CHAPTER FOUR
Alessio
Truman and I spooned and hugged all night long.
He must’ve changed into some flannel pants at some point, because his warm knees fit perfectly in the backs of mine.
He had such a reassuring, down-to-earth vibe, he helped ground me in a comforting, restorative aura, almost as though his energy buzzed with such abundance he transfused it into mine.
Sure, I had some mini-seizures, my abs clenching up, dry heaving.
Sometimes Truman would squeeze me tighter almost in a trance—I’m sure he wasn’t really awake.
When I lay flat on my front, he sort of angled his torso over my bare back, his breath hot against my neck.
Despite my nausea and pain, my cock stiffened against the mattress, my balls laden with seed.
I hadn’t come or even engaged with anyone since sticking a shiv in that guard.
This was the first time it had even occurred to me.
Truman was my patron, my benefactor—I shouldn’t get hard for him. Besides, he was straight, buttoned-down. He’d toss me out onto my ass if he saw my erection.
Eventually I must’ve fallen asleep. I remember nothing for several hours thanks to the sleeping pills he’d given me. When I woke with the innate feeling that a lot of time had passed, I automatically squirmed around to see where I’d been injured, where someone had hurt me while I slept.
Hm. Nothing. Did I grin a little? I needed a shave.
In the bathroom, I finger-combed my clean hair, rolled it back into a bun, and used Truman’s toothbrush and razor.
I wondered how I’d get my pack from his Club.
My phone, clothes of course, books that’d gotten me through rough times, and my notebooks were all in there.
For now, I just stepped into some pants Truman must’ve taken out of his drawer yesterday, folded on the vanity.
The pants were a little like waiting for a flood, but they were all like that on me.
The shirt was just an army green crew neck, and as I yanked it on, I heard clinking from downstairs.
Like someone putting silverware in the dishwasher.
Was Truman still there? I paused briefly to admire my bulging biceps in the tight shirt.
All public figures were aware of things like that.
But I didn’t plan to be a public figure in the near future. Not even a fucked-up mug shot.
I felt fresh as a frosty morning in autumn as I stepped downstairs.
Tiny windowpanes of sun from Truman’s skylight slithered over my skin.
Already, I started to regain some of my former arrogant confidence.
And that was saying something. Sure, my hip stabbed me a little, but it wasn’t pushing me to use. Yet.
In the black and white checkered kitchen, it sure looked like Truman was frying up something.
The sun told me it was before noon, so maybe bacon and eggs—I couldn’t smell properly yet.
I leaned against a corner wall and watched him going avidly at it.
Such a kind, loving man. Wasn’t he saying something about his dead wife being an addict right before I vomited one of those times?
And what a round, trim ass. My prick lengthened and hardened unbidden. I had to get out of there before I got myself into more trouble.
Stepping forward, I made my presence known.
“Mr. Oakley,” I said formally, despite the fact I’d had my naked thigh slung over that very ass the night before.
He whipped upright, spatula in hand, eyes plainly surprised.
“I want to thank you for all the hard work you’ve done.
All the risks you’ve taken for me, some worthless addict you don’t even know. ”
He spun the spatula onto the counter and took a few steps toward me. “No, not at all, Alessio! You’re far from a worthless fucking addict. You’re the very sort of man I always aim to help.”
He said man, not person . . . “Nah, nah, that’s okay. You’ve done way more than enough for me. All I need is my backpack from your club—”
He pointed a stiff finger to the dining room. “We got it right here. Gunning and Erin brought it yesterday. Hey, just sit down and have some coffee.”
“I only like decaf. Don’t need to be any antsier than I normally am.”
Splaying his hand on his chest like we’d just discovered we were twins, Truman cried, “Me too.pain go That’s actually all I’ve got brewed. Here, sit at the counter.”
Sighing, I sat while Truman sloshed coffee into a cup.
The longer I lingered, the more I postponed putting my plans into action, getting ahold of my cohorts, telling them what I needed.
But you know, in a way I yearned to know more about this handsome, sincere widower. “Don’t you need to go into the office?”
