Candy Hearts, Vol. 2

Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

GREG

“More coffee? You’re spoiling me,” I say, accepting the paper cup.

“Espresso,” he says. “To wake you.”

I spent a long time last night staring at the ceiling, wishing I’d asked him to stay the night. Even if we didn’t fuck, it would’ve been nice to let him wake me instead of the coffee. I do get a hello kiss, but then he makes a beeline for the computer, pulling up two chairs eagerly.

“The boy at the cash … ” He mimes the motion of the register, and I nod. “He was wear a rainbow. He is like us?”

“Could be,” I say with a shrug. “What’s his name?”

“Enzo. His family run the shop.” I can tell he doesn’t really want to talk about Enzo, even if it made him happy to see another young gay person, especially one who speaks Italian. I experience a brief pang of jealousy that Enzo can speak freely with Nico, then focus on dialing in the long number. Nico’s leg bounces under the keyboard tray as it rings.

“Mama? Non riattaccare; ho un nuovo modo per chiamarti. è gratis.”

I can tell he’s trying to keep it out of his voice, but I can see what they can’t: the tears streaming down his face faster than he can wipe them away. I go into the kitchen and get him a paper towel, because I don’t think a tissue is going to do the job, and he accepts it gratefully, still chattering away loudly with them.

I snag a few words out of the deluge of Italian: “love,” “family,” “food” … and “boyfriend.” He’s using my name sometimes, and every time he does, he reaches out to squeeze my leg, even though they can’t see me, like he’s trying to make sure I don’t leave. But I won’t. I don’t want to. I’m just watching this amazing man connect with his people, wishing I could talk to them too. He doesn’t need privacy, because I can’t understand anything, but even if he were speaking English, I don’t think I could leave him like this, so emotional. I feel connected, as if we’re tied together by an invisible string.

They pass him around: his grandparents, his sisters, his father, his mother, even some of his nieces and nephews, though they seem confused. Nico turns to me, covering the receiver.

“They think is expensive. They won’t talk long.”

“You told them it’s free, right?”

“Sì, I tell them.” He shrugs, wiping his face again.

“That’s okay. We can call them again next week. We’ll try to explain it again in a letter.”

He nods emphatically, then goes back to talking to them, laughing despite the tears. I put an arm around his shoulders, and he moves closer, shifting until our sides are touching and his arm rests on my knee permanently.

I shouldn’t distract him, but I’m drawn to that dark hair, and when I card my fingers through it gently, I feel the tension dissipate from his shoulders and he closes his eyes. He curls into me, resting his head in the gap between my neck and shoulder, and I keep playing with his hair, twirling the straight strands around my finger, tugging on it a little.

Then he’s saying goodbye, and there’s a crackly chorus of admonitions and adoration before he puts down the receiver, letting out a big, shuddery sigh as he sits up. Nico tries to wipe his face again; his eyes are red and swollen, but he never looked better to me.

“Fuck.”

“Oh, that word you know?” I tease, wrapping both arms around him and pressing a kiss to his temple.

“Meccania say it. A lot.” The tears seem to be slowing, but he still seems embarrassed as he wipes them with the paper towel again. “Is happy crying, you know?”

“Unlike when I tried to take you to that pizza place.”

Nico chuckles a little, then pivots so he’s holding me too, his warm, firm embrace around me.

“Thank you,” he whispers, voice still choked up. “Thank you. My family, they are everything.”

“I know.” I put a hand on the back of his head, hoping to comfort him, but feeling wholly inadequate. “What do you need now? What can I do?”

He barks out a laugh. “More?”

“Of course, more. Whatever you need.” I pull back to see into his eyes, but he won’t let me go entirely, his hands sliding down my arms until we’re intertwined again. “Do you want to eat? Take a nap? Watch a movie? What sounds good?”

There’s something in Nico’s gaze I can’t place exactly, but it’s tender and exasperated and intense all at once. Then he’s standing and he’s pulling me with him toward my bedroom. I’m not surprised he’s tired; that seemed like a lot, even if it was in Italian. But when we get there, he kicks the door shut and pins me against it.

“Catty is where?” he asks softly as his big, soft lips find my neck, and we’re chest to chest, his hands on my hips, even as he presses into me everywhere.

