10.
Jacopo watched Gracie hug Nate goodbye before climbing into the driver’s seat of Antonio’s truck, her movements easy and confident despite the six-inch heels she was wearing. He had never seen his sister dressed up to go to the club, but he shouldn’t be surprised at how easy she made it look, how comfortable she seemed in her own skin. Out of the three sisters, Gracie was the one he understood the least. Alessia and he weren’t close, but she was quiet and kept to herself, just like Jacopo. And Mirabella had once doted on him as a big brother. But Gracie had never needed him when they were younger, not like Mirabella had. And things had always been possible for Gracie, in a way that they weren’t for him. Really, what should be surprising was that they had managed to get along for a few hours the night before, that Gracie had actually deigned to have fun with him, to treat him like a friend.
Until Jacopo had ruined it.
God, what an idiot he was. Jacopo couldn’t even remember how the night had ended, just remembered waking up in one of the easy chairs in the sitting room, his head pounding from the unholy combination of limoncello and prosecco and his mouth feeling like he’d eaten a dozen cotton balls. He’d woken up at half-past two, his brain a helpless mess and his heart full of dread and his phone nearly dead, a text from hours before letting him know that Nate, Thea, and Gracie had headed to the beach. A temporary relief, because Jacopo hadn’t been in any shape to face them. Even now, his hangover finally receding, he didn’t think he could face Nate–not tonight and probably never again.
It had been the height of insanity to kiss him. Jacopo still couldn’t believe it had happened; the man who had been tangled in the bed with Nate seemed like a stranger, someone outside of himself. Or maybe someone he could have been. But it didn’t matter. He couldn’t allow himself to think about it, because if he did, he’d think about nothing else. And he was hopelessly obsessed with Nate already, in a way that would ruin him if he didn’t manage to keep it under wraps.
Which was why he was avoiding them all, skulking at the window of his cottage and watching Nate hug Thea goodbye, their two blonde heads glowing in the late afternoon sunlight. Thea was what his Nonna would call una bomba, and Jacopo was sure that a lot of the local boys would dream of her long after she left the island. Just like he would dream of Nate, if he was being honest.
Nate turned, glancing up at the cottage, and Jacopo ducked out of sight, shame flooding his body. Jesus, he was pathetic, hiding like a schoolboy with a crush. He put a hand over his heart, willing it to stop pounding. Distantly, he heard the truck door slam and the engine start up. Gracie and Thea were headed down to catch the ferry, and Nate, who hadn’t been dressed for going out, must be walking back up to the castle, now that his knee was good enough to handle the stairs. Hopefully he would stay inside all night, and Jacopo could remain in the caretaker’s hut, out of his way. Their paths wouldn’t have to cross.
Jacopo let out a sigh, patting his pockets. He’d wait a bit longer, until he was sure Nate had gone into the castle, and then he would go out and smoke. Get his head right. He’d been needing a cigarette all day. And then–no, he wouldn’t think about it. Wouldn’t think about the long night, the bed that still bore the imprint of Nate’s body. He would clean the house. Wash his sheets, scrub the memory of Nate’s touch off his countertops and floors. And Nate and Thea and Gracie would spend a wonderful week together, and Jacopo, and the big, stupid, insane mistake he’d made would fade into the background without any issues.
There was a knock on the door.
For a moment, he thought about not answering it.
“Hey.” Nate’s hair was tousled and his eyes were like sea glass in the light of the sinking sun, and Jacopo felt his mouth dry up and his resolve to stay away from Nate shrivel into nothing. “Can we talk?”
“Nate, I am so sorry. I am–a thousand times sorry, I was an idiot, I–”
“Don’t.” Nate put a hand on his arm, and Jacopo leaned into it despite himself. “You don’t need to apologize. I liked it. I like you.” He bit his lip. Jacopo watched the indentation Nate’s teeth made in the flesh, his ears ringing. “And I know you’re not out, and usually that would be a dealbreaker, but–but we’re stuck here together for another month or so and I really don’t think I can just–ignore everything for that long, so, so–”
“Nate.”
Nate groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “God, I’m bad at this,” he said. “Look, do you want to be with me? Just, like, for a little bit? Like, a summer fling?”
“A summer fling?” Jacopo was just repeating words at this point; his brain had stopped producing any coherent thoughts.
“Yeah, just until I inherit the castle. No one would have to know but us. And then we can both go our separate ways, no strings attached.” Nate’s fingers tightened on Jacopo’s arm, and he looked up into his eyes, lips parted, a flush creeping down his neck. Jacopo saw him swallow, tracked the movement of his Adam’s apple.
“Nate, I–”
“It’s fine if you don’t,” Nate said quickly. “I understand.”
