Chapter 10

Marcelo’s POV

I gasp in pleasure, letting him know he’s hit the right spot. He maintains the angle, hitting my prostate with each thrust, and I’m reduced to incoherent moans. My cock leaks precum onto the couch, untouched but so hard it aches.

Just as we find our rhythm, a shrill ring cuts through the air. Vincenzo’s phone, somewhere on the coffee table.

“Ignore it,” I plead, not wanting to break this perfect moment.

The ringing stops, then starts again almost immediately. Vincenzo curses in what sounds like Italian, his rhythm faltering.

“It might be important,” he says, but he doesn’t stop moving.

He reaches around me for the phone, his chest pressing against my back as he stretches. The new angle drives him deeper, and I bite my lip to stifle a moan.

“It’s Daniel,” he says, reading the screen. He answers, putting it on speaker. “What is it?”

“Mr. Casano, I’m so sorry to disturb you.” Daniel’s voice fills the room.

“But Mr. Tiniko is insisting on speaking with you directly. He’s waited for two hours as you requested, but doesn’t want to wait anymore.”

Vincenzo sighs and curses under his breath, his hips still moving in slow, deep thrusts that make it hard for me to stay quiet. “Put him through.”

Put him through? Is he for real? We’re kind of in the middle of something.

But Vincenzo sets the phone on the couch where I can see it, presses mute, then leans down to whisper in my ear. “Don’t make a sound when I’m talking.”

My eyes widen as I realize what’s happening. He’s going to keep fucking me while on a business call. The thought horrifies me, but it also sends a fresh wave of arousal through my body.

The call connects, and an accented voice comes through the speaker.

“Vincenzo, thank you for taking my call.”

Vincenzo continues to thrust, one hand covering my mouth to ensure I stay quiet. With his other hand, he reaches for the phone to unmute, then grasps my cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. I bite down on his palm to keep from moaning.

“Mr. Tiniko,” Vincenzo’s voice is perfectly composed. “What can I do for you?”

He mutes again immediately, not missing a beat as he fucks me. The contrast between his professional tone on the call and the way he’s using my body is intoxicating.

Mr. Tiniko launches into a lengthy explanation about health inspections and structural concerns at the Kyoto property. Vincenzo listens, occasionally unmuting to give short, professional responses, his voice only just a little out of breath. All the while, his cock drives into me, his hand works my shaft, and his teeth nip at my shoulder.

I’m completely at his mercy, unable to make a sound, unable to do anything but take what he gives me. And God, do I take it. I push back against him, meeting his thrusts, silently begging for more. He understands, increasing his pace, his grip on my cock tightening.

“I understand your concerns,” he says during one unmuted moment, his voice giving no indication of what he’s doing to me. “We’ll have the documentation to you by end of day.”

The call continues for what feels like an eternity, though it can’t be more than ten minutes. Vincenzo maintains his composure throughout, his voice steady even as his breath comes in shallow bursts from the effort of controlling his movements.

The whole time, I’m falling apart beneath him, my body trembling with the need for release. I’ve never been so turned on in my life. The forbidden nature of it, the risk of discovery, the sheer dominance Vincenzo exudes—it’s all pushing me toward an orgasm that threatens to be earth-shattering.

Finally, Mr. Tiniko seems satisfied. “Very good. I look forward to receiving the documents.”

“Thank you for your patience, Mr. Tiniko. I’ll have Branda send everything over. Have a good day.”

He ends the call and tosses the phone aside. The moment it’s gone, he grips my hips with both hands and pulls me back onto his cock with renewed force.

“Fuck, that was hot,” I gasp, finally free to make noise.

“You were so good,” he praises, one hand sliding up my chest to grip my throat lightly. “So perfect.”

His words send a fresh wave of pleasure through me. I’ve never been praised like this during sex, never felt so completely owned and cherished at the same time.

“But I’ve been holding back,” he says, his voice rough with need. “Not anymore.”

He withdraws almost completely, then slams back in with enough force to shove me forward against the couch. I cry out in ecstasy, the pain completely gone now. He does it again, establishing a brutal pace that has me seeing stars with every thrust.

