1 boy, looks 4 years old. Light hair.
I pause in the middle of writing. If they’re trying to keep the knowledge of them hidden, should I be writing this down?
It could be useful in the future.
My uncle would want me to.
I fold the receipt and put it back along with the pen, information intact but saved for later.
When I look at the camera again, Carmine isn’t there anymore, but neither is his stocking on the mantle. I blink and hurry to move cameras. He’s going up the stairs. I can’t see him past a certain point.
There’s a hallway camera up there, I’m pretty sure.
I switch to it, feeling my pulse quicken.
Why does this matter so much? That I need to keep my eye on him every fucking second?
Carmine turns down the hallway toward the camera. In one hand he’s holding the stocking, with the other he starts to unbutton his shirt. I find myself watching as closely as I can.
I watch him as he slides his fingertips along the opening of his shirt that reveals his chest and then tugs at his collar.
Along the edge of his neck and chest, he has dark fading marks.
Hickeys from the club.
My jaw tightens.
From those strangers. I can only assume he didn’t know them.
They had marked him.
Had he asked for it? Did he want those?
I swallow hard and realize he’s going into his room. I can’t see him in there.
“No,” I whisper, surprising myself.
Why? If he’s going to bed, I can go home. I can do the same. I can think about something else. Something other than Carmine Dresvanni.
I don’t want to.
I want to see him again.
Carmine disappears into his room, door closed, and the last thing I see is his shirt sliding off his shoulders before he’s no more.
He may as well not exist. But he does.
In my mind, he exists in clear and vivid detail.
Every single inch of him.
In my head, Carmine’s undone trousers with his cock hanging out, weeping and throbbing with overdone arousal is still fresh and exhilarating. A spark of heat travels along my own length and I shift in my seat.
How easily I could have taken advantage of the situation at the club. Carmine was practically a doll waiting to be fucked. He’d already spent himself with the other two, but…oh, what I could have done to him with my dick.
I could have turned him around and pulled his pants down to his thighs…
I find myself distracted by the brief fantasy of fucking Carmine from behind. Feeling his body curve back against my groin and torso. Hearing his desperate moaning and grunting. Would he be so stoic and confident with me railing him in that alleyway?
