Chapter 16 Too Hard
Without warning, Falcone pinned cedric harder against the wall, their faces inches apart. Cedric's eyes widened in surprise, but he didn't resist. Falcone could feel Cedric's heart racing against his chest. He ran his hand down Cedric's chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt.
"Fuck, Falcone," Cedric whispered, his voice husky with desire.
Falcone smirked, his dick already hard in his pants. He could feel Cedric's hard dick pressed against his leg. He ran his hand down Cedric's stomach and undid his pants, letting them fall to the ground. Cedric's dick sprang free, hard and eager.
Falcone dropped to his knees, taking Cedric's dick into his mouth. Cedric moaned as Falcone sucked and licked his dick, his hands gripping the back of Falcone's head. Falcone could feel Cedric's legs trembling as he got closer to climax.
"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," Cedric gasped, his hips bucking as he came. Falcone swallowed every drop, savoring the taste of Cedric's cum.
Falcone stood up, his own dick hard and aching. He pulled Cedric's shirt over his head, revealing his toned chest and abs. Falcone ran his hands over Cedric's body, feeling every inch of him.
Cedric reached down and undid Falcone's pants, letting them fall to the ground. Falcone's hard dick sprang free, eager for Cedric's touch. Cedric wrapped his hand around Falcone's dick, stroking it slowly.
Falcone moaned, throwing his head back in pleasure. He grabbed Cedric's ass, pulling him closer. Cedric took the hint, wrapping his legs around Falcone's waist.
Falcone guided his dick to Cedric's entrance, pushing inside slowly. Cedric moaned as Falcone filled him up, his hips moving in time with Falcone's thrusts.
Falcone fucked Cedric hard against the wall, their bodies slapping together as they moved. Falcone could feel himself getting closer to climax, his balls tightening as he thrust deeper and deeper into Cedric.
"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," Falcone gasped, his thrusts becoming erratic as he came hard inside Cedric. Cedric moaned, his own orgasm following closely behind.
Falcone pulled out, his dick still hard. He looked at Cedric, a satisfied smirk on his face.
"Welcome to my home, Cedric," Falcone said, his voice husky with satisfaction.
Cedric grinned, still panting from their intense lovemaking.
"Ohh….you asshole," Cedric replied, his voice still hoarse from moaning.
Falcone chuckled, pulling Cedric in for a deep kiss. As they kissed, Falcone knew that this was just the beginning of their intense and passionate relationship.
\~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The bed was too soft.
That was Cedric's first thought when he woke up the next morning, sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows he didn't remember closing the curtains on. Actually, he was pretty sure there weren't any curtains. Just glass and sky and the city sprawling below like it existed purely for his viewing pleasure.
He stretched, and every muscle in his body reminded him exactly what he'd done the night before. A dull, pleasant ache settled deep in his hips, radiating outward in waves that made his breath catch. He pressed his palm against his lower back and winced.
"Jesus," he muttered into the empty room.
The sheets were silk. Actual silk, the kind that felt cool and slippery against his skin, expensive enough that he was mildly terrified of staining them. He'd never slept on silk sheets before. He'd never slept on anything that wasn't scratchy polyester from Target or hand-me-down cotton that had been washed so many times it felt like tissue paper.
This was... different.
Everything here was different.
Cedric sat up slowly, the sheet pooling around his waist. He was naked. Right. That had been Falcone's rule last night after they'd... after everything. "You sleep naked in my bed," he'd said, his voice still rough from exertion, his hand possessive on Cedric's hip. "I want to feel every inch of you."
Not a request. Never a request with Falcone.
Cedric looked around the bedroom properly for the first time. Last night it had been all shadows and urgency, Falcone's mouth on his neck and hands everywhere and the world narrowing down to sensation and heat. Now, in the stark morning light, he could actually see where he'd ended up.
The room was massive. Bigger than his entire apartment had been, probably. The walls were a deep charcoal grey, the kind of color that should've felt oppressive but somehow didn't. Floor-to-ceiling windows took up one entire wall, offering a view of Manhattan that probably cost more per month than most people made in a year. The furniture was all dark wood and clean lines, minimalist in that way that screamed money because truly expensive things never needed to announce themselves.
There was a sitting area by the windows with leather chairs that looked like they'd never been sat in. A bookshelf filled with hardcovers that were probably first editions. Abstract art on the walls that Cedric didn't understand but suspected he was supposed to find meaningful.
And no Falcone.
Cedric's stomach did something complicated. Relief, maybe. Or disappointment. He wasn't sure which would be worse.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood, immediately regretting the decision when his knees protested. "Fuck," he hissed, steadying himself against the nightstand.
That's when he noticed the clothes.
They were laid out on the chair by the window, perfectly arranged like someone had styled them for a photoshoot. Black joggers that looked butter-soft. A grey t-shirt with a designer label he recognized from store windows he'd never been able to afford to enter. Boxer briefs that definitely weren't from a Target three-pack. And underneath everything, a note in handwriting that was surprisingly elegant.
Wear these. Breakfast is at 8. Don't be late.
— F
Cedric picked up the note, turning it over like there might be more information on the back. There wasn't. Just those three sentences, simple and direct, the kind of instructions you'd give a dog or a child or someone whose opinion didn't particularly matter.
He should've been pissed. Should've crumpled the note and thrown it across the room and put on his own damn clothes just to prove a point.
Instead, he picked up the joggers.
They were soft. Obscenely soft, the kind of fabric that probably cost more per yard than his old monthly rent. He pulled them on, and they fit perfectly, like they'd been tailored specifically for his body. The shirt was the same, hugging his shoulders and torso in a way that was somehow both comfortable and flattering.
Even the fucking underwear fit perfectly.
Which meant Falcone had known his sizes. Had known them well enough to buy clothes that fit like a second skin without ever asking.
Cedric stared at his reflection in the full-length mirror by the closet. The guy looking back at him was a stranger. Clean, well-dressed, standing in a room that cost more than everything Cedric had ever owned combined. He looked like he belonged here, which was possibly the most unsettling part.
He ran his hand through his hair, trying to tame it into something presentable. It didn't work. He'd need a shower for that, but he had no idea where the bathroom was. Or what time it was. Or where "breakfast at 8" was even supposed to happen.
The bedroom door opened.
Cedric spun around, his heart jumping into his throat.
It wasn't Falcone. It was a woman, maybe in her fifties, with iron-grey hair pulled back in a severe bun and the kind of face that suggested she'd seen everything and been impressed by none of it. She wore a crisp black dress and white apron, the universal uniform of domestic staff in houses like this.
She looked Cedric up and down with the same expression someone might use while examining a stray dog that had wandered into their house.
"Mr. Santos," she said. Her accent was vaguely Eastern European, her tone completely neutral. "I am Mrs. Kozlov. I manage the household staff."
"Uh." Cedric's brain scrambled to catch up. "Hi. Good morning. I'm... yeah, I'm Cedric."
"Yes," Mrs. Kozlov said, like this was obvious and mildly tedious. "Mr. Falcone has instructed me to show you the house and explain the rules."
"Rules," Cedric repeated.