“Uh … ” My heart has never quite beat this rhythm before, like it’s fighting its way out of my chest by punching through my ribs, and it takes me a minute to answer. “She wasn’t sure how long we’d talk, so she went to the library at UCSF.”

“Mmm,” Nico hums, and I can feel his lips curving into a smile as he kisses down my neck, making my dick sit up and take notice, as if being pinned by a handsome man in my bedroom wasn’t enough. I finally wrap my arms around him, and my head falls back against the door with a thump when he takes that talented tongue and licks a long line up my neck.

“What are you doing?” I gasp out, not sure why I’m out of breath.

“You ask what I want? I want this. I want you.”

“How is your English better when you’re horny?” I gripe, and Nico laughs low, but the sound makes me shiver, because there’s plans in that laugh. He steps back a pace, and he’s unbuttoning his shirt, kicking off his shoes, still giving me that intense look from before. But not having him pressed against me causes my brain to stop giving a 404 error and come back online, and with each button that comes open, my nervousness increases. Nico can tell, of course.

“Is easy, amore. Don’t think.”

“Easy for you to say,” I shoot back. “You’ve done this before.” But when he takes off both his shirts, the sight of his broad chest, thick with hair, helps me shove away some of the nerves. It’s even better when he presses himself against me again, taking my lips in a slow kiss, one rough hand cradling my head, the other undoing my buttons. Also, amore? That’s new. That’s got fireworks going off in my chest, because it means I’m not alone in this falling-fast feeling.

“English never easy for me to say,” he returns, but my brain is busy, cataloging all the ways he’s touching me, especially the hips pressed into me where something is growing rapidly. “But this? This is just us. Just together. Don’t think. I am the boss.” He steps back so I can take off my shirt, and my glasses come off too, but he catches them before they hit the ground.

Perfect. Wonderful. Kind. Hilarious. Persistent. Brave. My heart is beating out all the adjectives I love about him, and it’s distracting me from his words. He’s pulling me toward the bed, shoving down the covers, when his words land.

“You’re the boss, huh?”

“Sí. I am the boss,” he confirms, pulling me on top of him. “Now no talk.” I’m still nervous, but Nico just starts kissing me again, our bodies pressed together, and when he pulls the covers up over us even though we’ve still got pants on, I feel some of the tension melt out of me. I know this. Know him. I don’t know how. We’ve been together less than three weeks, but it’s like I’ve always known him. We stay like that for a long time, just him caressing my back, my sides while we kiss, me scratching lightly at his chest, running my fingertips along his neck and jaw.

I don’t realize how hard I’m breathing until he rolls us so that he’s on top, and need flares in my belly like I’ve never felt before. Nico sits up for a second, breathing just as hard, and his strong hands wrench his belt open. I shove my nervousness back and sit up a little because I want to see this, even without my glasses. I want it so bad. I’ve been dreaming about it, my mouth basically watering in anticipation, and the crooked smile on Nico’s face says he knows that.

“Shut up,” I say, laughing, and give him a small shove.

“What? What I say? I say nothing!” He might protest, but the way he drops his zipper and pulls himself out says he doesn’t mind. His gaze is so intense; I don’t think I could look away if I wanted to. I’m trapped here with him, under him, pulled into his orbit and his power like a planet … and I don’t mind either. And when he grabs my hand and pulls it to his cock, so warm I swear it nearly burns me, I choke out an incoherent sound.

Timidly, I grab ahold of it, but that feels wrong. I turn my hand so the backs of my fingers stroke his reddened skin, and that’s when it starts. The Italian. It’s like he’s been holding it back before, and now it all comes flooding out. Even though his cock is magnificent, just because it’s him, I find my gaze drawn to his face, and the swell of pride I feel that I’ve reduced my boyfriend to an eyes-squeezed-shut, shaky mess is new.

Wait. Shaking?

“Are you okay?” I ask low, still playing with him, this time with the uncut skin near the head.

As if in answer, Nico opens his eyes, that scorching, dark gaze now let loose on me, and I feel a little shaky myself. Reaching behind him, he grabs the sheets, pulling them up as he covers me with his body, and holy hell, how did I not know that this would be my favorite thing?

My hips buck automatically, trying to get closer to him. But my nerves resurface because my pants feel very in the way, and I don’t want my belt to scratch his tender flesh. I push on his hips, urging him up again, and the heat in his eyes when my hands go to my buckle is unbearable.

