Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Joey
“No.”
“There’s only one bed, so there’s only one option. We have to share it. It’s a king. You’ll be fine.”
Frankie wasn’t technically wrong, but I didn’t want to admit it. I refused to say the word right. He wouldn’t get the satisfaction of that, even in my head.
“I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“That’s not gonna be good for your shoulder. You won’t have support on one side, or you’ll hit the back of the sofa on the other.”
“Great point. You sleep on the couch.”
“I don’t want to.”
And there was The Tone. It was the one Frankie used when he’d already made a decision, and the only thing that would change his mind was dynamite—and that was only because he would be dead, so it wouldn’t matter. As a rule, he never changed his mind. Ever. Goddammit.
Sleeping next to this fucker would be torture.
I’d managed to go nearly my entire life without being in close contact with him.
Once in a shed was more than enough, and now here I was, faced with it again, and I didn’t even have a good argument for why he should give up the bed for me—other than I was a big goddamn baby who didn’t want to sleep next to him.
“We’ll put up a wall of pillows. You’ll be fine. Your honor is safe. We won’t tell anyone we didn’t have a proper chaperone.”
I gave him a look that I hoped conveyed how much I wanted him to fuck off. He didn’t smile, but I saw the spark in his eyes. I didn’t need to see it on his face. His expression stayed bland, but I caught it anyway. Absolute asshole.
Admitting defeat was too painful, so I stared at him instead and gave him the same deadpan look he gave me. He had the decency to look slightly uncomfortable. I hoped it was because he knew he was being an asshole by not giving up the bed. Yeah…probably not.
“How about we leave it long enough to unpack your clothes and get something to eat?”
“Why are you always trying to shove food down my throat? If I were hungry, I’d get something.”
“Do you think I don’t know you well enough to know when you’re hungry? Put your stuff on the bed. I’ll put it in the drawers for you. I’m going to figure out something for dinner.”
With that, Frankie turned on his heel and walked out of the room. He didn’t have the decency to slam the door. Instead, I heard the quiet click of the latch catching, which pissed me off more than a slam would’ve.
Why the fuck did this man never lose his temper?
I lived in perpetual annoyance, and he was so goddamn calm all the time that it just annoyed me more.
It would be nice if he’d get messy once in a while—get his hair out of place or his clothes dirty.
Even when he was on the job, he was always tidy, never messy, never sloppy, and the reason I dreaded the thought that the fuck-up was mine.
And I didn’t know how I would live with myself if something happened to anyone I was responsible for protecting—even if that included Frankie. Fuck, especially that asshole, Frankie Curuso.
“Mmmm.”
The heat next to me drew me closer and closer. Every time I even considered moving away, something kept me anchored to the warmth. After a while, I gave up trying to fight it and decided it was easier to stay comfortable.
When I’d gone to bed last night, I’d been stiff as a board, studiously keeping to my side of the bed as promised.
After slamming a few pillows between us, I’d pulled the blanket up to my chin and contemplated the life choices that had brought me to this spot with this asshole next to me.
The one who didn’t even have the decency to snore or make weird noises while he slept.
This motherfucker was the perfect bed partner—and that pissed me off too.
“You’re thinking too much. Go to sleep,” a raspy voice murmured in the dark.
It almost sounded like Frankie, but there was no goddamn way he’d be whispering in my ear, so I knew it wasn’t him. Instead, I snuggled closer with my pillow…made of bare skin?
“Joey, go to sleep.” The raspy voice ordered me again, and this time it didn’t seem open for discussion.
I was fucking exhausted. Rather than fighting, I followed the instructions and drifted back to my dream.
“Shit, it’s cold.”
I woke just long enough to register it. The heat from earlier had disappeared, and even wrapped up in the down comforter, I was cold as shit.
“Sorry, baby.” Frankie’s voice was in my ear as his arms circled me like a vice.
With a strength that shouldn’t have surprised me, he hauled me against his chest, threw one leg over me, and tightened his arms like a steel band around me. Instantly, the heat I’d been missing seeped into my bones and the shivering stopped.
I knew I should move away. I wanted to move away.
But I wasn’t. The fight between my brain and some other part of me—probably my dick—was going strong.
My dick won. I wanted to pretend it was involuntary, but I could’ve fought him off.
I could’ve broken his arm. I could’ve shoved him away.
Instead, I snuggled closer to the warmth and pretended we were kids again.
