Mine

A crew member approached Saint with a cordless phone, bowing slightly. "Don Bertinelli, it's for you."

With a curt nod Saint took the phone. "Excuse me," he said to his guests. "Make yourselves comfortable. I won't be long."

"Business never sleeps, eh?" Don Cavallini remarked as he watched Saint's figure retreat to a private corner of the deck. 

For a moment, Cavallini seemed content studying the cosa nostra don already absorbed in his phone call before shifting his interest elsewhere. Roman felt it, that nagging feeling of being watched. He took a sip from his cocktail hoping Don Cavallini's gaze would wander away from him. It didn't.

As Saint's voice faintly drifted from the far corner of the deck, Don Cavallini set his scotch down before approaching Roman. "You're quite a pleasant distraction," amusement was laced in his deep voice.

Arching a brow, Roman adjusted his sunglasses to meet the Don's dark eyes. "Is that your idea of a pickup line?"

From across the pool Emilia laughed softly. She tilted her head, eyes fitting over Roman's form as if to analyze him. "Pretty and witty," she mused. "Rare attributes to find in a man these days, wouldn't you say, Julien?"

The far right corner of Cavallini's lips twitched. "I would."

Roman fought a strong urge to roll his eyes. "I wouldn't go as far as calling myself pretty."  

"Modest too. That's endearing." Cavallini now had a wolfish grin plastered on his face as he loomed over Roman. "Santino should've known better than to leave his mantenuto alone with me."

"Oh you're mistaken if you think Saint and I—"

"No need to explain, bellissimo," Cavallini waved a dismissive hand. "I perfectly understand."

Roman was about to argue when Cavallini rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing intricately designed tattoos wrapped around his forearms. Then, he crouched at the edge of the pool. He didn't even hide how his hungry eyes shamelessly trailed over Roman's chest down to where the sinful red speedos clung to him like second skin.

"Julien's hosting an exclusive party for his new watch line in two weeks," Emilia said from her lounge chair while her mauve painted nails raked over the rim of a wineglass. A power move. "It'd be nice to see you there."

Swirling the last of his drink, Roman eyed Julien Cavallini and his mistress. The audacity of these two was almost impressive. Almost.

"Congratulations... I guess?"

Cavallini's grin only grew. "No need for all that," he reached out, brushing a damp strand of Roman's hair off his face. "A man like you wouldn't have any trouble visiting Napoli. I can't imagine you belong to just one man... or woman?"

Was this bastard seriously implying he was some paid whore for the mafia?

"I belong to no one, Don Cavallini," replied Roman through gritted teeth.

Entirely too pleased with himself Don Cavallini laughed low. "Is that so?" he turned to his companion. "It seems today is our lucky day, cara mia. I suppose he could be ours for the weekend then?"

"Well, Julien, I do love when you spoil me... but I'm not sure he can handle both of us."

Cavallini hummed, considering her point. "He seems like the type who enjoys a challenge, no?"

The conversation was starting to grate on Roman's nerves like nails scrapping on glass. His shoulders went rigid as Cavallini's long fingers continued skimming through the wet strands clinging to his shoulders. For a fleeting moment he considered shaving it all off.

In all his life, Roman had never met anyone so bold with absolute zero sense of respect for boundaries.

Then, heavy footsteps echoed behind them. Roman didn't have to look to know who it was.

"Julien," the air around the voice crackled with uncontrolled rage. "Take your hand off him before I make sure you never use it again."

Cavallini, to his credit, didn't so much as flinch. "Relax, Santino. Emilia and I were merely admiring your guest." If anything he seemed amused by Saint's reaction. "Surely you can't fault us for appreciating beauty when it's paraded so... openly."

Saint's eyes flashed with venom. "Well, that's enough. You can leave now."

The mirth on Cavallini's face instantly evaporated. "What do you mean I can leave now?"

Clinging to the last shred of self control he had left, Saint backed Cavallini dangerously to the pool edge. "I'm not going to repeat myself," the only thing keeping him in check was the fact that killing Cavallini would be bad for business. "Take your mistress with you and get off my boat." 

"And how do you suggest I do that, genius? My pilot won't be back for hours." 

"Then call him."

"That's a rather sexist assumption, Don Bertinelli." Cavallini sounded as smug as he looked. "Who says my pilot is a man?"

Annoyed at his own slip up, Saint clenched his fists until the knuckles were drained of blood, "Do not test me, Julien."

