Aaron Giovanni;
I had the entire day planned out. After making breakfast for Camilla, I left the mansion to meet Michael—my boyfriend. We'd agreed he'd take the day off, and we'd spend it together at the condo I'd secretly leased a few months ago. Everything was ready—food, snacks, drinks. It was perfect.
I got there a few minutes before Michael, who arrived with a bottle of champagne in hand. He rushed over and kissed me on the cheek. But being the dominant one in our relationship, I grabbed his chin and deepened the kiss with a slow, deliberate pull.
We eventually broke apart, hands entwined as we stepped into the cozy little condo. It smelled faintly of earth and coconut, clean and familiar. I tossed the food into the microwave while Michael disappeared into the bathroom.
As he stepped out, I brushed past him, landing a playful smack on his ass. The cold water washed over me in the shower, and with it came memories of how we started.
I was drunk that night at the club where he used to work. Somehow, even as strangers, I poured my heart out to him—about my family, the expectations crushing me, the life I was forced to live. I passed out at the bar, and he took me to his place to sleep it off.
From there, things just… unfolded. We kept meeting up, grabbing drinks, sharing quiet moments. I eventually found out he liked men—just like I did. And so, we began.
After the shower, I threw on a black, open-button shirt and matching pants. Michael was already dressed in his purple pajamas, ever the softer one between us. It was always my job to make sure he felt safe—loved.
He'd lit candles and arranged everything on a blanket in front of the fireplace—our microwaved meal plated neatly, wine poured, fruits and dessert arranged with care.
We ate, drank, and he told me about his day. When we finished, I helped clear the blanket while he offered to do the dishes. I returned to the living room and flipped through a magazine left on the table.
Minutes later, he walked in, smiling.
"Hey," he said softly.
"Come here," I told him, my voice carrying a quiet authority.
He obeyed, stepping toward me in small, measured strides. I pulled him in for a kiss, slow and intense. He moaned into it, his response sparking something primal in me.
I took control, undoing his pajama top as he slid mine off. The heat between us flared. I lifted him effortlessly, laying him down on the soft carpet in front of the fire, settling over him.
For a brief moment, I stopped, just to look at him—the man I loved, the man I wanted so badly I could barely breathe.
"What's wrong?" he asked, eyes searching mine.
"Nothing," I murmured. "Just focus on me, baby. I'm gonna make you feel real good."
He nodded, and I leaned back in, resuming the kiss. But deep down, I knew this wasn't just about love—it was about need. About hunger. I was addicted to him. And tonight, I needed to let that beast out.
I made him get on all fours, watching the curve of his back as he obeyed. Pulling out a tube of lube, I slicked my fingers and brought them to his entrance. Slowly, deliberately, I worked him open—scissoring his hole with care, stretching him, preparing him for what was to come.
His soft moans told me he was getting there—ready, needy.
"You want my cock, don't you?" I murmured, voice rough with desire.
"Yes... please. Fuck me," he gasped, his voice trembling with hunger.
"Beg for it," I growled, delivering a sharp smack to his ass. "Beg for my cock, baby. Beg me to ruin you. To make you mine—my filthy little sex slave."
"Please," he whimpered, voice full of need.
"Use me... however you want."
That was all I needed.
I pushed inside him without hesitation, sinking deep. He let out a mix of pain and pleasure as I began to thrust—hard, fast, relentless. He was begging, crying out, but I didn't stop until I released inside him, breathing heavily as I pulled out.
Leaving him panting on the floor, I walked into the bedroom to grab another condom. But when I returned, I found him sitting on the couch, phone in hand, lips pressed together as he typed furiously. His face changed—something wasn't right.
"You okay?" I asked, my tone shifting.
He looked up quickly. "Yeah, yeah—just give me a second. I need to make a call."
He slipped past me, heading into the bedroom. Before I could follow, I heard the click of the door locking.
That wasn't normal.
I waited, listening. When he finally opened the door, he looked surprised to find me fully dressed, arms crossed.
"Who was that on the phone?" I asked, not wasting time.
He swallowed hard, fumbling with his pajama top. "A colleague from work. He just needed help with something. I gave him the answers and that's all."
I didn't buy a single word of it.
"That's bullshit and you know it," I snapped. "You locked yourself in to talk to a colleague? How stupid do you think I am?"
"I swear, it's nothing. Just work," he insisted.
"Give me the phone," I said, holding out my hand.
But he shook his head and hid the phone behind his back, backing away from me.
"I won't say it again, Mikey—hand it over!" I roared, my voice echoing through the room.
But he didn't move. He just stood there, shaking, his breath uneven, eyes filled with fear.
I stormed up to him, yanked the phone from his grip, only to see it required facial ID. I turned it toward him. He jerked his face away.
"Don't make this harder," I warned.
Grabbing him by the chin, I forced him to face the screen. The phone unlocked instantly.
"Aaron, listen—I can explain. Please… don't believe everything you see in there," he stammered, desperate.
