Page 38 of He Should Be Mine
Dario chuckles, low and deep. “I told him I had to leave the dinner because of girl troubles. Don told me the only women worth having were the difficult ones.”
A tingling dances all the way down my spine. Dario’s brown eyes are intense. Full of meaning that I still can’t decipher. What the hell has got into him today?
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
I blink and try to gather my thoughts. “Fine.”
He steps towards me, and I don’t back away. His fingers touch my chin, featherlight. He tilts my head up gently. All my muscles have started quivering.
“The bruises are getting darker.”
“That’s how bruises work,” I say, but it comes out as a whisper.
I lick my lips. Dario’s gaze drops to my mouth. He leans in. My lungs freeze and my toes curl.
He pauses. His dark eyes glance up at the ceiling, to where the camera is. He lets go of my chin. He steps back. He takes all of the heat with him.
“I’ll get you some cream,” he rumbles as he turns and walks away.
I don’t move. I can’t move. I’ll never be able to move again.
When he comes back, is he going to rub cream onto my neck? I close my eyes and imagine his gentle, careful fingers.
God damn it. I wish I had bruises all over me. I wish Rick had beaten me black and blue. Left his mark on every inch of my flesh. So that Dario would have to touch me everywhere.
I shiver and wrap my arms around myself. I think I’ve figured out why Dario is acting so strangely today. And I hate it. As well as love it.
Dario has spent some time on introspection. He has done the work. He has got over his internalized homophobia and accepted the fact that he wants to fuck me.
Which is wonderful, of course.
Except we can’t fuck. Our spoiled mafia prince would take it as an insult. A disrespect of his authority. Rick would kill us both.
I want Dario, and he wants me. This should be glorious, wonderful, and exciting. Every horny young gay man’s dream. The most perfect man in the world wants to rail me.
But it can’t happen. We can’t go there. All we can do is dream and yearn. It’s going to be torture.
I take in a deep breath and huff it all out.
Fuck my life. Seriously. Fuck. My. Life.
Chapter eleven
Dario
The morning is gray.
Not raining, not bright. Just dull enough that I don’t need to pull the curtains shut. I’m sitting on the edge of my bed, not even bothering to try to stand yet.
My mood is heavier than the clouds. Admitting I want Molly, has done something to me. It has unleashed all the darkness of my soul and set free everything I ever buried. Molly’s burning light has shown me just how dark my shadows are.
I didn’t sleep well. I kept waking up thinking I’d heard Molly cry out.
He didn’t.
He didn’t cry out, but there were echoes of Riccardo’s visit. It was there in the way he whimpered when he turned in his sleep. As if every shift of his body reminded him.
I heard it all through the paper-thin walls of this terrible apartment. Just like I always hear everything. I listen, I watch, and I don’t do a thing to stop any of it.
