but that turned him on more.

  “Keep doing that.” The strain in Battista’s voice was maybe due to the concentration it took to imagine Silvio’s lips around his cock, which by contrast was very much yielding, hot and not as smooth. Gianbattista certainly loved a good blowjob. “Is it big?”

  “Enormous,” Silvio said, pulling the dildo free just long enough to speak. “Tastes of you.” He sucked on the glass, deliberately making wet and slurpy sounds, and caught himself moaning. No response from beyond the electric void, but he knew he had Battista’s full attention.

  “Put it inside. Slowly. Tell me how it feels. Tell me everything.”

  Silvio lowered the dildo to his ass, positioned it. “I’m on my back. One leg up on the back of the couch, the other on the seat. I’m wide open.” He pushed, teasing the muscle with small movements. “The head’s big, but I’m . . . going slow.”

  “You want to do it faster, don’t you?”

  “Yeah. I like the stretch.”

  “Ask me.”

  Silvio laughed, but he knew Gianbattista meant it, still got a kick out of ordering him. “Can I push this big dildo inside now? Please?”

  “Why would you want to do that?”

  “I want cock and that’s the closest . . . fucking thing.”

  “Lippy.”

  “Battista, please.”

  “Okay. Push it deep.”

  Silvio didn’t confirm, too eager to feel it all. And oh, yeah, this was one of the few toys that actually lived up to the promise. The big head stretched him, the lube didn’t take all of the burn; it was perfect. Thick, hefty, right there. Silvio groaned, arched, pushed it deeper, relishing the sense of being filled with something. Anything, really. Man or toy didn’t matter right fucking now. The pleasure was enormous and melted everything else away. “Oh God, good choice . . .”

  Battista chuckled. “Feels good, Silvio?”

  “Only . . . thing better . . . if you bent me in half . . .”

  “Exposing you. Making you helpless. I could tie you up.”

  A shiver of primal panic at the idea. But Battista was safe. He could do that. He’d still be safe. “Tie my legs so I can’t close them . . . can’t stretch them. Can’t do anything but watch you fuck me.”

  “I’d tie them to your hands, or put a spreader bar between them.”

  “. . .Yeah.” His voice sounded strangled. No thought of power, control, revenge now. Right now, he was caught up in the feeling, which was so much more intense for sharing it with Battista. Battista heightened the pleasure, giving him so much of it with just his voice and presence, even so far away.

  “Keep them open.”

  “Gotcha.” Silvio spread his legs wider but kept his eyes closed, his attention divided between his sense of touch and his sense of hearing. “I’m moving . . . it a bit. Just a little.” Hand flat against the base, touch slick, he only stirred the head inside, getting used to it. “You . . . your mouth would make it perfect.”

  “Blowing you?”

  “Yes.” Silvio groaned. “Like you did back . . . back then.”

  “You were never innocent, Silvio, but that was the closest you ever got. You didn’t really know what you wanted, only that you wanted it. Watching you awaken was the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “I need more.”

  “Then fuck yourself, slowly.”

  Silvio choked on his next breath, but obeyed. Pleasure raced and built and spiked not just in his ass; it flared over into his cock and tightened his balls, wound every muscle in his body tight and tighter.

  “Showing you pleasure like that, touching and kissing you everywhere—is still part of my fantasies. I’ll never forget turning you into a lover.”

  “Battista.” Silvio all but pulled the dildo free and pushed it back in, hard, merciless, but as slowly as he could make it, enjoying the breaching feeling as much as the pressure against the spot inside and the pleasure that raced up to the roots of his hair.

  “Maybe it’s because they say you never forget the first one. I sometimes like to think that whoever you fucked after me, there’ll still be an echo of me in your bed. Or wherever you take them.”

  “You’re always there.”

  “Good. You can go faster.”

  “I’ll come . . .”

  “I know.” Mild, gentle, generous Battista.

