Love Him Free: Book One of On The Market

by Lindsey, E. M.

  ‘Whatever,’ Rocco signed lazily. He grinned and then winked, and when Simon flushed, Rocco looked triumphant.

  He knew what he was doing, Simon realized, and it didn’t make sense. Simon had seen what Rocco’s ex looked like, and Simon did not measure up. He was round and soft, on the chubby side. Eric had been cut from marble with a million-dollar smile and baby blues that someone could get lost in for days.

  His hands shook harder as he fumbled with his phone. “Hi, I need…” Simon struggled with the words and closed his eyes. “I need pizza for delivery.”

  Eventually, he got his shit together enough to order cheese, olives, and peppers, then set his card out before taking hesitant steps toward the sofa. He was still painfully hard, but it was mostly confined to his jeans, behind his baggy shirt. It made walking with any grace impossible though, and he flopped down with the dog between them, and he reached out tentative fingers.

  James didn’t hesitate to nuzzle in, to absorb every ounce of affection, and Simon heard Rocco scoff. “He acts like no one loves him.”

  Simon lifted his eyes. ‘I can tell he is very spoiled.’

  Rocco’s laugh was deep and genuine, and he shook his head with a grin so wide, his ears lifted with it. ‘So is your cat. What’s his name?’

  And so came the moment. Simon licked his lips. ‘I don’t want to tell you.’

  Rocco’s eyebrows went higher. ‘Why?’

  Simon glanced away for a second, steeling himself. ‘My brother got him for me. Our friend has a cat shelter in town. They have a little farm with cats, goats, ducks…’

  Rocco’s eyes were soft and attentive, and he nodded for Simon to go on.

  ‘He couldn’t keep them all, so Levi brought him home for me,’ he pointed at Rocco who was primly grooming his paw.

  Rocco reached over and gave the cat another scratch. ‘Go on,’ he signed when his hands settled back in front of him.

  Simon’s cheeks burned. ‘He was already named when Levi gave him to me.’ His fingers trembled. ‘R-O-C-C-O.’

  Rocco blinked, then threw his head back and startled both dog and cat with his booming laugh. ‘Because of me?’

  ‘No,’ Simon hurriedly signed, then dropped his hands and shrugged. ‘Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. I thought it was a coincidence, but he probably knows how much I…’ He forced his hands to still.

  Rocco leaned in. ‘How much you what?’

  Simon wanted to look away, wanted desperately to be anywhere else not having this conversation with the object of his obsession. ‘Enjoy you.’

  Rocco’s tongue darted over his lower lip. ‘You enjoy me?’

  ‘As much as you seem to enjoy tormenting me,’ Simon said. He had to spell tormenting—he had no idea if there was even a sign for that, but he watched the way Rocco’s eyes followed the shapes of his fingers—the way they darkened even more.

  ‘I don’t want to make you feel bad, S.’

  S—for Simon. ‘I’m embarrassed. Of course you knew I was a fan, but I…I liked talking with you.’

  ‘Don’t you think it’s okay to be friends and a fan?’ Rocco challenged. He sat back a little, and Simon felt just a bit more air fill his lungs. ‘I don’t mind.’

  Simon wanted to explain better how this all made him feel, but he supposed Rocco wouldn’t be able to understand what it was like to be a terrified virgin baker trapped in this small town.

  ‘You didn’t ask me to come,’ Rocco said, interrupting Simon’s thoughts. ‘I showed up. If anyone should feel bad, it’s me.’

  Simon’s eyes widened. ‘No…’

  Rocco’s hand darted out, touching his wrist, quieting his response. ‘I liked talking to you too. There was so much going on and you were the first person that made me feel like more than just a public figure. Everyone wanted details. They wanted to make me bleed emotions for their entertainment.’

  Simon’s heart twisted for him. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Rocco shook his head, his smile soft. ‘You just asked me if I was okay. So simple, but just what I needed.’ He reached out again, his big hand cupping Simon’s cheek, thumb tracing his jaw. Simon’s dick throbbed so hard, it was a miracle right then he didn’t spill. He was on edge though—too close—but Rocco pulled away just in time. ‘Thank you.’

