Page 107 of Hate to Love You
“...And then I’ll fuck you whenever the hell I please.”
“Holy shit!” She gasps, her jaw dropping.
Over and over, I plow my cock inside of her, as her whorish moans echo throughout the office. Without pulling out, I grab her ass and pick her up, walking her over to the glass wall of my office and slamming her body against it.
And then I continue fucking her.
“Ro…Roman,” she groans, her eyes clenched shut. “I’m going to cum.”
“Cum,” I command, my own orgasm building. “And you better make sure I can feel it dripping down my leg.”
“Yes, Sir,” she breathes, and I feel her shudder and her arms wrapping around me tightly as she climaxes.
Unable to resist the sensation of her pussy clenching around me, I empty myself inside of Abby, certain that I have never felt so alive…and that I am finally home.
“They’re ready for you, Boss,” Cal says, as we walk down the hallway of my Chelsea Pier warehouse. “I think we’ve extracted as much information as we possibly can.”
I say nothing, pulling on my leather gloves as he opens the door, and we step inside the room in what we affectionately call The Block.
This place is my fortress. My castle. My refuge. And essentially my back-up plan if any and all hell breaks loose in the city, and we need a place to retreat to.
I bought the massive building not only because it was in a prime location at Chelsea Pier, just off the harbor with direct access for freight off-loading, but because it’s also a four-story warehouse that was used to house drilling and construction equipment.
And it’s built like Fort Knox.
I started calling it The Block because the security this building provided is unparalleled. The floor is one gigantic concrete slab, and instead of wood or aluminum walls, which are standard for most New York shipping warehouses, mine are actually reinforced concrete. The building itself is near impenetrable, having withstood tornadoes, at least one hurricane and even the occasional earthquake, I was fairly confident that only a nuclear blast could make a dent in this beast.
That’s why I keep my central command team here, as well as my main armory. Equipped with a massive generator, there’s also a kitchen, storage, and even some basic, but relatively small living quarters in the upper levels. On top of that there was a helicopter pad on the roof, and escape tunnels that led underneath the road to a fleet of small boats in the harbor. This provided me with multiple escape routes, which is something that’s always important to a mafia don.
But to me, the main benefit to this warehouse isn’t the security, accessibility, amenities, or even the escape routes.
It’s the animal rendering plant next door.
As a don, sometimes we require a discreet, swift, and relatively clean way to rid ourselves of a body or two.
With a monthly payment to the man who runs the facility, he’s willing to allow us to add our occasional “trash” into his grinder and look the other way.
When I step into the main room, and see two men tied to two rusty metal chairs placed directly above the sewer drain, I know that they know, this little interrogation will only go one way: Mine.
“Well, this is certainly an interesting reunion,” I say, walking around the first man in the chair and crossing my arms in front of my body. “It’s good to see you again, Trevor.”
The terrified waiter from my ill-fated date with Abby at Albertos looks up at me. His face is bruised, and both his nose and lip are bleeding profusely.
Cal silently carries a second chair forward and sets it down in front of Trevor.
“That cut looks pretty nasty,” I say, motioning to his busted lip. “What happened?”
“They broke my…” He says, looking up at me briefly.
However, as he does, he also makes eye contact with one of my “extractors,” Jacques standing behind me. Jacques’s main job is to interrogate our prisoners before I arrive, by any means necessary… providing he keeps them alive.
And knowing the sick shit that Jacques and his clueless little brother Noah are into, it looks like they took it easy on Trevor tonight.
“Sorry, Boss,” Jacques says, wiping blood off his hands. “The last guy took us longer than we thought. We were just getting started with this one.”
That explains it then.
“I asked you a question,” I say quietly.