Page 71 of At The End Of The Day

“Don’t that feel good, Dario?”

His spine arched a bit, another husky groan rocking his chest as his cock jerked. “Oh, my god, it feels so fucking good, Vin. Oh, shit, I like it.”

Inching my way back up, making sure my beard continued to touch along the way, I hovered above his face, smirking at his writhing. Barely above a whisper, I ordered, “Look at me, Dario.”

“Vinny,” he rasped, his spine laying flat.

“Open your eyes. I wanna see those golden chips. Look at me.”

Gulping and licking his lips, his head rolled and his lashes lifted to reveal dilated pupils and glossy irises. His hot breaths tickling my face, I leaned into a fist by his head, my cheek leaning into that shoulder. Bringing his palm back to my face, he was petting on his own, his focus roaming around again.

“You seem to like my beard.”

“Yes,” he whispered, focusing on my eyes.

My knuckles stroked his jawline, the coarse hair tickling. “I like yours, too.”

He gulped, his thumb grazing my bottom lip. My heart turned over and my cock ached, throbbing in my jeans.

“Do you still want me to shave you?”

Swallowing loudly, he gazed at my lips for a lingering moment before staring deeply into my eyes. “Yes,” he stated firmly.

The heated moment crashing, I sat up, snickering. “Okay, okay,” I said, rising to my feet. Striding to the bathroom to gather the supplies, I added, “But I think it’s a damn shame. You got no idea how fucking hot you are right now.”

“Vinny?” he chimed in almost timidly.

I paused at the door, holding the frame to peer over my shoulder. “Hm?”

His gaze darkening, the corner of his mouth lifted. “I don’t want a beard, but I sure as fuck like yours now.”

His cock flexed and drew my attention, my stomach knotting with lust. A brow arching, I returned his smoldering gaze.

“You can rub that bush all over my dick any time you want.”

Laughing, I shook my head and stepped into the bathroom. I was changing that man one opinion at a time.

Chapter 29

Dario “Dash” Mangiacavallo

Monday 09.23.2019

Vincent’s property was smaller at only five acres, but the house was huge. Made out of that metal building stuff, it was two stories tall with four bedrooms, four baths, and four thousand square feet. The outside a light tan trimmed in black, the inside was modern rustic with a mixture of shiny wood accents and white marble with a faint gray swirl. Hardwood floors combined with plush, beige carpeting, country style furniture that looked nice but was also cozy, and a minimalist approach to decorations gave the place a warm vibe that had always made it feel like a second home.

Tired of listening to me whine about being trapped in the bed, after a week, he’d come home with a wheelchair. It didn’t help my ego, but at least I wasn’t staring at those same four walls day in and day out. It gave a small sense of freedom.

Sitting under the two story tall easement that would one day hold his RV, I was slouched, my elbows on the arms, my fingers twined over my stomach. Though he was still in pain, his ribs far from healed, he was hunched over a couple sawhorses, cutting some two by fours. Apparently, when he first bought the property about a year after getting out of jail, he was told the lot next door would never be sold. While we were in Georgia, construction crews had shown up, breaking ground to build a new home, so, as soon as he got home from taking Piera to school, Vincent began building a ten foot tall privacy fence. Angrily building.

I pulled a slow breath through my nose and heaved it out the same way, my head tipped to watch. After that first night here, falling asleep in his arms, he’d pretty much kept his distance, choosing to stay in one of his guest rooms upstairs. He’d told me some lame excuse about wanting to be near Piera in case she woke up in the middle of the night and got scared, but I knew that was bullshit. She’d spent the night here many times over her life and knew every inch of this house.

He was avoiding me. Every time we took a step forward and things seemed to smooth out, he did a one eighty and took two backward, erecting a wall between us. It was becoming a nasty habit that was getting old, fast. Why he was doing it, I wasn’t quite sure. If anyone should be hesitant about the changes happening between us, it should be me, not him. After all, he was used to the gayness, I was brand new.

I also wasn’t too sure why it pissed me off as much as it did. Every morning I woke up in that bed alone, however, I got angrier and angrier.

The electric saw whizzed louder as he pulled it away from the wood, then hummed to a stop. Swiping his forearm across his sweaty brow, he tossed it to the work bench, picked up the slat, and took it to the side opening to lean it against the wall. Forty down, about four hundred more to go, unfortunately. If I could, I’d get up and help because this was going to take him forever. I’d suggested he call on the help of Wads or Einstein, but he’d refused, saying he didn’t want anyone here for a while.

“So, what’s the deal with you?” I blurted, surprising even myself.