Just a Bit Heartless (Straight Guys, #13)

by Alessandra Hazard

Jordan laughed a little. “Right. I’m sure that’s the reason you didn’t kill him. And don’t smoke indoors.” Damiano shrugged, taking another drag of his cigarette. “Believe what you want. I don’t care. But tell Raffaele he can ask me questions himself instead of making his sugar baby make doe eyes at me.”

Jordan watched him, transfixed, unable to look away. He always appreciated competence, and this was so far beyond competence it was impossible to avert his gaze.

“They want me to come up.” Damiano got to his feet. “Wait,” Jordan said, grabbing his wrist as his heart started to pound. “You’re going?” Damiano looked at his hand oddly, the yellow light throwing shadows across his face. “Of course. I can hardly refuse. They’ll just drag me out if I don’t obey them.” His lips twisted. “If they don’t kill me, I should be back within a few hours. Let go, bello.”

“And it’s not true that no one needs you,” Jordan said, threading his fingers through Damiano’s hair. “I do.” Damiano tensed up on top of him. “All you need is a crutch to deal with your claustrophobia,” he said, his voice hard and nasty. “Don’t worry, the moment I’m dead, you’ll be taken out of here and returned to Raffaele for ransom. They aren’t risking contacting anyone while I’m alive. So you should hope that they’ll kill me. When I’m dead, you can live your happily ever after.” “God, you’re such an asshole,” Jordan said, yanking at Damiano’s hair. “I don’t want you dead, you ass. I don’t want to be saved if that means you’re dead.”

“Why do you care?” Damiano said, finally asking the question that had been on his mind for the past week since his whipping—and had become only more persistent since their conversation last night. I don’t want you dead. I don’t want to be saved if that means you’re dead. The words still kept ringing in his ears, infuriatingly distracting. The hands stopped stroking him. Damiano frowned in displeasure. “I know this is weird,” the other man said, clearing his throat a little. “I know it probably isn’t real—just the circumstances, forced proximity, my phobia, and the stress—but… I care for you. I feel safe with you. I don’t want you to die or get hurt—ow, stop that!” Damiano bit him on the neck again, just to shut him up. Apparently words could cause a dopamine high, too. What an unpleasant discovery.

“Ahh, you’re hurting me.” Good, Damiano thought, giving him another vicious bruise. He deserved to be hurt for saying inane shit like that. He wished the room weren’t so dark and he could see the bruises all over that pale neck. “Damiano,” was a breathless whisper as fingers buried in his hair again. Not pushing him away. Pulling him closer. And Damiano went, sucking new bruises into his skin. Fuck, he couldn’t wait to be rid of him.

Jordan reached up and stroked his dark hair gently. It was so soft and thick when it was clean. “You must have gotten so used to sleeping with me that your body subconsciously didn’t consider me a threat.” Damiano didn’t exactly look reassured by that. “You can’t be here,” he bit off, even though he was leaning into the touch. “Why are you here?” “Do you want me to go?” Jordan said, feeling a rush of fondness mixed with amusement. It was like petting a wild, dangerous cat that leaned into his touch even as it bared its teeth at him menacingly.

Damiano bit him on his neck, then sucked, and a small sound left Jordan’s mouth. I adore you, came an unbidden thought, his throat closing up from the intensity of the emotion. What the fuck.

He’d known the guy for thirteen days. 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.

Jordan felt his chest tighten as their gazes met. “You shouldn’t have come.” “You shouldn’t have sent for me, then.” Jordan glared at him. “I didn’t—” “Let’s cut the bullshit, caro,” Damiano said, his tone mild but his gaze almost resentful. “We both know your little message was a cry for attention. You knew I wouldn’t ignore it. You knew I’d come to see you.” Jordan’s face was burning with humiliation. “You didn’t have to come. I hardly forced you.” The laugh that left Damiano’s throat lacked true mirth. “I had no more agency than a moth that flies to a flame.”

Damiano stared at the tear in strange fascination as if he’d never seen tears in his life. “Our paths should have never crossed,” he said tonelessly. “Whatever this is, it’ll pass. You’ll be better off without me.”

He didn’t wonder if Jordan would answer. He knew he would. Jordan’s throat worked before he walked away from that dickhead and brought his phone to his ear. “Don’t tell me you have my apartment bugged, you creep,” he hissed. “Tell him to leave,” Damiano said. “And to never come back.” Jordan huffed. “You’re unbelievable.” “Throw him out,” he said softly. “I will give you the attention you so badly wanted from me.” It was just a guess, but it was gratifying to be confirmed correct when Jordan’s pale face flushed.

This wasn’t him. He wanted to stop feeling this way. Jordan muddled his thoughts, made him irrational. Reckless. Stupidly obsessive. Stupidly obsessed. Just plain stupid.

Jordan did, for all the wrong reasons. Looking at Jordan’s naked body gave him such a possessive thrill, all that skin on display at his request. Jordan was straight, but he had undressed for another man and let him ogle him because it was Damiano. Just for him. It was a power trip that really messed with his head and fed the possessive beast that lived under his skin. He wanted to know every curve and angle of Jordan’s body, every hollow, every mole, every scar. It was his, he had a right to know that.

Scowling, Jordan glared at his phone, staring at the picture of Damiano on his screen. He kissed it, feeling beyond pathetic but too drunk to care.

“What are you doing in Boston?” Jordan said into his hands. Silence. “I came to visit Raffaele,” Damiano said stiffly. Taking his hands away, Jordan gave him an incredulous look. “Try again,” he said, not bothering to hide his amusement. Damiano glowered at him, his jawline tense in a way it got only when he was truly pissed off. Fuck, he was so hot when he was angry. Jordan sighed on the inside, exasperated with himself. He got to his feet, becoming very much aware of his nudity when Damiano’s eyes raked over him hungrily. Talk about mixed signals. “You must have missed him terribly,” Jordan said, stepping to Damiano and pressing his naked body to his fully clothed one. “What?” Damiano said after a moment, so obviously distracted it would have been hilarious if Jordan hadn’t felt as distracted by his proximity.

The direction of his own thoughts annoyed and embarrassed him, but there was nothing Jordan could do about it. Nor could he do anything about the ridiculously inappropriate, possessive feeling that stirred in his stomach every time he looked at Damiano. This is my man, it whispered with vicious satisfaction. Look how knowledgeable, powerful, and attractive he is.

He would let Damiano put a fucking collar on him with his name on it, anything to have tangible proof of meaning something to him. Something significant.

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.

“You’re staying here, right?” Damiano said, clearing his throat. “Indefinitely.” Forever. Jordan would be his forever. Jordan shrugged, looking at him curiously. “That was the plan, yeah. I even quit my job.” Damiano just nodded, trying not to show how pleased he felt. A better man would probably object to Jordan leaving his old life for him. He wasn’t a better man.