The captive hadn't slept. His body was a map of bruises, his lips still swollen from yesterday's kiss, and his mind… his mind was drowning in the promise: Tomorrow, I'll take until there's nothing left to imagine.
Now tomorrow had come.
The door burst open. No smoke, no mask of polished wood, no coat this time — the mob boss looked like hunger made flesh. His shirt was open halfway, sleeves rolled high onto the elbows, veins straining on his forearms as he came striding towards us.
"Enough games," he growled, ripping the chair across the floor with a ferocity that made the wood howl against the concrete. "Tonight, I take."
The captive spat, venom still clinging to his tongue. "Go to hell—"
The boss's hand was at his throat before the words finished, crushing his windpipe just enough to choke off breath. Eyes dark, lips curled in cruel amusement.
"You'll scream my name before I'm done," he promised, voice low and lethal.
The prisoner tried to turn away, but ropes cut deeper into his wrists. He was caught when the man's mouth enveloped him, savage and hungry. Teeth tore at his lips, tongue shoved past clenched teeth until he gagged on smoke and hunger. His muffled cry broke down to a moan he hated himself for.
The boss burst loose, gasping hard, lips damp with stolen rebelliousness. "Perfect," he breathed, stroking the captive's chest. Cloth ripped with one harsh tug — buttons scattering like teeth on the floor. Cold air hit bare skin, then warmer, hungrier mouths.
"Don't—"
the captive gasped, thrashing against his restraints.
"Don't?" The boss sank teeth into his collarbone, hard enough to bruise. "That's not a no. That's a whimper."
His mouth nipped a path lower, down across chest, biting at each inch of flesh. The captive struggled, rope burns blooming on wrists, but the chair trembled futilely. At his waistband, the boss didn't stop. Fingers ripped cloth away, stripping the last barrier off until the captive lay bare, exposed, helpless.
The prisoner gasped — naked fear and humiliation creeping over his face. "Don't you dare—
The crime lord held him hard, cruel, wrenching a strangled cry from his throat. He touched once, slowly, watching the prisoner writhe. "You already tremble for me," he whispered roughly, savagely. "Your flesh betrays you. It wants me."
"Fuck you!" the prisoner spat, but the sound dissolved on a groan as the boss's hand worked him brutally, wringing unwanted desire from every nerve.
The boss's laughter was raw, hungry. "No, pet. Tonight, I fuck you."
Before the prisoner could curse again, the boss spread his legs apart, ropes creaking, pinning him wide. A wild snarl rode his chest as he released himself, heavy length already hard and slick with precum. He spat in his palm, greasing himself up with nothing but saliva and ill will, eyes never leaving the prisoner's.
No—don't—please—" The prisoner's voice was cut short by desperate gasps as the boss moved forward.
The first stroke was brutal. Raw. A ripping penetration that tore a shriek from the captive's lips, echoing off the concrete walls. His head slammed against the back of the chair, eyes clenched shut as pain seared through him.
The boss shuddered deeply, enjoying the closed, unprepared heat grasping around him. "Perfect," he gritted, his voice shaking with need. "You fit me like a glove."
The captive cried through gritted teeth, wrists straining, chest laboring. "Bastard—fuck—you—ahhh—!"
Every thrust was harder, coarser, pounding him mercilessly into the chair until wood groaned with every crash. The prisoner's screams filled the air — raw pain mixed with moans he could not contain. The din only made the answer crazier.
"Yes," he growled, driving into him without mercy. "Scream for me. Fight me. Break for me."
The captive's cleverness was gone — nothing but raw screams, rasping groans, the degrading slap of sweat and skin. His body arched in wild spasms, his nerves rent between agony and pleasure that was unendurable. He hated the heat burning in his gut, hated the way his dick jerked in each brutal plunge.
"Look at you," the boss gasped, nipping onto his shoulder until blood spread. "Weeping, crying, bleeding. And yet, your body is still demanding it from me."
The captive cried, the sound cracking, but his hips betrayed him — jerking, rubbing against the man defiling him. Shame creased his face, but his body couldn't lie.
The boss's rhythm grew, savage. His growls merged with the captive's screams until, in a last violent thrust, he filled him deep, taking him whole.
There was nothing but ragged panting for an instant in the cellar.
The captive swayed in the ropes, trembling, soaked in sweat, his throat raw from screaming. His lips bled from biting them, his body torn and filled. He wanted to hate, to curse, to spit—
But all he could manage was moan, gasp, and shake at the onslaught of what had been done.
The boss leaned forward, lips against his ear, voice low and rough. "Tonight I broke you open. Tomorrow, I'll make you ache for the breaking."
He kissed him, slow and deadly, then pulled back, leaving his captive shattered and shuddering silently.
The lock clicked into place.
And the prisoner knew, in terror, that a part of him already yearned for tomorrow.