Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Damian
I’m sitting on the couch, watching the draft in one of the windows ruffle the curtains when I hear the door to the bedroom open. Alessio comes stumbling out, panting for breath, sweat on his brow and frustration on his features.
He heads to the kitchen, and his fingers grasp the counter tightly.
My first thought is that something is wrong, very wrong. I check the door. I check the windows. I stride to the bedroom quickly, open the door, and see nothing but Rosalie tossing over to her other side in bed. But no intruder, no gun shots in the windows, no glass scattered everywhere.
With a huff, I close the door and then turn back to Alessio, confused.
“What’s going on?” I ask him, voice low.
Alessio is searching the cabinets high and low, like a mad man.
“There has to be something here, there has to be,” he mumbles, over and over again.
I watch as he tosses several things to the side in the cabinet, pulling things out, looking at them, swearing to himself and then shoving them back in.
Finally, he opens the fridge and growls under his breath.
“There has to be something, I need something…”
I realize what he means.
“There’s no alcohol here,” I assure him, though this only seems to agitate him more.
“I need it,” he tells me, his hands shaking, his eyes wild. “I need…something.”
I shake my head. “You’re not going to find anything here, Alessio.”
He steps closer to me. “Then go get me something,” he orders me. “Just…anything, I don’t care. Mouthwash, for fucks sake!” Alessio hisses.
“What is going on?” I ask him.
He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. Don’t…think about it. I can’t think about it.” He puts a hand up and closes his eyes for a moment and then his eyes shoot open like he can’t stand to have them closed.
I step closer to him. “You’re not going to find anything here,” I repeat. “This place is for safety, not for partying, Alessio. Whatever’s going on, you need to handle it before you draw attention to us.”
“You’re going to draw attention to us!” He growls out at me. “Just…stop! Stop it!”
I take a breath and put a hand on my forehead for a moment. “You’re being reckless, Alessio,” I tell him.
He stops and glares at me. “Shut up.”
“No.” I plant my feet the ground. Prepared for him to come at me in his anger, in his…pain. I can see it in his eyes. The pain there. Hot and irritated.
Broken.
I don’t know why, but I know that whatever he is dealing with, he needs an outlet for it.
“You were reckless at the rehearsal too. Getting high beforehand, drinking while on…whatever drugs you were taking. Now you’re looking for something to take the edge off.
Well there isn’t anything. Except your damn cigarettes.
But that’s not enough, is it? You’ve gotten yourself in trouble, haven’t you?
” My voice is rough but calm, and that seems to upset Alessio, who can’t keep his voice from wavering.
“You don’t know me,” he tells me with his eyes glistening.
I step closer to him. “I could,” I tell him. “I could know you.”
I shouldn’t be doing this, but I can’t stop getting closer to him. I can’t stop myself from wanting to be closer to him.
“I don’t even know if I can trust you,” he spits out at me.
I laugh softly in disbelief. “After I saved your life?” I ask him. “You really think I’d do anything to hurt you?”
“Oh God,” Alessio puts his hands on his head and tears start to stream down his face with all of his frustration. “This. This is hurting me,” he tells me.
“What?” I ask him, trying to understand. “Tell me.”
“This,” he motions between us. “Whatever is going on between us. This…tension, this—gah! All I can think about is you…and…then my father. My father would hate me. He would hate me for it.”
I blink at him. “Your father would hate me?” I ask him, trying my best to understand.
He shakes his head and steps closer. “No, you don’t—you don’t get it,” he tells me, and bites at his bottom lip for a moment.
“My father hated that I’m…gay. He hated that all of his sons were fags.
He tried not to act like it, he tried to act like he was okay with it, for Carmine’s sake. But me? He told me I was…”
I step closer to him. “Alessio,” I whisper, and put a hand on his shoulder.
“I was five, maybe…no, seven. I was just a kid. He told me I needed to do better. I needed to marry a woman. In the back of my head, I always thought…I’m not going to do what he wants me to do.
I spent years kissing men, fucking them behind his back.
But no. Look at me; I have.” Alessio huffs and shrugs away from my hand on his shoulder.
“He’s dead,” I remind him. “Fuck what he thought.”
Alessio shakes his head again. “I can’t forget. I can’t…stop this. I can’t stop feeling…” he steps closer to me and there’s a pained expression on his face. “I can’t stop wanting you, Damian.”
My eyes widen even more, but I can’t ignore my own desire welling up inside me. Two distinct ones.
Comfort Alessio.