That fucking day in the shed. When I’d learned to hate him.
“You’re thinking again,” Frankie said softly. “What can’t you at least wait until the sun’s up?”
“I’m thinking about the shed.”
“Oh fuck, Joey.”
“What?”
“I think about the shed a lot too.”
“Oh, fuck me, no you don’t,” I grumbled. “I’d bet my whole fucking salary you haven’t thought about it since the day it happened.”
Somehow, Frankie’s hand found the back of my neck, his long fingers kneading hard at the tight knot of muscle there.
“Yeah, I do. I know how badly I fucked up that day.” Frankie’s words hung in the air like a heavy blanket. “I should’ve told my dad to fuck off. And I never told you I was sorry.”
“I knew it was an accident. It wasn’t the cut that pissed me off anyway.”
“What was it then?”
“That you were ashamed of being with someone like me.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Even in the dark, I saw him pull back so he could look me in the eyes.
“Everybody knew my dad was a rat, and everyone knew how important yours was. Your dad might have gotten over you being gay, but he sure as shit wouldn’t have gotten over you being with me.”
“And that’s where you’re wrong. He only pretended to be okay with me being gay after Matteo came out, and then it was fine because he couldn’t say shit about it. He was never fine with having a gay kid.”
Frankie paused, taking a shuddering breath. Somehow, in that moment, the rest of the world faded to black, and it was just the two of us. There was no other reason for us to be confessing our goddamn secrets.
I felt so fucking stupid—and never more safe.
In this little room in the middle of nowhere, there were no prying eyes or questions and no reason to not taste what I’d been missing.
I snaked my good arm around Frankie’s neck and pulled him closer.
When our mouths touched, it was tentative and unsure for what must have been less than half a second before Frankie took control.
Frankie’s hand moved up and gripped the back of my skull, his fingertips pressing firmly against my skin. Waves of white washed over me, and I couldn’t remember a single reason I’d ever given myself to fight this.
Then Frankie’s tongue slid into my mouth, exploring every inch of it. His soft lips pressed against mine over and over as he tasted me, and if I could’ve died right there on the spot, I would’ve gone as a pretty fucking happy man.
“Babe, we gotta watch your shoulder,” Frankie whispered when he finally drew back.
“Fuck my arm. It’s fine,” I answered roughly and tried to pull his mouth back to mine, but he stiffened and held himself up.
“I’m not going to be the reason you get hurt more,” Frankie answered firmly. My body betrayed me because my dick got hard at his tone. I had no idea a Daddy kink was on my radar, but damned if I didn’t like it.
I didn’t have time to think about any of that because his fingers moved lower, tracing over the ridged muscles of my stomach before nudging beneath the waistband of my sleep pants and circling my cock.
Whatever embarrassment I felt about being overeager disappeared when his long fingers wrapped around me.
His thumb brushed over the slit at the spongy head, collecting the bead of precum gathered there.
My entire body shuddered as he traced around the head and then found the sensitive nerves beneath it.
A thick vein ran along the underside. He followed it with his fingers before cupping my balls and squeezing gently while I panted against his ear.
“Fuck, that feels good.”
I completely pushed aside the ache radiating down my arm.
“Is your shoulder okay?” Frankie asked softly.
Each word was punctuated by a slow stroke along my cock. I pushed my hips toward his palm, hoping for more friction, but when I didn’t answer right away, he backed off.
I groaned harshly and tried to pull him back to me, but he stiffened. Moving him was like trying to relocate a mountain.
“If you want more, you’re gonna need to answer me,” Frankie murmured against my throat. My hips jerked forward in a desperate attempt to get any relief, but he kept his lower body pulled away from mine. I was left with nothing but air.
“Fuck. It’s fine. I’m fine. Just put your hands on my cock.”
His fingers on me had broken something inside, and if it took begging to get it back, then fuck it. Call me a dog. Where the desperation came from didn’t matter because unless he gave me some relief, there was a very real possibility I wouldn’t make it through the night.
“Give me an answer.”
“It doesn’t hurt that bad. It’s fine.”
“So that means it does hurt,” he said blandly.
Like he’d promised, after I answered the question, he dropped slightly. This asshole was holding a plank over me just to prove a goddamn point, but I was getting the tiniest bit of friction back, so I kept my mouth shut about how that was some bullshit.
“Fine. Technically, it hurts,” I ground out.