“Um, can you … ” I put one hand over my eyes, pantomiming what I want him to do, but then I feel his knuckles against my belly, working open my pants himself, and this is ten times worse, but also a thousand times better. “Uh,” I croak out. “I can’t … are you … red light?”

The fingers stop moving, and I mourn the loss of them. Nico slides back down, his weight solid and comforting. An anchor.

“I forget you are shy,” he whispers, kissing my neck. “Tell me, amore.”

“I—” His lips are making me momentarily forget what I was so afraid of as they caress my neck, but then it comes back to me. “I-I don’t want you to look at it.”

Nico shrugs. “Okay.” He covers me more fully, and the feel of his hard cock against my hip has me losing my mind a little. “You are the boss.”

My heart turns to Jell-O, wibble-wobbling around in my chest like it’s drunk on the sentiment. I didn’t mind him taking the reins earlier, but giving them back to me is somehow even more of a turn-on.

I angle my head to kiss him, but I still don’t know how to ask for what I want. Slipping my hand down between us, I grasp his cock again to try to protect him, but he lets out a groan that shoots straight down my spine. He’s mumbling something against my neck and I think it’s Italian again until my brain sorts it out.

“Touch you, amore. Need to touch you. Make it good. No look. No look, amore. Please.” He says it like a prayer, reverent and repetitious, sounding so genuine and so desperate that the combination fortifies me. It gives me enough courage to do what he did just moments ago: grab his hand and shove it down my halfway open pants.

We both moan, and I’m relieved that I don’t have to think about being quiet with his apartment empty below us and Cathie out. My brain is being swamped in sensations anyway—his hot cock in my hand, his hand wrapped around me, the weight of him pressing against my side, his soft lips on my neck. He’s jacking me painfully slowly; I’m leaking, and he’s using it to ease his path, and that’s so hot I can hardly stand it. The pressure and slide of his big, rough hand is making my eyes roll back in my head, and suddenly, I can hear my own breathing, loud and fast in the small room.

“Nico … ” I’ve forgotten to move my hand too, but he’s got it pinned against my side, rocking into me, and he doesn’t seem unhappy about it. He’s moved to kissing my chest, sucking on my nipples, and it has my blood feeling like lava, my head spinning, curse words coming into my head that never, ever do, and?—

“I put us together, amore,” he murmurs, a tinge of desperation in his voice. “Okay?”

“Yes.” I get flashbacks to me saying yes to Cath’s various manipulations, but this yes, this is different. I don’t need to know exactly what he means, because I trust him. If he wants to spread my legs, I’ll let him. My heart is in this, and even though I never meant for it not to be, it scares me a little how much.

But true to his word, he’s not looking at my dick when he eases my pants down further, and he looks so silly staring up at the ceiling that I can’t help but let a snicker escape.

“Hey, you say no look!” He sounds indignant.

“Yes,” I say, still trying to hide my smile, and I tug the sheets back up over us as he comes back down on top of me, the warmth covering us again like a wave, and I lose a little more of my heart when Nico smiles.

“My shy guy,” he says tenderly, brushing his fingertips against my face, and I wrap my arms around his neck, wanting to lose myself in him and this love that’s growing between us. Love? Yeah, love. That’s what it is. Then Nico starts to move slowly.

“Oh God,” I gasp out, finally registering what he’s doing. Our cocks slide together as he holds them in one hand, the head of his rubbing against the head of mine, and the ecstasy has me throwing back my head. “Oh, fuck.”

“Is good, amore?”

“Sì,” I manage, and his chuckle rumbles his chest like an earthquake, but then we’re too busy for talking—kissing and thrusting and stroking and letting it all come to a fever pitch, his hand working us fast as I curl myself around him and hold on for dear life. I come first, letting out a sharp cry, but I haven’t even opened my eyes yet when I hear him make a desperate, keening noise, and he follows me over. Despite my post-“doing it” haze, I look up to watch his face, and the way his mouth falls open, the way his eyebrows lift and his eyes flutter shut, the slack joy of it all. Nico rolls to his side instead of collapsing on top of me, which seems prudent given the mess. We breathe hard together, and I’m smiling, but his gaze is searching.

“Good, amore? All good?”

I kiss him in answer, feeling shimmery inside, full of glitter like those gay clubs where I never found anyone half as special as Nico, floating on the buzz of falling hard and fast in love.