“Touch yourself,” he commands. “I want to feel your tight little ass clench around me when you come.”

I reach between my legs, wrapping my hand around my cock. I’m so close already, teetering on the edge from the prolonged stimulation.

“You feel so fucking good,” Vincenzo groans, his rhythm faltering slightly.

“So tight. So perfect.”

His praise pushes me over the edge, and my orgasm hits me like a freight train, tearing a scream from my throat as I spill over my hand and onto the couch. My body convulses, clenching around his cock, and Vincenzo curses, his thrusts becoming erratic.

“Marcelo,” he groans, and the sound of my name on his lips as he comes is the most erotic thing I’ve ever heard.

He collapses against my back, both of us breathing heavily. For a long moment, we stay connected, catching our breath. Then he slowly withdraws, and I wince at the loss. He disposes of the condom and returns with a warm, damp towel to clean me up.

The tenderness of the gesture catches me off guard. Roberto never did this—he’d roll over and fall asleep, leaving me to clean up the mess. But Vincenzo takes care of me with gentle hands, turning me around to wipe my stomach and cock with the towel.

When he’s done, he pulls me against his chest, his arms wrapping around me in a protective embrace. I rest my head on his shoulder, suddenly exhausted.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice soft.

“Better than okay,” I murmur. “But I might’ve ruined your couch.”

He chuckles. “Don’t worry about it.”

We move to the couch beside the window, Vincenzo sitting with me curled against his side. He grabs a throw blanket and drapes it over us.

“Hungry?” he asks after a while.

My stomach growls in response, and we both laugh. “Starving, actually.”

“Room service it is.”

We order an obscene amount of food—steaks, pasta, bread, wine, and dessert. While we wait, we talk. Not about business or my father or his empire, but about ordinary things. Books we’ve read, places we’ve traveled, music we like. I learn that he has a weakness for classic rock and old movies. He learns that I studied art in college before my father forced me into business school.

The food arrives, delivered by a discreet staff member who doesn’t bat an eye at the two naked men hastily wrapped in blankets. We eat on the couch, passing plates back and forth, stealing bites from each other’s meals. It’s casual and intimate in a way I’ve never experienced with someone I’ve just met.

As the day wears on, we talk more, touch more, laugh more. We have sex again, slower this time, face to face on the bed. Then again in the shower, with my back pressed against the marble wall and my legs wrapped around his waist.

By evening, I’m thoroughly exhausted, pleasantly sore, and more content than I can remember being in years. We’re back on the couch, me in his borrowed shirt that hangs to mid-thigh, him in sweatpants that ride low on his hips. My head rests on his chest, his heartbeat steady under my ear.

“I should go soon,” I say, though the thought of leaving fills me with a strange hollowness. “My father will be expecting a report.”

Vincenzo’s arm tightens around me. “Do you want to go?”

I consider the question. Do I want to return to my empty apartment, to my father’s interrogation, to the life that felt so stifling just this morning?

“No,” I admit quietly.

His hand strokes my hair, and I close my eyes, leaning into the touch.

“Then stay.”

Such simple words, yet they fill me with a warmth I can’t explain. I’ve spent years building walls around myself, protecting my heart after watching my parents’ loveless marriage, then experiencing Roberto’s betrayal. Yet here, with this man who should be my family’s enemy, those walls crumble to dust.

“This is crazy,” I murmur. “We barely know each other.”

“Then stay and let me know you better,” he says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.

I lift my head to look at him, searching his face for any sign of insincerity.

I find none. Just those dark eyes watching me with a warmth that makes my chest ache.

“Okay,” I say, settling back against him. “I’ll stay.”

As his arms wrap around me, holding me close, I realize something that should terrify me but somehow doesn’t: I’ve never felt this safe, this right, with anyone before. Not with Roberto, not with any of the boys I dated in college, not even with my own family. Just here, with Vincenzo, the man my father raised me to hate.

I close my eyes and surrender to that realization. To him. And to whatever this is becoming.