Page 30 of Grind
Ezra stared back, no longer breathing, but he kept his hand on Frank, letting it slide lower as Frank rose. “But… it’s okay. I want us to continue,” he added, steadying himself. “You know I’m attracted to you.”
He couldn’t have twisted that knife any harder.
Frank sighed and decided to lay his cards on the table. “Only that Idon’tknow. I know I can get you hard and make you come but not how you actually feel about all this, because I paid for the pleasure of your company. I won’t be fucking you in exchange for protection. My conscience might not be as clear as your skin, but that ain’t right. If you want to repay my kindness, which you don’t have to, because it’s freely given, then… as you can see, my house is a mess. Clean up, cook me those meals I love so much, and that’s that.”
In moments like this Frank wished his moral compass was a bit more skewed, because in his daydreams he was pinning Ezra to the table, his lovely moans and whimpers resonating in the room. In that fantasy, he had his hands cuffed above his head and told Frank how safe he felt here. Under him.
Ezra swallowed over and over as he rubbed his hands on his thighs, more vulnerable than he probably considered himself to be. “You don’t believe me?”
Frank wanted to, he really did. But he wasn’t a dick-struck kid like his nephew. He was old enough to know better. “I don’t know what to believe, so I’d rather play it safe for both our sakes. So what? You gonna make me that breakfast?” A little consolation for this clusterfuck. He extended his hand to Ezra, who took it after a moment of hesitation.
“I’ll make you breakfast, lunch, and dinner, if that’s what you want,” he said, holding Frank’s gaze so intensely a jolt of electricity trailed over his cock.
No. Was he getting hard from this?
Maybe this was his kink. Saving dudes in distress.
Frank squeezed Ezra’s hand, shook it as if they'd just struck a business deal, then pulled away.
He had no idea how they were supposed to live together andnotend up fucking.
Chapter 10
Ezra
Separaterooms.
Separate beds.
Four days after first arriving at Frank’s, Ezra was climbing the walls out of frustration. No, he hadn’t spontaneously turned into Spiderman, but now that every single surface in the house—including the damn stains on the walls—has been cleaned, how was he to distract himself from his libido? It buzzed at the back of his mind like a mosquito thatwouldn’tsuck him dry.
He’d put on the clothes he came here in while they were still damp, because he refused to wear some old stained tracksuit or torn T-shirt when Frank was around. The bastard embodied a Greek God while he… pulled a car behind him right outside, teasing Ezra with his shirtless body.
How many times a day was Ezra to jerk off with the temptation he couldn’t have dangled with in front of his face? Masturbation barely took the edge off at this point.
And for what? Some misguided code of ethics held by a guy who (Ezra was now sure of it) handled stolen goods? Sure, it had been a nice surprise to find out Frank didn’t jump at the opportunity to abuse his position, but without sex, Ezra was a glorified housekeeper and a charity case. If they were fucking, he’d feel like he had more leverage, and more influence over Frank. But with things as they were now, every step he took might end up with the ground crumbling beneath him.
He didn’t have the faintest idea when he’d get to leave this hellscape, and couldn’t explore much either, because he’d been told to never go off the main road through the junkyard and was explicitly forbidden from taking certain paths. That was likely where the stolen goods were stashed. It was ridiculous to play this game where he pretended he didn’t know what Frank was up to, because his situation left the realm of normality when he’d found a severed head in a pot.
Just thinking about it made his stomach clench, so he put away the broom he’d swept the living room with and approached the cooker, where a large portion of stew was slowly heating. When Ezra had first opened the package and dumped its contents into the pot, there were whole bits of fat attached to the jelly-like mush of juices, meat(?), with a couple of root vegetable scraps added in to pretend the meal was nutritionally complete. Now that the temperature transformed the stew into something more reminiscent of food, it didn’t look or smell half bad, but Ezra had seen the lengthy list of ingredients and knew that the thing they were about to eat might as well have been created out of produce from the Chernobyl exclusion zone.
How many weird additives did a damn lunch need? It should be just meat, preferably organic, fresh vegetables, and some spices. And one could thicken the sauce with a bit of flour or even an egg yolk, so what the hell was a ‘thickeningagent’ and how much would it spoil Ezra’s carefully curated bacterial flora? He hadn’t been taking care of himself for years to spoil everything within a few short weeks. This food was not designed for nutrition, and it was shocking that Frank managed to look as good as he did while having this trash for sustenance, but there was nothing fresh in the house, just frozen stuff, cans, and TV dinners. The wet clothes made Ezra’s teeth clatter, but he shook off the discomfort and lifted his top in front of the mirror, which was now spotless and revealed every imperfection. Frank did not own a bathroom scale, so Ezra couldn’t be sure, but he could swear his stomach was slightly less protruding just a week ago. At this rate, he'd lose his shape, get a double chin, then his teenage acne would return, and no man would ever want to touch him again.
He glanced out through the blinds for another look at Frank who was shirtless, panting, and paused his training to… douse himself with water straight from a bottle.
Ezra might have salivated a little, wishing he could be those droplets trailing down Frank’s big body, tracing every ridge of muscle, licking every hair, all the way under the belt where he got to—
Fuck.
He pressed his forehead and palms to the door, fighting his arousal. Because while Frank had been a client, he was also an amazing lay. The way he teased Ezra’s skin, how he had the stamina of an ox, how he focused on Ezra’s pleasure even though he’d been paying for a service and could ask for it to be the other way around, like most people… All of that melted into nights he always looked forward to.
So why the separate beds?
Did his vulnerable position affect Frank’s desire for him? Maybe what the man wanted was the charming escort, not a scared boy who ran to him for help? What if Ezra’s presence here shattered the fantasy and made him into someone to care for rather than lust after? He’d tried to make sure Frank always saw him at his best and took care of the house so that their surroundings could be more conducive to fucking, but it wasn’t working. And the little games Ezra used to play by delaying responses to Frank’s messages or teasing him with double meanings, would not work in their current situation. How was Ezra to keep up the illusion of scarcity and a wall whenhewas literally at Frank’s mercy?
In fact, the place wasn’t even all that bad in the light of day and after a deep clean. All the scrubbing and disinfecting had been somewhat therapeutic. It had given Ezra something to do to take his mind off the dire situation he was in, and if Frank let him, he’d gladly refresh the coat of paint on the walls too.
Frank’s house was a mish-mash of styles. It had good bones and a very spacious refurbished bathroom with modern tiles, a large walk-in shower, and underfloor heating. Frank’s bedroom was mostly a massive bed, a wardrobe and drying rack with a few T-shirts. Which made no sense, since Frank had a perfectly good yard and the DIY skills to set up a line outside to keep them from getting musty.
