"Come, jewel… let me milk you…" Xavier called out sultrily, like he wasn't already fully in control.
"This is not the way, Xavier. I am not ready…" Asher lied through his teeth, trying desperately not to let a moan slip out. It mixed with his futile cry as he struggled weakly beneath him.
"This is assault…" he cried again, yet his voice betrayed him, softening into a shaky moan as Xavier worked on him, rubbing over the obvious bulge still trapped inside his pants.
Xavier laughed.
He didn't remove his hand from the bulge. Instead, he slowly lifted his head to look at Asher sprawled beneath him on top of the table. A smirk tugged at his lips.
"One thing I ruled out is assault without consent," Xavier said calmly. "Because I don't have to force you to consent. I'll leave you… and you'll come to me yourself. Begging me to lick your ass and fuck your hole with my fingers, my tongue, and my cock."
His voice dipped lower.
"So, Asher, I am a patient man. But there is a limit to my patience. Dress up. We are leaving tonight."
And just like that, Xavier straightened up, smoothing his hair back into place as if nothing had happened.
Asher lay there disoriented for a while, trying to salvage what was left of his dignity—even if he had to dig it out from the trash.
What the fuck just happened?
He didn't just enjoy that.
Did he?
He glanced down at his pants and froze. The uncomfortable bulge was still very visible—a silent testament to Xavier's victory.
And leaving? Going where exactly? Wasn't it already late?
Scrambling to his feet, fixing his long, overflowing hair, Asher hurried to keep pace with Xavier, who was already walking out with steady steps. He shouldn't have gathered the confidence to trail behind a man like him, but he didn't know where it came from.
He needed answers.
"Can you at least explain whatever your plan is?" Asher called out, frustration spilling over. "I landed in this terrible place, and now we're going to some unknown land. Why aren't you telling me anything?"
He shoved a hand into his hair in anger.
Xavier stopped.
He froze mid-step, standing there for what felt like minutes. Asher's heart began pounding. Maybe his loose mouth had finally dragged him into terror.
Didn't he know who he was talking to?
A motherfucking terror who uprooted heads like they were carrots. Not one—two.
Just because Xavier had done that for him didn't mean he had the right to run his mouth.
He shouldn't be used like a rag doll, especially not by someone spineless. And he wasn't spineless.
But still… there had to be limits.
He wasn't dumb.
Suddenly, the pressure hit him.
Xavier's pheromones flared, pressing down on him so heavily that Asher struggled to remain standing. His aura was overwhelming—too powerful.
Then Xavier slowly turned.
A full 360.
Now they stood face to face.
Asher met his dark gaze head-on.
But instead of arrogance or rage, Xavier's expression held fascination. Like he was watching his favorite live action unfold right before him.
He grinned slightly, impressed that Asher hadn't completely crumbled under his aura. Most partners he brought couldn't even hold his gaze, talk less of standing firm.
This one was different.
Yes, he could sense he was an omega. But something about him was unusual. An enigma. Someone who could bend both Alphas and omegas to his will. Someone who could be dominated yet refuse to shatter.
He wasn't shaking like something disposable.
He stood there boldly, staring into Xavier's eyes.
And that was it.
That was what Xavier wanted.
He was tired of cowering males and females who couldn't stand near him without melting into bed like horny tapes. It irritated him.
But this jewel of his kept surprising him.
"I thought you heard me, Asher," Xavier finally said. "We are getting married. And you are not fit to stay in such a disgraceful place. Not the wife of a Mafia lord."
He spoke nonchalantly, both hands in his pockets, smirking at Asher's attitude.
The honesty caught Asher off guard.
Marriage?
This man—his husband? A Mafia lord?
Those were things meant for movies and novels. Not his life.
Nothing could be more traumatizing than this.
He was fucked.
And this shitty position he was in was because of those assholes he called parents. How could they leave him in such an inhuman place?
"I don't want to marry you, Mr… sorry if that's disrespectful, but that's my mind. I don't do boys. And you're not my type," Asher said bashfully, looking away.
Instead of hurt, a flicker of mischief flashed in Xavier's emerald eyes.
"Are you sure you're straight?" Xavier asked lazily. "Because you almost came in my hands. You were moaning, wanting my cock in your ass. Or should we revisit that memory of yours?"
The way he said it sounded forbidden.
Asher's body tingled against his will. For a dangerous second, his mind betrayed him—imagining how it would feel in Xavier's mouth… and the other way around. Wondering how big he really was.
He slapped his own cheeks lightly.
"Get a grip," he muttered internally.
"You're just filthy. I am not gay, and that's final," Asher declared with fake confidence, even as his hands trembled.
Which straight guy thinks like that?
And not just about any guy—but about a psychopath killer who abducted him?
That had to be mental issues, not desire.
Then again… he knew someone who fell for their kidnapper.
He was doomed.
"Is that what you tell yourself?" Xavier shrugged. "Follow me now and live forever with me—as a groom, or even as a powerful leader of nine Mafia clans. Or rot here with criminals, rapists, and murderers. You and I both know you won't last till noon, talk more of a full day."
His face turned stern.
"So, are you in or out?"
Asher got irrationally irritated at the way Xavier's hands stayed in his pockets. So relaxed. So untouchable.
"Jerk… rotten asshole…" he muttered under his breath.
Xavier frowned slightly. "What was that? Did you say something?"
Asher quickly shook his head. "Nothing."
Xavier pulled out a phone and placed it elegantly to his ear. The brand-new Samsung X26 Ultra flashed right in Asher's face.
After ending the call, footsteps approached.
Asher looked up and saw a man in black, holding documents, face serious.
He recognized him instantly.
Mr. Black Jacket.
Nolan.
What was he doing here?
Don't tell him they were working together.
Oh no. If the rock-faced man was aligned with this terror, he was finished.
"Mr. Devereaux, the document is ready for the signature," Nolan said smoothly, handing it over.
Xavier took it without a word and turned back to Asher, who stood like a sacrificial lamb lost between thorns.
"Sign this," Xavier said calmly. "Tomorrow, we are getting married."
Asher's eyes bulged.
He was serious.
For real.
Asher looked around helplessly, then at Nolan, but the man simply looked away as if it wasn't his concern.
"This isn't fair! You're limiting my freedom. I can't marry—I'm not ready!" Asher protested.
"The decision is in your hands," Xavier replied coolly. "I am walking out of the prison grounds now. If you're not coming, run the other way."
He didn't look back as he walked off, Nolan beside him, both with hands in their pockets like untouchable bosses.
"Are you sure about this?" Nolan asked quietly. "Everyone will rebel. The nine clans will turn against you for marrying a male—especially an ordinary one who isn't Mafia. This is war. And you're letting him choose?"
Xavier kept walking, that dangerous smirk still in place.
"I gaslighted him well enough. He'll believe I'm the only one who can protect him. He isn't stupid. He knows the decision already."
His face hardened.
"As for the nine clans… let them bring it on. I am ready. I am marrying Asher Collins—even if they throw bombs at our headquarters."
Nolan shook his head slowly.
War was coming.
And they were cooked.
He only hoped Xavier knew what he was doing.
And that love wouldn't be the thing that finally killed him.