  Simon wanted to sit there forever, to feel Rocco touching him forever, but the weight of his jeans against his dick was too much. ‘I need…toilet,’ he spluttered. He was on his feet and racing for the bathroom before he could see Rocco’s response. The moment the door slammed, he ripped at his zipper. He got his dick out seconds before his balls went tight and he shot, missing the toilet and hitting the edge of the sink. His moan was loud, ripping from his chest, and he panicked only for the second it took to remember Rocco wouldn’t hear it.

  “Fuck,” he said again, the word too common since Rocco had showed up in his doorway. His sweaty hand dragged down the front of his face, and he forced himself to straighten up, to look in the mirror. His cheeks were so splotchy his freckles stood out like tattoos against his skin—dark and far too visible. His nostrils flared as his erratic breathing fought to go back to normal, and he wondered if losing his virginity was even possible by this point.

  He’d spent years coming without touching himself—losing all restraint at the thought of Rocco’s hands on him. He laughed, the sound anguished and bitter, because it would be absolutely no surprise if Simon had ruined himself for anyone else. After all—ruining everything was what he did, whether he wanted to or not. His limp, come-covered dick hanging out through the slit in his boxers was proof enough why he had no chance with Rocco—why Rocco shouldn’t even be there.

  Simon took his time clearing up the mess and washing his hands, and he was mostly put together by the time he stepped out. The pizza would be there soon, and he found Rocco on the sofa holding James on his lap. The cat was nowhere to be found, but that didn’t surprise him from the way he’d raced out of the room.

  He gave a sheepish smile to the other man who beckoned him to sit back down, and Simon appreciated being able to lower to the cushions without the weight of his erection between his legs.

  ‘Sorry,’ he started, but Rocco waved him off.

  ‘Are you okay? You looked like you were going to be sick.’

  Simon shook his head. ‘No, I’m not sick. It’s been a long day. Long week.’ Long life, he thought, but he didn’t add that. It felt wrong to drop his angst and frustration on this man who had come seeking some peace from the mess his life had become. ‘Pizza will be here soon.’

  Rocco hummed quietly in the back of his throat, then he pushed James off to the side and shifted closer. Simon felt the familiar stirrings of want heating up in his belly, but not enough to be a problem—not yet.

  ‘Does your brother live here?’

  Not the question he’d been expecting, but if anything was boner-killer, it was talking about his relationship with Levi. ‘No. He used to, but he moved in with his boyfriend.’ A slow smile crept over his lips. ‘James.’

  Rocco’s eyes went wide, then he laughed. ‘James?’ he spelled.

  Simon nodded. ‘Irony. He’s going to love that he’s named after a pocket dog.’

  “Pocket dog,” Rocco said aloud, then laughed again. ‘Do you like him?’

  Simon worried his bottom lip between his teeth. ‘Levi or James?’

  ‘Either,’ Rocco signed. ‘Both.’

  ‘I love my brother.’ That was the easiest answer. ‘My parents died when we were pretty young. Levi was a baby when our dad died. He was barely four when our mom died.’ Simon was surprised at how steady his hands were, but he supposed all the years between then and now tempered his grief. ‘It was a car accident—she and I were heading to Colorado Springs, and she swerved into the wrong lane. I woke up in the hospital.’ Simon rubbed at his sternum where he had a thin scar that never totally faded. ‘She was brought in with me, but she never woke up.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Rocco signed, the sympathy o
n his face genuine and without the sort of patronizing air most people used when offering condolences.

  Simon waved him off. ‘It was a long time ago. We lived with our grandmother, but she died when Levi was twelve. I was in college.’

  The truth dawned on Rocco, and it flared in his eyes with empathetic pain. ‘You had to leave school.’

  Simon nodded, giving a small shrug. ‘She left me the bakery, so I took care of Levi and ran the place. I had no idea what I was doing, but I lasted this long.’

  Rocco winced. ‘Is there no way to save it?’

  ‘Money,’ Simon answered with a harsh, frustrated laugh. ‘It’s always money. I had to take out a loan, and I’m not making enough to pay it all back along with the other expenses. Levi has a food truck now, and he’s doing well. I’ll probably close at the end of summer.’

