Dark thoughts of sinful pleasures raced through Marco's mind. The moment his eyes fell on Jaimie, desire gripped him like a fever. He watched the beautiful blonde hurry across the crowded lobby toward him. Jaimie didn't know it yet, but before the day was over, he would fall victim to Marco's wicked desires.
"Hey kid," Marco said. His full, inviting lips twisted into a sinister smile full of malicious intent.
"Morning Mr. Cirelli," Jaimie said. He looked at his watch, avoiding Marco's eyes.
Jaimie stood with his back to Marco, waiting for the elevator. The way Marco looked at him gave him the creeps. He shot a nervous glance over his shoulder, looking for anyone else heading up to Ad Dezines on the penthouse elevator. Instead he met Marco's eyes, piercing into him. Something dangerous lurked in his unforgiving, brown eyes. Somehow Jaimie knew that Marco wanted to do things to him, things that would make him cry and beg for mercy. The boy's cock stirred as a shiver of forbidden desire made a warm blush of shame rise to his cheeks. The tall, dark Sicilian, well-muscled like a sleek tiger, terrified Jaimie.
A soft chime sounded and the elevator doors slid smoothly open. Jaimie reluctantly stepped in. Marco followed and stood a little too close to Jaimie in the roomy elevator. At six foot two and rock solid, his powerful body towered over Jaimie's slender five foot eight frame as the elevator rose silently. Marco's eyes, full of decadent hunger, crawled over Jaimie's supple young body. He took in the boy's blue eyes, his smooth face, his pink lips that came together in a soft pout.
Marco could have wined and dined Jaimie at the best restaurants in town. But the boy was a whore. Marco lived for the thrill of bringing whores like Jaimie to their knees. He licked his lips, savoring the taste of victory. The sight of a bitch on all fours, desperate, begging for what they needed most – a hard dick up their whore ass, intoxicated him like the finest wine. Tonight Marco would claim Jaimie as his whore and the boy would have no choice but to beg and grovel at his feet like the bitch he was born to be.
"How's the prison ad going Jaimie?" Marco said.
"Not bad, Sir," Jaimie said. He cleared his throat nervously. "Actually, it's a soap ad set in prison."
Marco's hands flew up in mock surrender. His black silk Armani pants outlined his erection.
"Sure kid. That's what I meant. Must be my Sicilian English," Marco said with a shrug. He saw the nervous way Jaimie's eyes avoided his thick hardness.
"Must be kinda tough for you though," Marco said, letting his eyes linger a little too long on Jaimie's full lips.
"What's that Mr. Cirelli?" Jaimie said. His eyes darted to the floor indicator. Thirty floors to go.
"Writing about prisons, since you've never been in one," Marco said. He looked at Jaimie. "Have you?"
Jaimie's chest grew suddenly tight. It almost hurt to breathe. "No, Mr. Cirelli. Never," he said, hoping Marco wouldn't hear his racing heartbeat in his voice.
"That's funny boy. ‘Cause I met someone who said you did," Marco said.
There was something low and deadly in his voice, like a coiled snake about to strike. Suddenly, Marco pressed the Emergency Stop button. The swiftly rising elevator came to a sudden stop, knocking Jaimie off his feet. He felt Marco's raging hard on against his ass before the rocking elevator threw him against the opposite wall.
"Nice," Marco murmured in Sicilian when he felt Jaimie against him.
Jaimie's breath was hot in his tight chest. He was trapped twenty floors from nowhere with a horny Sicilian who somehow knew about his past. His heart pumped hard and fast as he struggled back to his feet.
"What are you doing Mr. Cirelli?" Jaimie said, looking up at Marco in a near panic.
The sight of the thick bulge between Marco's strong legs sent memories reeling through Jaimie's mind. Things he wished he could forget forever. Memories of dark places where evil men did bad things to him. Oh no, he thought, not again.
Marco pushed his black hair back from his face. He crossed his thick arms and leaned against one wall of the elevator, looking down at Jaimie. In Marco's world, there was no mercy for whores like Jaimie. A tiny part of him felt sorry for the boy. But he was helpless in the face of the dark desires that drove him. The trapped look on the boy's scared face nearly drove Marco mad with lust. You're mine now boy.
"Like I was saying, kid. You lied on your application," Marco said.
Stinging sweat dripped into Jaimie's eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about Sir," he said, running a shaky hand through his blonde hair.
"Sure you do kid."
Marco grabbed Jaimie's slender arm and swung him around hard, forcing the boy into a corner.
"Your mom and dad mortgaged their house to get that bad lawyer. He got your sentence reduced to one year for possession."
All the color drained from Jaimie's face. His guts twisted into a sickening knot. "Oh my God, no," he said, dropping his head back against the wall.
"I talked to Tyrone, your ex-cellmate. He said you had a nice tight ass. And you suck cock real good," Marco said, smiling down into Jaimie's blue eyes.