But I was already scrolling.
Messages. Dozens of them. Photos. Nudes. Videos. Him—touching himself, posing, sending them out like gifts. And it didn't stop there. He had a network—dozens of men he'd been sleeping with. Some sent money. Some just wanted a taste.
A cold rage settled in my chest.
"I swear to you, I can explain!" he cried again.
But I wasn't listening.
"Who the fuck are you?" I growled.
"A manwhore? A fucking porn star?" I shouted, staring at the man I thought I loved—now just a stranger standing there in silence.
"Answer me, bitch!" I barked, my fury boiling over.
"Aaron, I love you! I do, I promise!"
"The same way you 'loved' the men you sent your nudes to?" I snapped. "I'll ask again—who the hell are you?"
I shoved him—hard. His back slammed into the wall with a sickening thud, his head hitting it loud enough to echo.
He slid down, gasping.
"I'm a manwhore," he finally muttered, tears streaking his face. "I sleep around. I crave the attention. I tried to tell you, but… you already loved me. And I—I liked what you gave me. I liked the life."
My stomach twisted.
"All this time… it was fake? You were just a gold-digging little slut?" I hissed, grabbing him by the throat and lifting him off the ground. He clawed at my hand.
"Please… let… me… go…" he choked out.
But rage consumed me. I threw him across the room. He hit the floor with a groan, trying to crawl toward the wall.
I wasn't done.
I lunged, fists raining down. Punch after punch. My knuckles burned, but I didn't stop. Couldn't. He used me. Lied to me. Slept with strangers while telling me I was the only one.
Thank God for condoms. Who knew how many diseases this bastard was carrying?
Grabbing a handful of his clothes, I dragged him out of the condo, tossing them at him.
"Get the fuck out. Now! Or I swear to God, I'll kill you!" I snarled.
He winced, scrambling to put on his clothes, pain etched into his face. He knew I wasn't bluffing.
"If I ever see you again—if you ever come near me—I will make your life a living hell. In case I haven't been clear… we're done, motherfucker!" I yelled, slamming the door behind him.
---
I got home late, after stopping by a pub for a drink or two—alone this time. I wasn't about to make the same mistake twice.
The house was quiet when I walked in. I heard the shower running. Camilla—probably winding down for the night.
With a heavy sigh, I dropped onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Everything came crashing back at once—Michael's betrayal, the hope I had, the mess he left behind.
What a fucking day.
I took off my shirt, trying to pull myself together, maybe get cleaned up and wash the day away.
But then I felt it—eyes on me.
Camilla stood at the doorway, wrapped in a towel. She had this soft glow about her, something pure and radiant I'd somehow never noticed before.
And for the first time in hours… I finally exhaled.
She walked past me, wrapped tightly in a towel. Something about her felt… off. The way her eyes avoided mine, the silence in her steps—it wasn't like Camilla at all.
I opened my mouth to ask what was wrong, but her energy spoke louder than words.
I let it go… for now.
Heading into the shower, I slowly peeled the clothes from my body, feeling the sting of betrayal settle deeper into my chest. The steam around me couldn't hide the anger simmering just beneath my skin.
Michael.
He never once told me what he really did behind the bar. Maybe he served drinks, sure—but he served his body too. Sold himself. Let other men touch him, fuck him. Probably smiled while doing it.
The thought of him going down on another man—being used by strangers like he was nothing—burned in my mind.
And worse… he filmed it. Sent those moments to them. Photos. Videos. Things I thought were meant for me alone.
I loved him. God, I loved him.
He was always there. Kind. Supportive. Loving in all the ways that made me believe I mattered.
But I didn't.
I was just another client on his list—another fool with a heart too open and a wallet too deep.
I once sent him a huge sum to "get on his feet," thinking I was helping my partner. I wanted to build a future with him. Help him leave bartending. Even open his own club someday.
But all those dreams? Gone.
I remember once, in our talks, he confessed he was bi. Said maybe someday we'd bring a girl into the mix—share her. Just once. The idea was wild, thrilling even. I didn't like women, not really, but the thought of dominating him and her at the same time—it gave me a rush.
Now? That fantasy meant nothing. Just like he meant nothing.
I turned off the water, dried off, and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
What a fucking fool.
I fell for a stranger at a club. I was willing to give up everything—my family, my legacy—just to be with him. The son of a mafia king, about to throw it all away for love.
But maybe… maybe it's good I found out now, before I sank even deeper.
I walked out of the bathroom. Camilla was on the bed, back turned, quiet. She looked drained, heavy. She didn't even glance at me.
Weird.
I couldn't let her go to sleep like that. Not without knowing what was eating her up inside.
I walked to her slowly, sat beside her, and gently took her hand. Then, without thinking, I leaned in and kissed her.
I kissed her like I meant it.
Like I needed it.
Like the world was falling apart, and her lips were the only thing that made sense.
Maybe she'd push me away. Maybe she'd hate me for it.
But at that moment—I didn't care.
I just went with the flow.