Page 87 of At The End Of The Day

He took one more drag and then smashed it out on the railing. Strolling over to the bucket in the corner, he dropped it with the others and returned to the same spot, his arms folded over his chest.

“When I told him that day on the phone we was over, he told me he would do it and I flat out said I didn’t believe him.”

Tracing the lines of his profile, I quietly asked, “How did he do it?”

He closed his eyelids and dug his finger and thumbs into them, a muscle in his jaw flexing. “Becca came home from her weekend away and found him in the garage. He was in his truck, the windows down, the main door closed…The truck was on, but it was out of gas. They think he’d been dead at least two days.”

I cursed, my insides shrinking. Since he got the call on Sunday, it timed up that he more than likely did it soon after their phone call.

His throat shook and his chin dimpled, unshed tears misting. “They checked his phone and um. Ahem.” Heat emanated from him, sweat beading his brow and upper lip. “They think he did it right after our phone call.”

I flinched and looked away. Well, that answered my next question, I was pretty sure his wife knew he was cheating on her with another man.

“Becca hates me,” he croaked, confirming my suspicion. “She blames me.”

“She’s wrong,” I was quick to say, inching closer to put my hand on the back of his shoulder. He was trembling!

“She’s not, though—”

“Hey, hey. Listen to me. Billy wasn’t fair, not to you or her. He wanted you both and expected you to be okay with the crumbs he threw your way. That ain’t fair, baby.” I grabbed his jaw and forced him to look at me. “You deserve more. Everyone deserves more than he gave. He manipulated you and guilted you into staying. That ain’t right, Vin.”

He shrugged me off and stared out at the woods, coughing down his emotions.

I frowned, my thumb stroking side to side on his shoulder. “Can I ask you something?”

“Hm?”

“The times we’ve been together. You ever feel guilty about being with me? I mean, like you was with that guy in prison.”

Turning toward me, he slowly searched my features, his brows arched high. Gulping loud enough for me to hear, he shook his head and whispered, “No.”

Somewhere along our conversation, Tyler’s song ended and another had started, one I didn’t recognize. That one also ending, Tennessee Whiskey crooned, the song mingling with the birds chirping in the woods and the frogs starting their nightly chorus. Emotions I wasn’t familiar with but embraced overcoming my thoughts, I coaxed him to turn and face me. Tossing my cigarette over the banister, one hand slid across his side, the one on his shoulder reaching for his cheek. Without prompting, he put his arms around me and we began dancing slowly. The thunder grew louder, the wind shifting with the scent of rain not far off.

It didn’t seem odd to me, at all, that I was slow dancing with a man on my deck with a storm brewing in. It didn’t feel weird we were gazing into one another’s eyes, holding closer. Peace settled over my soul, all the worries about my future smoothing out. For as long as I could remember, there was always this odd yearning deep in my gut that I was missing out on something, like I wasn’t where I was supposed to be. In his arms, that very moment, it felt like I was home.

Acting before thinking, I swept my mouth over his and claimed a kiss. He groaned and kissed me back, his hands balling into fists over the back of my shirt. The first drops of rain fell around us, but we didn’t care. Our stare never breaking, he walked me backward and pinned me against the railing. The kiss ending but our lips still together, we were panting, arousal heating both our bodies. His tongue flicking against my teeth, he nipped my bottom lip and pushed my sweats down.

I groaned, reveling his touch as he gripped my semi erect cock and stroked so goddamn gently. Eager to feel him, as well, I copied his actions, stretching a little lower to cup his balls.

“Dario,” he whispered with another nip.

Why the fuck did I love that so much? Hardly anyone ever called me by my real name, but since our relationship shifted to intimate, he had been doing it more and more, and it was fucking exhilarating. I’d never had a lover say my name during passionate moments and, again, it was making me wonder what I’d been missing out on.

He closed the couple inches between us and lined our cocks up, curling his fingers around them both like he had that one day. After some snooping around on the internet, I now knew this to be frotting. Frotting, what a fucking amazing thing!

I scattered kisses around his mouth, trailing along his jaw, fully appreciating the softness of his beard against my skin. Emitting a husky groan, he tipped his head and closed his eyelids against the drizzle. Traveling lower, I gave a tiny bite here and there, delighted at his erotic reactions. My hand gliding up his side, careful to not add too much pressure because of his ribs, my thumb stroked over a hard nipple, and he jolted and thrust against me. Curious, I bent over and swirled my tongue.

“Oh, shit, Dario. Unh.”

He fisted my hair and held me there. A wave of dominance hit, so I spun him around. Startled, his hands flung to the railing and gripped to steady his balance. I held on to it, as well, my hands between his and his waist. Slowly grinding up and down, my tongue dragged up the center of his chest, swirled that small dip between his collarbones, over the curve of his Adam’s apple, to the apex of his chin. My lip curling over my teeth, I nipped, fisting both our cocks.

“You are so fucking amazing, Vinny.”

He gulped, panting harder, a glaze of uncertainty over his irises.

I pushed his pants down and then mine, kicking them aside. Tugging him off the railing, I led him to the lounge I was in moments ago and coaxed him to lie down. Lowering to my knee between his legs, I resumed spraying his body with kisses, pausing to suckle his nipple.

He sucked on his teeth and arched, grabbing my head a second time. “Oh, god, baby.”