"Please Mr. Cirelli. I'm clean now. I worked hard and stayed out of trouble. Please," Jaimie said. He saw his whole future melting away like sugar castles in the rain. Tears stood in his eyes.
Hot excitement rushed through Marco as he looked down into the boy's pleading eyes. He pressed his swollen cock into the trembling boy's crotch, grabbing him tighter when Jaimie tried to pull away. The boy was helplessly caught in Marco's neatly laid trap. He knew Jaimie was too much of a whore to give up the east side for the dirty slums of his past. The boy had no choice but to submit and be used for his cruel pleasures.
Marco gently wiped away the tears that ran down Jaimie's soft cheeks, with a cold, hard smile that made Jaimie feel like screaming. He loosened his grip on the boy, straightening Jaimie's thin tie.
"Don't worry kid. Your secret's safe with me."
Jaimie looked up at him, waiting. His short, hard life had taught him one crucial lesson: nothing came for free.
"You're safe," Marco said, smoothing the boy's blonde hair back from his face. "I know exactly how to treat whores like you." He leaned close and whispered into Jaimie's ear. "I'm going to have my way with you boy. You're gonna be my bottom bitch."
Marco pressed the Emergency Stop again and turned his back on Jaimie as the elevator lurched to a start.
"It's a long way down to the streets from the penthouse kid."
That's it. I quit. I'm through being a whore, Jaimie thought. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. But when the elevator doors slipped open, he stepped off after Marco, stepping into his new life of Sicilian torment.
The rest of the day went by in a haze. Tomorrow was the deadline for Jaimie's most important project so far. But he could barely concentrate, thinking about Marco. When his phone rang at nine thirty that night, he nearly jumped out of his skin. It could only be the Sicilian.
"Come over here kid. I need to see you," Marco said, and hung up in his ear.
Jaimie's trembling legs barely carried him through the maze of deserted offices. When he got to Marco's corner office, he hesitated outside the door. All he had to do was turn around and go home. But he knew Marco wouldn't stop at that. No. Jaimie would be walking all the way back to the west side, leaving his ocean view apartment behind, his silk suits, his penthouse office, his Corvette, Steve. I can't walk away. God help me. I can't.
He walked into the shadowy sea of darkness made by the track lighting over Marco's desk.
"Close the door bitch and make me a drink," Marco said without looking up from his work. "Scotch on the rocks."
The moment he heard Marco's voice, Jaimie knew the urbane Vice President of Advertising and Sales who sold million dollar accounts was gone. He was alone with the real Marco. A man from a tiny Mediterranean island where the savage law of survival of the fittest shaped men into hard warriors who took what they wanted and claimed it for their own.
Jaimie fixed the drink at the built in bar while his desperate mind raced, trying to think of a way out of the latest mess he was in. He set it down on Marco's desk next to a manila envelope and leaned on the glass wall behind him, looking down at the rain swept city. Cirelli was right about one thing. It was a long way down to the dirty streets from here.
"Why are you doing this to me?" Jaimie said in a shaky, uncertain voice.
Behind him, Marco laughed, genuinely amused. He turned in his chair, facing Jaimie's back.
"I told you this morning boy. I'm gonna make you my bitch."
Jaimie closed his eyes, fighting to control his temper. His fingers closed around the black stress ball in his pocket until his knuckles turned white. You'll cost me one blow job, he'd thought the day Marco hired him. Oh God, how could he have been so wrong.
"You know why I hired a gutter rat who went to community college to work in a company like Ad Dezines?" Marco said.
"Why?" Jaimie said, even though he knew the answer.
"Because I wanted your ass boy. And I knew you were a cock sucking bitch the minute I saw you."
Jaimie took the ball from his pocket and turned it round and round in his shaking hands, watching rain beat against the glass. Lightening exploded across the night sky like heaven's artillery.
"What's the name of the guy you're fucking now? Steve?"
"Please. Leave him out of this. I'll do what you want," Jaimie said, pleading. He gripped the ball, squeezing it into a tiny sponge marble.
"I know all about Steve. Nice boy. Graduated near the top of his class at NYU with an MBA. He looks like he fucks your mouth and your ass nice an' easy."
"Please don't do this to me Mr. Cirelli. Please Sir," Jaimie said.
Jaimie didn't know that his pleas stoked the raging fires of depraved lust that drove the Sicilian's dark soul, making him want to abuse the helpless boy even more. An evil smile rose to Marco's lips, twisting his handsome face into a mask of wicked desire.
"But you don't like it soft and nice, do you?" Marco said. "You kept thinking about Tyrone's cock fucking you hard and using you like a whore."
Marco went on and on, painting Jaimie's life in prison in ugly, sordid detail. A torrent of cruelly harsh words spilled from his lips. He talked of how the men had used his ass night after night, the men he'd been forced to service, how they'd treated him like a cheap street whore. His words stabbed into Jaimie like a thousand acid-tipped splinters straight to his heart, driving him mad with rage.