“Nah,” Truman spat, overly casual. “I’ve got a million vacation days saved up. Wasn’t about to leave a potential corpse in my bed, anyway. Doctor Hawk can cover for me.”
“And Erin and Gunning,” I reminded him, accepting the hot mug. “When they’re not both bringing you my pack.”
Did he redden a bit? He sipped his coffee to cover it up. “No big deal. They both live here, anyway. Downstairs,” he quickly added, as if I’d be afraid they had overheard our cuddling.
“Hm,” I observed. “You really do take care of everyone.” He remained calm and suave until I added, “Like your wife.”
He jolted. Then began to talk. “Yeah. Ashley spiraled after her fourth miscarriage. Had some physical pain, so they gave her oxy. Instead of getting a baby she was treated like a drug addict demanding the only thing that’d make the pain go away. You know how that is.”
I nodded.
“She was quickly labeled a ‘drug seeker,’ so she figured she might as well become one. It moved quickly to fentanyl and ketamine, bought on the streets in downtown Oakland. She kept googling to see if she was dying of some disease she saw on Little House on the Prairie.”
“We evolved with a deep need to bond. It’s essential for living.”
“Yeah. Addiction is a disease of loneliness. I think that’s why I strive so hard to make lives better for other addicts. I feel like I failed her. I kept yelling at her to just stop taking drugs. But it’s not that easy. I kept wondering why she didn’t just stop.”
“Not that easy,” I agreed. Still, I didn’t want to ask him how Ashley ultimately died. It was enough he’d admitted to me her drug story. So I switched on my stage microphone when I said, “I shivved a guard. Just so you know.”
Truman seemed to already know. He just nodded and sipped.
“He was raping me. Raping everyone, but me in particular. One of those assholes hetero on the outside, assaulting every guy he sees inside. And now I want you to know, so you can make a better-informed decision about helping me. My road dog Denmark took the rap for me. So I’m going to break him out. ”
He did seem genuinely surprised by that.
Coffee cup suspended in midair, lower lip hanging slack.
Luscious lower lip. Yeah, I wanted to kiss him.
Just grab his skull in my palms like they did in romcoms and plant a solid one on him.
He’d be shocked, falling back against the kitchen counter, slapping one hand on the granite, but the other hand would reach up my lower back . . .
“I didn’t even know people did that anymore. Don’t they make it pretty impossible?”
I tightened my face with superiority. “We’ve got a good plan.
Denmark’s going to the infirmary where they take him through a few hallways with minimal security, no tower guards.
I can just . . . “ I didn’t want to go into detail with the poor guy.
Why make him guilty if forced to lie to anyone else? “Convince the guards to let him go.”
All shades of emotion passed through the thoughtful guy’s face.
Skepticism, wonder, anger, and fear for me.
Yes, fear for me! Did that mean he gave an actual shit about me?
He didn’t let just any addict sleep in his bed.
With him. With his hot breath against my neck .
. . “Listen, Alessio. You know I’d prefer if you didn’t do that.
I understand if you feel you owe Denmark a solid.
He took the fall for you and allowed you parole.
That’s enormous. That’s huge. And you know .
. . I don’t blame you for offing that guard.
I really fucking don’t. That sort of shit goes on way too frequently in prisons.
” Truman tossed his head then as if to blow it off. “Happened to me.”
I set down my empty mug. “You . . . were raped?”
“Oh no, I didn’t mean that. Nothing near what you underwent. My mother’s boyfriend, or john rather. He’d punch her around, throw her to the ground, and rape her in front of me.”
I was seriously appalled.
“That’s how I sort of became . . . skeptical of straight sex. When I fucked women, all I could think of was . . . that.”
What was Truman trying to tell me? “So you . . . “ I said lamely, casting about for clues.
Sighing, he sipped from his empty mug. “I faked it for a while, with other women before Ashley. But slowly I had to face facts. I wasn’t straight.” He shook his head, not daring to look at me but at something on the floor. “I hope that didn’t contribute to her depression.”
