“The person to the right.”
“When are you allowed to make a right-hand turn at a red light?”
“In this country, never.”
“Very good. And how often are you permitted to check your phone while driving?”
“Sir,” he admonishes, giving me a sly look. “That’s a trick question. I’m only allowed to use my phone if it’s hands-free.”
“That’s right, princess. We will practice driving again in a few days when my nerves have recovered. How about a bike ride into town this afternoon?”
His eyes go wide, a look of dread on his face.
“What is it now?” I ask.
“Sir is going to be very disappointed in his boy,” he says woefully.
“Dimmi,Giovanni.”
“I don’t know how to ride a bike.”
Christ, what do they even teach children in America?
“Thank you for being honest with me, Gio. I want you to tell me when you don’t know how to do something. Sir will never be mad at you for that. Would you like to learn how to ride a bike?”
“Yes, I would,” he nods.
“Bene. I’m very proud of you for wanting to learn something new, and I will gladly teach you. What other new things would you like to try? We’ll make a list.”
He smiles shyly and glances down to where his nimble fingers are nested in my rope. “Well, I’ve never flown a kite before or learned to throw a baseball or started a campfire. In fact, I’ve never been camping…”
I nod for him to continue while taking notes on my phone. I am gratified by all that I can offer him. This is a good place to start.
4
Ihave been waiting for this day, longing for it too.
We are napping together in Valentin’s bedroom—mybedroom now—when Gio, half-asleep and fully hard, starts rubbing himself against me in an amorous way. He must be caught up in a lusty dream, and my only hope is that I am featured somewhere in it. I turn toward him so that he may use my thigh as a pole to rut against. He murmurs and groans, his face flushed scarlet, and hisses through his pretty pink lips, “Silvio.”
“Yes, Giovanni?” I am ready,morethan ready, to answer his call. His eyes flutter open, forehead dewy with sweat, locks of golden hair stuck to his cheek despite the coolness of the room.
“Sir, may I?” he pants.
“You may,” I whisper roughly. His gaze darts to the painting where his beloved Master stands sentinel. Giovanni winces and shuts his eyes before continuing to mount my leg with a frenzied fervor.
“Need more,” he says in a desperate pitch. Swiftly, I am on top of him, guiding his hand between his legs, underneath the elastic band of his underwear, encouraging him to grab hold of himself. “Master wouldn’t…” He shakes his head, spying my brother’s grim expression, caught in an internal conflict of Valentin’s making. I would burn that damned portrait if I didn’t know it would cause Giovanni such distress.
“Master wouldn’t like it,” I say. He nods, tearing at his lower lip with his teeth and pleading with his eyes, begging me to take over. I yank his underwear down his smooth thighs and toss it aside. Grabbing hold of his cock, I command, “Color?”
“Green.”
I reach for the weird little statue on the night table. A half-goat creature with a huge prick as the spout of the instrument, a souvenir from that kinky museum they visited. I pour a generous amount of oil into my hand and grab hold of him again, but I don’t stroke him. “Hang onto my neck, Giovanni, and fuck yourself with my fist. Look at me while you do it.”
He shivers and scoots closer, legs spread lewdly to bracket me on either side. His arms clasp around my neck as he propels himself upward, eyes locked heatedly on my own. The velvet of his cock is so slick and so warm, pistoning across my callused palm. He is irresistible when he lets go and allows his raw desire to consume him. I lean in for a kiss, and he takes my tongue eagerly, sucking me inside his hot mouth as if he’s been starved of it. We kiss with the ardor of long-lost lovers who are at last reunited. His is the sweetest nectar I’ve ever tasted, a cup from which my thirst is temporarily slaked but never quenched.
“That’s it, princess,” I urge, still with his dick rooted firmly in my hand, “You are so sexy like this, chasing your pleasure. Your pretty, pink cock fits so nicely in my big, manly fist. Come for me, Giovanni, come for your Sir.”
He roars with a sudden passion and releases into my hand, smooth prick spouting like a fountain, speckling my fingers with a white, pearly foam. He gasps, sweaty and disheveled with a spark of sexual vigor alight in his eyes, one that I’ve not seen in a very long time. I press my soiled fingers to my lips and savor the taste of him while he watches me closely.
