Chapter Six Touch yourself!

Elio’s POV

Fucking hell.

Was this a test? A joke? A goddamn punishment?

I had spent the last twenty-four hours holding myself back from this boy—this reckless, sharp-mouthed hacker—and now he’s standing there offering himself like it means nothing.

He was trembling slightly, but he didn’t back down. His shoulder was bare, his lips parted, his shirt hanging half-off his frame like a deliberate invitation.

I exhaled slowly through my nose. Micah had no idea what he was playing with.

I stepped forward, slow and measured. His eyes tracked every movement I made, wide but not afraid. Not exactly. No, there was something else brewing in those pupils—an unstable mix of defiance, curiosity, and maybe the faintest flicker of need.

Good. That was the look I wanted when I finally fucked him.

I stopped just inches from him, letting the silence stretch between us like smoke filling the room.

“Do you have any idea what you’re asking for, young man?” My voice came out low, dangerous.

He didn’t answer. Not with words. Just a slight tilt of his chin, like he was saying *try me.*

I reached up, fingers ghosting over the side of his jaw. He flinched, but not away. No, the little shit leaned into it, even if he wasn’t fully aware of it.

“You think this is what I want?” I asked. “Some desperate little whore willing to trade his body for pity?” My thumb slid across his lower lip, lingering there. “And for what? A phone call to mommy?”

His breath stuttered, but he held his ground. Brave or foolish, I wasn’t sure yet.

“I don’t do pity, Micah,” I said, curling my fingers into the back of his neck. “If I want something, it’s because I mean to own it. Not because it’s thrown at me.”

His lashes fluttered. He was trying so damn hard to hold that mask of control, but his body betrayed him. I noticed the slight hitch of his breath, the flicker of heat in his gaze, the way his thighs tensed under those cheap sweatpants.

“Then take it,” he said. “Want me.”

The words were quiet but sharp. A challenge and a plea rolled into one.

My jaw flexed.

“You must’ve forgotten what I told you yesterday,” I said tightly. “I own you now. Your body. Your mind. Your skills. All of it. I don’t need your permission to use what’s already mine.”

His eyes flickered. Something deep in them cracked. Fear? Arousal? Maybe both. The line between those things was always razor thin when you knew where to press.

I grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked it downward, tearing it open and baring his chest completely. He gasped, instinctively crossing his arms over himself—then forcing them back down.

I didn’t touch him.

Instead, I leaned in, my mouth brushing the sharp angle of his jaw, letting my breath warm his skin.

“You want to give yourself to me?” I murmured. “Then do it properly.”

“How?” he breathed out, almost like it hurt to ask.

I pulled back just enough to meet his eyes.

“Let’s see if you’re really ready to give yourself to me.” I turned and walked to the couch in the center of the room, slow, deliberate steps, letting the tension thicken behind me. I sat down and leaned back, legs spread, watching him like prey.

“Strip,” I said calmly. “Then touch yourself. Right here. In front of me.”

Micah froze for half a second. Just long enough for me to catch it. That flicker of hesitation in him, that stutter in his breath. But then he moved.

He reached for the hem of his shirt and peeled it off, slow and deliberate. His hands trembled just enough to give him away. He wasn’t a stripper. He wasn’t a submissive. He wasn’t some porn fantasy. He was a scared, angry boy trying to prove he wasn’t any of those things.

I sat back, one leg crossed over the other, soaking it in.

“Keep going,” I murmured.

He kicked off his shoes, his fingers fumbling at the waistband of his pants. They dropped to the floor with a soft whisper, and he stood there in front of me—vulnerable, exposed, his jaw clenched like he was daring me to laugh at him.

God. How I wanted this boy.

I felt my cock twitch in my pants, straining against the zipper like it knew exactly what came next.

“Now,” I said, my voice low and husky. “Touch yourself.”

His lips parted, and for a moment, he looked so unsure it almost made me reach for him.

But I didn’t.

Micah dropped his hand to his cock, fingers curling around it. He closed his eyes. A soft breath slipped from his mouth as he began to stroke—slow, hesitant, his rhythm unsure. His other hand hovered, then pressed flat against his stomach like he was holding himself together.

“Look at me,” I ordered. His eyes snapped open. Wide. Glassy.

“Do you want me to stop you?” I asked, voice rough. “Do you want me to take control?”

He shook his head once, fast.

Then there was a knock.

No. Not a knock. A sharp, impatient rap.

The door creaked open. I didn’t bother to look.

“Elio,” came Luca’s voice, clipped and tense. “We have a situation.”

Micah froze like someone had poured ice down his spine. His hand fell away. He reached for his pants, but I snapped my fingers.

“Don’t,” I said coldly. “Stay.”

Luca stepped into the room, saw Micah, and paused. His face didn’t change—he’d seen worse—but he didn’t look away either.

“What is it?” I asked, still watching Micah, who was now standing half-naked, cheeks flushed, fists clenched at his sides.

“It’s the Carusos,” Luca said. “Word just came in they’re sniffing around the east docks. Asking about him.”

My fingers curled against the armrest.

Micah’s head jerked up. His face went pale.

“What exactly are they saying?” I asked, my voice flat.

“They’re not subtle,” Luca replied. “They’re offering money to anyone who’s seen a kid matching his description. And from what I’m hearing, he pissed off someone high up in their ranks.”

“Of course he did,” I muttered, with my eyes narrowing on him. “Did they say what they want with him?”

Luca shook his head. “Not yet. But they’re not just looking to talk. They want to make an example out of him.”

