Angel Dust

"Oh, don't fucking flatter yourself," Valentino shoots back, his grip around Angel's neck tightening just a little bit more, fingertips pressing hard against the sides of his throat, oddly conscious of not crushing Angel's windpipe in a way he likely wouldn't be if he was actually, genuinely angry. They are, after all, just playing - to Valentino, at least.

He shoves his thigh higher, forces Angel to grind against him, his own erection pressing hard into his hip.

"You think you're the only one that got that text?" He gives Angel's throat one more quick squeeze, and then releases him to let him breathe, petting his long fingers down the front of his neck. His secondary hands find Angel's hips, holding him close and fast, pressure under his palms encouraging him to use his leg to seek his own pleasure while he laughs. "Oh, no, baby. You were just the first one who bit."

Whether that's true or not - that he sent the same text to all of his whores, that Angel was the first one to take the bait - is hard to say. Valentino lies just as often as he tells the truth, but he seems to be finding entertainment in attempting to step on Angel's confidence either way. It's all a game to him.