10. Chapter 10 - Emiliano
C ole and I have been stuck in the basement together for the past five hours, torturing the dirty cop. Technically, I’m not stuck here. I could’ve left hours ago. After all, he knows exactly what he’s doing and doesn’t need assistance. Especially not from me. But he looks so tired with his droopy eyes and the frown on his face. I can’t help but wonder if I’m the one who made him this way. Because I’m an asshole. He told me he loved me, and I rejected him. I couldn’t help it, though. How can he just expect for us to be together when my son matters too? His feelings matter. I can’t just pretend he doesn’t exist and take whatever I want. What kind of father would I be?
It still doesn’t stop me from wanting Cole, though. Wanting him is an acute ache in the middle of my chest—this incessant longing that I can’t turn off. And fuck, I really want to turn it off right about now.
I watch as Cole takes his sharp scalpel and cuts off the tip of another one of the cop’s fingers. This is number three. Which means something is wrong with Cole. He’s laying it on thicker than usual. Maybe it’s got nothing to do with me, or maybe it has everything to do with me, but he looks like he’s going to fall over from exhaustion at any moment.
Cole looks my way, holding his scalpel up in offering, and I shake my head. I use all my strength to keep myself from floating over to him. Refusing to gravitate toward him like my body is screaming to. But my body doesn’t know what’s best for me, so instead, I use my brain to stay put.
He’s speaking Italian to the cop, who probably doesn’t understand one word coming out of his mouth, which means he’s becoming unhinged with every passing minute. I need to put a stop to this and take Cole home. He needs to sleep this off. I haven’t seen him this way since Matteo was shot.
“Stop!” I growl when Cole slices off the next fingertip. He tenses at my words, dropping his scalpel onto the small table he requested earlier. The cop isn’t even screaming anymore. He’s passed out cold. “Kill him.”
“No,” Cole snaps, refusing my demand to kill the cop. “I’m not done yet.”
“The fuck you’re not.” I get closer to him, and a desperate part of me wants to close the distance between us completely and take him in my arms. “You’re done when I say you’re done.”
Cole throws his head back and laughs. “That’s rich coming from you,” he grits out, and I raise an eyebrow.
“You sound a little crazy, Cole?—”
“Oh, you think this is crazy?” He chuckles, the sound deep and growly. It lights up my insides, even though I know it shouldn’t. “You haven’t seen shit.”
“I’ve seen enough.” I sigh. “Come on, let’s just get out of here.”
“No.” Cole’s shoulders slump, and I know he’s probably about to give in. “He has to die.”
I pull out my gun, cock it, aim, and shoot the man in the head before Cole can even speak again. He gasps and turns around stiffly, eyes narrowed on my face.
I shrug. “We’re done here.”
“So, that’s it?” he growls. “You just call the shots, and I have to do whatever the fuck you want?”
I chuckle, but it holds no humor. I’m trying to be gentle with him; instead, he’s being a dick. I know he’s upset with me but now is not the time to deal with it. “I’m Don, Cole. You’ve never had a problem following orders before. What’s so different now?”
“I’ve swallowed your cum—that’s what’s different.” I narrow my eyes on him as he stalks closer. But even now, I see how drained he is. The fight is leaving him soon.
“Plenty of people have done that.” I look right into his clear-blue eyes as I say it. “If they can get over it, then so can you.”
“Give me a name.” He grins, and I can see how that would be a horrible idea. They’d probably end up at the bottom of the Hudson River.
“Fuck off,” I tell him. “Don’t be a dick and let’s go home.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you ,” he replies, raising his chin defiantly. “I’m going upstairs. Don’t expect me to come home tonight.”
I. See. Red .
Yet I take in a shaky breath and try to keep my wits about me. Somehow, I manage it. “Oh?” I chuckle, grabbing onto his arm and tugging him toward me. “And where will you go then?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Cole mutters.
“You can’t leave like this.” I try to get through to him, but even I see how futile that is. “You’re tired.”
“Nothing a dick in my ass can’t fix.”
