Chapter Thirteen
Aksel
With the moonlight silhouetting his body, I watch Lorenzo undress.
When he pulls down his underpants and turns to toss them onto a chair, I see he is already aroused.
I throw back the covers, inviting him to dive onto the bed, meeting me with a fierce kiss.
When he pulls away, we both chuckle. Tonight is unhurried, not frenzied like in the afternoon.
Tonight, there is no urgency, and, unusually for me, I let go and allow him to take his fill of my body.
I know I am giving in to trust, and a part of me is wary.
But everything about his presence in my bed feels natural, too fervent and mutually pleasurable to be a simple act of seduction.
Eventually, I silence my brain and allow myself to enjoy the exchange.
Once again, he ends up sitting on my stomach, but this time he shuffles up to my chest, his intention plain.
His head and hair dangle down as he stares intently at me.
With a jerk of his hips, the head of his cock bobs down and touches my lips.
Wrapping my hands around his arse cheeks, I yank him forward, taking his length into my mouth while caressing my fingers into his crevice.
I have already come to learn that Lorenzo gives very little away when we make love, but there are small tells—a stutter in his breath, a tremor in his thighs, or, as I hear right now, a barely inaudible whimper when I swallow his length while delving my forefinger into him.
Before long, he pushes back, a hand gripping my hair but not painfully.
I can feel him occasionally tensing and trying to hold off the inevitable.
Eventually, as he reaches climax, he begins to pull away, but I hold him tight and let him fill my throat, taking every drop of him.
His hands on either side of my head ball into fistfuls of bed covering, and his thighs shudder.
I cannot read his face in the darkened room, but sense the glint of pleasure in his eyes.
Once he has caught his breath, he shifts back and kisses me again, and I imagine his tongue tasting the saltiness of himself in my mouth.
Only for a few seconds. After that, it becomes clear that he is intent on undoing me, returning the gesture and squeezing an orgasm from me.
I lie with my hands behind my head and watch him work on me, his silhouetted head bobbing up and down on my groin, alternating speeds and using his tongue to work my head until I can feel the gathering climax.
With one hand pumping my cock, he reaches the other between my legs and touches the crease of my backside. With lightning reflexes, I reach down and grab his wrist. He snorts and withdraws the offending hand.
“Maybe not today, Gabriel.” His hot breath caresses the head of my cock. “But one day. One day, I will have you.”
“Maybe,” I reply, but I don’t believe he ever will.
Fortunately, the intrusion has not affected my arousal, and very soon, he has me spilling my seed on my stomach. Once I am drained, he makes a point of reciprocating, licking up every spill before kissing me and letting me taste myself.
We lie on our backs together, unspeaking, staring up into the corners of the ceiling, until I feel myself drift off to sleep.
I stir too early, with nightfall outside the window.
When I rise on my elbows, Lorenzo is still in my bed, lying on his back, breathing gently.
Moonlight shines a path across the bedroom floor, lighting his face.
Asleep, he seems at peace, untroubled by dreams. I also see a man at his most vulnerable, trusting me enough to share my bed.
The sudden thought makes me miss a breath.
Since Albert’s passing, I have only looked out for myself.
But I know, as I look down at Lorenzo’s face, that if anyone should even think of harming him, I would end them.
I breathe deeply and analyse that thought.
Unusually, there are no dissenting voices, no critical opinions arguing or finding logical flaws in my assertion.
I lie back and wonder what is happening to me. But not for long, because the sound of his breathing, combined with his body warmth, lulls me back to sleep.
When I wake again, Lorenzo is gone. I notice light beginning to dilute the darkness, and I step naked from the bed to reach for my Speedos and towel. There is something to be said for swimming lengths as dawn breaks.
On my way through the villa, as I head back to the bedroom, I spot Dr Romano standing by the front door, a phone clamped to his ear. When I nod a welcome, he ends his call.
“Once you’ve changed, come to the kitchen. Mrs Bellacci is up early to make breakfast and get started on your reinvention,” he says. I wonder absently if he stayed the night. “We have a lot to accomplish today.”
After breakfast is out of the way, Mrs Bellacci takes me to the bathroom in her lodgings and sits me down.
