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“I…God. I’ve never,” Emil stuttered, then grunted. “It’s in. Holy fuck, it’s in.”
“It’s hot, isn’t it?” Renzo murmured. “And really fucking tight.”
Emil groaned. “Wish it was you.”
“I know. I want nothing more than to spread you open and shove my tongue deep inside that pretty hole,” Renzo told him. He closed his eyes, helpless to do anything except picture the way Emil would lie beneath him, pliant and open and ready. Renzo could see him writhing against the sheets, his whole body begging for release but willing to be patient. “Someday, I want to tie you down, torment your pretty ass, and force you to come all over yourself completely untouched.”
“Oh fuck,fuck,” Emil gasped.
“You’re close now, aren’t you?” Renzo asked. His voice filled with wonder as he heard how close Emil was to cracking. “Take your finger out and hold your dick.”
“Mm. Mm. Okay,” Emil managed.
Renzo followed suit, stroking himself hard and tight. “Want you to come with me, okay, baby? Can you do that?”
“M’so close,” Emil slurred. “Can’t hold it.”
“Don’t,” Renzo said, now breathless. He was seconds away from tumbling over the edge. His arm burned as his hand flew over his thick cock, and between one breath and the next, he let go.
He released in hot spurts all over his knuckles as his eyes slammed shut and his face went hot, and he could hear Emil crying out, his voice muffled like he was gasping into his pillow. Renzo’s grip loosened when he became too sensitive, and he finally let go, swiping his clean hand over his face to clear away sweat that was beaded over his brow.
“Renzo?” Emil asked, his voice a raspy whisper.
“I’m here. I’m sorry, sunshine. Got a little carried away.”
Emil laughed low and deep in his chest. “Please, for the love of God, don’t be sorry. That was amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard.”
Renzo grinned and, in spite of a little warning voice in his head, told him, “Oh, sweetness. Just you wait.”
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
As Emil stood backfor the deliverymen to carry the rest of his furniture into the condo, he felt a small burst of fear, like maybe they knew what he’d been up to the night before. He’d showered, but he hadn’t washed his sheets, and God, what if they could smell all the come, because there had beensofucking much.
Of course, he also knew that was not only irrational but ridiculous. He would never see these men again, so who gave a shit if they knew he’d been talked into orgasm by his would-be lover? But Emil had never been quite able to shake that need to care what people thought about him.
Before he’d been taken from his mother, he’d been a people-pleaser. Making her happy was the only way he could get through the day, and the habit had been hard to break when he left. After that, he dulled the urge to just say yes to everything with alcohol, but even then, his coping skills left something to be desired.
Not only had he battered the fuck out of his liver, but people used him for years for what they could get out of him.
Some nights, he missed the booze, but he’d never been more grateful for a clear head than when Renzo called.
He hadn’t been expecting it. At least, not so soon, and not for what Renzo wanted. The invite to spend New Year’s Eve together had been enough of a shock. Then Renzo had pulled Emil apart with a few carefully timed words, which had him flayed open and spilling some of his innermost desires.
And he didn’t need to be a psychotherapist to know why Emil craved praise. Anyone with basic social sense would have seen his desire to be told he was doing well from space. But he’d always worried that someone would notice and use it to their advantage.
Renzo, it seemed, only wanted to use it to make Emil feel good, and that was…a lot. Which might have been the understatement of the year.
“Where did you want the bed frame?”
Emil blinked and realized the poor fuckers who had brought his things in were waiting for him. He waved a hand toward his bedroom door, which sat half-open, and he flushed. His mattress was stripped down, but the soiled sheets were in a pile by the bathroom door.
“There’s fine. Uh. Thank you.”
The delivery guy gave him an odd look before directing his team, and Emil took that as a reprieve and hurried into his kitchen. It was still almost completely bare—Dahlia had promised to shop with him, but her week had been busy, and Christmas was two days away, which meant Emil was probably going to be full paper plates and microwave dinners.
It wasn’t the worst way he’d ever spent a holiday, and definitely not the most lonely, but it was close.
Opening the fridge, he snagged a glass bottle of sparkling water, then headed for the terrace. The condo was small but expensive—a little splurge he hadn’t thought twice about until Dahlia had laughed in his face. It was on the second floor and had a perfect view of the river, which looked stark black against the deep grey skies promising more snow.
