Page 66 of Cold Hard Cash

Cold’s fingers circled his hole again, not yet intruding, simply teasing and petting. He slid them up to touch the top of Jimmy’s cock, dabbing the droplets of precome that had started collecting. “There,” he praised, sensing that Jimmy was relaxing. “Good boy.”

Jimmy smiled at the compliment, his chest swelling with pride. He was doing better, he could make Cold happy. He could do this. He let Cold touch and pet him however he pleased, moaning gratefully when Cold’s fingers plunged back inside of him. Jimmy was writhing once more in moments, and the piano keys sang as Cold changed angles, shifting closer.

Jimmy gasped as Cold suddenly stood up, Jimmy’s legs still up on his shoulders, driving his fingers even deeper. Jimmy’s head fell back against the piano, and he wished he could reach out and grab Cold’s vest, his shirt. He wanted more contact, something else to bridge them together other than Cold’s magical fingers that were currently reducing Jimmy’s senses to nothing.

He could feel his orgasm building again and gritted his teeth as he tried to fend it off. Hearing Cold growl, he glanced up to see a flash of teeth as Cold leered down at him. Cold pulled his beautiful fingers free to slide on a condom, judging by the familiar crinkle sounds.

Jimmy didn’t know where the lube came from, but Cold’s cock was slick and hot, nudging against his hole.

“Grab your legs,” Cold ordered. “Hold them up for me.”

Jimmy grabbed behind his knees, pulling his legs against his chest as directed. It felt dirty to display himself like this, his face burning hot as Cold gazed approvingly down at him.

Cold rubbed the head of his cock around Jimmy’s open hole. “Beautiful.” He moved his other hand up over Jimmy’s lean stomach, his thumb grazing his belly button as he traveled up to press his palm against Jimmy’s throat. His fingers tightened but only so much. “Yes?”

“Yes,” Jimmy sighed, his body offering no resistance.

Cold squeezed enough to make Jimmy gasp and thrust his cock into him in one fluid slam. Tears in his eyes as Cold fucked him ruthlessly, Jimmy whimpered. Cold was punishing him now, making Jimmy cry out and scream, the brutal snap of their bodies cracking like a whip. But even though Jimmy couldn’t explain it, the way Cold held his throat didn’t scare him.

He trusted Cold completely, and Cold never applied enough pressure to restrict Jimmy’s breathing. It made him feel safe somehow, every sensation a hundred times more intense, and he loved how possessively Cold’s fingers would curl when Jimmy moaned particularly loudly.

Cold shrugged one of Jimmy’s legs up over his shoulder, leaning over him and fucking with long, deep thrusts. The angle was so good, too good, and Jimmy scrambled to reach down and grab his cock to stop himself from coming. He ached everywhere, overstimulated and raw, and he sobbed loudly as he denied himself release.

“Good boy,” Cold said proudly. He let go of Jimmy’s throat, both of his hands latching on to his narrow hips as he worked their bodies together. His movements were more passionate now, less cruel, and he was set on making sure every sound that left Jimmy’s lips was now a cry of pleasure.

Jimmy gave himself over completely, smiling as he let Cold move him however he wanted. Cold was looking down at him with that same awestruck expression he’d had when he was listening to Jimmy sing. His entire face was softer, his eyes lighter, and the years melted right off of him.

Jimmy had to touch him. He had to. Fingers shaking, he reached out, lightly tracing over Cold’s cheekbone. To his amazement, Cold didn’t smack him away. His eyes closed halfway, lost somewhere, only to snap open a moment later and gaze at Jimmy with an intensity that tore Jimmy’s breath right from his lungs. Cold had slowed down to nearly a crawl, but each thrust still dragged a low moan from Jimmy’s lips.

Braver still, Jimmy cupped Cold’s cheek with his palm, whispering, “You’re so beautiful.”

The emotions that broke out over Cold’s face were startling. Hurt, anger, indignation, all in a quick flash that left his icy eyes wet with unshed tears, his lips parting as if to speak.

But he froze, snapping his head around to glare over his shoulder as he drew his gun from under his jacket. “Someone had better be fucking dead!”

“Well, someone hopefully will be soon,” a smooth and decidedly deranged voice replied. It was Francis Von Valdemar, punctuating his words with a loud giggle. Thirdsies was with him, both leering at the spectacular situation they saw before them as they walked out onto the stage.

Jimmy bolted upright, trying to hide himself behind Cold as much as possible. He grabbed the front of Cold’s vest and wished he could bury himself in it. The Gentlemen were at least maintaining a respectful distance, but it didn’t make Jimmy feel much better about being seen like this.

Cold hadn’t even taken off his jacket.

“We’re so sorry to interrupt, Cold,” Valdemar said with a humble bow. “Especially while you’re… Hmm. While you’re…”

“Tickling the ivories?” Thirdsies suggested with a big grin.

“Ooho, that’s good, son,” Valdemar agreed, giggling like mad.

They’re both crazy, Jimmy thought. Neither one of them seemed the least bit concerned that Cold had a loaded gun pointed at them, continuing to snicker and guffaw at their terrible joke.

Cold growled, his voice eerily calm as he hissed, “You have twenty seconds to tell me why you’re here.”

“Oh! Right! Well, you said not to interrupt you—” Valdemar began.

“Unless it was an emergency!” Thirdsies added, beaming proudly.

“And we agreed that this definitely qualified.”

“Spit it out,” Cold growled, his aim zeroed right in on Valdemar’s forehead. “Fifteen seconds.”