by Quinn Ward
Calvin: But if you’re doing it all on your own, you’re going to burn out. Don’t think you’re fooling everyone when you try and act like you’re not exhausted.
Me: Yeah, well again, someone has to do it.
Calvin: Just promise me you’ll try to get out of there when you’d originally planned. They can survive without you for the night.
Me: I promise.
I tucked my phone away when there was a knock on the office door. Tony, my middle brother, entered without waiting for an invitation and flopped into the chair against the wall. He didn’t say anything and kept eyeing the door as if he expected someone to storm in looking for him.
“Whatcha doin’?” I asked, trying to suppress a laugh.
“Mama’s off the rails tonight, man.” Tony groaned and shook his head. “She’s out there lecturing a couple of my regulars about their behavior.”
“What were they doing?” I didn’t bother disputing his accusations, because it totally sounded like something Mama would do. With normal guests, she’d never overstep, but once clients became regulars, Mama took them under her wing and treated them like her own children. That could be a blessing at times, but apparently, not always.
“Okay, so sure, maybe the one guy crawling into his partner’s lap and nibbling on his neck isn’t appropriate for a public place, but you’ve gotta tell her she can’t threaten them with the damn spoon!” Tony was working up a full head of steam now. Whoever these customers were, he seemed genuinely upset about how they’d react. Or not. “Granted, I’m pretty sure that’s only going to encourage the smaller one, but ugh! She even told them they’re not allowed to get dessert. They’re paying customers! She can’t deny them what they want, can she?”
“I’ll talk to her,” I promised Tony. “For now, you might want to get back out there and save them.”
“You’re not going to save them from Mama?” He looked horrified that I wasn’t going to bail him out. Any other night, I would have, but Calvin made a valid point: I needed to learn how to let go of the reins sometimes. I was trying to run Marino’s the same way Papa had, and look where it got him. He literally worked himself to death. I didn’t want that to be my life. Never had, but apparently I needed the reminder.
“Not this time, buddy.” I did laugh when Tony gaped at me, then explained my logic. “If the customers aren’t complaining about it, let it ride. If nothing else, having a meddlesome mother wandering through the dining room offers that little extra authentic flair people can’t get anywhere else.”
“Dude! Did you not hear me tell you she threatened them with the spoon?” he argued.
“Yep. And I also heard you say at least one of the guys wouldn’t be threatened by that. So calm down and get back out to your table, because shit service will piss them off.”
Tony was almost to the office door when he turned back to stare at me again. “Something going on you want to tell me about?”
“Nope. Everything’s fine.”
“I know, and that’s what worries me,” he admitted. “You’re always so grumpy and serious, but Matteo told me you actually tried to calm him down when he dropped a tray of food tonight. And now, you seem more amused than angry about Mama being—”
“Being Mama?” I finished before he could get riled up again. “Maybe I’m trying to let things roll off my back a bit more. Here I thought that was a good thing since you’re always bitching about what a high-strung asshole I am.”
“Yeah, and that’s kinda my point. You’ve been unusually chill this week.”
Now that Tony mentioned it, I realized this was the first week I could remember since Papa dropped Marino’s in my lap I wasn’t resenting my family going into the weekend. I was wound tight, but it was different than usual. There was only one thing that’d changed: Calvin. That was a conversation I wasn’t ready to have with my brother, so I simply shrugged.
“I suppose I have. It’s helped that I haven’t been holed up back here staring at reports until my eyes cross.”
“Whatever you’re doing, keep it up.” If only it was that simple.
5
Calvin
I woke before the sun on Saturday morning, anxiously waiting for Frankie to roll out of bed. Returning the favor from earlier in the week, and possibly to show him just another example of the gentler side of BDSM, I grabbed my wallet and slid into my shoes, closing the front door as softly as possible as I left. Yes, I was a deliberate man who would undoubtedly take control of certain aspects of Frankie’s life if allowed the opportunity, but I wasn’t into hardcore pain or anything terribly messy. Today was about proving that to him. He probably didn’t even realize I’d already been giving him a taste of what I craved in a relationship.
When I arrived back at the house, a box of assorted pastries in hand, Frankie’s bedroom door was still closed tight. Good. One of the first things I’d noticed about Frankie after he moved in was that he worked far too much for far too little. It wouldn’t have been so hard to watch if he didn’t seem miserable all the time. That was why my first risk had been trying to encourage him to get more sleep and take better care of himself.
As I straightened up the house the way I did every weekend, I began to consider I might’ve made a colossal mistake trying to engage in a relationship of any sort with Frankie. We weren’t friends, we didn’t know anything about one another. And while my gut told me the risk would be worth the reward and my dick told me the rewards would be sweet, my mind screamed that I was going to wind up living alone before nightfall and trying to figure out how to pay for Ryan’s hockey. That was enough to give me pause. I’d been so focused on the attraction I’d felt the moment I opened the door and saw Frankie’s face for the first time, the way my libido went into overdrive when I caught him giving a guy head in the storage room at the bar, that I hadn’t considered the consequences of my lust.
