Chapter 8 Terrible Liar II
Gianni's smile widened, and his hand came up again. This time it went to Cedric's throat. Not squeezing, not choking, just... resting there. His thumb pressed gently against Cedric's pulse point, feeling the frantic rhythm that gave away every lie.
"You know what I remember most about you from high school?" Gianni asked conversationally, like they were old friends catching up and he didn't have his hand wrapped around Cedric's throat. "That mouth. You couldn't keep it shut then either. Always had something smart to say, always pushing back, even when it got you in trouble."
His thumb stroked across Cedric's pulse, a gentle touch that made Cedric's entire body go hot and cold at the same time.
"I used to wonder what it would take to make you shut up," Gianni continued softly. "What it would take to make you stop running that pretty mouth long enough to actually listen."
Cedric's brain was splitting in two directions. Half of it was screaming: Danger danger danger abort abort. The other half, the half that had kept him alive through six years of survival sex and violent clients and situations where his body was the only currency he had, was cataloging something else entirely.
The way Gianni's voice dropped into something darker when he was close. The expensive cologne that probably cost more than Cedric's rent. The heat of his palm against Cedric's throat. The way his thumb kept stroking, kept touching, kept claiming.
This man wanted him. Actually wanted him, not just his mouth or his ass or whatever service he could provide. Cedric had gotten good at reading desire over the years, at knowing when someone was looking at him like a person versus looking at him like a warm body.
Gianni was looking at him like he wanted to own him.
And fuck, Cedric's body was responding to that in ways it absolutely should not be. His cock was starting to take interest, and that was a problem, because getting hard while a mafia boss interrogated you was probably not the survival strategy Marcus had in mind.
Focus. You need to focus. Lie better. Make him believe you.
"If you want me on my knees that badly," Cedric heard himself say, his voice coming out rougher than he intended, "you could just ask nicely instead of all this dramatic interrogation shit."
What are you doing? What the fuck are you DOING? This is not lying better!
But his mouth kept moving, defaulting to the only defense mechanism that had ever worked when someone had power over him. Turn it into sex. Make it a transaction. Take back some control by offering what they want anyway.
"Though I guess the drama is part of the appeal for you, isn't it? The whole crime lord aesthetic? Very intimidating. I'm shaking."
He wasn't shaking. He was absolutely shaking, but he'd be damned if he let Gianni see it as fear rather than anticipation.
Gianni's thumb pressed harder against his pulse, and Cedric felt the pressure of it all the way down to his cock. His body was a traitor, responding to the dominance in Gianni's touch even while his mind was screaming at him to remember the debt, remember Marcus, remember that this man could kill him.
"Careful where you put those hands, Franco," Cedric added, unable to stop himself even though he could practically hear Marcus's voice in his head telling him to shut the fuck up. "Or is it Falcone now? I can't keep up with your identity crisis."
One of the men in the booth actually laughed, then quickly covered it with a cough when Gianni's gaze flicked toward him.
Gianni didn't respond. Didn't move. Just stared at Cedric with those dark, unreadable eyes while his thumb continued its slow, deliberate pressure against Cedric's pulse.
Five seconds passed.
Ten.
Fifteen.
Say something. Yell at me, hit me, just fucking say something so I know if the lie worked—
Then Gianni turned away from Cedric completely, addressing the men in the booth in rapid Italian. His voice was light, almost amused, and whatever he said made all of them laugh.
Cedric stood there, his throat still tingling where Gianni's hand had been, having no fucking idea what had just been said but knowing with absolute certainty that it was about him. They were laughing at him, or about him, or maybe planning what to do with his body after they killed him.
His foot was still bouncing. He couldn't make it stop.
Gianni turned back, and his hand came up to cup Cedric's face again, almost gently. His thumb brushed across Cedric's cheekbone in a gesture that would have been tender from anyone else.
"You're a terrible liar, Cedric," Gianni said softly, and his accent made the words sound almost affectionate. "Absolutely terrible. Your pulse is racing, you can't stop fidgeting, and every word out of your mouth is obviously bullshit."
Cedric's stomach dropped.
Gianni leaned in closer, until his lips were almost brushing Cedric's ear, until Cedric could feel the warmth of his breath and smell that expensive cologne that was making it very hard to think straight.
"But you know what?" Gianni murmured, his voice dropping into something dark and intimate that made Cedric's knees weak. "I don't care."
He pulled back just enough to look into Cedric's eyes, and his smile was predatory, possessive, absolutely delighted.
"Tell me, Cedric," Gianni continued, his thumb still stroking Cedric's cheek in that maddening gentle way. "Does your friend Marcus know that you took the wire off before you came up here? Does he know that you threw it in the trash in the bathroom fifteen minutes ago?"
Cedric's blood turned to ice.
"Or is that," Gianni's smile widened, "our little secret?"