Fuck Alessio.
Two things that aren’t usually paired with each other—not in my life. It’s been ages since I last had sex and it wasn’t exactly a comforting time. If anything, it was just a distraction.
“You can’t,” I tell him. “Not because of your father…fuck him, but you’re a mess, Alessio.”
He cries and sits down on the couch, putting his head in his hands.
“I can’t believe I married her. Rosalie,” he hisses out.
“I did exactly what my father wanted me to do. And Carmine… Oh, he gets whatever he wants. Now that Father’s dead.
He gets to be the head of our family, he gets the guy, he gets… everything.”
I frown and sit down next to him, scooting closer, trying to ignore the urge to reach out and touch him, but it’s damn near impossible.
I glance over at the clock nearby. Eleven forty-two.
I look toward the windows and the doors. Nothing there.
I look toward the closed bedroom door, no movement.
There’s nothing else left for me to look at, except Alessio. He’s all I can focus on.
I reach over to him and put a hand over one of his fists.
“What do you need?” I ask him. “Besides booze, pills—besides being reckless. Tell me, tell me what you need and you’ll have it.”
I’m not sure what I expect. I just watch as Alessio takes a deep breath and moves in closer to me. He leans his head on my shoulder for a moment.
I wrap my arms around him, not needing him to say it to know what he means. He wants to be held by me. I can do that.
I can do that one simple thing. Just hold him. There’s nothing wrong with that. I’m not breaking any rules. He’s not cheating on his wife.
I’m just holding the man while he melts down.
Alessio turns his face into my shoulder though, and I feel his tears drip down my neck and I shiver. His nose rubs up the side of my throat.
Before I know it, I’m pulling him in closer to me, until he’s practically in my lap.
“Tell me you don’t feel this?” Alessio says through his tears. His hand slides onto my chest, just over my heart. “Tell me this doesn’t make you feel…”
My body is as hot as ever. Goosebumps cover my arms and neck, and I know that the man in my lap can feel how aroused I am. My hard length is pressed against the bottom of one of his thighs.
It feels wrong though. He’s upset. He’s literally crying. Yet, he’s also clinging to me like a life raft in the ocean.
“I can’t,” I mumble.
“Why?” he asks. “Because you shouldn’t? Fuck that. Fuck this.” Alessio breathes against my throat. “My father…he can’t—he can’t be right. I can’t listen to his voice in my head; I need something else. I need what I really want. I don’t want Rosalie.”
I squeeze my eyes closed, knowing what he’s about to say next and knowing that I’m not going to be able to resist if he says those words.
“I want you, Damian.”
It’s over for me.
At least right now.
An explosion of desire sets off in my chest and head like a bomb. Like a firework being set off into the vast icy sky.
I don’t know why Alessio wants me, why he’s chosen me, but it doesn’t matter.
I’m so incredibly attracted to him and drawn to him that all I care about in this moment is getting even closer to him.
I take a slow breath, and my next words comes out shaky. “Then you have me.”
I tilt my head down and meet Alessio in the middle. His mouth presses to mine, tasting of salty tears and repressed emotions. He kisses me with all of the fervor of a man forced to keep it inside for far too long.
Wrapping my arms around him more tightly, I kiss him back passionately. The kiss isn’t slow or delicate. No, it’s wet and messy. My tongue slips into Alessio’s mouth and his greets mine eagerly.
His hands, with lithe shaky fingers, searches my chest, caressing and rubbing. I slide my own hand up the back of his shirt and feel the scars on his back. Small ones, but enough to know he’s been hurt in more ways than one.
I trace each of those scars with my fingers as we kiss, and he moans softly into my mouth.
Alessio’s hand finally gets to the bottom of my shirt, but he doesn’t slide his fingers into the hem, no, he goes downwards. Down into my lap.
“What do you want?” I ask him breathlessly against his mouth.
“I want t-to taste you,” he tells me. “I need it. Put me on my knees and take my mouth, Damian.”
It’s not what I expect. I expect that he would want to be the dominant one in this situation. To have me on my knees. Or to do something together. Something that might, potentially, be more comforting. No, instead the man is desperately sliding down onto the floor in front of me on the couch.
“Tell me,” he insists.
I swallow, trying to help my dry throat, and I choke the words out. “On your knees, Alessio.”
I use one hand to push at his shoulder until he’s down on his knees completely, and he starts to pull at my sweats until my cock springs out from the waistband.
His face is still wet as he looks up at me.