“Do it,” Dylan gasped out, and the answering burn of Angelo’s cock pressing inside him blew hismind.
Angelo fucked him senseless. Nonsense fell from Dylan’s lips as he fell slack beneath the brutal assault of Angelo dicking him out. Over and over, Angelo drilled Dylan’s prostate, and Dylan could barely stand it. He went to pieces, thrashing his head from side to side, his cries loud and strained. Edging was apparently Angelo’s party trick, and Dylan was so crazed by the need to bust that he almost didn’t notice Angelo lifting him onceagain.
The cold metal wall against his spine came as more of a shock, and the rush of blood to the head had him lolling like a rag doll in Angelo’s unswerving grip. He wrapped his legs around Angelo’s waist and held on for dear life as Angelo speared him again, and the change in angle was enough to shatter what was left of his tenuous control. Four deep thrusts and he came undone, spilling between them in jets of wet heat. His climax was blinding, his moans delirious, and only Angelo’s ragged shout kept him in thepresent.
The warmth of Angelo filling the condom was nearly enough to send Dylan over the edge again. He convulsed in Angelo’s arms and squeezed his bound eyes shut as Angelo carried him back to the mattress. Angelo laid him down and briefly pressed their foreheads together, and the club faded away. For a long moment, they simply breathed together, and Dylan imagined that Angelo would stay with him, that he wouldn’t step away, retrieve his clothes from the floor, and leave Dylan alone with his laboured breaths and racingheart.
But Angeloleft.
Chapter Four
The knockingon the garage door came and went as the morning drifted into the afternoon. Angelo dozed through most of it, curled up on the couch that doubled as his bed, but eventually, Theresa’s patience wore thin, and she let herself into his garagelair.
“Why are you still in bed?” she demanded. “Your uncles are visiting today. They want to talk about thebusiness.”
Angelo cracked his eyes open, shielding them against the light Theresa had let in with the open door. “Unless they want to buy it, I’m not fuckinginterested.”
Theresa met his cursing with a string of her own Italian expletives. “You’re no help to me when you’re like this. You’re just like yourfather.”
Angelo could believe it. Silvio Giordano had been a constant source of disappointment to all who knew him, and it was clear by the way his mother was looking at him now that she felt much the same way about her son. “I’m tired, Mum. Can we do thislater?”
“You’re always tired. Perhaps if you came home at night instead of staying out drinking, you’d feel better. It’s no wonder you’re not fit enough to danceanymore.”
Fuck you.Angelo sat up, ignoring the wave of nauseating fatigue that threatened to send him straight back down again. “I’m retired. What did you expect me to be? A fifty-year-oldballerino?”
“You’re twenty-eight.”
“Right. Did you want something? Because I’ve got shit todo.”
The conversation had no destination. Theresa treated him to a final glare before she turned on her heel and left. The bang of the garage door rattled Angelo’s aching bones, and he lay back down, retrieving the TV remote and his phone from the concrete floor. His phone was of little interest to him?—he’d run out of data on his PAYG SIM days ago?—so he switched the TV on and stared at the news channel until sleep claimed himagain.
Dawn the next morning found him alone in the deli, taking deliveries and setting up for the breakfast rush. Despite sleeping most of Sunday away, his legs were still dead weights, and he was practically on his knees when he sensed a familiar presence behindhim.
Dylan.
Angelo turned slowly, half convinced his exhaustion-addled brain was playing a cruel trick, but for once the universe was on his side, and Dylan’s tentative smile felt like a light summer rain. “Hey.”
Dylan’s grin amped up a notch. “Hey. I wasn’t sure if you’d be pleased to seeme.”
“Why would you thinkthat?”
Dylan shrugged. “Stalker,remember?”
“I followed you to the club onSaturday.”
“What?Literally?”
“Well... no, but you said you’d be there, and I wouldn’t have goneotherwise.”
“No?” Dylan leaned forward with his elbows on the table. “That’s odd, ’cause I’ve been asking around about you, and apparently ‘Angel’?—that is you, right??—is a man of extremes. You either disappear for months on end or show your face everyweek.”
“How do you know I’m not in a disappearingphase?”
“Because you hadn’t been seen all year before the first night wemet.”
“First night we met, eh?” That was one way of describing it. Angelo’s arms throbbed with a darkly familiar pain, but convincing himself that it was a hangover from holding Dylan against the wall had got him out of bed that morning. “Well, I’d go back to the stalker bullshit if I could be bothered, but if I’d had the time, I’d have asked around aboutyou, so I guess I can’tcomplain.”
“I’m too intrigued to care if you complain ornot.”
