He made his way back to the kitchen, and he found Rocco at the sink filling a large pasta pot with water. Simon stood there in the doorway, holding the dog, watching his lover as he moved. Rocco was huge, but had a grace about him that most people didn’t. He wondered if it was from filming—from being famous, from always being observed. But something about it was more natural than practice.
He was smitten.
Rocco set the pot on the burner, then turned and smiled, and Simon realized Rocco knew he was there. He liked that, he liked that Rocco was aware of him. He felt his entire body soften—all but his dick—as Rocco crossed the room and put his hands to Simon’s waist. He glanced down at James, then leaned in and rubbed his nose along Simon’s, breathing in deep.
“Hi,” he said.
Simon didn’t respond with words or signs, but he turned his face up and initiated a kiss. Rocco groaned into it, took Simon’s waist and pulled him forward, to the side, then back until he hit the wall. One big hand lifted James out of his arms and eased him down to the floor before surging back up and kissing him harder, deeper.
Simon’s hands went to Rocco’s hair, burying in the thick, dark locks. He could do this forever. He could exist in these arms, this mouth on his, those fingers pressing bruising shapes into his skin, for the rest of his life. He wanted it, more than he had ever wanted anything.
And it terrified him and elated him all at the same time.
When had he gotten brave enough to admit it?
Rocco pulled back when he felt Simon’s body poised, on edge to let go, and he pressed his hand on Simon’s thigh. “Do you want to come?”
Simon swallowed thickly. He wouldn’t mind changing before dinner anyway, but he had a feeling the rental’s washer and dryer were going to get a workout. He bit his lip and shifted toward Rocco’s hand, nodding.
Rocco growled, then dragged his palm up, bypassing Simon’s dick. Simon let out a sharp whine, wanting to finally feel someone touch him there, but he didn’t need it. Rocco leaned in, dragging open lips just beneath his ear, and it was enough.
His body jerked with the orgasm—not as powerful as those first few, but powerful enough. His hips thrust against open air, then he collapsed against Rocco’s chest and let the other man gather him close. They had done this so many times and Rocco still hadn’t come. Simon’s unease crept in just under the bliss and euphoria, and it must have shown in his eyes when he pulled back.
‘What’s wrong?’ Rocco signed.
Simon bit his lip. ‘Can we talk about,’ he waved his hand between him and Rocco. ‘After we eat?’
Rocco looked hesitant. ‘Are you unhappy?’
‘Confused,’ Simon spelled, not remembering the sign for it. Rocco showed him, and he repeated it. ‘Not bad, just need to talk.’
Rocco’s entire body relaxed just a fraction, and when he leaned in again, Simon didn’t reject the kiss. It was sweeter this time. It was full of an emotion Simon was too afraid to name. It was over too fast, but Simon’s crotch was sticky and uncomfortably wet, so he was grateful for the reprieve.
He didn’t let himself think too much as he changed, didn’t sink into the anxiety of what-ifs, but it was a near thing. Instead, he focused on what was to come. Dinner with his lover, and a little more tenderness.
And then…
And then, he would get ready to bare all.
* * *
Simon had to wonder if it was some sort of gift that all Italian men had—like a genetic ability to cook, though he knew that was ridiculous. But one of his first friends in college had been a whiz with a hot plate and dry noodles and cans of cheap tomato sauce. He could whip up a bolognaise good enough to make Simon want to cry with a half bottle of two-dollar wine and a jar of dried oregano added in.
Rocco’s was better than that. It was dry pasta, but it tasted fresh. The sauce had a richness he couldn’t describe with words, but he was happy to eat until he almost felt sick. It was an over-indulgence, but Rocco’s pleased grin as he watched Simon attack his plate was worth it.
When they were finished, Rocco took him by the hand, a loose grip of clasped fingers, and they made their way out back. There was an echo of the sunset’s glow just above the peak of the mountains, but not enough to give any real light. The yard was lit up by a handful of solars, but it felt soothing in a way to be surrounded by darkness.