“Are we finally going to talk or are you going to put me off again?” I paused before turning to say good morning to Frankie, wondering if I’d been delaying this moment because I subconsciously knew it was stupid to consider ruining an amicable arrangement simply because I thought Frankie and I could each bring to the table something the other needed.
By the time I opened my eyes and turned to face the rest of the house, Frankie had disappeared into the kitchen. One of the bar stools scraped across the granite floor. I could almost picture him leaning against the counter for support while he lifted the morning’s first mug of coffee to his lips. It was a refreshing change to see his eyes bright and trained on me when I followed him into the room. I offered him a simple smile as I pulled out the box of pastries.
“Eat, then we’ll talk,” I told him, pushing the box to his side of the counter, allowing him first choice. Unsurprisingly, he pulled out a cherry turnover and took a huge bite, leaving flakes of pastry all over the front of his rumpled T-shirt and the counter. With a heavy sigh, I grabbed a napkin to clean up the mess, not thinking before I brushed the front of his shirt. He tensed and I quickly pulled my hand away. “Sorry.”
“You really have issues with messes, don’t you?” I was grateful for the minor shift away from my invasion of his personal space.
“When Ryan was little, his mom was all about letting him do his thing all day and then she’d complain after he was in bed because she wanted to relax but there was a huge mess to clean up,” I explained. “It was easier to clean up as I went through the house because when she was stressed out, no one could relax.”
“And now it’s a habit?”
“Something like that.” I grabbed his nearly empty mug so I could refill both our coffees before moving to the living room where we could be comfortable. As I filled my mug, I realized it was probably poor form to talk about Marisa while trying to get something going with my much younger roommate. No wonder I hadn’t been on anything past a first date since separating from her. On the other hand, anyone I got involved with needed to realize she would always be a part of my life, not only a
s the mother of my child or my ex-wife, but as one of my closest friends. I had to give Frankie credit, at least so far he’d never given me any indication he thought it was odd that we were still amicable after the divorce.
The conversation stalled, and I couldn’t think of a good segue from my cleaning habits to my sexual inclinations. I slid Frankie’s mug back to him and continued into the living room without another word. He could follow or not, but I knew he was too eager to sit in the kitchen alone. If it wouldn’t annoy the hell out of me, I’d let him follow me around the house like a puppy all morning, glaring at him every time he opened his mouth to ask when we were going to sit down and talk.
My ass was just about settled into my chair when I heard the telltale scrape of the stool across the floor. Funny how a noise that irritated the hell out of me when Ryan did it caused ridiculous flutters in my stomach when it was Frankie. I wiped my clammy palms against the arms of the chair and took a few steadying breaths. I wanted this. As Marisa and Eli both loved to point out, my freedom didn’t mean much if I was too much of a chicken to even try putting myself out there.
Eli would have a field day if he knew Frankie was the reason I’d turned him down the few times he’d invited me to go out with him. It was hard to explain, but once someone caught my interest, they were all I could see. That’s probably why it’d been so easy for me to stay faithful to Marisa, even once I admitted to myself that looking at and lusting after guys wasn’t just some personality quirk, it was who I was. If there was no chance between Frankie and me, I wouldn’t continue pursuing him, but I needed to know. As long as he was a possibility in my mind, it’d be pointless to go cruising with one of my best friends, knowing I’d come home alone at the end of the night and jerk off to thoughts of my roommate. The man sleeping and clueless just down the hall from me. Because that wasn’t weird or anything.
“If you’re not gonna talk, I am,” Frankie said bluntly. He tossed the box of pastries on the table in front of him, reaching for a second turnover. I was about to say something about using a plate so we weren’t picking crumbs out of the couch for the next week when he pulled a napkin out of the pocket of his lounge pants and made a show of shaking it until it was unfolded and across his lap. “That cool with you?”
I nodded, because I was too dumb-struck to form a coherent thought. The brat had all the subtle nuances of a sub, but it was clear he wasn’t going to roll over and take whatever I dished out. He was… well, he was a brat in the truest sense of the word, and the idea of him pushing back when he thought he couldn’t or wouldn’t take anymore caused my dick to perk right up. Rather unfortunate timing since I was still wearing a pair of perfectly worn-in sweatpants.
“I did what you asked and looked up all that shit, and I have to tell you, if this is all about you trying to get in my pants, there’s no reason to work so hard.” There wasn’t? Did that mean he was even half as attracted to me as I was to him? “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m easy and not expecting anything with strings.”
“Is that why you trick?” I asked, even though I didn’t think it was the full explanation. I’d ruled out him doing it for the money, but it’d bugged me all week that he was doing it at all. If it was out of desperation, this conversation would take a completely different turn, because I wasn’t a heartless ass who would allow someone I cared about to sell his body—or at least his mouth—to make ends meet.
“It’s as good a reason as any,” he responded flatly.
