“I’ve got you.”
A small whimper escapes his throat.
“You can just enjoy yourself,” I add softly.
His shoulders drop and he exhales, releasing the tension he’s likely been carrying all day.
“You with me? Good. Take off your clothes. Lie back.”
He’s almost too endearing in his clumsy eagerness. I pause, momentarily thrown by a flash of unwelcome tenderness. I’m not here to adopt puppies. No matter how cute and obedient they are.
I undress, then put the lube and a condom on the nightstand. Kissing him, I place his hands above his head.
“Keep them here. Don’t touch yourself.”
I take my time with him. I lick, I suck, I tease his hole until he’s a beautiful, leaking, sobbing mess. He responds to every soft command with a needy little sound, making my cock throb in anticipation.
When I roll on a condom and slowly push inside, he’s trembling from the effort of holding back. My every thrust hits his prostate, drawing delicious whimpers from him.
Finally, I decide I’ve edged him enough. I wrap my hand around his length and give him a few firm strokes.
“Show me how you come for me.”
He cries out. Cum spills on his flat stomach, and his hole keeps clenching a round my cock, pushing me over the edge, too.
After I’ve tossed the condom, I get a towel and carefully clean him up. He yawns, completely spent.
“Let your body slow down. I’ll stay for a little while. Here’s some water.”
He nods, already drifting toward sleep.
“You did great, Josh.”
He falls asleep with a small smile on his lips. I watch him for a moment, feeling the familiar emptiness return now that the distraction is over.
I take a shower, wash the encounter off my skin, and go home.
CHAPTER 4 – ANTONIO
My parents own a small trattoria in Cove Bay. Trattoria di Scotti. Maria and I have been helping them since we learned to prep vegetables. She’s six years older than me, so by the time she was waiting tables, I was still washing mountains of dishes and running endless errands. During the school year we usually work a couple of shifts a week, but in the summer we almost live at the trattoria.
On Tuesdays we close early and have a long dinner at home. Even Maria pauses her social life for that. I rarely have anything that needs pausing, but that’s alright. I have my books.
“Wash your hands and sit down,” Mom says the second she sees me. “You are starving.”
I do as I’m told, then greet Sophia, my sister’s best friend, who often joins us for dinner.
Mom’s already heaping lasagna onto my plate with fierce determination. She fixes me with a stern look.
“You study too much. You need carbs for your brain. Ricotta for your soul.”
“I don’t study too much,” I argue.
Maria snorts.
“I saw the tome on your nightstand and fell asleep on the spot.”
“It’s my new book about the Industrial Revolution. It was a significant era,” I tell her huffily.