My eyes blur with anger for a brief moment, and he looks triumphant. Like my jealousy brings him happiness. “Fuck?—”
“Anyone’s dick will do,” he whispers. “Just not yours.”
A stab to the gut would’ve been more pleasant than those words, but I know I deserve them. I’ve been an asshole, and the only thing I care about right now is getting him home safe. Which is why I nod and grip his arm harder, all but dragging him up the stairs.
The sound of the music intensifies as we open the door to the basement, and Cole immediately tries to give me the slip. Except I’m onto him, and now I have two bouncers redirecting both of us to the back entrance, where my driver is waiting for us in the blacked-out SUV.
We drag Cole into the vehicle, and I instantly relax when he lies back against the seat. His eyes close, and his lips part as the softest of snores come from him. He’s covered in blood, his entire face red, and when I look down, I can make out his shredded knuckles in the darkness.
He acted like a fucking madman tonight, torturing the guy for hours on end—for the fun of it. Maybe that’s an exaggeration, though. He’s clearly angry at me and needed to take it out on someone, and I can understand that. I’m not judging him. I’m just a bit concerned?—
“Em,” Cole grunts, his bloody hand coming to rest on my thigh. He squeezes painfully, then lets go suddenly, as if it never even happened. Before I can say anything to him, his breathing evens out and he’s snoring softly once more.
The ride back to the penthouse is silent, and I keep my eyes on him the entire time. He looks so innocent in his sleep.
I shake my head at that thought.
There’s not one innocent bone in Cole’s body. Not anymore. His mother’s death snuffed that out. He never talks about it, and even in the past he never mentioned her to me, only Matteo. But I know it’s affected him—I’m just not sure the extent of the damage yet.
Speaking of Matteo, he hasn’t been home in days. I was able to reach him a few hours ago to ask when he was coming back, to which he said that he didn’t know. Apparently, Cole and him are not speaking because Cole said it would be better to remain friends. Matteo is absolutely gutted, and I can’t blame him. After all the years he spent wishing and hoping for more, this has to be a slap in the face. And knowing I may have something to do with it is a stab in the back to my own child. I fucked up—and I continue to fuck up. I just don’t know how to stop doing it anymore.
I ache for Cole, and I’m not above begging for relief anymore.
Finally, we pull up to the parking garage, and Luca drops us off near the elevators. I assist Cole with getting out, holding him up as he takes tentative steps, and we get in. The ride up is short, and we’re jolted when we get to the top, making Cole almost fall on his face. Before that can happen, the doors open and I rush him inside the penthouse.
“Matteo—” he groans.
“Not home,” I say softly, redirecting him toward my room. “You need to get cleaned up.”
“I can do that just fine by myself,” Cole says, his eyes finally open all the way, though it’s clear that it’s taking him some effort. “Just take me to my room.”
“No.” I shake my head, continuing to pull him toward my room. “You need a First Aid kit, and a shower.”
Cole fights me, but I haul him harder, until I’ve shut the bedroom door behind us and locked it. The sound of his panting is loud in the darkness as I walk us through the bedroom, then turn on the bathroom light and practically shove him into it. He doesn’t fight me anymore, instead he sits on top of the closed toilet lid as I rummage under my bathroom sink for the supplies I need. I usually keep a kit under here for myself. I just never know when I might need it, and our doctor might not always be available. Though I pay him a generous amount of money to be at our disposal.
I spend the next few minutes cleaning up Cole’s knuckles. They’re red and swollen, the skin shredded, and he winces and inhales sharply at the contact. It should make me feel bad; instead, I’m rougher with him.
“Fuck, take it easy,” he whines. “It fucking hurts.”
“Don’t be a little bitch now.” I grin, and he huffs. “You didn’t even feel it when you fucked up that man’s face.”
“The adrenaline is gone, you asshole,” Cole mutters, and I roll my eyes. “I can shower now.”
I nod, going to the shower and turning it on, then check the spray for the temperature. I wait until it’s warm, then begin to strip down to my underwear. Cole watches me intently, then shakes his head quickly.