“No, I–” His brain was white-hot and fizzling, and he couldn’t figure out what to say. In a way it was a relief. Flings weren’t serious. Flings had a time limit. It was controlled, safe, just like he had told Nate his horror novels were. But Jacopo didn’t deserve this. And control or not, he wasn’t sure his heart could take it. He felt the bottom drop out of his stomach as he admitted, “I want to. But Nate, I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Well, that’s not a problem.” Nate looked down, hooking a finger through one of Jacopo’s belt loops, then back up at him. “I mean, I do.”
Time seemed to skip and they were kissing, Jacopo’s fingers trembling as he struggled to peel up the hem of Nate’s t-shirt. Somehow they had ended up in the ducal chambers, though Jacopo didn’t remember getting there, and Nate’s mouth was hot and insistent and glued to his. There was a syrupy, almost bitter taste on his tongue, and Jacopo pulled back, licking his lips.
“Um. Do I taste like booze?” Nate asked, his face growing even redder than before. “Sorry. I was nervous about talking to you, so I had a couple shots of grappa.”
“Shots? The grappa is not for taking shots.”
“I know, it was terrible. Should I–”
Jacopo shook his head, pulling Nate’s lips back to his, kissing away the tang of the alcohol until nothing remained but the natural sweetness of his mouth. Needing to memorize the flavor of him, the salt of his sweat and the firm, strong lines of his body. Like a starving man at a feast, he had to make the most of this, had to file away every memory and every sensation and every little spark of feeling that he could.
They were on the bed now, and Nate’s shirt was off, Jacopo kissing and sucking at his chest. He found the mark he had left there the morning before and gentled it with his tongue, murmuring apologies into Nate’s tender skin. Nate let out a gasp that turned into a curse, and then he was pulling Jacopo back up to kiss him, long and lingering, and it was Jacopo’s turn to gasp as Nate’s confident fingers began to undo his belt buckle.
“Is this okay?” Nate’s face was flushed, his pupils dilated. There were patches of red on his neck: irritation, from Jacopo’s stubble. He had marked him. The thought inspired a kind of madness in Jacopo, and he nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
Nate told him to lie back, and he was leaning over him, helping Jacopo out of his shirt and trousers. His lips skimmed Jacopo’s forehead, his temple. The tenderness of it made Jacopo ache. His cock was embarrassingly hard and embarrassingly obvious, and Nate let out a breathless little laugh as he freed Jacopo from his underwear.
“Nice.”
Well, at least that wouldn’t be a problem. If he lasted long enough to do anything with it.
Jacopo didn’t know what came next. He lay as if paralyzed on the bed, naked, his breath shallow and his chest tight. The last thing he wanted was to ruin this, to make it go sideways into awkwardness and shame the way those other few encounters had done. Nate had stood up and was getting undressed, and without the warmth of his body, Jacopo felt very cold and very exposed. He wished for a moment that it was dark, so that Nate wouldn’t have to see him, his skinny arms and his ribs, the hair on his chest that was beginning to go gray. He almost wished that he didn’t have to see Nate, because the full effect of his nude body, after so many glimpses and so many hours of imagining, was like a punch to the diaphragm.
Jacopo forgot how to think for a moment. Nate was leaning over him now, an angel from a Renaissance painting. The afternoon light seemed made to caress each plane of his body, his muscled abdomen, his strong thighs, the exquisite curve of his ass. Jacopo whispered his name, unable to say anything else. He let a hand trail over Nate’s lower belly, his hip. He was circumcised, which Jacopo had never seen in person before, his cock sleek and pretty and flushed, just like his cheeks, like his chest.
“Tell me what you want,” Nate said.
Christ. Everything. Face burning, Jacopo tore his gaze away from Nate’s groin. Looking him in the eyes wasn’t any better. His stomach flip-flopped, and his breath caught in his throat.
“I mean, tell me what you’re comfortable with,” Nate added. He smoothed a strand of hair off Jacopo’s forehead. “If it’s your first time—“
“It’s not. I’m—I’m maybe not good at this. I’m not very experienced. But I want—I want whatever you want, Nate.”
Nate’s gaze trailed down Jacopo’s body. “Is that so?” He put a hand on him, gently, his fingers feather-light. “Because I really want you to fuck me.”
It was a miracle that Jacopo didn’t explode right there. “Yes,” he said, or thought he said, over the blood roaring in his ears.
Nate kissed him, hard and breathless, and Jacopo kissed back, losing himself, letting himself be taken over. Nate was stroking him, brisk, expert strokes that had Jacopo dancing too close to the edge. He groaned in a mixture of relief and frustration when Nate took his hand away.
