by Cara Dee
Oh my God.
I sucked in a sharp breath and waited for my heart to stop pounding.
Still couldn’t move. I’d officially melted into the mattress.
I swallowed dryly. “Do I have to be quiet?”
He nodded with my softening cock in his mouth. Then he repositioned me on my side, and he stayed next to me, seemingly comfortable down there. His tongue swirled around me sluggishly, sensually, and it drew another shudder from me.
Was he serious? He was gonna sleep now? Like that?
It was hot and felt freaking fantastic, obviously, but I kind of wanted cuddles. And kissing. I wanted to kiss him. Hell, I wanted to worship his feet, and that wasn’t my kink.
He hummed and pressed the head of my cock between his tongue and the roof of his mouth.
I sighed in contentment, exhaustion creeping in, and wove my fingers through his hair again. I loved the feel of it.
“It’s a little cold,” I admitted.
Gideon released my cock and responded by pulling up the duvet and covering most of my body with it. Then he snuck under it himself and gathered my leg over his middle.
“Give me a pillow, please,” he said.
I reached blindly for one and pushed it down the mattress.
He’d been serious. He’d made himself a little spot there, and he was gonna sleep while nursing from me.
“Your cock is perfect,” he murmured between soft kisses. “It belongs in my mouth.”
Yeah, okay. I scrubbed a hand over my jaw and yawned. These two months were suddenly looking a lot more interesting, even to me, ’cause fuck if I’d done this before.
Gideon was something else.
I stayed in Brooklyn after working late on Friday and coerced my brother into having dinner with me at our favorite diner. It was this shitty little dive in Prospect Park where the two owners had never been able to agree on the interior design. So it was part fifties diner with checkered floors, red faux-leather boots, and a jukebox, and part rock ’n’ roll hangout with old guitars and posters on the walls. They had cheap beer, the best wings in New York, and decent cheesecake.
We ordered two baskets of wings, beer, and fries before Anthony told me to spit it out.
“Huh?” I cocked my head.
He offered a come-on look. “You’ve been restless all day. Somethin’s buggin’ ya.”
He wasn’t wrong.
“You better not regret covering more classes,” he said.
“I’m not.” I showed my palms. Hell, quitting at Starbucks and Applebee’s had been the best thing happening this year. It freed up most of my time and allowed me to work at the academy almost full time. “I gotta talk to someone about my client, and you’re my favorite.” I batted my lashes.
He snorted and hauled out a few notebooks from his messenger bag. The leather was worn and weathered from years of use. It’d been a birthday present from Pop once.
Anthony flicked me a glance. “He treats you all right, doesn’t he?”
“Yeah, no, it’s not that.” I didn’t know where to start, and the server was on his way with our beer, so I waited.
Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday had shown me a side of Gideon that was both sexy as sin and frustrating. Yesterday, he’d fucked me for the first time, and the same rules had applied. No talking, barely any moving, and I wasn’t allowed to see him.
He got me off just fine and was equally demanding and giving; he was both rough and gentle. In that respect, he was sort of a fantasy come true. But the rules, man…fucking hell, I hated them.
I nodded in thanks and took a swig of my beer before the foam had disappeared.
Then I wiped my mouth and took a breath. “He won’t let me do anything,” I said. “If it’d been his kink to mess around with a fuck doll, I’d understand better, but to explore…? I don’t know. It feels like there’s another reason why he doesn’t want me to move or say anything.”
“Rewind—wait. You’re not allowed to talk or move?” Anthony’s forehead creased with confusion.
I shrugged. “I wear a sleep mask too. I don’t know what he looks like.” The whole situation was difficult to explain. “Here’s the thing. He’s…” I scratched my forehead quickly, racking my brain for the right words. “He both takes and gives a lot. He’s seriously addictive with how he uses me, but it’s like he’s not interested in participation. Which is kinda fucking important when you explore something new, if you ask me. I mean, isn’t that the point? Figuring things out with someone?”
