Love Him Free: Book One of On The Market

by Lindsey, E. M.

  It was all absolutely perfect.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Rocco was nervous—and he hadn’t expected to be. He had bottomed before, just never on camera, and not often. Once or twice when Eric was a little drunk and feeling needy, Rocco had given in. But it hadn’t ever been pleasant. Eric was selfish and sloppy and quick. There was something erotic about being filled, but he felt used rather than cherished, and it wasn’t anything he wanted to encourage in his relationship.

  This time was different. This time was Simon’s intense gaze, and his clever, skilled fingers, and the mouth Rocco could spend hours kissing. The camera was on now—pointed right at them. It had been six weeks and the first two videos had gone just as viral as Rocco predicted. Simon’s royalties were racking up—fast and beyond what Rocco could have hoped—though he knew in part it was because he’d been found out.

  But the best part was watching people love Simon, and reading the comments about how hot his lover was, how erotic, how desperate the audience was to be Rocco instead of with him. It was a powerful feeling to know that Simon was his.

  He and Simon had watched the final videos together all at once, and then had devoured each other with the last of them playing on in the background. They were hot—and Rocco could jack off to the image of Simon coming all over himself without even touching his dick for the rest of his life, but having Simon’s body to himself was so much more.

  Now, he lay on the bed, Simon kneeling over him, two fingers shoved deep in Rocco’s ass. He spread his legs wider, and moaned for the camera, but he also moaned for Simon. He let the vibrations ripple through him as he arched and thrust himself against Simon’s hand, and he lost his breath when Simon added a third finger.

  ‘More,’ Rocco begged.

  Simon’s heated gaze met his. His freckles stood out against his wanton blush, making him look deliciously debauched, and it took all of Rocco’s strength not to just pull Simon by the hips until he was buried balls deep in Rocco’s waiting hole.

  ‘Please,’ he added, when Simon made no move to comply.

  There was more lube suddenly, shocking and cold, then a fourth finger. He felt split apart on Simon’s hand, and he never, ever wanted it to end.

  ‘Ready?’ Simon asked with one hand.

  They had agreed—no voicing. Not for this—not between them. Rocco’s language was enough, and they’d met a nice guy in town who did captions and was happy to agree.

  ‘Are you ready?’ Rocco threw back. ‘Are you ready to lose your virginity to me?’

  ‘You already took my heart,’ Simon told him, and Rocco’s head fell back against the pillows. ‘I want to give the rest of myself to you.’

  It was terrible, cheesy dialogue—but before their night had been viciously ruined by Eric’s meltdown, they had agreed there was a place in their lives for things like that. And he also knew Simon meant every word.

  ‘Fuck me. Fuck me, please.’ Rocco’s shaking hands were not an affect for the video. He was goddamn desperate.

  Simon didn’t need more coaxing. The condom was on, he was slick with lube, and he used one hand to push Rocco’s leg up toward his chest. The perfect view for the camera, and the perfect angle to take every inch of Simon in one, slow thrust.

  Rocco felt mad with desire, every fiber of his being on edge, primed and poised to lose total control. He had no restraint—none. He was gone over Simon—had been from the first moment he watched his soft, careful hands sign out their sympathy.

  Now those hands were his.

  Rocco felt himself groan as Simon pushed all the way in. He angled himself so the camera could keep the shot, but it was enough to send Simon’s dick grazing his prostate, and a sharp, “Oh,” ripped from his throat.

  His dick gave a vicious throb, and he sat up halfway on his elbows. He had to see Simon, to look him in the eye, to be as close as they could get. The movement had Simon lurching forward, their chests pressed together. He sank deeper, fucked him harder, hips slapping against Rocco’s ass.

  His orgasm was cresting from the barely there pressure of Simon’s stomach against his cock. “God,” he whispered, the word jagged in his throat. “God.”

  Simon squeezed his eyes shut, his dick pulsing, thickening further.

  It was enough, god, it was enough.

  Rocco fell back with a heavy shout, his upper body curving toward the ceiling as he spilled all over himself.

  Untouched.

