“Eat, then we’ll talk,” I told him, pushing the box to his side of the counter, allowing him first choice. Unsurprisingly, he pulled out a cherry turnover and took a huge bite, leaving flakes of pastry all over the front of his rumpled T-shirt and the counter. With a heavy sigh, I grabbed a napkin to clean up the mess, not thinking before I brushed the front of his shirt. He tensed and I quickly pulled my hand away. “Sorry.”
“You really have issues with messes, don’t you?” I was grateful for the minor shift away from my invasion of his personal space.
“When Ryan was little, his mom was all about letting him do his thing all day and then she’d complain after he was in bed because she wanted to relax but there was a huge mess to clean up,” I explained. “It was easier to clean up as I went through the house because when she was stressed out, no one could relax.”
“And now it’s a habit?”
“Something like that.” I grabbed his nearly empty mug so I could refill both our coffees before moving to the living room where we could be comfortable. As I filled my mug, I realized it was probably poor form to talk about Marisa while trying to get something going with my much younger roommate. No wonder I hadn’t been on anything past a first date since separating from her. On the other hand, anyone I got involved with needed to realize she would always be a part of my life, not only as the mother of my child or my ex-wife, but as one of my closest friends. I had to give Frankie credit, at least so far he’d never given me any indication he thought it was odd that we were still amicable after the divorce.
The conversation stalled, and I couldn’t think of a good segue from my cleaning habits to my sexual inclinations. I slid Frankie’s mug back to him and continued into the living room without another word. He could follow or not, but I knew he was too eager to sit in the kitchen alone. If it wouldn’t annoy the hell out of me, I’d let him follow me around the house like a puppy all morning, glaring at him every time he opened his mouth to ask when we were going to sit down and talk.
My ass was just about settled into my chair when I heard the telltale scrape of the stool across the floor. Funny how a noise that irritated the hell out of me when Ryan did it caused ridiculous flutters in my stomach when it was Frankie. I wiped my clammy palms against the arms of the chair and took a few steadying breaths. I wanted this. As Marisa and Eli both loved to point out, my freedom didn’t mean much if I was too much of a chicken to even try putting myself out there.
Eli would have a field day if he knew Frankie was the reason I’d turned him down the few times he’d invited me to go out with him. It was hard to explain, but once someone caught my interest, they were all I could see. That’s probably why it’d been so easy for me to stay faithful to Marisa, even once I admitted to myself that looking at and lusting after guys wasn’t just some personality quirk, it was who I was. If there was no chance between Frankie and me, I wouldn’t continue pursuing him, but I needed to know. As long as he was a possibility in my mind, it’d be pointless to go cruising with one of my best friends, knowing I’d come home alone at the end of the night and jerk off to thoughts of my roommate. The man sleeping and clueless just down the hall from me. Because that wasn’t weird or anything.
“If you’re not gonna talk, I am,” Frankie said bluntly. He tossed the box of pastries on the table in front of him, reaching for a second turnover. I was about to say something about using a plate so we weren’t picking crumbs out of the couch for the next week when he pulled a napkin out of the pocket of his lounge pants and made a show of shaking it until it was unfolded and across his lap. “That cool with you?”
I nodded, because I was too dumb-struck to form a coherent thought. The brat had all the subtle nuances of a sub, but it was clear he wasn’t going to roll over and take whatever I dished out. He was… well, he was a brat in the truest sense of the word, and the idea of him pushing back when he thought he couldn’t or wouldn’t take anymore caused my dick to perk right up. Rather unfortunate timing since I was still wearing a pair of perfectly worn-in sweatpants.
“I did what you asked and looked up all that shit, and I have to tell you, if this is all about you trying to get in my pants, there’s no reason to work so hard.” There wasn’t? Did that mean he was even half as attracted to me as I was to him? “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m easy and not expecting anything with strings.”
“Is that why you trick?” I asked, even though I didn’t think it was the full explanation. I’d ruled out him doing it for the money, but it’d bugged me all week that he was doing it at all. If itwasout of desperation, this conversation would take a completely different turn, because I wasn’t a heartless ass who would allow someone I cared about to sell his body—or at least his mouth—to make ends meet.
“It’s as good a reason as any,” he responded flatly.
