Page 15 of Beautifully Savage Butterfly

I can’t tell if it’s a compliment or an insult, but I nod regardless.

ORION

I didn’t spend half the night scouring bars all over the North side of Wildcliff for anyone who could tell me where Elio lived so I could come here and play sex games with him. But somehow, that’s exactly what seems to be happening.

He stumbles down the hallway with my hand still around his throat, barely enough light coming through the windows for me to see where I’m going. The squeak of my shoes on his polished wood floors is unnaturally loud in my ears, giving me an odd sense of satisfaction. I hope I’m leaving scuffs that he’ll have to get on his hands and knees to buff out later. I want to leave marks on the pristine facade of his life the same way I’m about to leave my handprints all over his bare ass.

My cock jerks and throbs, achingly hard inside my jeans as I find the living room and push Elio towards the couch.

“Lose the gun. Unless you’re actually planning to shoot me in the dick,” I bark.

He lets out a rough chuckle, his voice sounding raw and constricted even after I unwrap my fingers from around his throat.

“Yes, Boss.” The obedient words tumble so beautifully from his lips that they knock me off balance for half a second before filling me with a deep sense of satisfaction.

This night is getting away from me quickly, leaving me clawing for any bit of control I can get my hands on, and hearing the word ‘Boss’ on Elio’s tongue is scratching an itch that’s been neglected for too damn long. When everything else in my life feels like it’s spiraling and chaotic, sex has always been the one area where I have some sense of power. But ever since Jack’s injury, I haven’t had the time or energy to find anyone to play with. Not like this. And now here’s Elio, the bratty Mafia prince himself, eager to splay himself over my lap and offer his ass up to me, like he needs this as badly as I do.

He sets his pistol on the coffee table while I sit down on the deep leather couch. It’s not the kind of cheap leather that sticks to your bare skin and feels like it’s half plastic. No, it’s smooth as butter. It even smells expensive, like whoever delivered it wore a hazmat suit just to avoid the audacity of leaving a hair or an oily fingerprint anywhere on it.

My couch is held up by milk crates. Jack and I pulled it out of the trash ten years ago, laughing about it at the time and vowing that we’d get a new one as soon as the paychecks started rolling in. I grit my teeth at the injustice of it. The unfairness of the fact that Jack is stuck in that fucking bed relying on me to take care of him, and I can barely even do that. The absurdity of everything Elio has. The logical side of my brain knows that one has nothing to do with the other, but it’s something for me to latch onto right now.

I grit my teeth and snag Elio around the waist with one arm, using my free hand to yank his underwear down roughly at the same time. His ass cheeks jiggle and his cock springs free as I shove his briefs down around his thighs. He gasps, the sound half excitement, half fear, but entirely horny.

His round, perky ass cheek is right in front of my face, tan and flawless, without a mark on it. I lean forward and sink my teeth into it, biting down until he yelps and his cock jerks, a dribble of precum glistening in the light coming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

“We’re not doing safewords. Cry or scream if you want, but if you say ‘stop,’ it’s over. So if you don’t want me to stop, you’d better bite your fucking tongue. Got it?” I rumble, and he bobs his head in agreement, swaying on his feet.

I tug him down and he stumbles, then falls across my lap, splayed out on the couch with his ass in the air, his hard cock pressed against my denim-clad thighs. I drag my eyes over the long, lean lines of his body, his smooth, unblemished skin. He lets out a rattling breath, his shoulders relaxing and his body sagging across my lap like he doesn’t want to be anywhere else in the world. Like he trusts me.

The hot, boiling hate churning in my gut turns into something else for a minute, something deeper and more primal. I raise my hand high and bring it down hard against his ass cheek with a resounding thwack that echoes through the room and vibrates in my palm. Elio yelps, just like he did before, clenching his cheeks tightly, then relaxing again and pushing his hips into the air to wordlessly beg for another one.

I do it again, landing the next blow right over the spot where I bit him, hoping he’ll have a bruise in the shape of my teeth tomorrow morning. If he was trying to buy me by paying off my debt, he’ll see the mark and know his plan backfired. He’s not going to put a collar around my neck and lead me around on a diamond-studded leash. Although, I have to admit, the idea has its merits if I imagine Elio as the one collared.