Rocco led him to a two-person swing, the cushions heavy and thick, and he tucked himself between Rocco’s spread legs, the pair of them stretched along the length of it as best as two fully grown men could. Simon laid with his back to Rocco’s chest and let Rocco’s large hands curve over his.
“Happy?” Rocco asked aloud.
Simon nodded his fist against Rocco’s palm.
“Me too.” Lips pressed against his hair, nose digging into his curls. He felt more than heard Rocco take a deep breath in. “Can we talk out here?”
Simon took his hands away, then twisted around. ‘Too dark?’
Rocco pulled a face, but he knew Simon was right. Neither of them seemed to want to give up this little bit of sanctuary away from both the chaos of life and what they planned to do next in the bedroom, but Simon knew he couldn’t put it off for much longer.
He leaned in and stole a kiss before heaving himself up, and he heard Rocco’s heavy footsteps follow him in. They’d only taken a minute out there in the dark, but Simon’s eyes struggled to adjust. They watered a little as he took the corner seat on the sofa, and he turned as Rocco joined him.
‘If you changed your mind,’ Rocco started, but Simon shook his head.
‘It isn’t that. I,’ he hovered with his finger touching his chest, then stopped and dropped his hands for a second. ‘I don’t know what this is between us,’ he went on. ‘You like me.’
‘Yes,’ Rocco said, his fist perfunctory and sharp. He leaned in, but not close enough to touch. ‘Yes,’ he signed again.
‘What happens when all of this is over?’ Simon asked.
Rocco’s brow furrowed. ‘What?’
‘Your agent,’ Simon asked, his shaking fingers fumbling over the spelling of words he didn’t have the signs for. ‘Your job. You can’t live in Cherry Creek.’
Rocco’s brow furrowed. ‘Why not?’
Simon couldn’t help his laugh. ‘It’s small. There’s nothing here.’
Rocco’s face was challenging now, eyes not letting him go. ‘You’re here. Your family is here.’
‘Your family is not,’ Simon reminded him.
Rocco scoffed. ‘I don’t see them that often. We’re not as close as we were before I started working in film. I don’t let them choose for me what makes me happy.’
Simon’s insides swooped like he was on a roller coaster. He craved that—wanted that. He was desperate for a moment that he could choose for himself and not out of fear for the consequences if he broke his vow. ‘I don’t know how to do that.’
‘I know,’ Rocco said. He reached out this time, touching Simon’s cheek, then dragging his hand down to cup the back of his neck. He held there for a long time, letting the warmth of his palm soothe Simon’s frayed nerves. ‘I like it here.’
‘Say that in a month,’ Simon replied with a laugh, and Rocco rolled his eyes.
‘Two months. Six months. Ten years. I don’t know where we’ll be, but I like you. I want this with you.’
Simon glanced away, just for a second, just to give himself some reprieve from the intensity he saw in Rocco’s eyes.
‘Simon,’ Rocco signed, and he smiled—just a little bit, mostly in the eyes, and at the corners of his mouth. ‘I just got out of a long-term relationship. I didn’t love him—I don’t know if I ever loved him. I want to move slow. But I want to see where this goes. I don’t want to stop when we’re done with this,’ he indicated the hallway, and Simon knew what he meant.
It was like Rocco could read him, those quiet, anxious parts of him he was too afraid to voice. He breathed out, air shaking in his chest, but something fe
lt settled. ‘Thank you.’
Rocco nodded, then he stood up and extended his hand. Simon didn’t hesitate, even if his anxiety began to ramp up again, but Rocco held him fast, didn’t hurry toward the bedroom. He paused in the doorway, pressing Simon to the hard, unforgiving wood, then kissed him hard enough to make him forget that it was painful against his spine.
He let go, then let Simon take the lead—let Simon take that first step into something that would surely change his life forever. But, he realized as he stared at the small camera set up, and the turned-down blankets, and the shaded windows, it might just be for the better.
Chapter Thirteen
Rocco didn’t need Simon to tell him he was nervous. It was apparent in the slight tremble of his fingers, and the tension in his spine, even as he led the way into the bedroom. Rocco didn’t exactly mind, though. This was Simon’s first time with all of it. No one had ever explored the soft expanse of Simon’s body before him and it was erotic, though that was such a shallow word for the way it made him feel.