  Silvio gritted his teeth, slammed the dildo back in, moving fast now, rocking against the thrusts. His arm ached; his wrist took the strain from the awkward position as he fucked himself in earnest. He groaned into the phone, felt the plastic moisten from his breath, knew it would turn Battista on to hear him, imagine him, an ocean away, the only thing connecting them now their voices, Silvio all but incoherent.

  “You’re beautiful,” Battista said.

  Silvio squeezed his eyes shut, rapt in the pleasure, wholly taken with the lust and need and those words of approval. He got closer fast, brushing orgasm a few times, then sped himself up until he had to drop the phone on his chest and jerk off.

  The pleasure was a fierce flash of tensing, shuddering muscles and broken groans, arching as he shot his load over his stomach up to his pecs. He kept the dildo inside, muscles clenching around it, and continued to stroke for a few more moments before he relaxed back into the couch.

  He wiped his hand on his thigh and gathered up the phone. Battista’s breathing was erratic, then choked, and while he usually came in complete silence, Silvio could read the man’s breath like his own. “Wish I were there to suck you dry, Battista. I’d take everything, swallow every drop.”

  No answer but for heavy breathing. Silvio wanted to reach out and touch that fragile moment that couldn’t and didn’t last. Instead, he opened the nipple clamps and tossed them in the bag, the vile little fuckers. He rubbed his nipples until the bite turned into a throb.

  Finally, Battista’s breath deepened again, and Silvio smiled. “Was it good for you?”

  A sated chuckle. “Best one I’ve had in two weeks.”

  “You’re welcome.” Silvio pulled the dildo out, because hell, it was way too big to stay in even for a few moments now, and held it in his hand, lube-slick and body-warm. He dropped his leg from the back of the couch and straightened the other one, relishing the relaxation. “Keep me awake.”

  “You can sleep, Silvio.”

  “No. It’s too early.” Silvio yawned and reached for his boxers to mop up the semen. “Stefano said he’d come round later.”

  “You think he’s going to make his move?”

  “We’re going to talk about his Russian problem.” Silvio yawned again, not giving a fuck about any Russians right now. “The rest has time.”

  “You are getting better at the hunt and the chase,” Battista said.

  Silvio laughed. “I want him and I’ll have him, but maybe not tonight. Why are you asking?”

  “Oh, I’m just curious how it plays out. I’ve told him enough about you to make things interesting for you, otherwise the poor man wouldn’t know what hit him.”

  “Really?” Silvio huffed. He
was quite well prepared when he shoved a gun up my ass. “So you’re warning my prospects now?”

  “Just as a service to you.” Battista chuckled warmly. “You can’t stand boredom.”

  “True.” Silvio considered getting up, but right now, being stretched out on the couch was perfect, safe, as relaxed and sated as he could get. He imagined Battista was just in the next room, fixing drinks or cleaning up. “Is that how we’ll have sex now?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just asking. I bet you were looking at that painting.” That goddamned painting that shows me how I was, how I still am deep inside: a thing of shadows. “Pretending I’m still your sweet boy.” When I’m a man, or trying hard to become one. Then again, if he was old enough to kill and fuck, he was clearly old enough to be a man, wasn’t he?

  Battista had fallen silent again, but this time, that silence echoed with dissonance.

  “It’s okay. It fucking hurts, but it’s okay.”

  “I’m sorry, Silvio.”

  I know. It’s not my fault, it’s not your fault. This shit just happens. “I’m wiped out. And I need a shower.”

  “Sleep well. Make sure you call me every now and then, just to keep in touch, nothing more.”

  Yeah, so the sex just now had also been one of those accidents. “Will do. Must be late over there. Catch some sleep.”

  “Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  Silvio pressed the red button on the handset, then dropped it to the side on the couch. He was too sated to care much about the ache in his heart. He wasn’t over Battista, but had this helped or made things worse?

  He closed his eyes again, breathing deeply.

  A noise woke him so suddenly his heart pounded in his chest and his hand reached for a weapon. He jerked fully awake when he couldn’t find it.

