“I’m handsome?” Dario asks with earnestness. He truly doesn’t know, can’t see it himself. How does one look in a mirror and not see obvious beauty?
“You’re handsome,” Charlie confirms before planting a kiss on the back of Dario’s hand. “Your intelligence only makes you handsomer. You know and honor your family history. When you gave the tour in the museum, my heart raced. I was kinda turned on.”
“Si?” Dario asks. “So my grandma is sexy, too?”
“Shut it, Candy Man,” Charlie says, quieting Dario with a kiss.
The time for joking is over. His hands grip Dario’s lapel tightly as if he is afraid to lose control of this situation again. “And you have an impeccable sense of style. Most people wear clothes. You, I don’t know,donthem or some shit.”
Dario laughs. “That’s all Gabriele’s doing.”
“Is Gabriele the one putting the clothes on and parading around in them?” Charlie asks, raking his eyes down Dario’s body, which sprawls across the bed.
“No,” he says, fiddling with the top button on his shirt.
“My point made,” Charlie says, allowing lust to turn his voice smoky. “You won’t be wearing them for much longer either if I’m lucky.”
Dario seems to still with unspoken emotion under his touch.
“I would like to keep my clothes on,” Dario says, eyes falling to the foot of the bed.
Charlie moves back in confusion. “Uh, okay? Do you not want to do this?”
Dario sighs. “I do want to do this, but first, please let me explain.”
DARIO
A confession bubbles up and out. “These clothes that Gabriele makes for me are what I feel most confident in. When I’m naked, I worry about the position I’m in or the way the lighting makes me look, whether my skin is clear of blemishes, or I missed a spot while trimming.”
“I don’t care about any of that stuff,” Charlie says, deep sincerity sprinkled over his words.
Dario pushes up onto his forearms. “It is my anxiety. I get stuck in my head and cannot enjoy myself. Clothed, I know I am representing myself. Maybe I am not making any sense. I know it is not what everyone wants.”
Charlie shakes his head, pauses for a moment. “I want what you want, Dario. I think I get it. It’s like me with my tattoos. I like being naked because my tattoos represent me. They make me feel confident, so showing them all off heightens that confidence. Your fashion sense represents you. Sex is about showing up as your authentic self. This—” Charlie gestures at his covered body “—represents you. Very well, I might add.”
“Grazie.” His whole body blushes. “My ex was not so accommodating. It was exciting to him at first. He thought I got off on the rush of needing him right away, that I was too turned on to shuck all my clothes before getting down to it, but it was never that for me. For now, I am my truest self in these clothes.”
“I think that makes total sense, Candy Man,” Charlie says. The pet name causes Dario’s dick to swell against his satiny briefs. “Only one question. What do you do about the, uh, mess?”
“I go to a very talented, very discreet dry cleaner who does not ask questions,” says Dario before biting his lip.
“Sweet. I’ll be much less worried about cleanup, then.” Charlie’s eyebrows hike up suggestively.
“I don’t want you to worry about anything at all when you’re with me.” Dario’s heart dances.
Charlie runs his hands over Dario, seemingly luxuriating in the feel of the expensive fabrics against his palms. The front of his shorts tents out with anticipation.
“Why don’t you get more comfortable?” Dario suggests.
Charlie preens at the idea. He stands, grabs the bottom hem of his shirt and whips it up over his head. His shorts and checkered boxers hit the floor. He stands there in his glory, a breathing, sexy storybook to be read cover to cover.
Dario’s heart nearly quits from all the blood rushing straight to his cock.
Dario scoots forward, tongue outstretched and salivating. Slowly, he tastes the compliant American all fucking over. From tattoo to tattoo, he plays a long game of sensual connect-the-dots. When his tongue hits particularly sensitive spots—his hip bone, below his armpit, the dip beneath his left ear—Charlie shudders.
Dario runs a tender hand along Charlie’s jaw. “Sei stupenda.”
“I’m stupendous?” Charlie asks.
