Owned By The Psychotic Billionaire (Mafia BL)

WHAT ORION SAW...

The morning light filters slowly through the sheer white curtains, painting pale silver strips across the dark wooden floor of my bedroom.

I open my eyes long before the light touches the bed. I do not need an alarm, nor do I need time to pull my mind out of sleep. The moment the room shifts from pitch black to gray, I am awake, fully aware of the quiet stillness surrounding the estate.

Beside me, Adrien is fast asleep.

He is lying on his side, his body tucked close to mine, his breathing slow and even. One of my arms rests loosely over his waist, holding him against my side without pressing into his ribs.

His dark hair is messy, falling across his forehead in damp strands, and his face looks strangely relaxed in the soft morning glow.

He looks small like this. Stripped of his sharp tongue, his dramatic scowls, and the constant, prickly hostility he uses to defend himself, he looks frail.

Seeing him lying there so defenseless makes something deep in my chest wrinkle in irritation. He spent seven years running from me, hiding in filthy alleys, and sleeping in hidden, unsafe places just to keep himself away from my reach.

Yet here he is, resting his head on my pillow, completely unaware that I am watching his every breath. I want to bite him.

His skin feels warm beneath my palm. The faint scent of my cedar soap and his natural, sweet musk hangs heavy in the air around us, clinging to the sheets.

I look past his dark hair, my gaze resting on the fireplace wall. The full-body portrait I painted four years ago catches the pale morning light.

I remember sitting in my study for hours back then, mixing oil paints until I got the exact shade of his eyes, mapping out the shape of his mouth from memories that refused to fade.

To him, seeing that painting up there is creepy, a sign of my unhinged obsession. To me, it was simply keeping my promise to myself that I would eventually drag him back to where he belongs.

Adrien stirs slightly under the heavy duvet.

His long eyelashes flutter, and he lets out a faint, groggy breath. I stay still, keeping my breathing even so he thinks I am still unconscious. I want to see what he does when he thinks he has a moment alone.

He opens his eyes, staring blankly at the dark ceiling for a few seconds. I watch his mind work behind those dark pupils as the foggy haze of sleep clears.

Then, a subtle wince touches his brows. The soreness in his hips and thighs registers, and every detail from last night hits him all at once.

He goes rigid beneath the blanket.

Slowly, very slowly, he slides his eyes sideways to look at my face.

I keep my features relaxed, my eyes closed just enough so he believes I am resting. I feel his gaze lingering on my jaw, tracing the dark hair on my forehead.

I know what he is thinking. He thinks I look human like this. He thinks the dangerous man of the Vassilis family looks almost harmless when his eyes are closed.

He is an idiot if he truly believes that.

Adrien tries to shift. He reaches down with small, careful fingers, attempting to lift my heavy forearm off his waist. He moves inch by inch, sliding his hips back with painstaking slowness, trying to untangle himself from me without making a sound.

The second his bare skin separates from mine, my hand tightens around his waist.

I do not give him time to pull away. My eyes snap open, completely clear, and I pull my arm back, dragging his spine flat against my chest.

"Where are you going, duckling?" I mutter, my voice deep and rough with sleep, vibrating right against his shoulder blades.

Adrien freezes, letting out a long, defeated sigh as he settles back against my chest. "I was trying to get up. My body hurts... fucker."

I shift my position, resting my chin on his shoulder, burying my face into the soft curve of his neck. I breathe in deeply, taking in the warm, clean scent of his skin mixed with the residual marks of what we shared last night.

"It shouldn’t hurt," I say smoothly, keeping my voice low and steady. "I was gentle with you."

Adrien snorts, a small, sarcastic sound that echoes softly in the quiet room. "You fucked me three times and made me come until my legs stopped working. Gentle is not the word I would use."

Is three times a lot? I still had a lot of energy, but he passed out after, so I had to stop.

A low hum vibrates in my chest against his back. "You liked it. You cried, but you liked it."

He turns his head as much as his angle allows, giving me a sharp, flat glare. "I was crying because I realized I made a terrible decision out in that garden. I was drunk on moonlight."

"You were not drunk," I say, my voice dropping into a quiet, steady tone as I look down at his face. "You were just honest for once in your life."

I move my hand down from his hip. My fingers slide slowly over the smooth skin of his stomach, tracing the delicate curve of his hip bone before dipping toward his inner thighs.

Adrien stiffens, his fingers coming up to grip my wrist, trying to stop my movement. "Orion, stop. I’m being serious. I’m so fucking sore."

I stop moving my hand lower, but I do not pull it away either. I keep my palm flat against his warm lower belly, my thumb rubbing small, soothing circles into his skin.

"Let me take care of it then," I whisper close to his ear.

Before he can argue, I shift my weight, rolling onto my back and dragging him smoothly with me. I pull him up until he is sitting right on top of my lap, his legs straddling my thighs.

Adrien gasps at the sudden movement, his hands flying out to brace against my bare chest to keep his balance.

The sudden shift pulls at his sore thigh muscles, and he winces, his brows pulling down into a defensive scowl.

He’s almost always scowling at me.

I look up at him from the pillows. His cheeks are flushed a deep, pretty red, his dark hair falling wildly over his forehead.

I reach up, my hands resting gently on his outer thighs, taking his weight so he doesn’t have to strain his sore hips.

"Look at you," I murmur, a small smile touching the corners of my lips. "You look so red."

"Because you are irritating," Adrien snaps, though his voice lacks any real bite.

He is exhausted, his body soft and heavy on top of mine. He looks like he wants to fight me, but he doesn’t have the energy to build a proper argument, and the warm touch of my hands supporting his legs feels far too comfortable for him to push away.

"Put me down. I want to wash up," he demands.

"We will bathe together," I say softly. "After I’m done."

"After you’re done doing what?" he asks, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

Instead of answering him with words, I press my hands into the backs of his thighs, guiding his body slightly forward over my lap.

Adrien feels the thick heat pressing against his bottom. My length is already hard, heavy, and thick beneath him, resting right against his sensitive entrance.

His breath catches in his throat. His chest heaves as he looks down into my face, realizing what I want.

"You are a relentless bastard," he whispers, shaking his head in sheer disbelief. "You are actual scum."

"You like scum," I answer effortlessly, completely unbothered by his words. "You followed this scum around for three years in school just to watch me."

Adrien lets out a loud groan and drops his forehead straight down onto my collarbone. "I told you, I was trying to ruin your life!"

"And now you are sitting on my lap in my bed," I say, my chest rumbling with a low laugh that vibrates right against his cheek. "You failed miserably, duckling."

He bites my shoulder through my skin. It isn’t hard enough to break the surface or draw blood, but it is firm enough to leave a deep red mark on my skin.

I do not flinch. I let out a quiet hum of approval, my hands tightening slightly on his legs, holding him close.

"Are you going to let me inside, or are you going to keep biting me like an angry little pet?" I ask gently.

Adrien lifts his head from my shoulder, looking down at me with a complex mix of tiredness, annoyance, and a quiet softness he tries so hard to hide.

I can see the shift in his eyes. The sheer panic that used to choke him whenever I came near him is completely gone this morning.

The heavy fear that dictated his life for the last seven years has thinned out, replaced by a strange, quiet comfort that he clearly doesn’t know how to handle.

He is sitting on top of the man he spent years running from, speaking to me without a drop of panic in his voice.

His pulse is racing, but not from fear. It is racing because of the heat building between our bodies.

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