"This is absurd! You're throwing out all of our efforts over a mantenuto?" Cavallini's glance darted to Roman. "We barely even scratched the surface of our business discussion."

Saint didn't waste another second of his life on Julien Cavallini. He feared what he was capable of doing to him. Instead, he turned to Roman, and in a deceivingly calm voice he said, "Go to your cabin."

"Saint—" 

"Now." 

The finality in that single word sent a cold chill through Roman's bones. He pushed himself out of the pool, water streaming down the ridges of his flexing muscles as he stretched for a towel.

Roman could feel Saint's heavy gaze on him, blazing, as he toweled off and walked toward the lower deck leaving wet footprints in his wake. 

Minutes later, Roman was in his cabin slipping into linen pants as the sound of helicopter blades filled the air. He chanced a glance out of the window and managed to catch a glimpse of Cavallini and Emilia boarding, both looking thoroughly displeased by the turn out of events. 

Good riddance.

The satisfaction however was fleeting. The moment Cavallini's helicopter cleared the deck, his cabin door swung open with a force that made him flinch.

"Do you ever listen?" Saint walked in.

"You're angry," Roman stupidly commented, knowing full well it was an understatement of the year.

"Did I not ask you, nicely, not to entertain Julien Cavallini?" 

Roman felt his throat dry up. "You did." 

"And yet, you still went out of your way to disobey me." 

Roman stood to his full height and lifted his chin up. Even so, he still fell short to Saint's imposing height by an inch or so.

It wasn't just the height difference, it was the way Saint commanded every inch of space around him. The disadvantage never really used to bother Roman, in fact, he thought it was one of Saint's most attractive features... until now.

Saint slowly circled Roman. He was prey being toyed with before the kill. Saint wasn't touching him, and the fact that Roman kept on losing sight of Saint made his skin prickle—not entirely in a bad way.

Saint stopped directly behind him, so close Roman could feel his minty breath brushing against his neck like a tender caress.

"Did you like it?".

Roman's heart stuttered. "What are you talking about?"

Moving in front of him, Saint tipped Roman's chin further up forcing their eyes to meet. His thumb brushed along the line of Roman's jawline lingering on the faint stubble there. "I asked if you liked it when Cavallini's filthy hands were all over you?" 

The room temperature suddenly dropped, and yet the heat between them was unbearable. Saint's fingers slid down to the base of Roman's throat, resting on his pulse point which thrummed violently beneath his touch. 

"I didn't exactly invite him, Saint." Roman's voice was barely above a whisper.

"You didn't stop him either," Saint looked at him, the dejection in his face so deeply etched. "You sat right there and let a 'ndrangheta stronzo touch you."

"Its just hair, Saint." Roman was irritated by the guilt clawing at him. Cavallini's behavior was not on him. "You're overreacting." 

Saint's thumb pressed slightly harder against his pulse making Roman's breath hitch. "Am I?"

"Yes," defiance threaded Roman's tone. "You're making a big deal out of nothing."  

"You still haven't answered my question," Saint gave him a stern look. "Did you enjoy it?"

Roman opened his mouth to respond, but Saint cut him off, stepping closer until their bodies were almost flush. "Do you have any idea what you've done?" 

Unsure of where all this was going, Roman simply shook his head.

"Of course not." Saint snarled. "Thanks to you, the whole 'ndrangheta now knows I have a weak spot."

Was Saint saying...Roman's knees threatened to buckle. "I don't understand..." 

Saint raked a hand over his face as if trying to calm himself. "Damn it, Roman! They will use you to hurt me!"

Roman stared at him, stunned. "Why would they? I'm not anyone important."

Saint's eyes burned into his. "You belong to me," he simply said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "And Cavallini would be an idiot not to use that piece of information against me." 

Tittering at the edge of annoyance and red hot unbridled arousal. Roman knew he should've been angry—furious, even—but the way Saint looked at him, the possessiveness bordering psychopathic—the idea of being claimed by this man... belonging to him... it was maddening yet intoxicating. Every nerve dendrite in his body lit up with untainted raw desire for him.

He was so messed up in the head. Saint was a walking red flag and he was a bull, busy chasing after him.

"You can't claim me like some prize, Saint." Roman said as calmly as he could. "You do not own me, I can fuck Cavallini or whoever I want. You said I was free."

Saint froze. "What did you just say to me?"

Bitting his lip, Roman regretted the words but was unwilling to back down. "I said I can be with whomever I want," he repeated, slowly.

