Chapter 9
SOFIA
Staying the night at his expensive house in a gated neighborhood is not what I ever thought would happen. I knew his family had money. They dripped with it. His parents looked and smelled rich.
Massimo’s green and black car is definitely expensive. Some brand name of a car I’ve never heard of and definitely can’t pronounce. When someone told me the name of the bike Emilio crashed, I had never heard of it either. The attending doctor said one word, ‘expensive,’ with a raised eyebrow.
The glow of the pool outside the wide glass doors is impressive.
The water shimmers under the patio lights, reflecting off the stone deck.
Beyond that, the lawn is manicured. The bushes are tall enough to block any view of the street, though the guard at the gate out front is the real protection.
By the time we got in from packing up and grabbing dinner, it was pretty late.
Emilio was passed out in his room. Having texted that he had shit, showered, and shaved, to his brother.
Why that warranted a text message to Massimo is beyond me.
I’ve heard that twins are close, but these two seem inseparable.
I know Massimo feels really guilty about what happened to Em, but I’ve assured him a dozen times, if not more, that he is not to blame.
Em also texted that Ryan had gone home, then unleashed a tirade about being alone at home.
Bored, then scared, and finally lonely. I’m beginning to think he’s one of those types of people who can’t be alone.
He does strike me as a guy who loves attention, or at least he loved all the attention he got in the hospital, which was a lot of his friends coming in and out of the ICU.
Treating it like a frat house, often ignoring the two visitor-only rules until another veteran nurse or I kicked them out for the peace and quiet of our other patients.
What I also realized is that he doesn’t have a mean bone in his body.
He complains a lot. Like a child, but he’s happiest when he gets his way.
Which I’m discovering is food, attention, his brother, and an unhealthy obsession with porn and jerking off.
I caught him doing it way too many times in his room, especially when he thought I wasn’t around.
Now, Paco’s racing around their place, inspecting all the door cracks and snatching up an old pizza crust lying in an open box.
“Ay, your place . . . Paco, no!”
I race after him, try to pull it out of his mouth before he darts behind the TV cabinet. The television is beyond humongous and far too heavy to move by myself.
“Come here!”
Massimo’s hands are loaded down with my bags, Paco’s toys, food, and a dog bed. He’s not much help. I can hear Paco crunching through the bone. Eating it as fast as he can. I drop to my knees, palms flat on the hardwood, peering under the furniture where he’s wedged himself.
“Drop it.”
I snap my fingers. He growls around it, eyes daring me to try. I reach in. He darts back. I stretch farther, my scrubs pulling tight, and I’m afraid they might rip. Scrubs are too expensive for that. He finishes eating it with a dramatic snort before trotting out, happy with himself.
“He ate it. Just like that.” I groan, sitting back on my heels. “No wonder Paco’s finding food scraps all over the floor. You messy boys.”
Massimo stands over me, watching me wrestle with my dog and losing. “The housekeeper comes the day after tomorrow.”
I push to my feet, brushing off my scrubs. “Two days? You can’t pick up after yourselves until then? You live in a palace and treat it like a dump.”
He smirks, slow and infuriating. “We know where everything is.”
“No.” I snatch up an empty water bottle, hold it up like evidence, then shove it into his chest. He lets it fall right back on the floor. “You’re grown men, not ninos. Pick up after yourselves.”
He just grins at me while Paco leaps onto the couch, circling three times before collapsing into a cushion. I should tell him to get down, but I’m too tired to care. At this point, the dog is safer up there than on the floor.
Massimo shrugs, unbothered. “It’s not that bad.”
“Not good enough.” I plant my hands on my hips. “If I’m staying here, at least the bedroom needs to be clean.”
He freezes, as if waiting to see if I’m serious. I am. But instead of bickering, he sighs and starts walking toward a hallway. “Fine. I’ll make my room decent. Fresh sheets and clean towels.”
That, I can live with. I don’t have the strength to do more tonight. I’m exhausted from losing a patient in front of his wife, coming home to my ex’s bullshit, and now standing in the middle of the Dimas brothers’ chaos. I need a hot shower, not another fight.
“Do that,” I murmur, too worn out to argue. “And I’ll pretend the rest doesn’t exist.”
