Page 19 of The Silencer
“Get. Inside,” he growls, sounding impatient.
I roll my eyes at him and groan. “You have no idea what that voice does to me, Mister.”
He stares at me, long and hard, and I can do nothing more than do as he says. My feet carry me forward, my hard dick a compass leading me in the direction of the bookshelves.
This space is exactly what I thought it would be. Large mahogany bookcases wrap around the walls with paperbacks lining each shelf, a large black leather sofa sits in the middle of the room. A crystal chandelier, lowly lit, hangs above us. Two large immaculately clean windows overlook the grounds. And on the far right of the room is his sizable desk, a bulky leather chair behind it, and two sleek computers sitting atop it.
“Oh god, this is gorgeous,” I say as I make my way around the room. I want to know what kind of books reside here. Are they legal ones? Biographies? Romance? Oh god, I will die if there are gay romance novels on this shelf.
“Anthony, do you have any gay romance novels here? Any sexual awakenings, forced proximity? Oh my god, do you have any age gaps?” I ask, my fingers sliding across the spines of the books. I honestly didn’t think Anthony could get any sexier than this. And yet, here we are.
“I’m sure I do. I’m a father of two gay children.”
“You are,” I say, my eyes meeting his. Good fuck, he looks nice in the shadows like this. Like a monster ready to consume me.
My, my, Anthony, what big teeth you have.
“Come here,” he says, pointing to his desk.
I watch him for a moment, just taking it all in, before walking toward him. He’s unmoving, his stance slightly parted, a glass jar of ointment in his hands.
When I finally come to a stop before him, his eyes narrow.
“Undress,” he says.
“Good hell, Anthony, are you trying to make a gay boy’s dreams come true? Because you are. Like all my dreams are becoming reality. Right. Now.”
He sighs. “Take off your clothes, Tatum. This isn’t sexual.”
Oh, but to me, it is. This is ridiculously sexual.
“You have no idea how I can make this sexual. I have a very vivid imagination.”
Anthony unscrews the container, his eyes slashing toward me. “Undress, Tatum. I won’t ask again.”
“Well, Jesus. Fucking. Christ. Okay.”
I reach down to tug my shirt over my head and wince at the movement. Damn, my back hurts, my ribs. Truthfully, everything aches. The meds I was given only dim it slightly.
“Let me,” Anthony says, his fingers grazing my waist and making me shiver.
“I mean, fine, but this is getting ridiculous,” I mutter as he slowly peels my shirt off.
If I felt pain before, I don’t feel it anymore. It’s gone. All I feel is majorly hot and bothered.
He tosses my shirt onto his desk and then moves on to my sweatpants.
“Careful of my hard dick,” I warn, and Anthony’s movements stutter. He doesn’t say anything, seemingly unbothered, as he starts to carefully peel them off me. He sets them on the desk, but before he can reach for the glass jar, I blurt, “I also have a bruise on my ass. A really big one. Really. Big.”
His jaw ticks. “Is that so?”
“It’s very so.”
His nostrils flare when he reaches out and tugs my boxer briefs down my legs. A rush of air leaves my lungs. I can’t believe this is happening. I honestly can’t believe that Anthony is stripping me naked and soon, his hands will be all over me.
If I come like this, it will be all his fault. I am blameless.
“Whatever happens next is all on you, Mr. Mafia Man.”