There was the crinkle of a wrapper. Nate had gotten a hold of a condom somehow–another first for Jacopo–and was rolling it onto him, and Jacopo was grateful for the novelty of it, for the barrier between them, because it took his mind momentarily off of Nate’s hooded eyes and the intent look on his face and the way his teeth grazed his lower lip. The lubricant that had so embarrassed Jacopo before had appeared as well, and he felt the coolness of it, muted through the latex, as Nate spread it over his cock. Nate was doing something to himself with his other hand, something that Jacopo couldn’t see, but the slick sound of his fingers working there, in that most intimate of places, suffused Jacopo with dark heat. He wanted to touch him there, wanted to see Nate’s face while he did it. He wanted–God, too many things, and now Nate was sinking onto him with a little sigh and it was too much, the tight heat of his body was sweet torture and Jacopo knew he couldn’t last, could barely breathe, or think, or remember who he was.
Nate began to move, rocking above him slowly, and Jacopo pressed his face against Nate’s neck. A whimper escaped his lips. This was impossible, he was going insane; his whole world was the little sounds Nate was making and the way his abdomen flexed and the glazed look of pleasure in his eyes. Even when Jacopo closed his eyes, trying to concentrate, trying to stretch this out, to think of anything else–English verbs, Latin declensions–agricola, agricolae, agricolae, agricolam–he was unraveling, the words were spinning away, and he barely had the presence of mind to gasp out, “Nate, I can’t, I–”
“It’s okay. It’s okay, just touch me.” And he laced his hand around Jacopo’s, bringing it to his cock, so that they were both stroking him off as Jacopo’s thoughts skittered away like a skein of broken pearls and his mouth fell open and he came.
*
Nate woke up to Jacopo scattering kisses down his neck, his strong, fine hands gripping his hips. It was dark in the bedroom, the summer night leaden and close, and Nate made a pleased little noise as he arched his back, pressing into Jacopo’s embrace.
“Okay?” Jacopo’s breath was hot against his ear, and his hand had crept down to the cleft of Nate’s ass, finding him puffy there and still a little sore. A good, satisfying soreness, like after a workout.
“More than okay,” Nate said, craning his neck to kiss Jacopo’s jaw, his throat. “I thought you didn’t know what you were doing.”
“I don’t.” His teeth grazed Nate’s earlobe, and Nate’s eyelids fluttered and his nails dug into the bedspread as Jacopo slid a finger inside of him. “But as you said, I like learning.”
*
Dawn was seeping in through the window, spreading over the two of them like oil as they lay entangled in the bed. “We should sleep,” Nate said between kisses. He traced a hand along Jacopo’s jaw, admiring the angles of him. “The girls will be back on the ferry in a few hours.” At least, he assumed they would be. He hadn’t checked his phone in hours, had no idea where it might even be. Probably on the floor somewhere with the box of condoms that he’d upended in his hurry and the mess of blankets that they’d kicked off during the night. The bedroom was a disaster zone, and so was Nate, his body shivery and aching in all the right places and his hair a sweaty shock, standing up from his forehead.
“Mm.” Jacopo kissed his collarbone, the dip between his pecs. Nate really hoped Thea wouldn’t want to go to the beach today; his chest was covered in rugburn from Jacopo’s beard, and he was running out of excuses for why he needed to keep his shirt on. “In a little bit.”
“I mean it.” He ran a hand through Jacopo’s hair, and Jacopo caught a hold of his wrist, kissing his palm, brushing his lips over his pulse. “We can’t look like we’ve been up all night.”
“Who could sleep, Nate? With you here beside him like this?” Jacopo settled over him, their noses grazing. His hand cupped Nate’s dick, and somehow Nate felt himself getting hard again.
“You really do have a way with words,” he said, and sank back into the sun-warmed sheets as Jacopo leaned in and their lips slid together once more and–
A door slammed, somewhere below. Nate froze, his heart stuttering against his ribs. He hadn’t locked the front door to the castle last night. It had hardly seemed important with everything else going on. But now someone was tromping up the stairs–two someones, making the kind of elephant-like clamor that only a couple of hungover girls in stilettos can do.
“Naaaaaaate!” Thea was calling his name up the stairwell. “Nathan Bilbo Baggins Bartholomew Schaferrrrr, are you alive? Are you decent?”
“Oh my God.” Nate put a hand over his face. “That’s not even my name.”
“What should we do?” Jacopo asked.
Nate studied him for one last moment, the way the morning light gilded his features, the silver hair at his temples. Craning his neck, he kissed Jacopo, soft and deliberate. “Hold that thought,” he murmured.
“This one?” Jacopo’s hand was still on Nate’s erection, which, woefully, hadn’t gone down despite the encroaching danger of Thea on the stairs.
Nate chuckled. “Yeah, we’ll have to revisit that. Go hide in the bathroom for now. I’ll make some excuse to get them out of the castle, and then you can go home.”
“Nate.” Jacopo looked like he wanted to say more, but Thea was pounding on the door to the ducal chambers.
“I’m showering. I’ll be there in a second,” Nate called. Turning back to Jacopo, he forced lightness into his tone. “This was fun,” he said. “Let’s do it again soon.”