Chapter 4 Pretend It’s Micah

Chapter four

Elio's POV

I stormed out of the suite, slamming the door harder than necessary.

What the hell was that? God. Help me. I was this close to kissing that boy. My fists clenched as I strode down the hall. My jaw ached from how tight I’d been grinding it. Micah. That little shit. Standing there, wet and unbothered, like he hadn’t just shattered every shred of control I had left.

I hated how easily he got under my skin.

No—I hated that I wanted him to.

I yanked my phone out of my pocket and dialed. “Luca.”

He picked up on the first ring. “Boss?”

“Send someone to my quarters. One of the regulars. I don’t care who, as long as he’s willing and tight-lipped. I want him there in ten minutes.”

There was a beat of silence before Luca’s voice came back, clipped. “Got it, boss.”

I hung up without another word.

Ten minutes later, a young, blond arrived. He was a familiar face, probably from my club, but I couldn't remember his name, and didn’t care to. He looked nervous when I opened the door, but I gave him no time to speak.

My shirt hung open, tie discarded somewhere behind me. My knuckles were red from where I'd slammed the wall earlier. I didn’t bother fixing a damn thing.

“Put off your clothes. Now.”

He stripped bare almost immediately.

“Kneel,” I growled, not looking at his face. I closed my eyes for a second, my jaw tight.

Pretend it’s not him, I told myself. Pretend it’s not Micah’s throat I want to fuck. Pretend it’s not his name I want to rip from my mouth.

The boy obeyed without hesitation, dropping to his knees in front of me like he’d done this a hundred times before. Maybe he had. I didn’t care.

I watched him with a cold detachment, my hand tangled in his hair as he leaned in and unbuckled my belt, his fingers trembling slightly from either anticipation or fear.

I tilted his chin up roughly with two fingers, studying his face. Pretty, smooth-skinned, eager to please.

But he still wasn’t Micah. Goddamn it.

“Don’t speak unless I tell you to,” I muttered coldly. “Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” He nodded, lips parting as my cock bounced free, dripping with pre cum.

“Hands behind your back,” I commanded.

Still, I shoved my cock past his lips with a grunt. I buried myself deep in his throat, watching tears prick the corners of his eyes as I held him there.

“Breathe through your nose,” I muttered, hand tightening in his hair. “You’re here for my relief. Nothing else.”

He choked around me, but nodded the best he could. His lips were wet and red, his jaw struggling to keep up with my pace. I used his mouth like it was mine, like he had no purpose other than to take every ounce of anger I couldn’t unload on the boy who really caused it.

I stared down at him, trying—desperately trying—not to imagine Micah kneeling in his place.

But the image forced itself in anyway.

Micah’s swollen lips, wet and red, eyes locked on mine with that damn arrogance. Micah wouldn’t be obedient. He’d fight, resist, moan when I forced him to submit. That thought made my jaw clench.

I came hard, deep in the boy’s throat, grunting as I emptied everything into him. He swallowed like a good toy, even opened his mouth to show me. Fucking show-off.

But the tension in my chest didn’t ease. Not even a little.

“Fuck,” I muttered, pushing the boy off me roughly. He blinked up at me, confused and breathless, lips swollen and wet.

“Did I—”

“Turn around,” I snapped, yanking him to his feet and pushing him face-down on the bed. “I need more.”

I grabbed a condom from the nightstand and rolled it on, in one rough motion. He moaned when I pressed into him from behind, but I wasn’t gentle—I didn’t ask if he was ready since he was here to take it.

I shoved him forward again. “Turn around.”

The boy looked up, licking his lips. “Sir—”

He scrambled onto the bed, ass up, head buried in the sheets. I didn’t bother with lube. I just spat in my palm and slicked myself, anger twisting in my gut like a coil ready to snap.

I grabbed his hips and thrust into him in one stroke, rough and punishing. He cried out, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. My mind was already gone—already lost in the fantasy.

Micah, bent over.

Micah, struggling under me.

Micah, cursing my name while I ruined him.

“Fuck,” I growled, snapping my hips harder, my fingers digging into the boy’s waist until I was sure I’d leave bruises. The boy moaned, pushing back, trying to match me. It only pissed me off more, that it wasn't Micah.

Nothing about this felt satisfying. No matter how deep I drove into him, no matter how he screamed, it felt empty. Mechanical. Wrong.

I came with a growl, deep and guttural, my teeth clenched as I emptied into the condom. But it didn’t feel good.

It felt hollow.

I pulled out without a word, tossing the used condom into the bin, my chest heaving. The boy lay there panting, body used and trembling with satisfaction he didn’t deserve.

“Get dressed,” I said flatly, already lighting a cigarette. I didn’t bother to look at him.

He sat up slowly. “You don’t want me to stay?”

“I don’t want to see you.”

He turned to look at me, eyes searching mine. “Was I—?”

“Just shut the fuck up and leave,” I cut in, my voice like ice. “Now.”

He dressed in silence, stealing glances at me.He left, the door clicking shut. I exhaled as I sank into the couch in the corner of the room, smoke stinging my eyes, but it didn’t clear the haze in my head.

Micah had invaded my head, and I had no fucking idea how to get him out.

My phone buzzed, pulling me out of it. The security system alert flashed. I opened it, expecting a routine update. Instead, the screen showed Micah in his suite, sitting at the desk. He had pried open the monitor’s casing, wires spilling out, his fingers moving fast.

What the fuck—