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. Micah still hadn’t moved. His chest was bare, the defiance in his posture gone. The only thing left was the silence pressing down on him.

“Triple security,” I said. “No one goes in or out without clearance. Put eyes on the docks. I want to know exactly where the Carusos breathe.”

“Yes, boss,” Luca said, turning toward the door.

“And Luca?” I called out before he stepped out.

He paused.

“Make sure no one even *thinks* about touching what’s mine.”

Micah’s gaze jerked to me, but I didn’t give him the chance to say a word.

“Get dressed,” I said, standing. “This performance is over.”

“But—”

I turned on him sharply. “Next time you offer yourself to a man like me, make sure you’re ready to finish what you start. Because next time... I won’t stop.”

Chapter Seven

Micah’s POV

“Fuck you, Elio,” I muttered under my breath, even as my hand curled around my cock. I was so hard it hurt. Every stroke sent a sharp pulse through me, but it wasn’t just need—it was anger. Shame. Lust. All of it knotted tight inside my gut.

And still, I couldn’t stop.

He told me to do this. Told me to touch myself like a good little plaything. And fuck, I hated that it turned me on. I hated how my skin burned where his eyes had been. How my body ached for the approval I never fucking asked for.

I didn’t know what the hell had come over me. Maybe it was the way he sounded when he said he owned me. Or maybe it was the way he looked at me like he was eye-fucking me. Like he could bend me, shape me, fuck me, and I’d still crawl back for more.

And the worst part? He wasn’t wrong.

I was shaking. From need, from anger, from how completely and utterly fucked up this entire situation was. But I kept stroking anyway. Slow. Hard. My teeth gritted, jaw clenched so tight I thought something would crack.

“Piece of shit,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “You think you can play me like this? Like I’m some kind of pet?”

My hips jerked up off the mattress. My body didn’t care that he wasn’t here. My mind didn’t care that I hated him. My cock was leaking and twitching in my fist, and I needed to come so badly it made my stomach twist.

I squeezed tighter, pumping faster. He hadn't even given me the chance to speak to my mother before he left.

“Elio… ye… ss… da… ddyy,” I groaned, low and shameful, like I didn’t mean for it to slip. My breath hitched as my thumb slid over the swollen head. I bit down on the inside of my cheek to keep from moaning his name again. My hips bucked into my own hand like I was starved for touch.

Goddamn him. I imagined him standing in the shadows, fists clenched, his eyes watching me darkly.

Would he stop me? Or would he finish what he started?

A sharp groan slipped from my throat.

“Fuck…”

My pace quickened. The pressure built fast, hot and desperate, and I was seconds away from release when—

**The door burst open.**

I jolted like I’d been electrocuted.

“Boss—” A tall man with a buzzcut and sharp suit stopped mid-step, eyes widening. His voice faltered. “Shit. Sorry. I didn’t know anyone—fuck, my bad.”

“What the fuck?!” I snapped, yanking the nearest silk throw over myself. It barely reached my thighs. My heart was pounding, cock still painfully hard, now ignored and exposed in the worst way possible.

He turned his face away immediately, hand raised like a shield. “Shit. I— I thought Elio was still here with you.”

It was the guy from earlier. His second-in-command, I assumed. He looked older and colder than Elio. His stare cut through the room and landed on me like I was filth on the floor.

“You’re the hacker?” he asked, voice clipped.

I didn’t answer. My hands were under the covers, shaking, still wet from—

He scoffed. “Jesus Christ. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“What do you want?” I spat, my voice hoarse.

He didn’t blink. “Boss isn’t back yet. But you should know—the Caruso cartel is sniffing around for you. Loudly.”

My stomach dropped.

“What?”

“You heard me.” He stepped inside and shut the door behind him. “We picked up some chatter. Someone dropped your name, and now they want to know why you were in their system.”

No. I didn’t— I never accessed their system. What the fuck is he talking about?

I sat up, dragging the blanket with me, keeping it tight around my waist. “I— I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t,” he said. “But Elio brought you here, didn’t he?”

I swallowed, my throat dry.

“What do they want with me?” I asked, hating how small I sounded. Like I was already halfway to panicking.

The man didn’t answer right away. He stepped inside and closed the door gently behind him.

“I don’t ask questions I don’t need answers to,” he said. “But the Carusos don’t look for people unless they’re useful. Or unless they’re pissed.”

He stepped closer, stopping near the desk. “You got one shot at surviving this. And it’s not running. It’s staying under Romano’s protection.”

“Elio doesn’t give a shit about me,” I said, teeth clenched. “He barely tolerates me.”

The guy raised an eyebrow. “Then explain why he sent his best men to keep your mama and sister safe.”

I blinked.

“What?”

“Yeah,” he said, voice flat. “Guess he forgot to mention that.”

He did that for me yesterday. I mean… even I didn’t really give it a thought.

I felt something shift inside me. Like the floor had tilted.

The great Elio Romano actually cared for a poor boy like me?

I thought he was just planning to use me. Exploit me. Break me open and toss what’s left.

There was a long silence before he added, “Get dressed. He’ll be back soon. And if I were you? I’d stop doing things that make him lose control.”

He turned and walked out.

I sat there for a second, still half-hard, heart pounding, trying to process what the hell just happened. The air in the room felt different now. Heavy. Thick with something I didn’t know how to name.

*The Carusos are looking for you.*

What did I even do to them?

I helped them. I completed the fucking job. I delivered exactly what they asked for.

So why the fuck…?