  He rode the waves of pleasure as Simon thrusts stuttered, and he rolled his hips as he chased the last bits of pleasure. When Rocco was brave enough to open his eyes again, he found Simon staring down at the mess on Rocco’s stomach, eyes wide with wonder at the sight of it.

  ‘From me,’ he signed with one unsteady hand.

  Rocco nodded, then pulled Simon’s fingers to his mouth and kissed the pads of each one. ‘From you. For you. I love you.’

  Simon’s fingers curled into the shape, then he pressed them against Rocco’s heart. ‘I love you too.’

  ‘Precious,’ Rocco added—letting the word take on every meaning. Cherished, important, beloved—Simon.

  Their gazes settled together, gentle and never breaking, and Rocco knew that no matter where they went from this moment on, he was home.

  * * *

  Simon checked his watch, staring across the Market pathway at the slick grass and puddles littering the sidewalks. The air was rich with the scent of ozone from the rain, but growing hotter and more humid every minute after the storm had passed.

  It was a typical July, though it felt like anything but. He had a meeting in twenty minutes to meet the guy who was going to lease the Chametz building—a favor to Gwen, the realtor, who was in a parent teacher conference. In all honesty, Simon didn’t mind. Where he would have once shrunk back at the idea of socializing with a stranger and involving himself in business like this, with the apartment, with the bakery—he wanted to know that it was going to be as loved and cherished as it had been over the last nearly thirty years.

  The decision had been made months ago, long before Rocco even set foot in their little town, but this felt final. Signing an agreement to lease the place out felt like a bookend, even if there was still more room on the shelf. He and Levi would make a little money off it, though, which would help Levi’s business, and it would ease Simon’s conscious knowing that he wasn’t staying.

  Because he wasn’t.

  When Rocco suggested he re-apply to UCLA, Simon had laughed at him, then kissed him for being sweet and thoughtful. But Rocco hadn’t been joking. ‘You have one semester to finish, all your credits are there. You left on good terms due to a family tragedy. It can’t hurt to try, can it?’

  The cost of an application fee and the weeks of anxiety that followed were the highest price he had to pay, but Rocco was very good at distracting him.

  Simon had tried to forget, losing himself in the last weeks of being able to bake in that kitchen, the last weeks of setting up the Market stall and actually mingling with neighbors. He never did take Ronan and Parker up on their offer for dinner, but he had dragged Rocco out to Collin, Max, and Spencer’s house for dinner where they showed off their terrible signing skills. And Levi started coming back around Saturday nights to cook.

  Simon even had a few photos of human James and pocket James cuddling on the sofa together—for posterity or blackmail, he wasn’t sure which one yet. But it felt good, and normal.

  Then Simon got his acceptance letter and a potential lessee all in the same week and it was a sharp slap to the face by reality’s unkind hand. This felt good, it felt right, but it wasn’t supposed to be forever.

  Simon fiddled with his phone as he waited for the minutes to tick by. Rocco was still in LA dealing with the last vestiges of his lawsuit with Xander. Or well, his company, really. Xander had been fired, and had issued a public apology—his name had been tarnished, though Rocco didn’t think the blacklisting was going to last too long. But he didn’t care.

  T
he suit against Rocco had dropped, and the suit against the company for breach of privacy was coming to a close. After two months of having Rocco all to himself though—in his bed every night, arms around him, waking with kisses at each sunrise—Simon missed him. It had been eleven days, and God, he missed him.

  It had been five hours since Rocco had texted, saying things were a little busy but he’d be in touch soon. Simon tried not to worry, but he always would—at least a little. He’d worry that Rocco would miss the glamor of his old life—that this quiet, subtle thing with Simon wouldn’t be enough.

  He knew that wasn’t reality, but it was hard to accept when Rocco was so damn far, when he couldn’t just reach out and touch him.

  “Excuse me, sir. How much for the hot baker?”

  Simon didn’t need to look up to recognize the voice, and his heart leapt into his throat as he scrambled around the counter and straight into Rocco’s arms. He heard Rocco chuckle, low and deep, and he buried his face in his lover’s neck. Rocco smelled like airport—like stale air and bad coffee and other people’s cologne. And he smelled like him. And he smelled like home.

