Page 77 of My Pucking Crush

“He’snotwell. He’s furious about the suspension.”

“It’s one game, he’ll get over it.”

Given the anger he showed, it may not be good forhim to be in the same room with anyone from Richmond.

Maybe I’ll offer to blow him while he watches the game at home.

THIRTY-SEVEN

Luca

The smell of Club Dare brings me back to the night I got the call about Max’s accident. How simple everything looked. It was a mirage.

I’m more exposed than ever. If someone posted photos of Max talking to a guy, it’s possible someone got a shot of him and me, in one setting or another.

Belova has Max Ryan on his radar. I’m days away from being exposed. I can’t bring extra heat down on Max or the Crushers.

I wait on a blue velvet sofa in the seating area when the security guard gets my attention.

“There he is.” He points to the man I came to see.

A shirtless male with a sculpted chest in leather pants struts toward me. Anthony Messina, one of the four mafia kings in Manhattan, stops short spotting me. But his guard whispers in his ear, announcing who I am.

Just not what I want.

A job. A home. Protection.

But I’m not here to seehim. I’m here to see the completely naked man crawling on the floor behind him.

On a leash.

“I have an office,” Messina snarls at me, petting the other man’s head.

“I’m here to see...” I turn my gaze to the man crawling. “Mr. Daria.”

The man hears me and grabs the leash from Messina. Standing to his full height, Sebastien Daria is imposing at six-foot-something with wide shoulders,contoured abs, and a long thick cock hanging between sculpted thighs. He wears a full-face mask with hammered slits around the eyes, and a zippered mouth to breathe.

Other men in the club are completely nude, so he doesn’t look out of place.

He unclips the leash from his neck and tears off the mask. Light brown hair shakes out, rakishly falling over his face.

I’m crazy about Max, but this man’s male beauty reaches another level.

“That’s me,” he says, unashamed of his nudity. “Who are you, and what the fuck do you want?”

But he doesn’t wait for an answer. He pushes Messina down on the sofa.

“A job,” I say, since he asked.

He turns his head toward me, and his once-over strokes every inch of my skin. “Name?”

“Daniil Korolev. Formerly of the Belova Brotherhood in Chicago.”

“A turncoat?” Messina hisses.

Sebastien slaps him across the face. “Did I say you can talk? Your mouth is for one thing right now.”

Without looking at me, Daria lifts one leg and wedges a massive foot on the sofa next to Messina’s thigh. With rough hands, he kisses Anthony Messina then lines up the mafia boss’s face to his cock. “Now suck me off.”

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