Neither of them moved. Then, with a suddenness that made Roman's heart lurch, Saint's hand dropped from his neck as if he was burned by an open flame and stepped away from him.

"Strip."

"Excuse me?"

"Take your clothes off." 

A reasonable part of Roman wanted to fight, but a dark, reckless part buried deep inside of him drawn to danger was very much intrigued. He didn't have to think much about it before peeling his shirt off.

When Roman stood completely bare before him, Saint moved to the bed and sat there making it his throne. "You need a safe word," he stated.

Roman's lips parted and closed and then parted again.

"Roman?"

Roman tried to speak again only for the words to clog his throat. He took a deep breath and started all over again, "I.... I don't need one." 

"The safe word is not for you," Saint said. His voice rough. Rougher than Roman ever heard it. And his eyes so dark, no longer a woodsy green but black. "It's for me. Now pick something you can easily remember when you wish to stop me." 

"For you?" Roman asked to clarify. He didn't understand, though there was absolutely nothing he could think of Saint could possibly do to him that he wouldn't enjoy.

"You've pushed me to a point where I'm not sure I can be gentle."

"Jesus, Saint."

"Safe word, Roman."

"Rio," Roman murmured.

Rio was the name printed on the yacht and Roman's subconscious must have picked it up when they were boarding at the mariner.

The choice of his safe word however seemed to please Saint, "Now come to me. Slowly. I want to see all of you." 

A bolt of primal desire sizzled straight to Roman's cock, he moved toward Saint. His breaths coming out in shallow puffs as if the air in the room wasn't enough to fill his lungs.

"On your knees, sweetheart."

Obediently, Roman sank to his knees between Saint's long parted legs, caged in by the polished leather of his sandals. It was humiliating, the wooden tiles painfully dug into his knees. But the aching throb of desire overshadowed any trace of shame he might have felt in that moment.

Saint's profile was thoughtful when Roman looked up at him. He rubbed the ends of Roman's hair, idly between his fingers with the same care one might show priceless silk.

"This hair," So soft. Saint wound it tight around his hand and Roman began to feel the sharp sting on his roots, "Is mine. Say it."

"I... I can't..."

"You can't or you don't want?"

Roman buried his face into Saint's hip in desperate need of something to anchor him as the grip on his hair tightened. He breathed in Saint's scent. Leather. Vetiver. The faintest trace of salt from the sea.

"I can't."

Saint allowed Roman to nuzzle him. "Yes, you can."

I could stay right here, forever.

After a long minute like this, Saint tugged at Roman's head back by his hair—gently this time—and searched his face.

"Who do you belong to?" Saint's thumb brushed the corner of Roman's mouth, as if daring him to speak.

Roman however stubbornly pressed his lips together and closed his eyes. The way this man looked at him made him feel all kinds of things he didn't want to feel. His skin burned with heat were he touched. The throbbing between his legs was becoming a persistent dull ache. But he wasn't going to give in.

There was another moment of silence, and then Saint released a slow breath, his hand falling away. "Get on the bed and spread your legs."

Lust overrode his better senses and Roman climbed on to the bed. He lay on his back, his legs falling apart so there were no secrets. Heat flushed his cheeks as the vulnerability of his position set in. Every inch of him was exposed.

Saint stood at the edge of the bed, drinking him in. "Look at you," he trailed a hand up Roman's calf. "I've barely even touched you and your cock is already so hard and sobbing for me."

Roman's lips parted, a soft gasp escaping as Saint's hand slowly moved to his inner thigh, still far from where he needed him the most. "Everything about you is mine. Your mind. Your body. Your pleasure. Your pain."

With a shuddering exhale, Roman clawed at the white sheets beneath him, his dazed mismatched eyes found Saint's. All he felt was swelling desperation. The want. The need.

All yours.

"Please... Saint." A whimper.

"Your body already knows who it belongs to. I decide when I want you to beg and you only get what I want to give," Saint's fingers moved slightly higher, ghosting over the sensitive skin of Roman's throbbing dick. "And right now, I'm just enjoying the view."

The lump in Roman's throat made it difficult for him to speak but he couldn't stop the words from tumbling out, "I need you."

Saint flashed a wicked smile. "You know exactly what to say. Who do you belong to?"

Author's note:

I'm deeply Sorry guys this update came in late. I'd traveled for holidays then work but now I'm back, trying to settle into my old routine... I won't make any big promises because I'll seem like a liar when I don't come through😅 but I hope we go back to our weekly updates soon. Take care. Hope you enjoy the rest of the story.

Bye for now:)