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“She is a hoot, Mama Santori. They invite me downstairs to their apartment in the back of their store. Her son runs the butcher shop on the other side of the building.”
He takes out his keys and opens the door to a small kitchen, living room, and a place for a tiny bistro-style table. It can’t be larger than four hundred square feet, but to the right of the living room, sits a set of steps.
“Welcome to my humble abode. The bedroom is upstairs. This building is weird. I’m above the pizzeria, but their apartment is three stories, on the other side of the wall. Anyway,” his voice changes as he empties the space between us, “I don’t think you’re here for a tutorial on this building but if I take you upstairs, we’ll miss the pizza delivery because I won’t stop once I’ve begun with you.” He pulls at my fingers and tenderly cups my face. We’re rough when we want to be, but we can also be tender.
“You speak the truth, Farmer, andtruth be told, I’m a little hungry, especially after walking through the pizzeria.” I turn around, and though the space is small, it exudes everything that is Clark. The furnishings are modern, with a couch that reclines and a large television, almost as big as the wall it’s hanging on. A small square island divides the kitchen from the living space and a bistro table that can sit two people is pushed against the wall on the other side of the front door. The entire space is white and bright, with beautifully landscaped outdoor portraits, but on further inspection, I realize it’s his family’s farm. With a picture of the fields before harvest, their red barn, and a sepia print of the house with a wraparound porch, it gives me more insight into a man I never thought I’d see in this way.
“This is a great space, baby.”
He looks away, a bit shy. “It’s not much, but it’s home.”
I take my fingers and tip his head to my line of sight. “Are you kidding, this area is perfect, the people are friendly.” There had been many store owners who called out to Clark by name and in New York that’s unheard of. “I’m proud of you. You worked for everything you have. It was never handed to you. This is all you.”
It’s his turn to tip my head, as a storm of clouds rage in his deep chocolate orbs. “Listen here, Xander Lynol, you may come from money, but don’t downplay your accomplishments. Getting through Notre Dame and then Yale Law, seriously, is an accomplishment in and of itself and you did it without the support of your father, and most of the time, he was working against you. You still push to be your own person, and I’m so proud of the man you’ve become, sweetheart.”
His words undo me and I pull him into my embrace, his arms wrap around my body, holding me like he’s the only protection I need right now. With him I’m safe and I don’t want to let him go.
A loud knock pulls us out of our world, the one that seconds ago only included the two of us. He has to feel it, too.
“Guess the pizza is here.” He pulls away from me. But as he gets beers, and I place our dinner on plates, we sit in front of the television watching a baseball game and cutting up over past memories. It’s the best evening I’ve had in a long time. And I don’t want tonight to be the end of it.
* * *
I’m brushingmy teeth when I hear him thunder up the steps. There’s no door, and he walks straight into the bedroom, which is void of any pictures or personal touches, It’s spotless and immaculate. Everything I’ve come to expect with Clark.
“Is there a fire?” I ask, rinsing my mouth. He had an email to return and I’d thought he’d be downstairs longer.
“I’m about to start a fire, right fucking now.” His cheesy line has him grinning from ear to ear, as he stalks to me, a man on a mission. But he stops in front of me, as he nibbles on my ear, and I remember how soft his lips are next to mine.
“I’m going to miss you, Xan. More than I should.”
His lips trail down my neck, and then my shoulders. “I’m going to miss you, too, farm boy.” I tease.
But when I think kissing is over, he returns to my mouth, where it becomes urgent and neither one of us can get enough of the other.
My hands end up in his hair and I can’t remember why I ever hated his long locks, and he stops instantly and drops to his knees.
“You have more clothes on than me,” I bark.
“Yeah, and that comes in handy right now.” He yanks down my boxers and I feel as though he may rip them, and honestly, if he does, I may come from his possessiveness.
“Turn around, my little slut, hands above your head.”
And that may make me come, too. I do as he asks, but I’m not ready as his tongue licks down my ass, stopping where he begins to rim me.
“I may just come against this wall of yours, baby if you’re not careful.”
“And I’d frame it, as the Picasso you are.”
Sweet holy heavens. “You’re so dirty, and I’m fucking here for it, Clark baby…”
He stops his assaults on my ass for a second, and I miss his touch. “Paint my wall with your cum, Xan, because I swear to fucking hell, I’m never cleaning it up.”
“There will be a fire, Clark, because you’re awakening the flames inside of me.”
Between his tongue and his finger, I can’t hold back, and I paint the wall with my cum just as he commands.
And I’ve never been this happy. Clark makes me happy.
