Married to the Mobster

pink and gold.”
“Just waiting for your kiss, Prince Charming.”
“Oh, I’m no prince, angel. But I don’t think you want a prince, do you?” I pull off the rest of my clothes and his breath catches as he gets an eyeful of my cock. I crawl onto the bed, over his body. “No, I think you prefer trash like me, don’t you?” I make my way up, knees on either side of his arms, dick wagging around in his face. “I think you like getting dirty with the rats and then washing yourself clean when you’re done. Isn’t that right?”
“When you’re right, you’re right,” he says.
I narrow my eyes as I look down at him. “Open your mouth.”
He takes it like a champ, I’ll give him that. I push in fast, already aching hard for him. I hit the back of his throat and wait for him to stop spluttering and gagging, because I’m a gentleman, or at least, that’s what I tell him, smiling down at him.
He gives me a roll of his eyes in return.
I like that this guy doesn’t give up his swagger just because he’s choking on dick. He’s not going to make it easy on me, not going to give in to his own pleasure without a fight. So I pull out again, and smack my wet cock on each side of his face. “Too much for you, princess?” I ask sweetly.
His only reply is to mash my dick back into his mouth like he’s a starving man and I’m rare roast beef. He’s a drooler, and unashamed. I like that. I like a guy who’s confident enough to dribble and cough and go red in the face and still know he’s the hottest thing in the city.
And this guy definitely is—the hottest thing in the city, that is. The hottest thing I’ve ever seen. And here I am, feeding him my cock and fucking his throat.
He’s stirring something in me I never knew was there, something unfamiliar. It’s not just about the sex, although that’s also blowing my mind. He’s working my dick like he’s never had one so good, but he’s so practiced at it, I know he’s had more meat in his mouth than I’ve had hot dinners. He’s jacking himself while he sucks me, and I risk twisting, ignore the pain in my side, just so I can see his pink-tipped dick shining and jerking in his hand.
It’s that pain in my side that makes me lose it; I like my fucks perverted and I like to see the pain change to pleasure in others, but I never knew I was wired that way too. His deep-throating and his beautiful gold-green eyes looking up at me, streaming tears, the sight of my thick cock going in and out of those bubblegum-pink lips…it all combines and I take three more thrusts, deep in his throat, hoping he’s had the sense to close off his airway because otherwise he’ll drown in spunk.
It bursts out of me like I’m a bottle of soda shaken up, pouring into his warm wet throat. He swallows, thank fuck, so I came down the right hole at least. I had a guy choke on my cum once. It was way less fun than it sounds.
I pull out so I can squeeze out the dregs onto his puffy lips, shining with spit and snot, and then he comes too, staring up at me. It’s like he’s surprised, calling out in shock, and I feel a hot spray on my ass and lower back. He shot hard.
It makes my three-minute performance not quite as embarrassing. Some lesson; this guy schooled me. That doesn’t happen much.
I never lose control.
“Holy fuck,” he coughs. “Okay, you’re gangsta.”
“You’re not bad yourself,” I say, and climb off him. I can’t suppress the hiss of pain as my body contorts, and I feel dizzy again. Now that my balls are empty I can think straight, but it also means I’m feeling the other stuff. The bad stuff.
Finch leans up on his elbow. He’s looking paler as well. “You okay?” he asks. “You were pretty adamant about not going to a doctor.”
“Adamant,” I repeat.
“Yeah. It means—”
“I know what it means.” I know what it means, I just never heard anyone in real life use that word. I’ve been working on my vocabulary, reading whatever I can get my hands on. Practicing. I know where I want to be, and I need the right words to get there.
The guy’s staring at me, his eyes still glowing, even though he looks like he’s starting to feel the effects of the night, too. I give a shrug, although it hurts me even to do that. “I’m okay. I mean, shit’s gonna scar, but it was better to sew me up than not.”
He nods his head. “You probably wanna get it checked when you can.”
I don’t snort at him. What’s the point? He lives in a world where getting medical attention is no big deal. Even if I had the money for it, I can’t afford the questions.
But it won’t always be like that for me. One day, I’ll live in a place just like this, and on that day, I won’t have broken ribs and stab wounds. I’ll have an angel in my bed, though, just like him. Yes, that’s it: I’ll keep my lover in a place like this, and visit him whenever I want. I’ll have a place of my own, of course, where my lover never comes, because I won’t ever mix business and pleasure. But he’ll always be here, waiting, when I want him.
I’ll make my lover dye his hair pink and use words like adamant.
“I need a cigarette before round two,” I say.

Chapter Five


FINCH
This guy.
This motherfucking guy.
I’m no tender virgin. I’ve been face-fucked before, and I’ve been treated like a cumhole before, and I like it fine, more than fine sometimes, but this guy. The ego rolling off him is fucking heady, and then