  Saying it like that—even on his hands—was profound. Simon had known it. In the back of his mind, he’d known. He wasn’t hiding from the fact that Bette’s Chametz’s legacy was coming to an end all because Simon was nothing more than a failure. He had been a terrible parent to Levi—had never quite figured out how to show his brother love and compassion. He had been a dumping ground for his mother’s grief, and he’d been little more than an anxious disaster for Bubbe to take care of.

  None of it was a surprise, but it hurt. It hurt that he couldn’t do this one thing—even if he truly didn’t want it. There was no point in trying to turn it over to Levi, either. Even if his skill and willingness to step outside of their restrictive kosher certification could bring more people in the door, it wouldn’t be enough. It couldn’t save Simon from the hole he was in.

  He’d find a way to tell Levi—and then it would be done.

  A warm hand touched his cheek again, and Simon’s breath rushed out of his lungs. He turned his eyes up to find Rocco’s holding his gaze, his look as firm as the caress of his fingers. His heart thudded against his ribs, want pooling in his belly. He ran his tongue over his lip, and then… he leaned in.

  The knock startled him back before Rocco could respond—to either accept or reject the offered kiss. He’d forgotten about the pizza, and his face was so hot he thought he might burst into flames as he scrambled to his feet and hurried toward the door.

  He clutched his card between his fingers, but as he reached for the doorknob, he felt a hot, firm body behind him. Rocco’s chest pressed against him as his large hand grabbed the handle and wrenched the door open. Simon’s ears were ringing with shock, loud enough he couldn’t hear the pizza delivery woman who was holding the two boxes in one hand.

  Simon stood there—wordless and still as Rocco thrust cash at her. He took the pizzas with one hand, signed his thanks with the other, then shut the door. Simon’s senses were flooded—overwhelmed. The smell of spices, dough, and cheese took over, and below that the undercurrent of Rocco’s cologne. The hot press of his body remained against his back, the slow puffs of his breath brushing the back of Simon’s ear.

  And then, a steady hand turned him. Rocco’s eyes were still dark, but Simon couldn’t get a read on his expression.

  ‘Eat,’ Rocco finally signed into the space between them. ‘Talk after.’

  It seemed an offering, and Simon would be a fool not to take it. He was resigned to his fate—whatever it was—as he let Rocco take his hand and drag him back to the sofa. He was at some sort of turning point, but as Rocco opened the first pizza box and gave him another one of his unreadable looks, Simon was well aware he had no idea what was coming next.

  Chapter Six

  It was entirely due to his job that Rocco had been able to hold back his desire to draw Simon into his arms and take him apart until dawn. He was hard. Not as hard as he could have been—but Rocco had learned to restrain himself on command after years and years in the film industry.

  Helpful, he supposed, but Simon was testing his abilities like no one ever had. Maybe it was because he was so unrestrained—with his feelings and the way they played into every expression on his face and every motion of his body, and the tremble in his fingers as he signed, and the way he looked at Rocco. Or maybe it was because he was nothing like the men Rocco had been surrounded by since he started his work.

  And he loved his job, he did. He loved the lifestyle it provided, and he loved that he was good at it. He even enjoyed most of his colleagues and the friends he had. But he was growing tired of the fear that everyone around him was just waiting to see what they could get. He once thought Eric had loved him just to love him—but that idea had been shattered without mercy. In the weeks he’d wallowed after his break-up, his heartache wasn’t for the love he lost, but for the sudden realization that no one might ever love him for the man he was.

  The person beyond his body, and his skill, and the number in his bank account.

  Simon was…different. It wasn’t the first time Rocco had fucked one of his fans—he didn’t do it often, but a time or two when he was just getting started he’d given in to the temptation. And after Eric, there had been parties where the two of them had devoured shy men who had managed to get an invite and spent the night pressed against the wall, trembling with need.

  He hadn’t hated those moments, but Simon was not like any of those men. His concern after finding Rocco at his laptop was genuine. He looked afraid—and maybe a little hurt—that Rocco might think Simon’s friendship was anything but. Simon was a sea of complications, Rocco knew that much. There was a pain in his eyes Rocco didn’t understand, though knowing about his parents and grandmother made sense.

