Blood or Sex?
Tiberio’s Point Of View
The sun had long dipped below the horizon, leaving my office bathed in the cold glow of city lights filtering through the blinds. I leaned back in my leather chair, debating whether to call it a day or let the night’s chaos consume me.
My phone buzzed on the desk, its vibration rattling my nerves. Rossi Colombo’s name flashed across the screen, bright and insistent, like a warning.
I swiped to answer, pressing the phone to my ear.
“Don,” his voice came through, clipped, urgent and crackling with tension, “the actresses backed out at the last minute.”
Rage surged in my chest, hot and sharp, but I clamped it down.
I wanted to growl. I wanted to break something—someone. But, getting mad now would only lead to blood—rivers of it, the kind I usually drank like a vampire when the mood suited me, tonight, I wasn’t craving the metallic sting.
Besides, it wouldn’t be just them who suffered.
Their innocent families would be caught in the fallout.
“Did they read the terms of the contract before signing?” I asked, my tone calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that comes before a storm guts a city.
“Sì, Don.” Rossi’s voice snapped like ice.
“This means they were very much aware it was porn?”
I needed him to say it again. I needed confirmation before I let the monster off the leash.
“Sì, Don.”
I shut my eyes, the pressure building behind them.
My fist slammed onto the desk, the impact rattling the whiskey glass and scattering papers.
“Find them. All three. If they don’t answer my summons, you have my permission to wipe their loved ones off the face of the earth. Every one of them.”
I didn’t wait for his response. I hung up, the silence in the room heavier than before.
Leaning back in my chair, I blew out a breath, my cheeks puffing as I tried to shake the heat of my anger.
It clung to me, thick and suffocating, demanding release. There were only two ways I knew to purge it: blood or sex. Tonight, I craved the latter.
I stood, the chair scraping against the hardwood floor, and strode out of my office.
As I moved through the hallway, I pulled out my phone and dialed Elaine.
“Bring someone to the mansion,” I ordered, my voice a low growl. “Someone who can handle me tonight.”
Finally, I arrived in the room.
The room wasn’t my main residence.
This was my sanctuary for sin—a chamber tucked away in the mansion’s west wing, where the air hung heavy with the scent of burnt candles and faint traces of perfume from nights past.
The walls, draped in deep burgundy, swallowed sound and secrets alike.
A massive bed dominated the space, its black silk sheets gleaming faintly under the glow of a single chandelier.
This was where I brought my flings, where I shed the weight of the day and let my demons run free.
I sat in the high-backed chair, legs spread, forearms braced on my knees.
I didn’t wait an hour. Twenty minutes at most before a knock sounded on the door—soft, hesitant, like someone unsure if they’d make it back out alive.
My cock stirred, my body already anticipating what was to come.
“Come in,” I called, my voice rough, edged with hunger.
Bella stepped in. She was my youngest maid, barely twenty, with wide, nervous eyes that betrayed her fear of me.
Her hands fidgeted at her sides, and she kept her head low—smart girl.
“Don…” she stammered, her voice a fragile whisper. “Someone’s here to see you.”
I didn’t speak. I let my gaze do the talking—cold, unyielding, pinning her in place.
She swallowed hard, nodded, and scurried out, leaving the door slightly ajar.
Then she walked in.
A cascade of red hair spilled over her shoulders, wild and untamed, like a flame licking the darkness.
Her face was striking—high cheekbones, full lips painted a bold crimson, and eyes that glinted with defiance. She was fat, bigger than the women I usually brought here, her curves straining against a tight black dress that clung to her.
I’d heard women like her were often shy, shrinking under scrutiny, but not this one.
She met my stare head-on, her gaze bold, daring me to devour her. She was ready to be consumed—and she knew it.
She bit her bottom lip, a slow, deliberate move, and began walking toward me, her hips swaying with a seductive confidence that sent a jolt through me.
She wasn’t my type, hell, I’d never once fucked my preference.
My tastes were fluid, shaped by the moment, by the need. And tonight, I needed something new, something to break the monotony of my anger.
A bigger woman, bold and unapologetic, could be exciting. Something to stroke the fire in my veins.
She was beautiful, no question, but I knew her heart was likely as dark as the rest. All women were, weren’t they? Deceptive, manipulative, ready to betray at the first chance.
The thought fueled the rage of the past I’d tried to bury, and before I could stop myself, I strode across the room and seized her by the throat.
Not with desire, not yet—my grip was pure danger, a warning.
Her pulse thrummed beneath my fingers, rapid but unafraid.
Her eyes widened, but there was no fear in them, only a flicker of something I couldn’t place. Challenge, maybe. Or anticipation.
“Peccato che stasera sarai la pedina,” I growled, my voice low and venomous. “Qualcuno deve pagare per quello che ha fatto, e sei tu, Tesoro.”
(Too bad you'll be the pawn tonight. Someone has to pay for what he did, and it's you, Darling.)
Her breath hitched, her chest heaving as my grip tightened just enough to make her struggle.
When I saw the first hint of strain in her eyes, I released her, stepping back.
She gasped, a ragged sound that filled the room, but she didn’t retreat. She stood her ground, her lips parted, her gaze never leaving mine.
“Strip,” I ordered, turning my back to her. My fingers moved to the buttons of my shirt, undoing them one by one, the fabric sliding open as I fought to keep my breathing steady.
Behind me, I could hear her still catching her breath, the soft rustle of fabric as she obeyed.
The air crackled with tension, thick with the promise of what was to come. I turned slowly, my shirt half-open, and watched as she peeled the dress from her body, revealing curves that glowed faintly in the dim light.
She didn’t shy away, didn’t try to cover herself.
Instead, she stood tall, her eyes locked on mine, a silent challenge that stoked the fire in my chest.
My anger, my desire—they were one and the same now, twisting together into something I could barely control.
“On the bed,” I ordered, my voice a low growl. “Now.”