“Nah, don’t worry,” I said softly. “Women know deep down. They have gaydar. They can tell. It’s like they’re more into us for the friendship.” That was the first time I’d said “us” in that regard, and it made my heart flip-flop with anxiety. Us. We were on the same side.
I stood—why, I don’t know—and Truman looked dolefully at me. “You couldn’t believe how horny I was last night with you in bed. I know it’s wrong—you’re a client—but it was unavoidable. You’re a smoking hot, magnetic man.”
Why did he look so morose when he said this?
Wasn’t it fun, erotic, and well, smoking hot for us to be enticed by each other?
I sort of stammered when I next spoke. “Well, I, ah . . . I wanted you in bed with me too, Truman. But I got to admit. I can’t afford to lust after anyone right now.
I got too many things to do. Get my life back in order. ”
He nodded briskly while I said this, though a curtain of disappointment shaded his eyes.
I continued. “Matter of fact, where’d you say my backpack was? I got to make a couple phone calls. Now listen. I don’t want you involved in any of this either. I understand if you don’t want me coming back.”
That finally livened him up. “Not at all! You’re not really a client since you’re not connected to the Establishment Club.
” He stood too, his hands open in an earnest prayer, preaching to his choir of one.
Fuck, his smile was adorable. “You stay here. Do what you need to do. There’s another room downstairs with workout stuff in it.
Gunning and Erin like you. They won’t mind at all. ”
I guess I was overcome with the magnificence of his generosity. You don’t encounter that often in my world. At least, my world of the past five years, hanging with fellow addicts.
There was no thought in my head. No exact words forming a command, telling me what to do.
I must’ve been overtaken by sheer emotion.
I grasped Truman’s biceps and walked him back to the kitchen counter.
He looked a little shocked, understandably, but he put up no resistance.
I walked him ‘til one of his palms slapped against the granite, his shapely ass perched on the edge.
“You’re in for a big surprise,” I growled, and kissed him.
I had no idea what I fucking meant by that.
But opening my mouth over his lush lips was all I had room in my skull for.
Smacking and licking, I attempted to assert my dominance over him, but he pushed back too.
His free hand snaked up my neck to grasp my chin as he parted his thighs, allowing me to dry hump him against the counter.
And fuck me dry, my erect dick cushioned against his hard-on was the most thrilling thing I’d ever felt.
Rush after rush of pure, wholesome lust raced up my spine, probably knocking at my brain, if I had the power to recognize it.
And he kissed me back. Fiercely. I reveled in his manly, musky scent as he nibbled at my mouth, stroking the side of my face.
Snorting puffs of hot air against each other, I humped him so hard I practically shoved him back onto the counter.
When my balls filled with jizz, a couple drops of precum spurting from the tip, I had to wrench myself away, panting.
I must’ve looked like a complete and utter dirtbag standing there, wiping my lower lip with my knuckles. We both snorted like horndogs separated by force. Staring wide-eyed at each other as if wondering what the fuck just happened.
I was the first to get a grip. “Les,” I muttered, then got a better grip. Standing tall, I enunciated. “Tom Maidenform. Road dog of mine. Got to go see him, figure a few things out. Get some wheels, if you know what I mean.”
Fuck, he had the longest, thickest prick. I imagined I could see it throbbing under his tight, worn jeans. “I know what you mean.”
I had no choice but to tear myself away. I’d be hitting the road soon and I could not fall in love with this guy.
What am I thinking? Falling in love? It had never happened before. Why now, after twenty-eight years? This is fucking impossible.
Finding my pack on top of the clothes dryer, I whipped my phone out. Ignoring the three hundred thirty-four messages from various cons, thugs, and musicians, I texted Maidenform.
I’m finally free. Staying with a friend in Bernal Heights. Where can we meet? I have a plan for Denmark. Need your help. Need some wheels.
Oh, and some money. Maidenform owed me big time, so I hoped he hadn’t just vanished off the face of the planet.
When I turned back to Truman, he was racing around the kitchen, plating now-cold food, swishing his spatula under corned beef hash, nuking eggs sitting in turquoise egg cups.
How could I not fall for this guy? Sculpted, kind, loving.
In other words, a combination I’d never known before.