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For another, Jordan was straight. Well, he had enjoyed sucking cock on occasion—during threesomes his ex-wife had talked him into—but he wasn’t attracted to men at all.
Damiano chuckled. “You’re positively adorable.” Maybe he’d misheard. “Pardon?” Jordan said, without looking at him. It took everything in him not to look at him. He felt the other man lean closer to him and then murmur close to his ear, “It’s adorable how you pretend not to be interested when spying on me is the main reason you’re here.”
Chuckling, Damiano got to his feet and patted him on the head condescendingly, like one would pat a dog. “You’re pretty enough, for a guy, but I don’t swing that way, so your doe eyes are wasted on me, bello.”
He looked a lot younger than his thirty-two years, his skin smooth and nearly flawless, no visible wrinkles thanks to his skincare routine. Frankly, he was more handsome than Nate.
“If you really loved him, you wouldn’t look at me like you want to choke on my cock.”
Nice. What an inadequate word for the strange feeling that curled in his chest every time the other man played with his hair. Damiano didn’t like the sensation. The warmth it caused. It was overwhelming. Disconcerting. It was disconcerting how quickly he’d grown used to it over the course of his illness, how much better it made him feel, distracting him from the agonizing pain.
To keep anticipating the touch. To start wanting it. It irritated Damiano to no end, the craving he’d developed for something so pathetic, but it wasn’t as though he could put some distance between them when they were in a tiny basement little bigger than a bathroom.
Instead, you’re cuddling him and letting him pet you like a cat.
Damiano gave him a blank look before realizing that he had his finger on the trigger of his gun. Slowly, he took the finger off and turned the safety on. He was calm. He was calm and collected. He had nothing to be angry about.
🫣
He wanted Damiano. He wanted to sleep with Damiano. Wanted to smell him, to hear his voice. To have him on top of him, feel the reassuring weight of his muscular body crushing him, making him feel safe. Everything in him ached for it, for his closeness.
For a man who didn’t cuddle Damiano sure had his favorite way of doing so.
It was just for tonight, so it was okay. Just for this one night,
🤭
It had been pure need, the craving to have this man inside him, and it had been satisfied. But now he wanted cuddles. He got what he wanted: Damiano yanked his boxer-briefs up and lay down on top of him. He buried his face in Jordan’s neck again and breathed, his breaths too deep to be natural.
He shouldn’t have been such a mess when he couldn’t even define what Damiano had become to him. Someone not quite a friend and not quite a lover. Someone he loathed, needed, and adored. Someone he understood on an intimate level and didn’t understand at all. Someone who, in different circumstances, in another life, might have become more.
Arrogant, overbearing dick. (God, he missed him.)
It pissed him off that the mere possibility of being followed—stalked—by Damiano’s people pleased a part of him. It means that he cares,
Damiano’s face did something strange: a tight, pinched look, his eyes all pissy and angry, before he stepped forward and shoved his face into Jordan’s neck.
“As you say, let’s cut the bullshit. You did it because you’re an emotionally stunted control freak who got a little bit attached and doesn’t know how to express his affections in a healthy way.”
“Don’t cry,” Damiano said tersely, a muscle jumping by his temple. “It’s not worth crying over.”
Stay, he wanted to beg. It was his last thought as he drifted off. Stay.
The problem was, his desire to fuck Jordan didn’t really stem from his cock. It was a twisted, insane desire to possess, a desire for closeness and ownership that happened to affect his cock too. He wanted to devour him, to tear into his heart and burrow his way inside.
Mine, the thing inside him said. Mineminemine.
“It pisses me off that your creepy stalking doesn’t even piss me off.” “That’s ironic, because my creepy stalking does piss me off,”
involuntarily adopting a gentler tone. Christ, he was disgustingly soft when it came to this man.
He wanted to step into the screen, crawl on top of Jordan, put himself inside him, and merge them together.
Damiano stared at Jordan’s gaping, fucked-out hole. He wanted to lick it. He wanted to shove his tongue inside it. He wanted to slam his cock into it. He wanted to see his jizz leak out of it.
🥵
“I would totally raise your kids.” He laughed. “I love your dirty shirts, your sweat, and your jizz. Of course I’d love it if you gave me your baby. So if you have any babies lying around, you can send them to me—they’ll be the most spoiled babies in the world.”
That’s actually kinda cute
“Raffaele,” Jordan whispered, leaning their foreheads together. “You said you came to visit him. Did you miss him?” Damiano kissed the corner of his mouth. “Yes,” he said dazedly, his hands gripping Jordan’s ass and pulling him flush against him. “Did you think of him all the time?” Jordan whispered, rubbing their mouths together, the touch barely there but causing his lips to tremble. “Yes,” Damiano said, biting his bottom lip. “All the time.” Jordan parted his lips. “He thought of you all the time, too. Kiss me.” Damiano did. And nothing else mattered for a long time. Only him.
This is my man, it whispered with vicious satisfaction. Look how knowledgeable, powerful, and attractive he is.
Don’t go, Jordan wanted to say. Come back to me, he wanted to say. I love you, he wanted to say.
I can put up with a lot for him.” I can’t bear a life without him in it.
He wanted those blue eyes to be alight with affection, always. He was addicted to the way Jordan looked at him—as if he were worth loving.
He didn’t care about people. Most people were just tools for him. He felt no remorse about hurting people. Except this one. This one was precious. This one was his. This one made him feel.
“Unbalanced and distracted—when you aren’t around. Obsessive, possessive, and out of control when you are. If this is love, it fucking sucks.”
“I’d prefer your fucked-up version of love to the sweetest, most conventional love lavished on me by another person. Because it’s you. And you’re more than enough. You’re what I need to feel enough.”
Forever. Jordan would be his forever.
“I love you,” Jordan murmured against his lips. Damiano pulled him closer and whispered, “I love you, too.” There was still a certain hesitance in his voice when he said it, as if he was getting away with something every time he said those words, as if he couldn’t possibly deserve to love and to be loved, and Jordan hugged him tightly and kissed him deeper, his heart so full with adoration and love that he was almost choking on it.
