Burning Embers: Scorching Tales of Desire
The men leered but said nothing.
Vincent tucked himself away, zipping up with deliberate slowness, his cock still semi-hard and glistening.
He stood, towering over the desk at six-foot-four, his muscular frame straining against his crisp white shirt. Tattoos peeked from his collar, skulls, roses, and the Russo family crest.
"You borrowed from the devil, boy. Now you pay the toll." Vincent's free hand shot out, punching Chris square in the gut. Air whooshed out of him, and he doubled over as much as the ropes allowed, retching. "That's for making me wait."
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