“Hm.” His short hum was so him. It was usually followed by a long spiel about things I had to consider.
It made me scramble. “He’s kept his sexuality hidden for what I assume is most of his life. Our first night together ended with a seven-hour-long cuddling session, and he told me he was tired. Like, mentally wrung out. I think he’s…you know, insecure and uncertain. It comes out here and there. And if I talked or were a more active participant, maybe it would change the path he’s on.”
He tilted his head at that last bit. “He could be trying to prevent chaos. You know James at the academy—we gotta email him clear-cut instructions, notes, and the songs he’s going to work on beforehand so he can mentally prepare himself. The smallest change in his schedule throws him off.”
Legit. James was a talented pianist and found peace in music. He’d been with Anthony since he was a little kid. Now he was a senior in high school who would probably get accepted into Juilliard. But as Anthony had mentioned—the smallest change could ruin the kid’s day and catapult him into panic.
Was that why Gideon was so strict with the rules?
“Maybe he’s trying to save face,” I realized out loud.
“Who?”
“My client. Yeah, because—yeah, he indicated that he doesn’t wanna come off as a beginner who doesn’t know what he’s doing.”
Anthony quirked a wry smirk. “He wants to achieve the impossible. Good luck with that.”
“Exactly,” I replied. “And it’s robbing him of a more genuine experience. By keeping me out of the interaction, he won’t feel like he’s actually explored anything.”
He tipped his hand, weighing his response, and shrugged a little. “That’s his choice, bambino. I know you wanna get involved in everything, but sometimes it just isn’t your place.”
I stared at him, wholly unsatisfied with his remark. The fuck? I didn’t wanna get involved in everything.
He pointed at me. “You wanna fix other people’s problems, and don’t even try to deny it.”
I opened my mouth to argue, only to snap it shut and narrow my eyes at him. Motherfucker! I was suddenly on trial for wanting to help people? Get outta here with that shit.
Anthony chuckled.
I shook my head, disgruntled, and glanced out the window. It’d been dark when we’d left work, and now the Friday night crowd was coming out to have dinner. As I checked the time on my phone, I saw we had two hours to kill before we had rehearsal at our church in Williamsburg.
Maybe Nonna would stop by. She liked to watch us play.
Our food arrived, and my stomach snarled with approval. I doused my wings in buffalo sauce.
“Speaking of solving other people’s problems,” I said, “let’s talk about your new song, which is clearly about you tryna find excuses to stay with someone who doesn’t make you happy.”
He frowned at me. “How the fuck did you draw that conclusion?”
I rolled my eyes. “Let’s see. You’re at the bottom of a heartbreak, you gotta learn to love what you have, you ask for time and space, there’s nowhere to go, you feel trapped—do I need to go on?”
“For chrissakes, it’s just a song, Nicky.” He shot me an irritated look before digging into his food.
It was clear he didn’t wanna talk about it, so I made a compromise with myself. If Nonna showed up at the church later and heard the song, I wouldn’t have to say another word on the matter because she would. She hated how Shawn used Anthony. Besi
des, where was he tonight? It was Friday, and Anthony’s exciting plans involved dinner and band practice with his kid brother. I was willing to bet Shawn had plans in the city with his clubbing buddies. Like he did most weekends.
If he ever showed up for Sunday dinners, he did it hungover.
My phone buzzed on the table, and I checked it after wiping my hands on a napkin.
Huh. A message from Gideon. I’d given him my number but never thought he’d use it.
Hello. This is Gideon. I was wondering if we could meet up more often. Every time I show up at the studio, I try to remind myself that we have time. I repeat to myself, “We have till dawn,” “We have two months,” but I’m still experiencing some anxiety about how quickly time passes. You would be compensated generously.
I couldn’t show Anthony the screen fast enough. I wanted to yell, “Can’t you see?!” But instead, I said, “Don’t tell me this man doesn’t want something genuine. He’s just uncertain about how to achieve it—and he thinks he can be satisfied with an arrangement where he pulls all the strings. He thinks having me as some puppet is enough.”