I follow, listening long enough for him to set me up in the bathroom with clean towels and my overnight bag while he works on cleaning his bedroom.
By the time I come out of the shower, scrubbed raw and finally feeling human again, his room is at least passable. No piles on the floor, no stale smell.
“Feel better?” His question comes just as he’s shutting his door. The house beyond it is dark and quiet. Paco is already on the bed, his tail whipping quickly against the pillow he’s claimed for the night.
“Sort of.”
Physically, I’m fine. Mentally and emotionally, I’m spent.
A good night’s rest will help. I slip between the sheets, exhaustion dragging at my bones.
Paco moves to curl against my hip. The moment I close my eyes, the relief is instant.
I’m good. My dog’s snoring, and there’s nothing else to worry about tonight.
When the light clicks off, I open my eyes to see him in the shadows.
He’s stretched out on the couch across the room, his body too long for it. His legs and feet dangle off the arm. He keeps shifting, grumbling under his breath about springs in his back. I close my eyes, pretending not to hear him.
“Can I sleep up there?
His voice cuts through the quiet, deeper now.
I peek open my eyes to find him leaning on one elbow, no shirt and no blanket.
Clothed in just his boxers. This is the most naked I’ve seen him.
My mouth waters at how perfectly carved his muscles are.
Intricate tattoos cut in patterns on his shoulders and down his arms. His twin doesn’t have them. I wonder why.
I don’t answer. Sinking deeper into the mattress, unsure if it’s the guard at the gate, the security cameras on the house, or the mountain of a man tossing and turning on the couch that makes me feel safe.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
My eyes stay closed, my body heavy, but my mind’s racing. The bed feels too good, too soft, like it was built to swallow me whole.
“Hmm?”
“Can I sleep up there? I promise I won’t touch you.
I’ll just lie on my side of the bed.” His tone shifts into a whine, though I’m sprawled right in the middle, too tired to move.
“I’ll even put my back to you. I just can’t sleep on this couch.
It’s too small. It’s got lumps stabbing me in the back and I—”
He whines on, but I don’t even hear it. I’m already half asleep. When the bed shifts sometime later in my hazy awareness, I’m pulled into a blanket of warmth. Somewhere in the back of my consciousness, Paco jumps off the bed.
“Right where you belong.”
That deep rumble vibrates into my cheek, pulling me from my sleepy fog.
I don’t remember saying yes to him coming up here.
He definitely didn’t adhere to the rules he whined about on the couch.
Yet, it feels so good. Feels great to be taken care of for once.
To be looked after. It’s something I could really fall for if this weren’t too good to be true.
“I thought—”
I open my eyes and push against his ribs to look at him. The rest of what I say never comes out. His mouth is on mine immediately. Hot and fast. His lips work against mine until his tongue parts my lips. Large hands roam my body, pulling me toward him until I’m on top.
His erection is hard and wanting, pushing into my soft stomach while his hands knead my butt. He groans and grunts the entire time we’re kissing. The sounds are really turning me on. He wants me badly. I want him just as much.
All the slow pace and resistance I have put up while watching his actions is melting away in steamy kisses and roaming hands.
Everything about this feels so good. Like a treat I deserve.
I’ve been good at getting to know him and his brother.
Getting to understand their dynamic, sort of.
I still have questions. If starting with him is the slow entry into this, then what the hell? Why not?
“Wait,” I mutter against his lips. He stops immediately. His mouth, his hands. Everything. “How does this work? With you and him and . . .”
“However.”
His lips chase mine, wanting to continue, but this time I ease off him, lying on my side to watch him. I need to know more.
“I’m serious. I need to know.”
He moves to where his body mirrors mine. Side by side, I stare at him. He stares at my mouth. The glare from the pool sends ripples across the walls behind him.
“I don’t know, Sof. It just sort of happens. If you’re with me, then he’s cool with it and vice versa. Most times it’s together, but that usually happens after a rager when everyone is drunk off their ass.”
I mash my lips together. “So, this sharing thing is because of alcohol?”
“Not always. But mostly.”
His hand reaches toward my waist, but I push it away. The whole sharing part has already exhausted my brain cells. Now he’s saying it’s the result of getting drunk. That’s even worse.
“Well, which is it? Usually or mostly.”