Love Him Free: Book One of On The Market

by Lindsey, E. M.

  “Simon,” Rocco murmured against Simon’s flushed skin. “Simon.” His hand dragged between them, then his fingers ducked under Simon’s apron and the heel of his palm began to stroke Simon through his jeans.

  His head swam, all the blood flooding into his dick, his balls tight. He was going to spill right there—right in his kitchen. An absurd thought—this ancient, archaic law about being punished by God for spilling seed onto the ground—hit him. He felt a rush of panic, but it only lasted a second, because Rocco was hoisting him up onto the baking counter, his large hands fumbling with Simon’s button and zipper.

  “Want to taste you, please,” Rocco begged. He looked into Simon’s face, into his eyes, asking for consent.

  Simon touched his cheek, lightly with the tips of his fingers, basking in the rough growth of Rocco’s facial hair. He hadn’t shaved in days, and Simon wanted to feel that rough burn on his bare legs. ‘Yes,’ he signed.

  Rocco’s gaze went possessive—predatory, hungry. Simon braced himself backward, hands inches from the unused dough. He scraped his nails along the wood as Rocco nosed his hard cock, then sucked the tip into his mouth, letting it rest there—fat and swollen against his tongue.

  Simon had gotten his wish. He felt nothing, could think of nothing except how Rocco’s lips were stretched around him, just holding him there. Pleasure was shooting through his limbs in short starbursts, whiting out the edges of his vision, but everything about Rocco was still clear. It was perfect.

  ‘Please,’ his flat palm circled his chest, and with that single plea, Rocco sank down and Simon’s dick hit the back of his throat.

  That was all it took. Rocco had done more than touch him—he had consumed him—devoured him. He sucked Simon dry as Simon’s hips pumped up off the table, his balls spasming in time with his pulse, and Rocco groaned like it was the best thing he had ever tasted.

  When it became too much, Simon tapped him, and Rocco pulled away with a wet pop. His lips were slick with spit, and when he dipped his tongue into Simon’s mouth, Simon could taste the faint tang of himself. He kissed Rocco back—harder than he meant to, but Rocco didn’t seem to mind.

  He was hard in his own jeans, pressed to Simon’s thigh, but he didn’t seem in a hurry to do anything about it. He just held Simon close, kissing him until they needed to breathe properly, then he pulled away and nuzzled his nose against Simon’s cheek like he couldn’t bear to stop touching as many places as possible. Then, he thrust his face into the crook of Simon’s neck and just stood there.

  As Simon’s pulse returned to normal, he felt Rocco pressing soft kisses against his skin before he pulled away. ‘Did we break some major religious laws?’ he asked, his hand still shaking a little from the adrenaline. ‘That probably wasn’t kosher.’

  The cool air against his limp dick brought Simon back to reality. His face flushed with what he’d just done. He didn’t think there were any specific laws in the Talmud about having your dick sucked in your bakery, but he didn’t think even the most liberal rabbi would condone it, either.

  It felt…decadent. Maybe not a sin—he had never bought into the belief that enjoyment and pleasure were wrong. But he felt some measure of guilt for being so harsh with Levi. Really, he had only himself to blame for most of his misery.

  Simon laughed, and it felt…freeing. ‘No laws about eating sperm, so I think we’re fine. As long as it didn’t get in the food, which isn’t a religious thing, but the health inspector would have an issue.’

  Rocco licked his lips, then looked behind Simon at bits of the dough which had been ruined by his scrabbling fingers. ‘Maybe don’t use that. And sanitize.’

  Simon rolled his eyes, but he let Rocco help him down, let Rocco crowd him against the counter again, and kiss him until his toes curled and his heart filled his entire chest. I love him. The thought came barreling in, unrepentant, refusing to be ignored. He didn’t say it—not yet, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hold out for long.

  For now, he gave Rocco’s side a pat before zipping his jeans back up, then moving to the sink to wash up. Rocco joined him, and after they dried, Simon pointed at the beer. ‘You still want to help?’

  ‘Yes,’ Rocco answered, and he squared his shoulders and set his jaw.

  Simon grinned at him. ‘Then let’s get to work. We can finish everything else,’ he let his hand hang in the air for a moment, ‘when we get home.’

