FORBIDDEN SERIES —A PET BOY FOR THE MAFIA DON 3

My heart slammed against my ribs at his words, each beat echoing in my ears over the drip of water from some unseen pipe in the basement walls.

Cum leaked warmth down my inner thighs, a sticky reminder of what I’d just let him do to my body. My thighs trembled, muscles weak from the aftershocks, and my fists clenched at my sides, nails biting into palms until the sting cut through the haze.

He straightened, zipped his slacks and flipped his shirt over his shoulder with casual ease, then walked out without a backward glance. The door thudded shut behind him. A guard, broad, silent, uncuffed me and grabbed my elbow, his grip like iron, as he hauled me to my feet.

My knees buckled once; he yanked harder. Naked, skin prickling in the chill, I stumbled after him up a flight of stairs

We emerged into a hallway lined with dark wood panels and crystal sconces casting warm glows. Marble floors cold under my bare feet. He shoved open a double door at the end. The room screamed power, a king-sized bed with black silk sheets.

Vittorio’s cologne lingered here, that bourbon-vanilla warmth soaking the air. My stomach twisted; this was his bedroom. No escape.

The guard left without a word, door clicking locked. I stood there, fists still clenched, cum drying sticky on my skin. The collar’s weight, though no longer attached to me, I felt it pressed on my neck. I paced once, twice, breaths shallow and ragged. The city skyline mocked me through the glass—freedom so close, yet untouchable.

The door opened again. Vittorio stepped in, bare-chested, tattoos swirling across his pecs and down his arms like living shadows. He carried a glass of amber liquid—whiskey, from the sharp scent—and set it on the nightstand. His eyes raked over me, slow and hungry. My cock stirred again, traitorous heat pooling low despite the ache in my hole.

“Shower,” he said, voice low. Not a question.

He nodded toward an en-suite door. I moved, fists unclenching just enough to push it open. Steam from the hot water fogged the mirrors as I stepped under the spray, scalding streams pounding my back. Soap lathered slick between my fingers; I scrubbed hard, trying to erase the feel of him, but my skin tingled, remembering. My cock hardened fully under the water, and I gripped it once, stroked slowly, hating the moan that slipped out.

When I emerged, towel wrapped low on my hips, Vittorio sat on the bed’s edge, slacks unbuttoned, glass empty. He crooked a finger and the towel dropped; my heart was hammering louder now, fists balling at my sides again. He pulled me between his knees, hands landing warm on my hips. Thumbs traced the V of my abs, dipping lower.

“On the bed,” he murmured.

I crawled onto the silk sheets, cool, smooth against my heated skin. He followed, shedding his slacks, cock springing free, thick, veined, already hard and curving up.

The mattress dipped under his weight. He hovered over me, one hand planting beside my head, the other trailing down my chest. Fingers circled a nipple, pinching lightly until it peaked. A gasp escaped me; my back arched off the bed.

His mouth followed, hot, wet suction on my nipple, tongue flicking the bud. I bit my lip, fists twisting the sheets until fabric bunched under my knuckles. He switched sides, teeth grazing just enough to send jolts straight to my cock. My hips bucked up, seeking friction; his thigh pressed between my legs, rough hair scraping sensitive skin.

“Vittorio…” The name slipped out, half plea, half curse.

He lifted his head, eyes dark pools. “Tell me you want it.”

My throat worked. Fists clenched harder, sheets tearing slightly at the seams. “I… yes.”

He kissed lower—open-mouthed trails down my stomach, stubble scraping my abs. His breath ghosted over my cock, hot and teasing.

Then his mouth engulfed me, velvet heat, tongue swirling the head. I moaned loud, the sound bouncing off the walls. My hips jerked; he pinned them down with one arm, taking me deeper until his nose brushed my pubes.

Wet, rhythmic sounds filled the room as he bobbed, hollowing his cheeks. Spit slicked down my balls; I throbbed in his throat, pleasure coiling tight in my gut.

“Fuck…” I groaned, fists pounding the mattress once. I hated how good it felt, his mouth owning me, the suction pulling moans I couldn’t stop.

He pulled off with a pop, lips shiny. “Turn over, boy,”

I rolled, ass up, knees spreading wide on instinct. His hands gripped my cheeks, spreading them. Hot breath there first, then his tongue—wet, probing my hole.

I buried my face in the pillow, moaning muffled into silk. He licked slow circles, dipping inside, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room. My cock leaked steadily onto the sheets; I ground against them, chasing relief.

“More,” I begged, voice breaking. Fists unclenched just to claw at the headboard, wood splintering under my nails. I loved the fire it ignited.

He rose behind me, cock nudging my entrance—hot, blunt pressure.He leaned above me and took a lube from the nightstand—cool drizzle down my crack, his fingers working it in, scissoring until I stretched open.

Then he pushed his cock into me, slowly, inch by inch, the burn fading to fullness. Then he bottomed out, hips flush against my ass. We both groaned, the sound mingling in the air.

He pulled back, thrust forward, deeply, steady rhythm building. Slaps of skin filled the room, wet and rhythmic. His hands gripped my waist, pulling me back onto him with each snap. Pleasure spiked with every grind against that spot inside; stars burst behind my eyelids. Moans tore from my throat—loud, desperate. “Harder… please…”

He obliged, pace quickening, thrusts rougher, balls slapping my ass. Sweat slicked our skin; his chest pressed to my back, one hand wrapping around my cock.

He stroked it in time—firm, twisting at the head. I bucked into his fist, back into his cock, trapped in the dual rhythm. Moans echoed, mine high and broken, his low growls vibrating against my neck.

“Vittorio—fuck—more…” The words spilled out, fists pounding the pillow now.

He flipped me onto my back mid-thrust, never pulling out. Legs hooked over his shoulders, he drove deeper, angle hitting the perfect spot.

His mouth crashed onto mine, tongue plunging in time with his cock. Salty sweat on his lips; I kissed back hungry, teeth nipping his lower lip. He groaned into my mouth, hand fisting my hair to hold me still.

Orgasm built fast. It coiled tight, balls drawing up.

“I’m—close—”

“Come for me,” he rasped into my mouth, stroking faster.

I shattered, cock pulsing ropes across my chest, hole clenching around him in waves. He followed, thrusting erratically, flooding me hot and deep with a guttural moan.

Vittorio pulled out with a wet slide, his cum leaking hot and thick down my inner thighs. The sudden emptiness ached; my hole clenched around nothing, sending aftershocks through my trembling legs.

He rolled off the bed immediately, muscles shifting under tattooed skin as he crossed to the walk-in closet. The door slid open with a soft whoosh, revealing rows of tailored suits and shelves of leather. My chest heaved, breaths ragged, fists twisting the silk sheets until the fabric bunched under my knuckles. Shame burned my cheeks; I’d begged for it, come apart under him like I’d never done for anyone.

He returned with a bundle, black mesh shorts that looked too small, sheer enough to show everything underneath, paired with a matching harness that crisscrossed the chest like restraints. No shirt, no underwear. “Put it on.”