Anthony scanned the message. “We have till dawn.” He smiled faintly. “That’s sweet.” Then he lifted a shoulder and finished another wing. “Maybe he does want more. I never said he didn’t. My argument is that it’s not your place to give it to him. No pun intended.”
Something in me deflated, and it was because of my brother. This wasn’t him. He thought I had a bleeding heart? Forget about it. The whole reason he’d started his academy was to help and inspire children through music, and he had a soft spot for those who found peace in whatever music had to offer.
He’d gone above and beyond to help out his entire life. He’d picked up the pieces of Pop after our mother died of cancer. I’d been too young to remember, but Anthony had tackled Pop, his own grief, and school at the same time. He’d fought for the underdog, the bullied kids, the outcasts. For crying out loud, he was a Mets fan.
Fuck both him and Gideon. I was gonna help them whether they wanted me to or not.
Sorry sacks of shit.
I lowered my gaze to my phone and typed out a response.
I can be available on Mondays and/or Sundays too, but if you choose Sunday, I’d prefer to meet up at eleven instead of ten.
Sunday dinner at Nonna’s was usually over around eight, but she was incapable of saying goodbye, so we tended to stand in the hallway for half an eternity while she came up with just one more thing to say or do before we left. It always involved handing over leftovers and telling us who in the neighborhood was pregnant or getting divorced.
Gideon replied quickly.
What about tonight? I’d like to see you tonight.
The man didn’t wanna come off as inexperienced, but he had no issues showing vulnerability or being honest with how eager he was.
I can’t tonight. My brother and I are rehearsing some songs with the choir at our local church in Brooklyn.
I threw a couple fries into my mouth as Gideon wrote his response.
My eyebrows flew up when I read it.
I saw the note on your fridge and let it slide because it’s your home for the moment. Same with the drumsticks I saw by the door and your keyboard by the window. But try not to share any information about yourself. I want this arrangement to be as impersonal as possible. I’ll take both Mondays and Sundays, thank you. 11 p.m. for Sunday sounds good. I will handle the compensation through Tina.
Oh, fuck you, dude.
Sorry if my personal life got in the way of your—
My thoughts were derailed when another of his texts popped up.
And please don’t leave any more notes on the table. If I sneak out while you’re asleep, it’s for a reason. You don’t have to tell me goodbye or anything. I will see you tomorrow, then.
Now he was pissing me off. I’d left a single note with my phone number on it, and I’d written, “In case you’re gone before I wake up, my number if you need it.” Since I didn’t bring the iPad out with me.
Maybe I shouldn’t get involved. He seemed to have made up his mind about everything.
Chapter 4
It felt good to be back in the church I’d spent so many boring hours in growing up. It wasn’t every day we got to practice with the choir; I think last time was before summer. Now, Halloween and Thanksgiving were right around the corner, and the choir had some fun events to rehearse for. Anthony and I would be part of one of them.
Back in the day, it’d been mostly older people in the choir—and by older, I meant Anthony’s age—but now several of them were even younger than me.
It was a representative mix consisting of twenty men and women of the Catholic population of Williamsburg, and I’d gone to school with many of them. Anthony could say the same for the older folk.
As much as I loved Manhattan, this was where I belonged. It was home. With all its flaws.
“Nicky, can you take the piano for warm-up?” Anthony asked. “We have Nina, Henri, and Luiz on bass, guitar, and drums. I’ll take the organ.”
“Sounds good.” I left my guitar with him at the first pew and headed up toward the piano. “Maria!”
She was a friend of ours; she lived in the same building as Nonna, and I could always borrow the sheet music from her.
“What’s this I hear about you leaving Brooklyn, papi?”
“It’s just temporary.” I smiled, sitting down at the piano. A handful of people had arrived and taken their seats along the pews. “What’re youse working on these days?”
She smirked knowingly and handed over a binder. “It’s all in here.”