  Home. Hashem yishmor, it shouldn’t have felt so right, but oh…it did.

  * * *

  The pair of them parted ways after storing everything they could for the Market on Thursday—Rocco heading back to the Lodge to drag pocket James away from his new girlfriend, and relieve Charlie of puppy duty, while Simon went upstairs to change and feed Rocco.

  He was looking forward to being home—or at least, in a space that was his, but he wasn’t looking forward to the emptiness that came with it. Rocco had made no promises to him—for as tight as he held him, for as desperate as he’d kissed him. Simon knew they needed to talk, but he wanted to delay the possible answer that Rocco wanted to back off further.

  Simon took his time showering, then ate a little of the left-over soup Levi had brought over from the other night. He gave his cat affection and attention even though the little beast didn’t seem to care whether or not Simon was actually there, and he headed out when Rocco sent him a text letting him know he was on his way back to the bakery.

  The night air was crisp and cool, just a hint of lingering humidity. The spring rains were over, but there would be summer storms soon. Most of them shut down the market and events, and part of him was looking forward to the excuse to stay in and watch the streets flood. They didn’t get hit as hard as some places, but the summer usually had one or two big storms that killed the power all day.

  He used to love it as a kid. He’d take Levi’s chubby hand in his and drag him through the puddles once the thunder and lightning had moved on. They’d catch little frogs that seemed to spring up from the ground, and they’d smile at the old man who had a barbershop and used to hand out what he called, ‘penny candy’. He died before Simon came back—when he realized the entire town had not existed in a bubble.

  His old enemies had moved on, the people he’d envied now holding positions of power. He saw Ronan with his dark eyes, and Fitz with his never-ending smile, and he realized he’d never be like them. But maybe that was okay—at least, it felt okay now. It felt like maybe they didn’t mind so much he was never going to be social the way they were.

  Maybe Birdie’s apology and admission had proved something. Simon had only believed what he wanted to, because it was easier than dealing with the stuff he had going on inside.

  He tapped his foot on the ground in an absent rhythm, then perked up when he heard James’ soft yips. Rocco came around the corner not long after, and he smiled, gathering Simon into his arms for a kiss.

  ‘Ready?’ he asked when he pulled away.

  Simon nodded, then led the way to his car. James perched on the console between them, and the drive was almost too short. Simon wasn’t as anxious as he was the first night, but knowing this was an ending had him on edge. There had been a sort of humming desire between them since Rocco had sucked his cock, and Simon wanted to get this over with because as much as he wanted to drag this last night out, he also wanted Rocco to get off. Rocco’s pleasure had become just as important as his own—if not more. Things felt unequal and strange, and Simon wanted to be back on even footing.

  He startled out of his thoughts when Rocco touched the side of his neck, and he offered a smile of apology when he felt his lover’s rough thumb brush against his jaw. ‘Sorry.’

  Rocco shook his head. ‘Do you want to eat, or watch TV? Rest for a bit?’

  Simon bit his lip. It sounded nice—even if it was procrastination. But no. That wasn’t what he wanted at all. ‘I want you.’

  Maybe the ferocity of his need was all these years of being deprived, not just of sex, but of t
ouch. He’d steadfastly avoided even the most casual affection from anyone but Levi—and even his brother was stingy. But he didn’t think he’d react with anyone else the same as he did with Rocco. Simon wanted to believe—no, needed to believe—that only Rocco could make him feel this way.

  Just inside the front door, Rocco took slow, deliberate steps toward Simon, and when they were touching, he backed him up against the wall. He held him, achingly similar to the way he had at the bakery, one large thigh parting Simon’s into a large V before lifting him high onto his toes.

  Rocco’s head dipped low, his nose brushing along Simon’s cheeks, followed by lips—parted, hot breath ghosting over Simon’s oversensitive skin. He groaned, and Rocco moved one hand to circle his throat, just resting lightly there with fingers pressed to his pulse point.

  Simon’s heart raced, and he let his head fall back against the wall as Rocco laid waste to the crook of his shoulder with tongue and teeth. There would be marks—God, there would be evidence left behind beyond empty balls, sweat, and a few tears.

