11. Diesel
11
DIESEL
S tanding outside the brown-and-black attached home, Diesel glanced at his phone to double-check that he got the right address.
65 Blossom St.
Yup, he was at the right place. Then he spotted it. The little brown plaque with gold lettering announcing that this was the office of Dr. Annetta Bloom, Psychiatrist.
Psychiatrist. Like he was crazy or something. The only people who went to places like these were schizos and psychopaths. Neither of which was he.
But he had to. He made a promise to Matteo, and this was part of Matteo’s sentence. If he was a good boy, perhaps one day, Daddy M would take off his protective jewelry and let him run free once again. Until that day, he needed to earn back Matteo’s trust.
Taking a deep breath, he slid his phone back into his jeans and made his way up the concrete steps.
“Mr. Pratt, welcome. Please come in,” the friendly young woman answered on his third knock.
The house was much nicer than the dump that they were currently staying in. The walls were covered in a soft blue wallpaper with silver-and-black trimming, no doubt meant to provide a calm and soothing environment.
Diesel already hated the place.
He followed the woman into the living room where there was a large comfy-looking chaise lounge—don’t ask him how he knew what the damn psycho sofa was called. He must have seen it in a magazine or heard Levi talking about getting one for his bedroom or something. The boy was so precious when it came to luxury items sometimes.
Next to the lounge was a plush-looking armchair—no doubt the queen’s chair. Her Majesty’s throne to sit upon while she writes down all the things that are wrong with him and his entire damn life.
Why was he here again?
“Please, have a seat.” The woman gestured toward the dissection couch and waited for him to take his rightful place… under the microscope and awaiting judgment.
“Diesel. You can call me Diesel.”
“Of course. Would you like some tea? Coffee? Water?”
“How about a whiskey?” Hey, it was worth a shot.
The woman stared at him for a moment before realizing that he was kidding.
“No, I’m fine. Thanks.”
Diesel had purposely booked these sessions in the morning so that he could get the damn thing over with, then proceed to enjoy the rest of his day. Session one was off to a good start—that was sarcasm if anyone missed it.
Once they were both comfy in their respective spots—Diesel refusing to lie down like a helpless damsel in distress, instead choosing to sit with his leg over his lap and his arm resting on the back of the lounge—they began their session.
“Before we start, I wanted to make it very clear that whatever is said during these sessions stays between you and me. Nothing you say will ever be shared with anyone else, including your boss, Mr. Sabarino.”
The doctor had been working with Matteo and the guys for several years now, so she was well aware of the chateau and what they all did there. Mostly, she met with newbies who were having trouble coping with the heavy amount of trauma that they all brought with them. Levi was one of those guys who met with the doc once a month, just for “fine-tuning,” as he liked to say.
Diesel, on the other hand, didn’t see any reason to come and let some strange woman judge him. If it weren’t for the promise he made to his jailer, he wouldn’t be here.
“Sure thing, boss.” Fifty-nine more minutes. This was going to be painful.
Giving Diesel a gentle, reassuring smile, she opened her notebook. “Now, how about we start with a little bit about you? Feel free to tell me as much or a little as makes you comfortable.”
Argh. This was so stupid.
“Well, as I’m sure you’ve probably read in my file, I’m twenty-five, six feet, bi, and like long walks alone through dark parks and meeting random strangers in dark alleys. Oh, and I have a tattoo named Bruno.”
Listening attentively, the woman made a few notes in her notebook, then tapped her pen against her lips. “And Bruno, how long have you had him living on your body?”
Okay, Diesel could see why so many of the guys at the mansion loved her. Still, these sessions were bullshit and a complete waste of his time.
Diesel spent the next fifty-five minutes talking about all his favorite bands and T-shirts. He even went over all his tattoos and why each one hurt differently. Overall, he thought the session went well.
“Well, that’s all the time we have set for today. I’ll see you again tomorrow at the same time.”
“I look forward to it,” Diesel said with a fake-ass grin.
Leaving the doctor’s office, he decided to walk the forty minutes back to the house. It would give him time to clear his head and figure out what he was going to do with his cock-sucking demon problem.
When he arrived home, the place appeared to be empty. Diesel went into the kitchen to grab himself a drink.
“I didn’t think anyone was home.”
Diesel spun around, startled, nearly dropping his bottle of water.
Standing in the entrance to the kitchen, towel wrapped snugly around his waist, was Zero.
Water slid down the man’s bare chest, catching briefly on the ridges that made up his six-pack.
Jesus, did this dude live at the gym?
Realizing that he was staring at the man’s obliques, Diesel cleared his throat and then turned back to close the fridge door.
“Umm, no. I just got back from my… thing.” He hesitated before deciding that Zero didn’t need to know all of his secrets. He already knew the taste of his cum; that was probably enough. “Where are the other guys?”
Not seeming to care that he was in a towel, Zero crossed the kitchen to where Diesel was standing, firmly planted against the kitchen counter.
“They went out to grab some groceries and pick up some surveillance equipment. I think Chase wants to try some new techniques.”
Stopping in front of Diesel, the man placed his hands on both sides of the counter, effectively trapping Diesel in place. The asshole smirked, leaning in closer so that he was just inches from his face.
“You left me with blue balls last night.”
The smell of fresh soap and toothpaste filled the empty space between them. Diesel was finding it hard to focus, especially when the muscles in Zero’s arms kept flexing around him.
Normally, he wasn’t this flustered. Guys were his plaything. He used them to get what he wanted, then moved on with his life. So why was he finding it so hard to focus when he was around Zero?
“That wasn’t a kind thing to do.”
He wasn’t a kind boy.
Focus finally returned to its master.
“That sounds like a you problem, doesn’t it? My balls were happy and empty,” Diesel responded, using his hand to push away his captor and walk around him. “You should probably be more selective about which random dude you decide to suck off in the back of a dingy bar. Some of us are only interested in taking care of number one.”
Behind him, he heard Zero chuckle.
“You owe me a blow job,” he called as Diesel left the kitchen and headed up to his room.
Perhaps, one day. If he was feeling generous and in the mood for swallowing questioning, straight-dude dick.
But today was not that day.