Resisting the Mafia Boss (BL)
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- Parts 25
"I said 'act like my boyfriend' for just five minutes, not 'act like my fucking husband' for the rest of your life!" Adrian Price half-yelled, his fingers curled into a tight fist as he glared at the terrifying, yet super gorgeous man in front of him.
Giovanni Marino blinked slowly, taking his time to register every detail of Adrian's figure into his memory, not minding that he was disturbing his work at all.
"I don't see a big difference between the two."
"Oh, for fuck sake! You're a thug, but surely you're not dumb, are you? Do you not know when to stop?" Adrian scoffed, his anger growing thicker.
"Sadly, I don't seem to know what 'stop' means. You made the idea of being someone's boyfriend sound so great now I don't think I wanna stop."
Adrian Price knew asking a mobster to fake being his boyfriend would get a lot of unnecessary attention from lustful eyes off him, but what he never knew was that the man he had just picked was no different from the unwanted pests that lingered around him, wanting to have a taste of him.
Giovanni Marino enjoyed clubbing as much as he enjoyed killing; however, despite this, he was extremely lonely. Now, the big bad man had found a toy he could play with, and he was having the best fun of his life. Would he ever stop and return to his lonely life?
That, he wasn't sure he could do that. Not even when he realized Adrian was his enemy's son. He needed Adrian, either to break him or to make him.
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𝓑𝚄𝚁𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝓓𝙴𝚂𝙸𝚁𝙴
He strokes himself with his eyes closed, and there he is-laid out in front of him, thighs parted, skin slick with desire. He imagines his hand sliding up that throat, feeling the shiver rise under his palm before tightening just enough to draw a gasp. His mouth would follow-hungry-down that taut chest, licking, biting, until a rough moan spills out. He knows how that body would respond: the way the hips would lift, aching for more, when his tongue moves lower, so much lower, tasting that salty, trembling skin. And those eyes... those 𝒇𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 eyes drowning in pleasure, staring back at him with that kind of yielding that would drag a growl from his chest. He sinks deeper into it-deeper into the vision-imagining his fingers there, buried to the knuckles, while the other writhes beneath him, lips swollen from begging too long.
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