  ‘You’re early,’ Simon accused as Rocco set him back down.

  Rocco didn’t answer, instead cradling Simon’s face with his big hands as he crowded him up against the table for a long kiss. When he broke it off, he let out a contented hum and rubbed their noses together. ‘It was over. I won. They have to pay a settlement and I didn’t want to be gone any longer than I had to. I missed you.’

  Simon felt those words like a physical ache, and he dragged Rocco into another kiss until his phone started to buzz with his alarm. “Shit,” he murmured, pulling back. ‘I have to go meet Wilder at Chametz.’

  Rocco shrugged, then pulled the closed flap over the stall and took Simon’s hand. ‘I’ll come with you.’

  Simon wasn’t about to argue. He didn’t want to let go for a good, long while. They made the slow walk over, and Simon saw the man standing in front of the building, pacing a little, tapping away on his phone. He felt a rush of fear, of panic. I can’t do this, a small voice whispered, but Rocco’s hand in his told another story.

  He could absolutely do this. He could move on. None of this had to be forever—and no change would have to alter the person he was.

  Wilder glanced up when they approached, and Simon grinned at him. They’d exchanged two emails, and the most Simon knew was that he was moving from a suburb of Chicago, and that he wanted to open up a cupcake shop that specialized in gluten free baking.

  Simon hadn’t expected him to be so good looking—tall, rich black hair styled back away from his face, wearing jeans and a button up. He had a long-fingered hand which reached for Simon’s, and as he turned, Simon saw a hearing aid nestled against the back of his ear.

  He blinked, then turned to Rocco who had also noticed. ‘Do you prefer sign?’ Simon offered.

  Wilder’s eyes went wide, but not on Simon—on Rocco. It was the too-familiar expression Simon had picked up on as Rocco socialized more and more with the town. After a beat, Wilder cleared his throat, then offered his hand to Rocco.

  ‘Sorry,’ the man signed after pulling away. ‘You’re…’

  Rocco nodded, then spelled his name before offering his sign name. ‘Rocco. ASL okay?’

  Wilder grinned. ‘Perfect. Is there a strong Deaf Community here?’

  At that, Simon’s face fell. ‘No, not really. They’ve been great about learning, but there’s not a lot of opportunity here without more Deaf people. But they do try.’

  Wilder didn’t look bothered. ‘I’m CODA, and HoH. I think I’ll be okay.’

  Simon grinned, then turned to unlock the shop and flicked on the lights. His footsteps echoed, and he knew it was because a lot of the place had been packed up. He hadn’t shut the doors—not yet, but it was starting to look empty. His heart ached a little bit, but at the sight of wonder and promise on Wilder’s face, the pain eased.

  ‘This is amazing,’ Wilder signed after a few minutes. ‘This is…exactly what I was looking for.’

  Simon took a breath, and ignored the twist in his chest when he asked, ‘Do you want to see upstairs?’

  Wilder’s smile widened, and he nodded.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Simon lifted his curled fist to the door, hesitated, then dropped it. He took a breath, then forced himself to knock, shifting from one foot to the other until it opened, and his brother stood there looking sleepy and disgruntled.

  “Did I wake you up?” Simon asked.

  Levi narrowed eyes at him, but instead of answering, turned on his heel and walked back into the apartment, leaving the door open. Simon only waited a moment before following him in, and moved into the kitchen at the smell of coffee.

  “James always fucking wakes me up when he has an early shift at the Lodge,” Levi grumbled. He shoved two mugs into the microwave as he pushed the button on his espresso machine. A rich smell filled the air, and Simon saw the little pot of steamed milk sitting already frothed and ready. “I know you’re not here to tell me someone’s dead since we have no family and I follow everyone you do on Twitter.”

  The microwave beeped, and Levi took out the mugs, adding in the milk, then the espresso before passing one to Simon. He stared down at the milky liquid, swirling with the caramel color of espresso foam Levi had perfected by the time he was thirteen.