“But it’s not all of it, is it?” I pushed. He shook his head. “Would you like to explain it to me?” He shook his head again. Fuck, this wasn’t much different than trying to have a deep conversation with Ryan. I groaned and Frankie chuckled. The little shit was trying to get a rise out of me. “Fine. You don’t have to tell me, but if the time comes when you feel comfortable, I’d like to hear more.”
“Just like that?” He gaped at me as if he was waiting for me to demand answers.
“Yep. Just like that,” I confirmed. “And telling you to do a little research wasn’t because I want to fuck you.”
The corners of his mouth sagged and his lower lip jutted out slightly. Good. I needed to regain the upper hand. “Seems pretty fucked up to ask me to go through with it just so you could get your rocks off telling me what to do. Is that what it was?”
I quirked an eyebrow at his little outburst. My hands itched to flip him over and spank the sass out of him. When I’d threatened him that night at Club 83, he hadn’t seemed averse to the notion, but that wasn’t what today was about. At least, not yet.
“I don’t believe in playing games, Frankie,” I deadpanned, leaning forward to rest my forearms on my knees. I watched as Frankie’s gaze traveled down my body, the way his breath hitched as he noticed the semi barely hidden by my sweatpants. “I wanted you to look it up because you were talking out of your ass. You took what you’ve probably heard people talking about based on popular books and movies at face value and assumed everyone who’s into BDSM is like that.”
“Never said that, but whatever.”
“But do you deny thinking that fiction is an accurate portrayal of reality?” I pressed. He shrugged. If he did that one more time, I was going to go over to the couch and restrain him just so he’d be forced to give me a real answer. “What you thought about it a week ago doesn’t really matter, but can you tell me if you feel any differently now than you did before?”
“I guess,” he responded, noncommittally at first. This time, Frankie surprised me by continuing. “It’s weird, you know, because there’s just so much out there. Before, I thought it was all about whips, bondage, pain, and shit like that.”
“And now?” While I waited for him to answer, I reminded myself to not get too excited. There was still a damn good chance he’d say I was off my rocker. Or that I was too old. Or he could insist getting involved with someone he already lived with was too many of those strings he was dead-set against. The only excuse I’d call bullshit on was if he said he wasn’t attracted to me. A guy didn’t look at another guy the way I’d caught him checking me out a few times this week if he wasn’t at least casually interested.
“It was kinda cool reading about all the different types of kink,” he admitted, before promptly losing himself in his breakfast. Was it creepy to get a cheap thrill out of the way he licked the frosting and crumbs off his fingers or the little noises he made when he ate something he enjoyed? Yeah, probably at least a little. “I’m still not sure what the point of the whole drill was since, as I said before, I’m not the type who’s going to play hard to get if you want me to suck your dick. Hell, I wouldn’t even charge you.”
I’d mentally put together a list of Frankie’s issues, but until now, I never would have put insecurity on that list. It seemed impossible to me that a young man as gorgeous as him would realize he could have his pick of any guy in any bar without putting in much effort. And definitely without them being sleazy or desperate enough to pay for it.
Sometimes, it’s all about the power,Eli’s voice echoed in my mind. That was the excuse I’d accepted all week, but there was a tentativeness in Frankie’s posture that spoke to feeling like he wasn’t good enough for someone to be genuinely interested in him. Whatever sparked that little quip at the end, it needed to stop. Now.
“Don’teverimply I’m like your johns,” I warned him. He scooted a little further away on the couch, his eyes widening slightly. I worried I’d startled him, but noticed the way he wiggled his hips to adjust himself. The little shit was turned on. Maybe this wasn’t going to be as hard as I’d originally thought. I simply needed to tread carefully and remember I was the one who was in charge. “I’m sure you figured this out already, but sex isn’t always part of a BDSM relationship.”
“Yeah, but that’s one of the things I can’t figure out,” he blurted out. “I mean, what’s the point in getting someone turned on and getting them off if there isn’t sex involved?”
“When you connect with someone on the right level to trust them with everything, your body, your mind, your pain, and your pleasure, the highs reach the stratosphere. And for a lot of people, that happens outside of sex,” I explained. Hell, I’d spent half my week as a walking erection, knowing whether he realized it or not, Frankie had allowed me to guide him through something as simple as his daily life. And when I didn’t text him, he reached out to me with a simple message as if he was checking in. No, it wasn’t a mind-blowing orgasm, but I’d lived enough life to know there was more to it than getting off.
“And that’s the shit you’re into?”