I notice the annexe is at right angles, and Bellacci’s bedroom and bathroom sit at one end, with French doors leading out onto the grounds.
There’s a communal living area in the middle, and I assume Lorenzo’s bedroom must be at the other end.
A chair sits in the middle of the shower area, and after telling me to remove my shoes, socks and shirt, she instructs me to be seated.
I close my eyes and let her cut my hair with an electric shaver.
After she sweeps up my dark hair, I remain seated while she mixes a potent chemical concoction.
She applies this to my head, massages the potion in thoroughly, rinses while I lean backwards, then repeats the process.
This happens four or five times. After she has towelled off and blow-dried my head, she instructs me to wear a dark woollen cap.
“Now get dressed. Il dottore is waiting by his car outside the front gate.”
“What will I need?”
“He has everything. Maybe get a jacket to wear, but take nothing else from your room.”
“The gun?”
Mrs Bellacci smiles as though she is humouring me.
“You will be with the doctor. You have no need of a gun.”
Romano is waiting outside the front gate by his SUV and nods his approval when he sees me wearing the hat. I still have no idea what Mrs Bellacci has done to my hair, but I trust them. I go over and open the passenger door.
“What kind of clothing does Gabriel Redbrick usually prefer to wear?” asks the doctor as we drive slowly down the lane.
I talk through my unexceptional wardrobe, consisting mainly of jeans and plain T-shirts from a particular sportswear company, my leather bomber jacket in rustic brown and my navy-blue puffer. He nods as I am speaking and appears to understand my choice.
“You like to blend into a crowd?”
“I prefer not to stand out, if that’s what you mean.”
“Were Gabriel more ostentatious and style-conscious, I would suggest we dress him modestly. But I fear we are going to have to work the reverse to make the new you believable.”
“Won’t that draw attention?”
“Not necessarily. Let’s keep an open mind today. But please remember that we are trying to create someone as far from Gabriel as possible. Have you always sported a light beard?”
“No. I am usually clean shaven. This stubble is new, something I've allowed to grow since Albert died.”
“Good. That gives us another angle to pursue.”
Romano drives me into town and introduces me to the man who will help me with my appearance.
He sits me down, pulls off my hat and says some words to Romano in Italian.
I feel slightly uncomfortable at the way he frowns at me and scrutinises my face.
Eventually, he leaves me seated and heads out through one of the doors.
“He has ideas he thinks will work. You will have your ear pierced. We talked about the nose, but he says there can be swelling, so he will concentrate on the ear. He also feels having one eyebrow stylised will give someone like you—how do you say in English—more of an edge.”
I say nothing. When the man returns, I allow him to do his work, with Romano standing over us and occasionally murmuring his approval.
Like Bellacci, this man works without mirrors, so I have no idea what he’s doing.
Surprisingly, the piercing is not painful, and when Romano swings the chair around to view me, he nods his approval.
But the man has not finished. He brings out a trolley containing an unusual array of instruments and hairpieces.
Working painfully slowly, he shaves areas around my face, standing back regularly to appraise his work, like an artist working on a portrait.
He gradually applies some pre-prepared hair, which I assume to be a beard and moustache.
Every now and again, Romano points and offers a suggestion.
What feels like hours later, he finishes, and I bring my fingers up to touch the hair, only to have them slapped away.
“He asks that you don’t touch anything, not for at least three hours. Now, there is a small changing room through this door. Marco has left some old clothes for you to wear. Go and try them on.”
The worn trousers hanging over a wooden chair instantly catch my eye, black leather Gothic style with buckles, studs and belts.
Gabriel Redbrick would run a mile from this kind of garish attire.
Even the sleeveless waistcoat in black leather he has chosen for me to wear over a plain black tee follows the same Gothic theme, with thick belts and buckles fastening from one side.
While he watches me dress, he mutters something to Romano, indicating my hand.
“He asks if you are happy wearing leather, because you already have a wristband.”
“Dr Romano, this strap hides my watch. It’s a gift, a traditional timepiece, from one of my friends in London. Please don’t tell me I need to lose it. Apart from anything, I use it to time my swims.”
Romano doesn’t hesitate. “No, that’s fine. The watch face is hidden, and the strap complements your new look.”