“Cheers, hon.” I found a good one to begin with, X Ambassadors’ gospel song “Belong,” and the choir fell quiet as I played the first few notes.
Anthony took his seat at the organ across the aisle and nodded to me, so I started over and signaled to Nina, Henri, and Luiz.
One of Anthony’s buddies, Matthew, stepped forward to the mic that was set up for whoever was doing a solo.
His voice had great range, and he handled the higher notes almost as well as my brother did.
As soon as the choir filled in and flooded the small church with their harmonies, it became abundantly clear that this was exactly what I needed tonight. And even more so when I gazed out over the pews and spotted my grandmother. I smiled at her, and she waved enthusiastically and sat down somewhere in the middle.
After two glasses of brandy, Nonna liked to brag about our music abilities and how they came from her. She’d once been a singer herself, and she’d bought Anthony his first guitar.
We ran through a handful of songs with the choir, most of which would be performed at the church’s fall concerts, and then we started going through the program for the event we were gonna participate in. It was an annual outdoor event that took place in an abandoned church that was more ruins than church. The lot sat on the edge of the neighborhood, and people tended to walk past it a little faster at night. But for one day of the year, the area was packed. The ruins of the church were lit up with bistro lights and spotlights and candles, people brought their own chairs and blankets, and a few members of the community sold hot beverages, cookies, hot dogs, and candied almonds.
As Anthony walked up to the choir and discussed harmonies of his new song, I sat back and listened on one ear while my gaze scanned the visitors. I exchanged another smile with Nonna, but she was busy chatting to some woman I didn’t know but recognized. Probably a neighbor. Judging by Nonna’s gesturing and the way she patted the woman’s arm, Nonna was giving unsolicited advice about something. She was fantastic at that.
Damn, Mr. Colinetti was here with his wife. He was my old math teacher in high school, and more importantly, Anthony’s first crush.
That was another thing that didn’t make sense about Anthony’s relationship with Shawn. My brother usually preferred older men. He’d spent his twenties chasing silver foxes, and now that he was one himself, he acted as if the rol
es suddenly had to be reversed. Shawn was young. Twenty-four or something.
Come to think of it, Anthony had brought Shawn home for Sunday dinner about a year ago, after my brother had bitched about getting old. He’d even dyed his hair for a few months before giving that shit up.
Maybe I should plant sexy silver foxes in Anthony’s path.
He needed someone sweet who was as nurturing as he was, someone who didn’t use him as a place to crash or source of income when “money’s short.” Because Anthony would never stop helping those who asked. Hell, I’d stayed in his guest room for almost two years, and not only did he not expect any rent, he said I could stay for as long as I needed. Obviously, I paid my way and pulled my weight around the house, but Shawn sure as hell didn’t.
Cazzo, the dude bothered me. For some reason, I’d always felt protective of Anthony, even when it should be the other way around. I guess it was because, unlike him, I wouldn’t be taken for a ride.
Yet, he said I had issues with a bleeding heart?
Fuck that nonsense.
I shook my head to myself and glanced—huh. I didn’t recognize the man in the back of the church, and he didn’t belong here. That was one fancy-ass suit. He didn’t sit down like the other dozen folks either; he stood near the exit and just looked out of place.
“Nicky!”
“What?” I whipped my head toward Anthony and realized I’d zoned out. “Sorry.”
He smirked faintly. “You ready to switch places?”
“Yes, boss.” I rose from the piano and met him halfway where he handed me the sheet music for the guitar, though he knew I’d improvise a bit. Music was like cooking. If you followed the recipe religiously, you weren’t using your heart.
We took a couple minutes to get ready; I plugged in my electric guitar and made sure I didn’t have to tune it again, and Anthony warmed up his fingers on the keys of the piano. In the meantime, the choir practiced their cues, and Maria and three other women positioned themselves closer to the microphone.
It was a hauntingly beautiful song, but it wasn’t the most challenging one. Focus would be on Anthony’s singing and the choir.