Rocco had never set much value in the idea of virginity. He respected it, respected the way it made people feel, but he had never used it to measure worth. New actors who hadn’t done much on screen or with a private partner didn’t hold more or less appeal when he filmed with them.
Eric himself hadn’t dated much before he had gone to work for Rocco. He’d been nervous too, though not like this. He worried about pleasing Rocco, about measuring up to the scenes Rocco had on screen. And Rocco couldn’t exactly say that he didn’t get pleasure out of them, because he did. It was fucking, and he very much enjoyed fucking. But Eric never seemed to understand that what he wanted in his life and in the privacy of his bedroom was not what he was paid to do on camera.
He hated himself a little for how often he was comparing Simon to his ex, but he supposed that was also normal. Eric had been Rocco’s first real adult relationship. He’d dated in college—a few weeks here, a month or two there. Nothing that stuck, nothing that had substance or meaning.
Even Eric felt shallow at first. It was forbidden fruit—sneaking around on set and fucking his interpreter, then filming a scene with Eric right there—watching, hands flying with stage direction and dialogue. He loved it. And it became more, but it never became enough.
With Simon, it was different, and he needed to figure out what that meant. But, not now.
The lights were low in the room and everything was set up. Rocco had spent a few hours before heading to Simon’s testing angles and filming a couple scenes of himself jacking off and playing with toys. He kept it active, kept himself moving, and he knew that the videos would need some editing, but not much. He didn’t have expert skill in amateur videos—he had never been the guy who did the nitty gritty tech work. But he’d picked up enough over the years, and he had friends.
He had a contract waiting for Simon that ensured he was the only one who would get paid, and he had a plan. Five videos—and then, if Simon wanted, if he was ready—a sixth. A sixth where Rocco would give something to Simon that he hadn’t given anyone else.
And Simon would take from him, and he would fulfill an expectation that Rocco believed was bullshit, but would most certainly line his pockets nicely. Enough to pull him out of debt and cushion his way into figuring out what he wanted next.
His mind briefly went back to the moment on the sofa, the terrified way Simon had looked at him, how he had spelled most of his words, because his fear had stolen his vocabulary. But he made himself clear enough.
He thought this might be a game, a way for Rocco to pass the time until all the shit with Eric and Xander either worked out or disappeared. He thought Rocco was just biding his time until he could walk away, and Rocco didn’t know how to assure him he wouldn’t, because he wasn’t sure about himself.
He had never fallen so hard, so fast.
He needed time—and he had it. Just…not right now.
Simon was staring at him expectantly, not sure what to do. His hand toyed with the hem of his shirt like he thought maybe he should pull it off, so Rocco closed his fingers around Simon’s delicate wrist and gave a light squeeze.
‘Wait,’ he signed, and Simon nodded. Rocco took a step back, then wiped his palms over the tops of his jeans. ‘The plan will be to film five videos to start. One per night. I have a contract for you to sign and a friend to help edit. Nothing goes live until you say it’s okay.’
Simon bit his lip. ‘Will you…orgasm? With me?’
Rocco blinked at him, a little startled by the question. ‘This is about you. This is me making you come.’
‘You have,’ Simon pointed out. ‘More than once. And you never…’ His hand hung in the air with hesitation.
Rocco hadn’t realized it. He’d been hyper focused on Simon to the exclusion of his own pleasure in the moment. He hadn’t minded—in fact, he’d loved it. He’d taken those images—the feel of Simon’s body tensing, the hitching in his breath, the hot puffs of air against Rocco’s face— and he’d stroked himself over and over the moment he’d gone back to his room.
The first night he made Simon come with just a kiss, he’d buried three fingers in his own ass and shouted into his pillow just reliving that moment. It was erotic and gorgeous—but he’d made a mistake in not sharing with Simon.
“Shit,” he said aloud.
Simon took a step back, then stopped when Rocco held up a hand in surrender.
‘No.’ Rocco raked fingers through his hair. ‘You have made me come. A lot. Just…not with me.’
