Page 110 of Fallen Rook

I dissolved into air, a bodiless, weightless entity that existed only through him. I had no conscience, no thoughts, no mind. Only senses, sensations, and a never-ending pleasure that kept on building.

I could no longer hold off my climax, my senses on overload, my entire being floating above the fucking ground, threatening to detonate into minuscule pieces.

“Please, I—” He hit my prostate with his fat dick again. We were still staring at each other, me in his arms, and though the position made me feel like some damsel in distress, I couldn’t deny loving the feeling of Tom taking complete control and shielding me from the ugly world we both occupied.

“You what, baby?” he whispered into my lips.

“I need to come.”

He kissed me hard. “I can make that happen. I just need to know…”

Thrust.

“Yes?”

Thrust.

“Who do you belong to, Enzo?”

Thrust.

“Is it to Katya?”

Thrust.

“To the Camorra?”

Thrust.

“The demons that haunt you for who you are?”

Thrust.

“Or is it to me?”

I waited for the final thrust, as the gates of heaven opened before me, on the brink of the wildest orgasm of my entire life, only to be left hanging. Tom stopped, suspended above me, his cock at the entrance to my tight hole, holding back.

My dick was still splattering droplets of cum. They stuck to Tom’s tight abs like little diamonds. I stared at him, slack-jawed. The audacity of this asshole to ask me this while he made love to me like I was the deceased lover he was still in love with.

“Well?” He elevated a sweat-slicked eyebrow.

“Yours,” I said brokenly, knowing that it really didn’t matter if all I could ever be to him was Matt’s placeholder. “I’m yours, Tom.”

And damn if I don’t hate it.

With one final buck of his hips, he drove into me. I lost sight of what was happening, my vision distorting at the edges. My body, hot, wet, and tingly, was no longer my own. We clung to each other like the earth was exploding and we wanted to dissolve into the same minuscule shrapnel shooting into space.

Without sound, or shock wave, or fireball.

For one moment in time, there was just us.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Enzo

Twenty minutes later, Tom sauntered back into his bedroom shirtless, in low-hanging black sweatpants, shoveling food from Tierney’s plate into his mouth. My heavy-lidded gaze followed his movements. He was contaminating his own sleeping space, leaving crumbs everywhere. Things must be dire if he chose to eat out of the kitchen.

Yeah, no shit, he’s mourning his dead lover and falling apart.