  “Precious,” Rocco murmured against his clavicle, and those three words rushed to the tip of Simon’s tongue, but he held them back. Even if Rocco wouldn’t hear them, Simon refused to utter them just then. Not yet, though he would be a fool to think he could hold out much longer.

  Simon’s temperature rose another degree before Rocco finally let him go, sliding him to the ground before taking both hands in his. He walked backward as he led the way to the bedroom, and he flicked on one of the low lights. The camera was where it was before, poised on the stand that would keep their faces out of the frame, and Simon stared at it a long time.

  There was no preamble for this one, no discussion. Rocco set Simon in the middle of the room, then pushed the button. The red light glowed—a beacon, a reminder of what this part was. Then there were hands. Large fingers tugged at his clothes, pulling his shirt over his head, dropping his jeans to the floor. Normally, Rocco remained dressed. At best, his throbbing erection was seen tenting his pants, but this time he took Simon’s hands and set them at his waist.

  He said nothing, signed nothing, but he didn’t need to. Simon worked, driven by instinct and desire to have all of Rocco naked in front of him, to be the one to control the moment when the rest of the world would see him naked.

  There were pieces of this Simon wanted to keep for himself, but having this control was filling him with a desperation he wasn’t expecting.

  Rocco looked around, then he turned Simon away from the camera. His hard cock pushed between Simon’s thighs, thrusting into the dry heat only for a moment. Rocco let out a soft grunt, then pulled away and used his hands to ease Simon down onto all fours.

  They hadn’t talked about this, they hadn’t discussed what Rocco planned to do with him during this last filming, but it didn’t matter. He trusted Rocco. He dropped his forehead to the bed, feeling both shameless and a little scared to be on display. Rocco was sitting off to the side, and Simon knew his ass was fully exposed.

  Rocco’s hand curved over it, squeezing, kneading. His other joined, and Simon felt hot air over his hole when Rocco suddenly spread his cheeks wide. Then there was a finger—or maybe a thumb. It was huge, and a little rough, and wet because Rocco had licked it. It swirled through his whorls of untamed hair, then pushed—just enough, just to remind Simon he could slip inside, before it was gone.

  Simon let out a sharp moan at the loss, but the empty feeling didn’t last. His body was zinging with pleasure, but he wasn’t close. Just days ago, he would have come by now. He would have come downstairs when Rocco was sucking hickies onto his neck—but now…it was more. He was ready—restrained.

  His cock hung thick and weeping between his legs, but it would take effort this time. Rocco didn’t seem to mind though. He let out a low chuckle as he pressed his finger against Simon’s hole once more—then, without warning, a tongue replaced it.

  Simon let out a shout—of surprise, of ecstasy, of need. His elbows shook and gave way and his whole upper body fell to the bed. Rocco kept his lower half up though with firm hands bracketing his hips like parentheses, as his tongue devoured him from the inside out.

  It was too much and not enough, and perfect and imperfect, all at once.

  It was as close to God as he might ever feel—the way his heart soared, and his head spun, and his heart raced.

  “Please.” He wasn’t supposed to talk, mostly because it wouldn’t matter, Rocco couldn’t hear him, and being on all fours like this, he couldn’t sign. But he couldn’t stop himself from begging anyway. “Please.”

  He was close—he was close, he was…

  He was coming. He was fucking backward against Rocco’s face, the orgasm almost wrong because he wasn’t full enough, but he couldn’t stop it. He sobbed as Rocco plunged his tongue deeper, swirling it around, leaving him sopping wet with spit.

  As he shook, Rocco laid soothing hands on his back, painting them downward with firm strokes, kissing the small of his back as he made soft, humming, soothing sounds.

  “Simon,” he realized Rocco was saying. “Simon.”

  Simon gathered the strength to turn, and with a sloppy, single hand signed, ‘Turn the camera off.’

  Rocco didn’t hesitate. He was up in a flash, the light dimmed, flickered out. The quiet hum that Simon always forgot to listen for was gone—in its place an utter absence of sound. He swallowed thickly, his breathing too loud in that shallow space.

  He wasn’t done. He needed something else.

  “Fuck me.” He said it, then spelled the letters on a clumsy hand. “I need you inside me.”