Simon’s eyes went wide when he realized what Rocco was saying.
‘It’s not on purpose, I just enjoyed making you feel good. Of course I want to come with you.’
Simon took a fortifying breath, then squared his shoulders. Courage, bravery, boldness—it looked so fucking good on him, and Rocco was already starting to swell in his jeans. ‘Come with me after. I’ll do it for the video, and after…you and me.’
Rocco nodded so hard, his neck ached, but he crossed the distance and put his hands on Simon’s shoulder. What he wanted to do was kiss him. What he wanted was to pin Simon to the bed and fuck his cock between Simon’s thighs and cover them with his come.
‘Do you want to look at the contract now?’ Rocco asked.
Simon shook his head. ‘I trust you. We can look at it tomorrow. I feel like if I don’t do this now,’ his hands wavered in the air.
‘I understand,’ Rocco answered. He took a step back, then turned the camera on. It faced the bed, so they weren’t in the shot. Yet. He knew where to place Simon so his face mostly wouldn’t be seen, and the rest they could fix in post. Easy. He turned back to his lover and fixed him with a dark, seductive look. He wasn’t sure it would work on Simon now that they knew each other so well, but he saw pink flood his cheeks, and if possible, he got harder. ‘Follow my lead. I’ll keep our faces off camera. I practiced.’
Simon laughed, and Rocco wondered if it was silent or not. But it didn’t matter. He took a step closer and reached for Simon’s hand, taking willing fingers and sucking two into his mouth. Simon’s head tipped back, and Rocco splayed a hand out on his chest, feeling his moan. Yes, Simon would be good at this.
Letting one hand fall to Simon’s hip, he walked him to the front of the bed. He’d be visible from chin down there, Rocco from his neck and below. It wouldn’t take long for any of his fans to recognize him—his subtle ink, the curve of his waist, his hands. But he supposed that was what he wanted.
He supposed it didn’t matter. He was Rocco in this—Rocco, with his boyfriend, Simon.
A wave of possession hit him. For a brief, hysterical moment, he wanted to smash the camera, throw all of his money at Simon, then refuse to share him with the world.
But it was only a moment.
This was sex. This was coming.
Making love would be after.
His hands dragged over Simon’s skin as they removed his shirt, letting it fall at their feet. He splayed wide pal
ms over Simon’s ribs, letting his fingertips dig in, letting them drag faint lines up to his nipples.
Simon shuddered, and he groaned again, loud enough Rocco could hear just the faint impression of it as it ripped from Simon’s throat. His fingers went for the elastic waistband of his jogging pants next. They were soft grey, cheap, simple—and they had never looked better on anyone else before. His fingers had their own tremble, because this was a first. This was a gift—unwrapping Simon, even for an eventual audience, but it was okay. No one was with them now. No one was seeing Simon like this before him.
He licked his lips, then nudged Simon’s head up with his own lips before deepening the kiss. Simon made a noise—it vibrated against Rocco’s lips. It was maybe a protest, so he pulled back and saw the shape of, ‘Too close,’ curve over his mouth and tongue.
He nodded and eased his grip. Simon was tenting his sweats to the point of strained, and a wet spot had grown dark and round, the size of a quarter. Rocco waited, only a beat, then he touched him there through the fabric. Rocco heard Simon’s cry louder this time. His own dick begged for more, but he would wait. It would be worth it.
Letting go, Rocco stepped behind Simon, and he carefully eased the sweats down past his thighs. They pooled at his feet, and then he was there—bared for the camera and for Rocco—and soon for anyone who wanted to watch. His cock was beautiful—shorter but thick, cut and swollen, and leaking a steady stream. And that was for him—that want, that hardness—it was for Rocco.
He wanted to speak, wanted to murmur against the back of Simon’s ear, but that would give him away too soon. Instead, he mouthed at it, licked around the shell, held Simon tight by the waist and offered him no friction at all, but it didn’t matter.
It would be over soon. Rocco could feel it in the line of Simon’s body.
Love Him Free: Book One of On The Market Page 14
