Page 16 of Beautifully Savage Butterfly

I grind against him until my balls are drained. My knees quake and the cum-drunk idea to collapse on top of him, to cuddle him, nearly overtakes me. But I climb off of him before I can do anything that stupid. Elio doesn’t move except to turn his head as I tuck my cock away and zip my cum-stained jeans.

It’s too dark to tell, but it looks like there might be tear stains on his cheek. The whoosh of blood in my ears is a white noise that feels like a stark contrast to the intensity of what just happened between us. Like stepping outside into a silent night after a concert, leaving your ears ringing and your chest feeling empty.

“That guy you shot in the dick… did he touch you?” The words are out of my mouth without any conscious decision to ask the question, my voice harsh and breathless. I’m not sure why I care, or if the story is even true.

He lets out a dark chuckle. “He tried.”

Elio’s the last person who needs my concern or protection, and I don’t really want to give it to him, but that doesn’t stop the tight swell of anger from bubbling up inside of me.

“And he’s dead now?” I ask.

“Yup.” Just a single word. Succinct without a hint of remorse. I should add it to the long list of proof that Elio and everyone like him is a monster to be avoided at all costs. Instead, I nod with satisfaction.

“Good.”

He watches me silently and I stare right back, mentally grasping for the fleeting wisps of control that are already out of my reach again. When I can’t stare back at him any longer, I reach into my pocket and hold up the roll of cash, making sure he sees it before I set it down on the table next to his gun.

“I pay my own debts.”

I’m expecting him to argue, and for a second it looks like he’s going to, but then he just nods.

I leave without another word, and on the elevator ride back down to the lobby, I try to figure out how exactly things went so far off the rails tonight. Elio’s like a drug, getting into my veins and making me do things I know I shouldn’t. And just like a drug, I’m cursing him and wondering when I can get my next hit before my feet even touch pavement again.

Chapter 8

ELIO

It’s been three days since Orion came to my apartment and roughed me up in exactly the ways I’ve been craving. Three days, and my ass cheeks are still tender, filling my head with memories of that night and making my dick hard every time I so much as shift in my seat.

Lorenzo looks at his watch, then glances pointedly at the empty seat next to Xaviaro.

“He’s on his way,” Xav answers the implied question, his posture relaxed but always slightly alert, like he’s constantly ready to jump up and shoot a motherfucker if necessary. It’s a good quality to have in your trigger man.

“Sparrow’s made it pretty clear he’s an independent contractor. Why are we even waiting for him to start our meetings?” Alessio asks.

“Because he’s scary,” Salvatore answers with a chuckle.

“That it?” Les asks, a shit-eating grin spreading over his lips. “You scared of the crazy little twink, boss?”

Enzo snorts, not dignifying the question with a proper answer. My brother has seen worse shit in his life than a mouthy, Dommy psychopath like Xaviaro’s boyfriend, so I’m positive our newest contract employee doesn’t so much as spike his heart rate with all the bravado and violence he wears like a cloak. But Lorenzo is also exceptionally good at weighing the pros and cons of every decision he makes. No way is he scared of Sparrow, but I’m damn sure he doesn’t want to deal with the possible theatrics of making him feel slighted either. At least, not without a reason to do so.

Sparrow appears seconds later, saving Enzo the trouble of having to decide whether to start without him or not. He saunters through the club like he owns the place, subtly dragging his fingertips along the back of Xaviaro’s neck before pulling out the empty chair and taking his seat.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says breezily.

“Is that blood?” Xav asks, leaning over and dragging his thumb along the edge of Sparrow’s chin, a frown marring his usually stoic expression.

“Don’t worry. It’s not mine,” Sparrow assures him, tugging the collar of his shirt up to wipe at the spot.

“That’s reassuring,” Xaviaro mutters, and I notice a slight twitch in his lips. For our ice-veined hitman, it’s the equivalent of an emotional outburst.

My heart stumbles over its next beat. Before Sparrow sliced and diced his way into Xaviaro’s life, I was working on accepting that the kind of relationship I crave is unrealistic and out of reach. They gave me a fucked-up kind of hope that even twisted souls can have mates. I both love and hate them for that.

Sparrow bares his teeth in a feral grin and leans a little closer to Xaviaro, dropping his voice until it’s too low for any of the rest of us to hear what he’s saying. But based on the lusty droop of Xaviaro’s eyelids and the filthy smirk that stays on Sparrow’s face, I’m guessing he’s either saying something dirty, or giving him details of the murder he committed on his way to the meeting.

When he’s finished, Xaviaro takes Sparrow’s face in both hands and gazes into his eyes.

“You are a stunning, bloodthirsty creature.”

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