“I can do it alone,” he tells me, though he’s slumped on the toilet seat, exhaustion weighing him down. “I’ll be quick.”
“And let you break your neck?” I chuckle. “No fucking chance.”
“Has anyone ever told you you’re dramatic?” he asks as he looks into my eyes, and my brows kiss my hairline. “Because you are.”
“Cry me a fucking river, Cole.” I sigh. “Just get in while you do it.”
“Fine,” he growls, pulling off his shirt one-handed. Possibly one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen him do. “What’s your plan, though? You gonna wash me? Tuck me in, Daddy?”
“Brat,” I mutter, watching him take off the rest of his clothes until he stands before me, naked.
My breath catches in my throat as I take him in. He has two tattoo sleeves. His right arm is more visible than his left as he makes his way to me, and I halt him to take a better look. There’s a skull on his upper arm that’s surrounded by roses and other flowers. Then his forearm has a woman with horns on her head, hollow white eyes, and skulls surrounding her body. There’s another tattoo on his hand all the way down to his fingers, too.
“Like them?” he murmurs.
“They look good on you,” I admit.
My hand reaches up toward his hair, pushing it away from his bloody face, and he sucks in a sharp breath. Before I can do something stupid like fuck him in front of the mirror, I grab his arm and direct him right to the shower spray. He winces when the water hits his hands, but other than that, he goes about rinsing off his face and hair of all the blood.
I grab the shampoo when he takes a step back from under the spray, then lather his hair with it, making sure to get all the blood. I massage his scalp with my fingertips, and he throws his head back with a groan. We don’t say anything at all, but actions definitely speak louder than words.
Cole rinses his hair as I grab the body wash, then I begin to wash his neck from behind, his shoulders, his back. I pause when I get to the two dimples right above his ass, and he chuckles.
“Lower,” he tells me, and I breathe in deeply. “Touch me.”
I shake my head, even though he can’t see me, but wash the firm globes, then kneel to wash his legs. He turns around as I’m on my knees, and when his cock bobs in front of my face, I lick my lips. So fucking pretty. I want to taste him, but I also don’t know what I’m doing. And then it dawns on me—I don’t want to disappoint him. I’m good at everything I do, but this is uncharted territory.
So I look down and begin to lather his legs, detouring from his cock on the way up, and then wash his torso without making eye contact. It’s hard to keep my eyes off his face, but I do it anyway. He’s not having it though, gripping my jaw roughly and forcing me to look into those eyes. Eyes as clear-blue as the lakes in Canada. That’s what they remind me of. The Rocky Mountains. Glaciers, too. So beautiful.
“Wash my cock, Em,” he growls. Before I can refuse him again, he grabs my wrist and directs my hand to his dick. I grab it out of instinct, then stroke it with the soap. He’s not as thick as I am, or as long, but he still has a nice cock. “ God .”
I let go. “That’s enough.”
He bites his bottom lip, and it shouldn’t be as sexy as it is, but fuck, it turns me on. My cock throbs, weighing heavily between my thighs, and when Cole reaches out to touch me, I slap his hand away. He smirks as he washes the rest of the soap off, then trades places with me.
I keep my movements quick and clinical, trying—no, needing —to get out of here as soon as possible. If I’m not careful, Cole will end up with his hands against the wall as I fuck him until he can’t stand anymore. He needs rest. I can’t do that.
Cole steps out of the shower just as I begin to rinse my body, and he dries quickly, disappearing from the bathroom without another word. The disappointment almost brings me to my knees, but it’s probably for the best.
By the time I get out of the shower, I’m exhausted and ready for bed. I dry quickly, then make my way out of the bathroom. Except there lies Cole, in my bed, tucked in. He’s not on my side of the bed, and I wonder how he figured out where I sleep. As I get closer, I realize he’s asleep, snoring softly. I should wake him. I should tell him to leave my room. I should kick him out to his own bed. But lately, I haven’t been doing the things I should.
And I don’t think I want to start now.