Wrapped on the thoughts of him

SALVATORE

I watched Miguel vanish into the night, his lean silhouette swallowed by the dark as he fled from me. I could still feel the coldness of his knife’s blade against my throat.

I sighed softly and silently strolled back to the car waiting at the other street, not too far from the bar. It was surprising, even to me, that I stalked him for so long. It wasn’t in my nature to pursue, but something about this boy made me want to hunt him, chase him to the far ends of the earth like prey, and finally feast on him.

The way I’d ravish that ass. 

“Fuck,” I cursed under my breath. The street flickered with neon and the shuffle of drunks, but my mind stayed on him. Those wild hazel eyes, that sharp jaw, the way he’d pressed steel to my pulse and dared me to move. I slid into the backseat of the waiting car, the leather creaking under my weight.

“John. Any update?”

My right-hand man and most trusted partner, twisted around, his broad face shadowed. He muttered something I didn’t catch as he handed me a tablet. 

A woman’s photo lit the screen. She had brassy blonde hair teased high, cold blue eyes, and red lipstick bleeding into fine lines. 

“That’s his mother,” John said in a gruff voice. “Emily. She’s a piece of work. A slut with a capital S. Neighborhood can’t shut up about her. Men line up like she’s a damn buffet.”

I stared at the photo, grazing my thumb on the tablet’s edge as a spark ignited in my head. Was Miguel’s fire and pain somehow tied back to her? Why should a young boy who should be in college slave himself off at a bar, working for peanuts?

“Where is she at now?” I asked. 

John’s brow creased, his fingers pausing on the wheel. It was clear that he wanted nothing to do with this place anymore than he already had. In his defence, he had been the one in charge of digging up all the information required. “What’s the angle, boss? You hunting her down or something?”

I smiled, slow and cold, then met his eyes in the rearview. “Don’t dig too deep, John. Just give me the spot.”

He shifted uneasily then grunted. “Casino. She’s there tonight, as usual, throwing cash at slots and flirting with anything that moves.”

“Good.” I settled back into the seat. “Let’s go home. I need to freshen up.” 

*^*^*^*^*^*

I sank into the tub, sighing contentedly at the temperature. The amber liquid in my glass and my impatience made my thoughts drift to Miguel. 

I could almost still feel his resistance and hear him spitting curses, telling me to fuck off. I could still see his ass, tight in those jeans, swaying as he ran, his lean frame begging to be caught and punished. 

If he wanted to be chased so bad, we could work that out.

My cock stirred against my thigh, a slow ache building. Miguel was a puzzle. A stubborn bright light that I wanted to snuff out and cradle all at once.

I set the glass on the tub’s edge, slipping my hand beneath the surface of the water, my fingers curling around my cock.

I stroked slowly, deliberately, picturing those curls plastered to his forehead with sweat, his sharp cheekbones flushed as I pinned him down. 

“You’d fight me, wouldn’t you?” I muttered, my voice rough in the quiet. “Claw and hiss till I make you break.” 

My grip tightened, water sloshing as I imagined his wrists tied, silk biting into his skin, and his chest heaving under my weight. I would strip him—jeans yanked down, shirt torn off—exposing that taut body, all angles and defiance. 

“Ah, fuck.”

My breath quickened and I stroked faster, picturing his thighs spread apart, trembling as I pressed against him, his stubborn mouth parting with a choked moan. 

“Fuck, Miguel,” I growled. I could see his ass clenching, red from my smacks, his hazel eyes wide and pleading as I sank into him, deep, relentless, with a pace that made him thrash against me in tears. 

Heat coiled around my torso and I groaned loudly, my hips jerking as I came. Hot spurts after spurts dropped in the water around my cock until I stopped and slumped back, panting heavily. The image was still in my head.

I cursed softly as I hauled myself out of the water, drained it and jumped into a black suit, crisp and fitted, hugging my frame just right. I unbuttoned the shirt one notch, my tattoo peeking out, adding to my allure. 

Downstairs, John was already waiting in the driver’s seat, the engine rumbling. 

“Looking good, boss,” he said, smirking as I slid in. 

“Drive,” I ordered.

*^*^*^*^*^*^*

The casino hit me like a wave as neon lights flashed red and gold, slots clanged noisily, and voices slurred over the hum of greed. 

I stepped from the car and took in the sprawl of glass and noise. John trailed me, grabbing my coat as we crossed into the haze of smoke and desperation. 

My eyes cut through the crowd, quick and predatory, and it wasn’t hard finding her—Emily. She lounged at a table near the bar, cackling with a pack of women, her blonde hair a teased mess, and her dress clinging to her sagging curves like a second skin. She was loud, too loud for my liking; it churned my stomach. 

I couldn’t back down now. I locked down my irritation and painted on a smooth and calculated smile. 

“Get a drink, John,” I said in a low voice, unintentionally carrying an edge of command. “I’m taking her solo.”

He nodded and peeled off toward the bar. I moved toward her, shoulders squared, my presence parting the crowd like a blade. Her laughter faltered as I reached the table, her blue eyes snapping up to mine, widening with a flicker of surprise. A blush crept up her neck. I could already see her fingers tightening on her glass like she couldn't wait for me to be inside her, pounding her worn-out pussy as she moaned. 

I loomed over her, my voice dropping smooth and heavy. “Caught my eye the second I stepped in. Been watching you all night.”

She blinked then grinned, leaning forward, her chest straining against her dress. “Well, aren’t you something? Bold move, mister. What’s your name?”

“Salvatore,” I said, letting it hit like a gunshot, full of weight. “Sit with me. Just us.”

Her friends giggled and nudged her, and she flushed deeper. 

“Oh, I’m not sure… I’m kind of tied up here.”

I tilted my head, my smile sharpening with a hint of teeth. “Not anymore, you’re not. Come on. I don’t ask twice.”

She hesitated then laughed again. There was a nervous cut to it but it was clear as day that she was already hooked. Truly a slut as John said. 

“Alright, Salvatore. You’ve got me curious now.”

I stepped back and nodded to a quieter table in the corner, fighting the anger building up within me. How could a mother live such a life when her son was slaving himself away for peanuts?

“You didn’t tell me your name.”

“Emily,” she said, batting her lashes at me. She stopped and clutched her purse to the side. “After you… Salvatore.”