  “I don’t want to go.” Simon’s words came out soft, hesitant—almost like he was betraying his own secrets.

  Levi made a small noise, then slid up to him, resting his back against the counter, hip pressed to Simon’s. “It’s not forever.” His voice echoed the words Simon had been telling himself since he told Gwen to approve Wilder’s application, but they didn’t bring any comfort.

  “No.” Simon took a drink of the coffee and burned his tongue. The café hafuch—a taste of home which was the closest Levi had ever been to Israel—was comforting, but not enough.

  The silence stretched on so long, Simon wondered for a moment if he’d made a mistake, coming to Levi. “Why aren’t you with Rocco?”

  Simon let out a small scoff. “He’s sleeping off jet lag.” Not a total lie, but not entirely the truth. Rocco was sleeping, but Simon was there because he needed his brother. He took a fortifying breath, then turned to face Levi. “You told me you were ready to move on with your life and stop living…the way I was living. Stop living with someone like me.”

  “Simon,” Levi started to protest, but Simon held up a hand.

  “I was ready to let you go, but I also made all these big decisions without…” He stopped. He’d gotten Levi’s blessing before he put the bakery on the market, but right now, it didn’t feel like enough. “It was still yours. Whatever those fucking papers said, Levi, it was still yours too.”

  Levi set his coffee down and crossed his arms. “I know.”

  “I don’t want you to hate me.” The admission came softly, barely above a whisper—but Levi flinched like Simon had shouted. “After all these years of not being able to stand me, I need to know that I can walk away and you’ll want me to come back.”

  “I’ll always regret not telling you I loved you more after…” Levi swallowed, and Simon knew what he meant. After Bubbe died. Before Bubbe’s death, Levi was sweet—he was a pain in the ass, but he was affectionate and he looked at Simon like Simon was his whole world. Then Bubbe was gone and Simon had to be someone entirely new, and Levi changed—because Simon had changed.

  “It’s okay. I still knew,” Simon told him.

  With a sigh, Levi reached out and curled his hand around the back of Simon’s neck, drawing him close. Levi outgrew Simon by the time he was fifteen—stood now at least three inches taller, but until this moment, Levi had never felt bigger than him. “I’m not entirely ready to let go, but that’s okay.”

  Simon shook his head. “Is it?”

  Levi squeezed his fingers tighter, and it was painful, but comforting, keeping Simon present. “Yes. If
I’ve learned anything from being with James, it’s that discomfort can be…cathartic. And necessary.” He let up on his grip and Simon looked up at him. “Letting this go doesn’t mean letting me go.”

  Old habits died hard, though, and Simon’s vow to keep Levi safe in exchange for everything he was still rang in his ears. “Bubbe would have done this, right?”

  Levi sneered a bit. “She might not have rented to some guy who could put her favorite grandson out of business but…” His mouth softened. “Yes, she would have done this. She would not have taken out a loan for me and put herself at risk of crushing financial debt for a food truck, though.”

  Simon smiled, but a big part of him wasn’t so sure. Bubbe had loved him, yes, but she had cherished her little Levi to the ends of the earth. And Simon didn’t mind so much, after all. Levi saw it with his own lens—saw the way Bubbe had loved and protected Simon to a fault, and he saw it as rejection.

  Simon saw Bubbe’s suffocating protection as a way of telling him he was never strong enough—and when she dumped the failing bakery on him it had been solely because he was there, he was of age, and he was already broken. She had loved Levi more—because she wanted more for him, believed he was capable of something else.

  But maybe they were both wrong.

  “I think we are,” Levi said, and Simon realized he’d said most of that out loud. “Nothing’s changing. Nothing real is changing,” Levi told him.

  Simon swallowed thickly and nodded. “I know.” Though he didn’t, but he would. Eventually. “I should get going. I want to grab breakfast before Rocco wakes up.”

  Levi nodded, then moved to the end of the breakfast bar and swiped up one of his pastry boxes, handing it off to Simon. “The brie and bacon are on the left, strawberry and rhubarb on the right. I made sure this time.”