I'm not even sure what answer I want.
A promise? A lie? Something to hold onto when I'm stuck. "Of course we will," he says, like it's obvious.
"I dodge cops and criminals every day, baby. Charles is not gonna be the one who stops me."
I don't know why that hits so hard. Maybe because he says it like a fact. Like us trying is non-negotiable.
Before I can overthink it, I lean in and kiss him. Just because I can. Because we're still alone. Because this might be one of the last times I get to do it without looking over my shoulder.
His hand is in my hair immediately, and he pulls me in again, harder.
He kisses me with everything he's got.
Suddenly... my phone rings.
I freeze. That ringtone.
Hisringtone.
My father.
Gio pauses too. Pulls back slightly. He glances at the screen, then at me. And grins.
"No," I hiss, half-laughing, already trying to sit up. "No, Gio, don't—"
He kisses the corner of my jaw. "Answer it."
"I can't."
"You will."
My brain scrambles as my traitorous finger hits accept.
"...Dad?" I say, voice way too high.
"Ah, finally," his voice crackles through the speaker. "How are you? Did you pack your bags, or are you leaving it for the last minute again?"
How am I...
I'm lying on a hotel bed with Gio on top of me, his mouth on my neck, and his hand under my shirt, brushing over my stomach.
I'm actually fantastic. Just not in the way my dad means.
"I'm fine," I say. Gio smirks against my throat.
His other hand slides up my ribs, and I have to tighten my grip on the phone so I don't fling it across the room. I clamp my legs together, praying my dad can't hear how not-okay I am.
"Uh... did I pack my bags? Yes. Almost. Everything's good." Gio lets out this low hum right against my throat, and then he grinds down on me.
Yeah. That's his boner. I slap my hand over my mouth before the noise escapes. Because Iwillmake a noise.
Something embarrassing.
Something he'll never let me forget.
"How's everything been? I heard there was more work than expected."
Gio drags his hand over my dick, through the thin fabric of my sweats. His fingers trail lower, and then they creep up to the waistband.