  Rocco’s eyes were half-lidded but fierce as they watched Simon’s fingers like he couldn’t quite believe him. His hand rose to his chin and he signed Simon’s name again.

  ‘Fuck me.’ Simon’s hand was stronger now—and steady. He rose to his knees and turned, but not completely. Rocco’s thigh was still molten hot against his own. ‘I want you to fuck me. I need you to fuck me. I need you inside me. Come inside me.’

  Rocco shivered, and for a moment of wild unease, Simon thought his plea was going to be rejected. Then Rocco let out a noise almost like a wounded animal and gathered Simon to him. He pulled Simon astride his bent thighs, back to his chest. His rock-hard cock slid between Simon’s cheeks, and Rocco’s mouth attached to the back of his neck in a painful, sucking kiss.

  “Say it again,” Rocco demanded, not letting go.

  Simon lifted his hands. ‘Fuck me. Come inside me.’

  Rocco didn’t let Simon go. He shuffled forward, then reached for the nightstand drawer and took out lube and condoms. Simon knew it wouldn’t be bare. Rocco was a porn star and it was the only way to be truly safe, no matter how often he was tested. And that was fine. Simon wanted it messy, but he wanted it however Rocco could take him.

  Rocco’s eyes slipped shut, then he leaned in and put his mouth to Simon’s shoulder before speaking—unclear but understandable, “If you want me to stop, tap my thigh.”

  Simon nodded hard enough Rocco could feel it, and he liked that Rocco trusted him enough not to open his eyes then. Simon followed him into the dark. It was soothing, calming, even though he didn’t know what was coming.

  He heard the snap of the bottle, then two fingers were between his ass cheeks as a large arm wedged itself between their bodies. Rocco didn’t waste time. Simon’s hole was still spit-slick and a little open, and Rocco’s finger slid all the way in without much resistance. Simon shuddered from head to toe, his eyes still squeezed shut. He lolled his head back and Rocco attacked his jawline with kisses as he added a second finger.

  This is it, Simon thought. This is it. He wanted to think there was no going back, but that line had been crossed the moment he sent Rocco his Twitter message. This was simply the inevitability—the end to that road—and maybe the beginning to another.

  Bodies were made for pleasure.

  A rabbi had said that once when he was a teenager, at the Temple Emma
nuel down the hill. Some of the kids in that class were as lost as he was when it came to their bodies and what they were allowed to have. Simon didn’t understand then what he was willing to give in place of his desires, and what he was willing to take in place of his faith. But he had always assumed it was one or the other.

  Hashem gave us pleasure for a reason.

  Such a simple answer. Simon knew even then he liked men—and he was too afraid to voice that. But he thought it applied now. Maybe. He wanted to believe such a large, all-encompassing God wouldn’t condemn him to a life of suffering for what his body wanted. For this thing he had no control over.

  But oh, he had control now. He felt it as Rocco’s entire body pushed against his—frantic with his own need to bury himself in Simon’s ass.

  There would be more—for the camera. Simon would perform again later and give something—and take something—that he never had. But he hadn’t realized how happy he was to have this moment, this experience, knowing it was just them.

  That it would always be just them.

  ‘Are you ready for me?’ Rocco asked.

  Simon nodded, squeezed Rocco’s arm, lifted onto his knees a bit higher so Rocco could get the condom on. He felt it—the slight, uncomfortable press of latex, but it was slick with lube and rock-hard and throbbing with Rocco’s desire.

  Rocco’s desire for him—for Simon. No one else.

  Simon went pliant as Rocco started to push inside—and the pressure and the stretch was so much. He swore he felt like he would split in half, but he wouldn’t have given it up for the world. His hands grasped the sides of Rocco’s thighs as his lover finally slid all the way inside.

  “My precious Simon,” Rocco said against his ear.

  Simon’s eyes rolled back in his head and his heart constricted as Rocco began shallow thrusts. He grunted with them, spreading his legs further, leaning back. He wanted this, wanted to spend every second filled up with Rocco.

  And then, the angle changed, and Rocco hit something that made Simon cry out and lurch forward. Rocco started to stop, but Simon shook his head frantically and pushed up, searching for that angle again. When he found it, he shouted, and he bounced harder, and Rocco laughed as he joined in the motions with harder thrusts.