Chapter 11 Still breathing? 🔞
The bedroom door closed behind them with a soft,final click.
Falcone’s hand slid beneath Cedric’s unbuttoned shirt, fingers tracing the taut line of his abdomen. "You think too much," he murmured, breath hot against Cedric’s ear. "Stop thinking." His teeth grazed the pulse point beneath Cedric’s jaw, drawing a sharp gasp. Cedric’s fingers tangled in Falcone’s hair, pulling him closer until their lips crashed together again.less a kiss than a collision, all teeth and desperation. Falcone tasted like expensive bourbon and the metallic tang of power, a combination that made Cedric’s head swim.
Falcone’s knee pressed between Cedric’s thighs, the friction deliberate, relentless. Cedric arched against him, a low groan escaping as calloused palms slid down his hips. "Look at you," Falcone growled, tearing Cedric’s shirt open the rest of the way. Buttons scattered across the floor like fallen stars. "Six years I’ve waited to see you like this….spread out and wanting."
Cedric’s retort died in his throat when Falcone’s mouth closed over a nipple, tongue swirling, teeth scraping just shy of pain. Sparks shot down Cedric’s spine, pooling low in his belly. He bucked upward, seeking contact, but Falcone pinned his wrists above his head with effortless strength. "Patience," he warned, biting the tendon of Cedric’s neck. "I told you I’d ruin you." His free hand slid lower, palming Cedric through his trousers, squeezing just hard enough to make him gasp. "And ruin’s a slow, thorough business."
The zipper rasped open. Falcone’s fingers slipped beneath fabric, curling around Cedric’s aching length. Cedric cried out,a raw shattered sound,as Falcone stroked him once, twice, thumb swiping over the head. "See?" Falcone’s voice was rough velvet against his skin. "Already forgetting your own name." He tightened his grip, twisting his wrist on the upstroke. Cedric’s hips jerked off the bed, vision blurring. "Let go," Falcone commanded. "I’ve got you." And Cedric did, spilling over Falcone’s fist with a choked sob, trembling as waves of pleasure crashed through him. Falcone watched him unravel, dark eyes glittering with triumph. "Good," he purred. "Now we begin."
Falcone stripped him bare,trousers shoved down, boxers torn away,until Cedric lay exposed on the silk. Cool air kissed his skin, raising goosebumps. Falcone traced a fingertip down Cedric’s sternum, over the shuddering plane of his stomach, then lower. Cedric tensed, breath catching. "Relax," Falcone murmured, spreading Cedric’s thighs wider. "I’ll make it good." He slicked two fingers with spit and pressed slowly, relentlessly inward. Cedric gasped, back arching. The stretch burned, a delicious, terrifying fullness. Falcone crooked his fingers, brushing something deep inside that sent electric shocks up Cedric’s spine. "There," Falcone breathed, watching Cedric’s face. "Found it."
He withdrew his fingers, leaving Cedric trembling and empty. Cedric heard the tear of foil, the slick sound of Falcone stroking himself. Then Falcone was kneeling between his thighs, guiding himself to Cedric’s entrance. The blunt pressure was immense. Cedric braced himself, nails digging into Falcone’s shoulders. "Look at me," Falcone ordered. Cedric met his gaze,dark, hungry, utterly focused. Falcone pushed forward, inch by inch. Cedric whimpered, the stretch bordering on pain, but Falcone didn’t stop until he was fully seated, hips flush against Cedric’s ass. "Fuck," Falcone groaned, head dropping. "Tighter than I had imagined." He stayed still, letting Cedric adjust, sweat dripping onto Cedric’s chest.
Then Falcone moved. A slow, deliberate withdrawal followed by a hard, driving thrust that punched the air from Cedric’s lungs. "Yes!" Cedric gasped. Falcone set a punishing rhythm, each snap of his hips hitting that spot deep inside. Cedric wrapped his legs around Falcone’s waist, pulling him deeper, meeting every thrust. The slap of skin, Falcone’s ragged breaths, Cedric’s own broken moans,the room filled with the sounds of their joining. Falcone leaned down, capturing Cedric’s mouth in a messy, possessive kiss. "Mine," he growled against Cedric’s lips, driving into him harder, faster. Cedric could only cling to him, lost in the storm.
They collapsed together, slick with sweat, Falcone’s weight heavy and grounding. Cedric traced the scar along Falcone’s shoulder blade.A relic from a knife fight years ago. Falcone shifted, pressing a kiss to Cedric’s temple. "Still breathing?" he murmured, fingers tracing Cedric’s ribs. Cedric nodded, throat raw.
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Meanwhile, across the city in a cramped police surveillance van, Marcus Chen stared at his phone screen.
Equipment malfunction. Everything's fine.
The words sat there, innocent and routine, exactly the kind of message he should be relieved to receive. The wire had cut out, but Cedric was okay. The operation could continue.
Except something felt wrong. Something in his gut, that instinct he'd learned to trust over years of police work, was screaming that things were very much not fine.
"Should we send someone in?" Rodriguez, his partner, asked from the driver's seat. "Just to check on him?"
"No," Marcus heard himself say, the word tasting like defeat. "If he says he's fine, we have to trust him."
Trust. What a fucking joke. He barely trusted himself right now, let alone a desperate kid he'd essentially blackmailed into doing his dirty work.
He thought about Cedric in that interrogation room earlier, all sharp edges and defensive sarcasm, those eyes that had looked at Marcus like he was simultaneously savior and executioner. He thought about high school, about a scrawny kid with glasses who'd confessed his crush in front of everyone, and the way Marcus had brushed him off because he was too scared, too worried about his reputation, too busy being the perfect son following in his father's footsteps.
He'd told himself he was straight. Had believed it for years, buried it under relationships with women who were perfectly nice and perfectly wrong. Had joined the force and thrown himself into work because it was easier than examining why he kept thinking about dark alleys and bad decisions and a boy he'd rejected six years ago.
And now that boy was in Gianni Falcone's club, wire dead, messages routine, and Marcus had a sinking feeling he'd just lost something he didn't even know he'd wanted to keep.
"Call it a night," Marcus said, pulling off his headphones. "We'll debrief in the morning."
"You sure, boss?"
"Yeah." Marcus rubbed his eyes, suddenly exhausted. "I'm sure."
But as Rodriguez drove away from the club, Marcus couldn't stop the terrible, gnawing certainty that when he saw Cedric again,if he saw Cedric again,everything would be different.
The phone in his hand buzzed. Another message, this time from an unknown number.
Marcus opened it.
It was a photo. Cedric, clearly visible, in what looked like a penthouse apartment. He was disheveled, shirt half-unbuttoned, lips swollen like he'd been thoroughly kissed. And he was smiling. Actually smiling, in a way Marcus had never seen before, open and genuine and absolutely devastating.
There was no text. No explanation needed.
The message was clear: You lost.
Marcus stared at the photo until his screen went dark.