  He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have his entire life decided for him, to be thrust in the role of guardian at such a tender, important age. To have whatever dreams he was following, whatever freedom he’d fought for, snatched by the hands of death?

  It sounded like a prison sentence.

  Simon was sad—and he was resigned. His bakery was failing, but he wasn’t asking for help. It was sand cupped in his hands. Rocco fought back the urge to throw money at him, to just solve the problem with a check. He could do it. He wouldn’t have a single regret, even if it turned out Simon had befriended him for that reason alone. The way Simon’s flushed skin felt against his palm when he touched him, that was worth more than he could say. He was soft, and sweet, and Rocco wanted to devour him.

  When Simon rushed off before the pizza arrived, Rocco was more than aware of what was going on. He didn’t need to hear the thumping, or the moans, or the sharp cry of orgasm to know that Simon hadn’t been able to hold back. He closed his eyes and could too easily picture Simon standing over the toilet, hand flying over his dick, spilling ropes of seed into the water below.

  Rocco’s mouth watered. He was often tired of sex, but he never got tired of genuine want—genuine desire in the form of a man’s hot breath and warm cock and thick tongue that wasn’t paid to be there—that wasn’t getting something out of it. He wanted Simon, and maybe coming here had been a spur of the moment decision, but he didn’t regret that for a second.

  He did feel resentment when their kiss was interrupted—at least at first, but it was too obvious to see how lost Simon was. He didn’t know Rocco well, and it was unfair to take advantage of him like that. Rocco wanted to woo him, seduce him with more than just his name, his reputation, his body. He wanted every inch, every molecule, of Simon to be desperate for him.

  He wanted Simon so wrapped up in him, he begged Rocco not to leave.

  Or maybe, he begged Rocco to take him with—and that idea had some appeal.

  He had no timeline right now. He was in limbo, waiting for Anthony to sort out whatever the hell was going to happen with his film career and Xander. He had three years left on a contract—three long years to potentially not film a single scene. That might have been a death sentence to other stars, an easy way to become irrelevant. Rocco didn’t want to lose his life, but as he looked across the sofa at Simon delicately picking at his pizza, he didn’t think it was the worst idea in the world.


  ‘Tell me what’s good to do around here,’ Rocco asked after getting Simon’s attention. ‘I need to leave soon, I’m exhausted. But I have no plans after tonight.’

  Simon’s cheeks pinked beautifully, and Rocco wanted to drag his teeth over those freckles. ‘It’s a small town.’

  Rocco raised a brow. ‘I know.’

  At that, Simon laughed and shook his head. ‘There’s a farmer’s market tomorrow night. Everyone in town shows up, and most of the shops have a booth.’

  Rocco leaned forward. ‘You?’

  Simon glanced away, then shrugged. ‘Normally I don’t, but Fitz,’ he spelled the name slowly. ‘Fire chief. He asked me if I would set up, so I told him next week.’

  Rocco studied his expression. ‘You regret it.’

  Simon looked pained. ‘It won’t help the bakery. It just means more baking and I have no help, and Levi is busy with his truck.’

  Rocco worried the inside of his cheek, then gave a firm nod. ‘Teach me.’

  Simon startled in his seat, almost knocking his plate off his lap. He gingerly pushed it to the table, then looked back at Rocco. ‘Teach you what?’

  ‘Baking. I’m not bad in the kitchen. I’ll help you get ready.’ He waited, and Simon’s hands lifted to protest, so he grabbed his wrist lightly and squeezed, shaking his head. ‘Let me help.’

  The wet, pink tip of Simon’s tongue dragged over his bottom lip, and Rocco fought the urge to lean in and taste it. God, he wanted him. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘You have a better idea?’ Rocco challenged. And maybe Simon’s hesitation was right. Maybe it would be damn near impossible to keep his hands to himself if they were in a kitchen together, but that part was far more than seduction. He wanted to help. He wanted to ease a few of Simon’s worry lines, wanted to soothe the way his soul was all twisted up into knots with more than just fucking.

  He had never been so gone so fast before, but Rocco was also the kind of man who followed his heart—even when his heart was wrong.