Candy Hearts, Vol. 2

Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

NICO

“Buon San Valentino, amore,” I say, lifting my glass. We’re in my apartment this time, because Cathie had her own date for the holiday. It’s strange how much the place has changed, just having Greg in it. True, I took the time apart to settle in more, putting up pictures of the family, getting a tablecloth, buying some dishes that require washing. But he’s the one who’s making it feel like home. Sitting cross-legged on the hardwood across from me, face glowing in the candlelight, Greg’s giving me that shy smile again, and he clinks my glass in a toast.

“Happy Valentine’s Day. This was a good solution,” he says, nodding to the Chinese food in front of us. “A compromise.”

“Un compromesso,” I agree, because he’s practicing his Italian now—far more than he ever practiced his French horn. We spent a few hours earlier doing a campus tour at San Francisco State University, even though he’s going to finish out the year at the conservatory. The glow on his face the whole time was unbearably precious. “Wait—I get you something.”

“We said no presents!” Greg protests as I get up and go into the bedroom, and I just chuckle. He should know this about me by now—I could never let the holiday go by without marking it with a gift. I hand him the newspaper-wrapped book, and with a playfully condemnatory look, he eagerly rips off the covering.

“Oh, yes ,” he says gleefully, opening the thick book immediately.

“You ignore me now all night?” I tease, and he grins, but keeps his eyes on the page.

“Maybe,” he teases back. “Oh, this is great. I’ve been wanting to learn more about R—and I’m impressed that you found this! Where did you get it?”

“Un segreto,” I say, deadpan. “I also have secrets.”

“Grazie, amore,” Greg says, putting the book down to lean across the food and kiss me deeply. “I love it. But I feel bad that I didn’t get you anything.”

“Mmm,” I pretend to muse. “Have an idea.”

“Oh?” he says, picking up one of the takeout containers to dump some lo mein onto his bright yellow plate. “Dimmi.”

I put my hand over his to still his movements. “Is better before we eat.” Greg gets that slightly glazed look that he often gets right before we have sex, and a slow smile spreads across my face.

“Won’t the food get cold?” he says, even as he gets to his feet, and I just point to the microwave we got at the thrift store as I follow him into the bedroom. Greg strips off his shirt, and I do too, taking in the beauty of him all over again—his strong back, his lean form, his cute ass and his golden hair, still my sunshine in the San Francisco chill. I grab him before he can get to his pants, pulling him against my bare chest from behind. I rub a hand over his nipple, making it stand up.

“I can look today?”

“Still no,” he says with a sniff, and I chuckle as I press my hips into him, banding my other arms around his waist for leverage.

“Must show sometime,” I say.

“Says who?” His breathing is getting heavier already, and I enjoy the feeling of him responding to me like this. My shy love; my sweet, sexy nerd. Mine. All mine.

“Mm,” I say. “Fine. No show.” Without warning, I move my hands down and grope around a little until I find his belt, pulling the end through the buckle, and he groans. I find his growing prick and give him a little squeeze, caressing the velvety skin. Greg lets his head fall back onto my shoulder; I love it when he gives me his trust like this, knowing I am strong enough to support him, knowing I have his back.

“But I forget to punish you.”

He goes still at that, then his voice comes out breathy. “Pardon?”

“You were a very bad boy to lie to me. I punish you now.”

Tugging him by one arm over to the bed, I sit down on the edge, but I keep my eyes on his face, as promised. His eyes are wide, but they say to me yes, yes, please yes. I pull him to his knees to avoid the temptation to peek and kiss him for a long time, bringing him back to that soft place where I need him.

“If you no like, you say red light as before, sí, amore?”

“Sí,” he agrees readily, and I chuckle. Then I lean back and pat my legs. “Lie down.” It took some time with the dictionary, but I think I know all the commands I’ll need to “punish” my boyfriend. Playing with him is worth any cost I can think of, certainly my study time.

His nose crinkles. “On my back?”

Oh, now I’m picturing that, me curved over him, taking his cock (without looking) in my mouth as he moans and writhes with nothing to hold on to, his head dropped back in ecstasy …

“No, the stomach,” I clarify. “See? You say I no need body words, but look.”

Greg smirks as he gets to his feet and drapes himself beautifully across my knees. “No, I said you wouldn’t need them for the driving test . And you didn’t.”

It’s true; he did a wonderful job preparing me, and I am now a fully licensed driver in California. Now I just need to save up for a car. I massage his strong back a little before I reach under my pillow for the oil, then add some to my hands as I continue.

“Mmm,” he sighs contentedly, pillowing his head on his folded arms. “This doesn’t feel like a punishment.”

“It not start yet. Be patient.”

Greg pinches my leg behind the knee, and I lay a stinging slap on his still-covered ass in retaliation, just to test the waters. I watch closely as his mouth drops open, and a small “oh” comes out.

“Good, amore?” I can’t help it; I know I’m not a good boy like him, but I want his reassurance, his buy-in, before we go further.