  “Don’t shoot me.” Stefano.

  Silvio lay back with a groan, saw Stefano just a few steps away, a black case in his hand. Silvio felt the man’s gaze on him, and thought he must look a picture of debauchery, naked, stretched out on the couch, a glass dildo at his side and the smell of sex and cooled sweat in the air. Silvio lifted the dildo up. “With this? Out of bullets.”

  Stefano stared at him as if unsure whether he’d made a joke. “You . . . okay to talk?”

  “Yeah. I’ll grab a shower. Ten minutes.”

  “Okay.”

  Silvio gathered up his clothes, relishing the pleasant ache in his body. He could have taken the bag, too, but maybe Stefano wanted to have a look inside while he was gone. He did take the dildo, though, before he marched into the bedroom and on into the en suite.

  The shower revived him, beat back sleep, and he quickly toweled and dressed in chinos and a t-shirt before padding back into the living room.

  Stefano sat close enough to the bag to have examined it, his light eyes drinking Silvio up. “I wanted to give you this in person.” He opened the black case and turned it toward him, rather like a man turning a jewel box to his girl.

  “Beretta’s my favorite,” Silvio said.

  “They’ll customize it, like your original weapon.”

  Stefano had noticed? Silvio arched an eyebrow. “I’ll just need new grips.”

  “You can meet our contact tomorrow. He’ll give you whatever other weapons you need or want.”

  Silvio sat down and took the Beretta from its foam casing, fingers working of their own volition, sliding, testing. “Are you going to take me there?” Only good thing about not having a bike.

  “Yes, I’ll do that.” Stefano’s gaze was on his hands, but Silvio sensed the man’s suppressed arousal. It was like a tang on the air, not unlike blood or the smell of sex.

  He smiled at the thought.

  You’re getting better at the chase.

  “How will I pay you back?”

  Stefano shivered. “You’re taking care of my problem.” He glanced up, as if realizing that this did sound an awful lot like innuendo. “I mean the Russians.”

  “I know what you meant.” Silvio pushed the Beretta back into the foam cushioning. With a weapon close, he already felt much better. Just in case anybody tried to get him. Not Diego, but there might be others like him. Always the possibility. “Thanks.”

  Stefano ran his fingers through his hair, a gesture that gave away how rattled he was. Just from seeing some flesh and toys? Silvio placed the tip of his tongue at the corner of his mouth. “You’re turned on.”

  Stefano stared at him, confirming his suspicion by not immediately denying it. “I’m not . . . ready yet.”

  “Your wife.”

  “Yes.” Stefano stood and wiped his hands on his trousers. “I don’t feel like I’m in control.”

  “And you want to be.”

  Silvio met his eyes. Stefano, unlike many people, managed to answer that gaze. He wasn’t one to lose a staring contest lightly, that one. Eventually Silvio looked away, mostly to put him at ease. “There’s one simple solution. Just be in control. Make me do what you want.”

  Stefano shifted uneasily. “Right now, I’m trying not to do what I want.” He breathed deeply and shook his head. “Goddamn you, Silvio.”

  Silvio smiled and stood. “That’s about right.” He reached for the gun case and closed it, placed one hand on it, sensing the gun inside like a still heart in a ribcage. “I’ll need a shooting range.”

  “Vince is going to drive you there tomorrow.” Stefano didn’t take his eyes off him. “What were you . . . imagining?”

  Silvio smiled and glanced back to the couch. “Maybe I’ll tell you one day.”

  Ask me again when you’re inside me, and I might even whisper the truth.

  Stefano could barely resist the buzz from the phone as it sat there flashing its screen against the white tablecloth. He tapped his fingers restlessly, because the source of most text messages was sitting opposite him, taking a sip from her wine glass. They only did this twice a month. Donata didn’t appreciate any interruptions on date night.

