Chapter 8

Rodrigo's POV

I’m doubling down on finding the bastard who sabotaged my consignment.

Millions lost. Millions. And my father had the nerve to use it as another measuring stick against the Valdino name. Another lecture about how I don’t measure up to their standards.

Fuck their standards.

I’m not going to live up to them.

I’m going to surpass them.

And then the marriage talk dropped like a grenade . My father, with that cold disappointment in his eyes, telling me it’s time to settle down. Time to breed. Time to play the good Valdino son.

I should’ve known going to see him would leave me wanting to put my fist through a wall.

Now I’m pacing across my office, rage still crawling under my skin like ants, when a knock cuts through the static in my head.

“Don. The escort from Esteban is here. He’s waiting in your room.”

He.

A man.

Does Esteban think I’m some fucking joke?

Then again… I did tell him to send something different. And if I’m being honest, I’ve been bored shitless with the women he keeps parading in. Same faces. Same fake moans. Same predictable scripts. Spread their legs, make the right sounds, collect the cash.

I didn’t even know Esteban offered male escorts.

At this point, I don’t give a fuck what’s in their pants.

I need to bleed off this pressure before I do something stupid. Something that leaves bodies where they shouldn’t be.

I leave the office and head down the hall toward the room I use for escorts. Not my bedroom. Never my bedroom. They don’t belong in my space. They belong in the room I picked out specifically for them—soundproofed, windowless, easy to clean.

I’m too wound up to bother with buildup tonight. No teasing. No foreplay. No pretending I care about their pleasure.

Just a hole.

Just release.

I push the door open.

A man sits on the edge of the bed wearing nothing but black briefs.

Dark brown hair, slightly tousled. Slim build. Pretty face—full lips, sharp jaw, eyes that watch me without fear. A body that leans more twink than fighter, all lean muscle and pale skin. Pretty enough to pass for dangerous in the right light, but I know better.

I don’t even look at him long. I turn my back and start stripping.

Straight to business.

And somehow… I feel nothing.

No anticipation. No heat. Not even curiosity.

The suit jacket hits the floor. I work the buttons on my shirt, rolling my shoulders as the fabric falls away. Maybe I’m done with this whole sex thing. Maybe I need a new hobby. Something bloodier.

I shrug off the rest of my clothes. The cold air from the vent brushes across my bare skin, raising goosebumps, but it doesn’t do shit for the knot in my gut.

Then I turn and walk up to him, towering over his seated frame the way I always do. Making sure he understands exactly how small he is. How replaceable. How insignificant.

He doesn’t look away.

Interesting.

“Take it out.”

Might as well see what Esteban sent me this time.

I’ve never fucked a man before. Never wanted to. But right now, I need to bury myself in something tight and warm, and if Esteban sent him, he’d better be worth every fucking dollar I’m paying.

He hooks his fingers into the waistband of my briefs and pulls them down. My cock springs free, half-hard already from the tension crackling through the room.

He looks at it. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away.

“Suck.”

He wraps both hands around my shaft and takes me into his mouth.

Fuck.

Warm. Wet. Tight.

His tongue moves along the underside, pressing against the ridge of my cock head, and my breath catches despite myself.

Yeah.

That feels good.

That feels very fucking good.

Heat coils low in my gut as he strokes and sucks with practiced precision. His mouth is hot and skilled, tongue working the sensitive spot just below the tip. My cock hardens fast, thickening against his tongue, veins pressing against the inside of his cheeks.

I grip his hair and push deeper.

He gags once. Shakes.

Can’t handle my full length.

I hold him there for three seconds—let him feel what it means to choke on me—before pulling back. He coughs once, gasping for air, but gets right back to work like the good little whore he is.

I’ll give him this much—he’s clean. No slobbering mess. No sloppy desperation. Just controlled, deliberate movements.

His tongue traces the vein along the side of my shaft. His lips seal tight around the head, sucking hard enough to make my hips twitch. One hand cups my balls, rolling them gently while the other works the base of my cock in a slow, torturous rhythm.

Before I can process how fast it’s happening, pressure builds hard in my gut.

My balls tighten. My thighs tense.

I’m close.

Too damn close.

But I’m not finishing in his mouth.

No one gets that. Not on my first taste.

I pull out with a wet sound, my cock slick with his saliva, throbbing against my stomach. A thin strand of spit connects his lips to my tip, and I watch it break as I step back.

“Get on the bed. On all fours.”

He obeys instantly. No hesitation. No questions. He turns, crawls onto the mattress, and drops to his elbows and knees. His briefs are still on, stretched tight over the curve of his ass.