“Yeah, good,” he says, and I urge him up so I can work his pants down a little. But not all the way … he’ll feel the game more if I leave them on. I work a little oil onto his prick so it doesn’t chafe against my leg, and he groans.

“Can’t I … ” He already sounds a little spacey, and he seems to lose his words as I spank him on his bare skin this time.

“Can’t you what, amore? What does a wicked boy ask for?”

“I … ”

I deliver a smack to the other cheek—not too hard, but it’s a little red now. Greg moans and hides his face as I go back and forth, delivering blows with slightly more force than before. The way he’s bucking against my leg has my own dick feeling needy, and I’m half tempted to have him turn his head and put his mouth to good use … but I don’t know if he wants that. I pause to rub his rosy flesh; he’s had about enough, I think. But he lifts his head and gazes at me through glassy eyes.

“Why’d you stop?”

“You no want sit down tomorrow?” I run my fingers through his hair, and he closes his eyes at the tender contact.

“Just a little more,” he pleads. “I’m almost there.” He swallows hard. “And I’ve been terrible.”

“Oh?” I say, popping him again. “Tell to me your sins.”

“I didn’t tell you about the letter,” he says, planting his feet to rut against me harder.

“Bad boy,” I agree. “And?”

“I got a parking ticket driving Cathie’s car and I forgot to pay it.”

God, even his sins are adorable. “Naughty one.”

Greg makes a low, desperate noise in the back of his throat, and it makes all my studying worth it. My blood is on fire, desperate to press him into the bed behind us and make him feel so good he cries out.

“I’m quitting the conservatory.”

That one brings me out of my need for a moment. I watch his face as I massage his ass, adding more oil. “Amore, this is corragio, not sins.”

He ducks his head and mumbles into his arms. “Feels like failure, though.”

“You no fail,” I tell him firmly. “You just … turn on a new road. New highway. Use the signal; no problem.” That’s when I realize his laugh is caught up in a sob. “Oh, amore. Come here.”

I give him a hand up, then tuck us into bed like I did that first time and kiss him again, wiping his tears, enveloping him in my arms, whispering that he is good, that he is my love, that everything will be fine. That he is brave and strong to change his life, that I am so proud of him. Some of this I must whisper in Italian, but he seems to know. Greg rests his head on my shoulder with a shuddery sigh.

“Sorry, I don’t know where that came from.”

“From your heart. More body parts. See? Very useful.”

Greg laughs, then kisses me again. I thought the sex was over, but then Greg works a hand between us, tugging gently at me, and when I groan, he disappears under the covers, out of sight. From the lump under my covers, I can see that he’s on his knees, ass in the air, probably chafing against the sheet from the way we played, and I throw my arm over my eyes as he takes me in his mouth. He’s not great at it—not yet, anyway—but he’s clearly giving it his best effort.

“That’s right. Suck me. Lick me. Show me what a dirty boy does.” When Greg moans around my cock, it just gets harder from the vibration, and I gasp.

Maybe by the summer, I’ll convince him to lie naked with me where I can appreciate all of him, but today, this is good … and I no longer have any doubt that we’ll still be together in the summer. I want five hundred summers with him—warm California days and clear Italian nights and wherever he wants to be. As long as it’s with me.

A new urge surges to the forefront of my mind: I want to fuck him, but my words are failing me. I pull on his shoulders until he lets go of his new toy, his blond head emerging from the dark.

“Yes?”

“On your belly.”

I feel him shudder where we touch and his gaze goes hot. “More punishment?”

Yeah, I can do both. I nod and we trade places. It’s no burden for me to rub and smack that beautiful ass as I open him up. We haven’t done this before, and I make sure I spend plenty of time and oil on the prep. I’m not sure he even knows the goal I have in mind until he starts pushing back against my fingers, meeting my gentle thrusts. He hardly sounds like himself when he starts to beg.

“Fuck me, Nico. Please. I need you. I want you on top of me.” For once we’re on the same page, language barrier be damned. And when I roll on a condom and slowly sink into his heat, squeezing the lightly reddened flesh of his ass, the sounds he makes are everything.

“Those are bad words,” I chastise him sternly. “Not for nice boys.”

Greg bucks against me, trying to get me to move in and out, and I oblige, being so careful to go slow, but loving watching my cock disappear and reappear, admiring my own handprint on his ass.

“More,” he growls, trying to reach back for me, and I respond by pulling his hips up higher and picking up speed, even as I take his flailing hand and let him cling to me. The new angle is hitting his prostate, and he starts to pant unevenly. But even the scorching sight of my bent-over boyfriend doesn’t compare to the sweetness of holding his hand while I give him exactly what he needs.

I feel his muscles start to contract just before he comes, but I don’t let go, riding him through as he climaxes. It only takes a few more snaps of my hips for me to follow him into the stratosphere, above the fog, into the stars. I know what awaits us: silly conversation and cold Chinese, doing the dishes together, maybe a walk, hand in hand. But for now, I just hold him. I just hold the best thing I nearly didn’t get if not for meddling roommates, the best thing I almost let slip through my fingers because of my pride. And I’m not letting go.