Thwack, thwack, thwack. My hand cracks against his ass over and over, warming his skin, drawing muffled whimpers from him with every fresh slap. His cheeks ripple and his back hitches with every trembling breath he drags in. He digs his fingers into the smooth leather of the couch and arches into every blow I deliver.

The rage that was coiled tightly in my chest when I came pounding at his door is already twisting and contorting inside of me, turning into something different, something I don’t want but can’t stop.

When I’m in the ring, every hit I deliver only winds my insides tighter. There’s no release, no relief, just mounting violence and adrenaline with nowhere to go. This is the exact opposite. I swing my hand down to connect with the back of Elio’s thigh and the fury inside me bleeds out little by little, helped along by the soft mewling sounds the supposedly dangerous gangster is making as he rocks his hips to grind his cock against my thighs.

I hate him, I remind myself, peppering a series of rapid-fire slaps across the upper swell of his ass, heating the spots I missed before, covering every inch of his backside with stinging handprints. My cock pulses and drools precum, leaving the inside of my boxers sticky while my heart thunders in my ears. But no matter how loud my pulse is, it’s not enough to drown out the needy sounds that continue to fall from Elio’s lips.

“Please,” he pants, squirming and humping my thigh. “I’ll be good, Boss.”

The promise I didn’t ask for tears at something deep inside of me, winding me up, making me want to bite him again, to spank him harder, to do anything I can to make him say it again, while simultaneously wanting to shove something into his mouth so he can’t utter another word.

Elio’s reddened ass flexes, his muscles clenching as he thrusts faster, shamelessly grinding his cock into my thighs as he claws at the sofa. His toes curl and scramble for purchase and his precum soaks through the denim of my jeans to dampen my skin. I grab his ass cheek harshly, digging my fingers into his abused flesh to part his cheeks. He hisses and moans, trying to hold himself still but failing after only a second and returning to his wild, unrestrained humping.

I slap two fingers over his quivering hole with the same force as the other spanks I’ve delivered, and he wails. I can see his balls tightening, feel the stiffness of his cock as he fucks my lap. All the thoughts I had of wanting to cause him pain are muddled now with the inescapable need to make him come. Like if I don’t, I might actually die.

I squeeze his ass cheek again, dragging my fingers down his crease until I reach his balls. I wrap my fingers around them and give a rough tug, and Elio convulses, moaning from deep in his gut and bucking against my lap like an animal in heat. A sob tears from his throat and his cock starts to pulse, his balls twitching in my grip as his release soaks through my jeans.

Heat licks at my skin, the urges to kiss him and bite him warring with each other as I use my free hand to land a few more sound smacks against his cheeks, his orgasm going on and on, making him tense and twitch and moan over my lap until he finally collapses, boneless.

I grunt and dump him onto the couch, freeing myself from underneath him. He barely moves, just flops down like a rag doll as I work my pants open and kneel over him. I put one hand on the middle of his back to pin him down, even though he’s showing no signs of wanting to get away. I doubt he would even if he had the energy to after an orgasm like that.

I wrap my hand around my shaft and lean down to bite the back of his shoulder, sinking my teeth in and then dragging my tongue over the tender spot. I work my hand over my length frantically and bite him again, leaving marks across the expanse between his shoulder blades and the back of his neck. I can taste the sweat on his skin, but it’s overpowered by the flavor of expensive soap—something woodsy, even though I doubt he ever bothers to leave the city. I cling to that petty irritation as hard as I can, pressing the tip of my cock to his heated ass cheeks, rubbing my slick head over the crease without bringing it anywhere near the temptation of his hole.

He arches into me again, and I clench my teeth around a groan as my balls pull tight and my cock starts to pulse. The last dregs of the rage that drew me here tonight are wrung out as I shout my orgasm, my hand flying over my cock at a brutal pace, rope after rope of my cum splattering over Elio’s abused ass cheeks, my face pressed into the back of his neck.

---