Fuck.

My cock aches. Actually aches. The kind of dull, demanding throb that makes my mouth go dry.

I climb onto the bed behind him, the mattress dipping under my weight. My hands find his hips, fingers digging into the jut of bone as I pull his briefs down. They catch on his thighs—his ass is fuller than I expected, round and smooth. I drag the fabric down past his knees, leaving him exposed.

I can see his hole. Tight. Pink. Unused.

The sight makes precum bead at my tip.

I line myself up behind him, the head of my cock pressing against his entrance. The heat radiating off his skin is dizzying. I grip my shaft, guiding it, about to push in—when his voice cuts through.

“Uh… sir, you should—”

The fuck?

I hate that. The whining. The hesitation. The spoiled moment.

But I’m already too far gone. My cock is slick with his spit and my own precum, and he already did what the others haven’t managed in weeks—made me feel something.

I’m finishing this.

I paid for him.

“Shut the fuck up.”

The words come out ragged. Broken.

I hate how good this feels already.

Especially with a man.

I push inside.

Tight.

So fucking tight.

His body resists at first, gripping me like a vice, and I have to pause. I swear under my breath, jaw clenching as heat rushes through me. He grips the sheets, body tense beneath mine, but unlike the women, he doesn’t cry. Doesn’t beg me to stop. Doesn’t complain that it hurts.

Good.

Take it.

I push deeper, inch by inch, until my hips are flush against his ass. He’s trembling, breath coming in short, sharp gasps, but he holds still.

I pull back and thrust forward. Hard.

The sound of skin slapping skin echoes in the room.

He lets out a choked moan, his body jerking forward with the impact.

I pound into him harder, chasing the rush flooding my veins. His hole clenches around me with each thrust, dragging against my cock in a way that makes my vision blur. The heat is suffocating. The tightness is insane.

I grab his hips harder, fingers bruising, and set a brutal rhythm. Each stroke pushes him deeper into the mattress. His own cock hangs hard and leaking beneath him, slapping against his stomach with every movement.

“Take it,” I growl, my voice low and wrecked. “Take every fucking inch.”

He moans in response, and the sound goes straight to my cock.

The pressure builds faster than I expect. Harder than I’ve felt in a long damn time. My balls draw up tight, my rhythm stutters, and I feel it—the hot, blinding rush of release barreling through me.

My control snaps.

And I come inside him.

Fuck.

I shudder, hips locking against him, emptying myself deep into his guts. Ropes of hot cum pulse out of me, filling him, spilling down his thighs as I keep thrusting through the wave. His body clenches around me with each pulse, milking me dry.

I groan, low and animal, my forehead dropping to his shoulder.

It’s been a while since I’ve done that.

Couldn’t risk it with women. Pregnancy was too complicated. Too messy. Too much at stake.

But this?

This was different.

I emptied myself into him and took every second of the pleasure with it.

And damn—

It felt good.

I pull out slowly, my cock glistening, and drop onto the bed beside him. My chest heaves. Sweat cools on my skin.

For the first time all day, my head feels clear.

I glance at him. He’s still on his elbows, breathing hard, cum leaking out of him and pooling on the sheets. He looks like he’s in pain, but he doesn’t cry. Doesn’t complain. Just lies there, wrecked and silent.

Interesting.

“Go clean yourself up.”

I sit up and reach for my cigar on the nightstand. He slides off the bed quietly, limping slightly, and disappears into the bathroom. The door clicks shut.

Soon I’m alone with the smoke curling between my fingers.

That was…

Better than expected.

I actually liked it. Liked the control. The tightness. The way he took it without a single complaint.

I pull out a wad of hundred-dollar bills from my jacket pocket and toss it onto the bed.

He earned it.

I haven’t felt this relieved in weeks.

Now I can think clearly. Focus on the real problem.

Finding the bastard responsible for my failed consignment.

And making sure they pay for it.

I stand, stretch, and leave the room naked. The air in the hallway is cold against my skin. My men flinch when they see me walk past, heads lowering fast enough to hide their surprise. One of them—the new guy—stares for half a second too long.

“Eyes down,” I say, my voice flat. “Or I’ll take them.”

He drops his gaze immediately.

I head toward my main bedroom.

You think I’d fuck escorts in my actual bed?

Not a fucking chance.

They don’t belong there.

The door swings open to my real room—dark sheets, heavy curtains, the scent of leather and old wood. My space. My sanctuary.

I need to shower. Then I need to make calls.

Whoever sabotaged that shipment thought they were smart.

They thought they could bleed me.

And now I know exactly where they’re going to bleed when I