The king's appetite

Donato woke up the morning after with the city at his feet.

He stood naked in front of the windows of his penthouse, the morning sun pouring over his powerful, scarred body like liquid gold. He was carved from years of street fights, prison yard brawls, and the kind of violence that left permanent marks. Knife scars slashed across his ribs and shoulders. A bullet wound puckered just below his left collarbone. Another grazed his thigh. His cock hung heavy and half hard, stirred by the lingering memories of the night before Serena’s tight heat, her green eyes, the way she had gasped his name.

The Vitale family had clawed its way to the top through blood and cunning, and Donato intended to keep it there.

But business came first. Always.

He shrugged into a black silk robe that barely contained his broad chest and walked barefoot into the living room. Three of his most trusted captains were already waiting Vito, Marco, and the quiet, lethal Enzo. They rose the moment he entered.

“Boss,” Vito said, his voice tight. “The gambling spots in Brooklyn are short again. Almost fifty grand this time. The Russians are pushing hard, sniffing around our territory like they smell weakness.”

Donato’s expression remained calm, he poured himself a black espresso from the silver tray on the sideboard and took a slow sip.

“Fifty grand,” he repeated softly. “And who’s running the biggest of those spots?”

“Carlo,” Marco answered. “He’s been with us eight years.”

Donato set the cup down with a soft click. “Bring him in. Quietly. No one else needs to know yet.”

Two hours later, the basement of a warehouse near the Red Hook docks smelled of oil, rust, and fear.

Carlo knelt in the center of the concrete floor, his face already swollen and bloody from the initial beating. His designer shirt was torn and soaked with sweat and blood. Two of Donato’s men stood on either side of him waiting to be given orders.

Donato stood a few feet away, lighting a thick Cuban cigar . The flame illuminated the hard planes of his face.

“You stole from me, Carlo,” he said . “You thought I wouldn’t notice? That I wouldn’t feel every missing dollar like a cut to my own flesh?”

Carlo sobbed, snot and blood dripping from his broken nose. “Please, Don… I swear on my mother. I was going to pay it back. The Russians they leaned on me. Threatened my family. I got scared. I fucked up.”

Donato took a long drag, then exhaled smoke toward the low ceiling. “Scared?” He stepped closer. “You should’ve come to me. Instead, you put my money in your pocket and my respect in the dirt.”

In one fluid motion, Donato drew the pistol from the holster inside his robe. The first shot shattered Carlo’s right knee. The scream that tore from the man’s throat was inhuman. The second shot destroyed the left. Carlo collapsed forward, writhing in agony.

Donato crouched beside him, pressing the hot barrel of the gun against Carlo’s forehead. The man’s eyes were wide with terror, tears streaming down his ruined face.

“You cost me money,” Donato murmured. “You cost me respect. And in my world, those are the only two things that matter.”

He pulled the trigger.

The gunshot boomed like thunder in the enclosed space. Carlo’s body jerked once and went still. Blood and brain matter splattered across the gray concrete.

Donato rose slowly, wiping a speck of blood from his robe . He looked at his men. “Clean this up. Feed him to the harbor if you have to. And make sure everyone hears what happens when you forget who owns you.”

The men nodded, already moving to obey. Fear was the only currency that never lost value.

Back at the penthouse, the adrenaline still coursed through Donato’s veins like fire. He needed release.

Two girls were waiting for him in the master bedroom new faces, recommended by one of his clubs. Both in their early twenties, stunning, with the wide eyed hunger of those who knew exactly what kind of man they were about to serve. One was a lithe blonde with long legs and full lips. The other was a curvaceous brunette with dark, sultry eyes.

“On your knees,” Donato ordered, his voice low and rough as he let the robe fall open.

They obeyed instantly, dropping to the thick carpet. The blonde reached for his cock first, wrapping her soft hand around the thickening shaft before taking him into her warm, wet mouth. The brunette dipped lower, sucking gently on his heavy balls, her tongue swirling with practiced skill.

Donato groaned deeply, threading his fingers through their hair. He guided the blonde’s head, pushing deeper into her throat until she gagged, her eyes watering. “Deeper,” he growled. “Take every inch like you were born for it.”

He fucked her face with controlled thrusts, enjoying the wet, choking sounds. Then he switched, forcing the brunette to swallow him while the blonde licked along the underside. He slapped their cheeks lightly, called them his filthy little whores, and watched their mascara run.

“Bed. Now.”

They scrambled onto the massive king sized mattress. Donato took the blonde first, flipping her onto all fours and slamming into her from behind in one brutal stroke. She cried out, gripping the sheets as he pounded into her relentlessly, his hips slapping against her ass. The brunette straddled her friend’s face, grinding her pussy against the blonde’s eager tongue while Donato reached forward to choke her lightly.

“You’re just holes for me,” he snarled, his voice thick with lust. “Warm, wet, disposable holes. Nothing more.”

He fucked the blonde until her legs shook and she came with a muffled scream against the brunette’s cunt. Then he pulled out, his cock glistening, and shoved the brunette onto her back. He drove into her even harder, pinning her wrists above her head, biting at her neck and breasts. She begged half for mercy, half for more as he used her body without restraint.

When he finally came, it was deep inside the brunette, roaring as he filled her. He pulled out and made the blonde clean every drop from his cock with her tongue before he finished on the brunette’s tits, thick ropes of cum painting her flushed skin.

Satisfied for the moment, he tossed an envelope of cash onto the bed. “Clean yourselves up and leave. And if either of you breathe a word about tonight, you won’t live long enough to regret it.”

The girls dressed quickly and vanished.

Alone, Donato poured himself a glass of aged whiskey and returned to the windows. The city was bathed in afternoon light now. But his mind wasn’t on the view.

It was on her.

Serena.

The way her body had arched beneath him. He wanted her again.

He picked up his phone, thumbs moving with purpose.

Donato: Tonight. My place. 8pm. Don’t make me wait.

He hit send and smiled a dark, predatory curve of his lips.

The king was hungry.

And Serena was the only feast that would satisfy him.