  “Go on, take it,” she said. “It might be important.” A lift of the eyebrow indicated he was on dangerous ground. How easily women could lure you into a situation and then slap you down when you only did what they told you.

  “It’s a text.”

  “I know.” She lifted her hands as if to show she couldn’t possibly have sent it. “Do you want the mousse au chocolat? I’ll have a lick of that.”

  “I’ll go with the torroncino.” The half-frozen nougat doused in hot espresso exemplified all that was perfect about Italian cooking in his book. “But if you want the mousse, have it.”

  She smoothed one hand down over her flat stomach in something akin to outrage. “After the pesto chicken?” With all the olive oil and pine kernels, she meant.

  Stefano smiled. “I promise you’ll work it off later in the hotel. It won’t make a difference at all.”

  Donata beamed at him, and God, but he loved her. She ran long-distance and worked out, ate lots of protein and very little in the way of carbs and sugar, but this was date night, and if she wanted the damned chocolate, she should have it. She flagged down the waiter and ordered, which gave Stefano a moment to check his phone.

  Gone out figure you wont need me. Silvio.

  “So, who is it?”

  “Silvio. Taking some time off.”

  “Good. He’s been cooped up too long in that bungalow. He’s young, he should enjoy the nightlife.”

  Only what did “enjoying the nightlife” mean? It wasn’t any of his business, but he pictured Silvio in the arms of a stranger, and he didn’t like that one bit. The city had a vibrant gay scene, but he’d been too nervous to even set a foot into any of those places. He was a married man, and his father would have skinned him alive if he’d known. With Donata, it was easy enough to push those thoughts away, most of the time.

  “At least he got that bike delivered yesterday,” Stefano added, unwilling to talk about Silvio’s tastes or how he might spend the evening and night.
And early morning. My own damned fault. If I kept him closer, he wouldn’t go out to fuck strangers. “What do you think of him?”

  She glanced up and smiled. “In what way?”

  “Just, you know, as a person.”

  “Oh, he’s intense. Different. I like him.”

  “Do you?”

  “You’re not asking this because you’re jealous?”

  “No. He’s . . .” Stefano shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, he’s drop-dead gorgeous—in his own way. Not like you at all.”

  Stefano reached for the wine again and paused when the waiter brought the desserts. Her mousse au chocolat was arranged in two small balls with some chocolate syrup tracing abstract patterns on the large, white, empty plate in between. The torroncino came in a small bowl, the espresso in an espresso cup. He poured the dark liquid with the golden crema on top over the nougat, watching it melt and pool and turn the color of milk coffee.

  “Yes, he’s striking.” Though drop-dead gorgeous is a good expression for a killer. “Some people find him unnerving.”

  “Hmm, I could see that. He’s quite in-your-face, but otherwise he’s nice. And he has really, really good taste.” She leaned closer. “Very well dressed, clean fingernails, great haircut.”

  Had she spotted Silvio was gay? “Metrosexual?”

  “Yes, that’s a good word.” She sounded perfectly innocent, saying that. Like she’d commented on that English footballer’s sense of style. Stefano took a couple spoonfuls of his liquefying dessert and watched Donata eat some of hers. She’d never finish it, but she enjoyed the little she had.

  “I might assign him on security to you at times. Vince deserves a few weeks off one of these days.”

  “Oh. No, I don’t mind. I guess I could go shopping with him.”

  “It’s important that security guys have their hands free,” he warned, but she smiled. She knew that.

  Then it registered. She had to think Silvio was gay. What other man would go shopping for clothes and jewelry? Or be any good at it? Did she? Damn, this whole topic was just too difficult. All he’d wanted was her opinion to cross-check his own. His was addled with that gut-churning desire when Silvio was in the room. He’d thought she might be more levelheaded. But she just “liked” him. What had Silvio said? He was “playing the field.” Not just gay, then. More like him, only he wasn’t really “playing” outside his marriage. He didn’t even have a mistress. Because one woman is plenty for you, a little voice taunted.