“But it’s not all of it, is it?” I pushed. He shook his head. “Would you like to explain it to me?” He shook his head again. Fuck, this wasn’t much different than trying to have a deep conversation with Ryan. I groaned and Frankie chuckled. The little shit was trying to get a rise out of me. “Fine. You don’t have to tell me, but if the time comes when you feel comfortable, I’d like to hear more.”
“Just like that?” He gaped at me as if he was waiting for me to demand answers.
“Yep. Just like that,” I confirmed. “And telling you to do a little research wasn’t because I want to fuck you.”
The corners of his mouth sagged and his lower lip jutted out slightly. Good. I needed to regain the upper hand. “Seems pretty fucked up to ask me to go through with it just so you could get your rocks off telling me what to do. Is that what it was?”
I quirked an eyebrow at his little outburst. My hands itched to flip him over and spank the sass out of him. When I’d threatened him that night at Club 83, he hadn’t seemed averse to the notion, but that wasn’t what today was about. At least, not yet.
“I don’t believe in playing games, Frankie,” I deadpanned, leaning forward to rest my forearms on my knees. I watched as Frankie’s gaze traveled down my body, the way his breath hitched as he noticed the semi barely hidden by my sweatpants. “I wanted you to look it up because you were talking out of your ass. You took what you’ve probably heard people talking about based on popular books and movies at face value and assumed everyone who’s into BDSM is like that.”
“Never said that, but whatever.”
“But do you deny thinking that fiction is an accurate portrayal of reality?” I pressed. He shrugged. If he did that one more time, I was going to go over to the couch and restrain him just so he’d be forced to give me a real answer. “What you thought about it a week ago doesn’t really matter, but can you tell me if you feel any differently now than you did before?”
“I guess,” he responded, noncommittally at first. This time, Frankie surprised me by continuing. “It’s weird, you know, because there’s just so much out there. Before, I thought it was all about whips, bondage, pain, and shit like that.”
“And now?” While I waited for him to answer, I reminded myself to not get too excited. There was still a damn good chance he’d say I was off my rocker. Or that I was too old. Or he could insist getting involved with someone he already lived with was too many of those strings he was dead-set against. The only excuse I’d call bullshit on was if he said he wasn’t attracted to me. A guy didn’t look at another guy the way I’d caught him checking me out a few times this week if he wasn’t at least casually interested.
“It was kinda cool reading about all the different types of kink,” he admitted, before promptly losing himself in his breakfast. Was it creepy to get a cheap thrill out of the way he licked the frosting and crumbs off his fingers or the little noises he made when he ate something he enjoyed? Yeah, probably at least a little. “I’m still not sure what the point of the whole drill was since, as I said before, I’m not the type who’s going to play hard to get if you want me to suck your dick. Hell, I wouldn’t even charge you.”
I’d mentally put together a list of Frankie’s issues, but until now, I never would have put insecurity on that list. It seemed impossible to me that a young man as gorgeous as him would realize he could have his pick of any guy in any bar without putting in much effort. And definitely without them being sleazy or desperate enough to pay for it.
Sometimes, it’s all about the power, Eli’s voice echoed in my mind. That was the excuse I’d accepted all week, but there was a tentativeness in Frankie’s posture that spoke to feeling like he wasn’t good enough for someone to be genuinely interested in him. Whatever sparked that little quip at the end, it needed to stop. Now.
“Don’t ever imply I’m like your johns,” I warned him. He scooted a little further away on the couch, his eyes widening slightly. I worried I’d startled him, but noticed the way he wiggled his hips to adjust himself. The little shit was turned on. Maybe this wasn’t going to be as hard as I’d originally thought. I simply needed to tread carefully and remember I was the one who was in charge. “I’m sure you figured this out already, but sex isn’t always part of a BDSM relationship.”
“Yeah, but that’s one of the things I can’t figure out,” he blurted out. “I mean, what’s the point in getting someone turned on and getting them off if there isn’t sex involved?”
“When you connect with someon
e on the right level to trust them with everything, your body, your mind, your pain, and your pleasure, the highs reach the stratosphere. And for a lot of people, that happens outside of sex,” I explained. Hell, I’d spent half my week as a walking erection, knowing whether he realized it or not, Frankie had allowed me to guide him through something as simple as his daily life. And when I didn’t text him, he reached out to me with a simple message as if he was checking in. No, it wasn’t a mind-blowing orgasm, but I’d lived enough life to know there was more to it than getting off.
“And that’s the shit you’re into?”
“Some of it, yes.” There was no point denying it since I was the one who’d gotten us on the topic earlier in the week. “I’m not into pain for pain’s sake. Bondage could be fun, but like everything, only if the other person is into it.”
“So basically, you like being in control.” I thought about that for a moment, because maybe I was the one who had it all wrong. Maybe I should’ve been doing the research right along with him. I quickly schooled my features, reminding myself I wasn’t going to feel guilty for what I wanted. And what turned my crank went beyond just being in control in the bedroom.
“That’s an incredibly stripped-down version of it, but yes.”
“And I’m assuming it’s an all or nothing deal?”
Was it? If Frankie wasn’t open to experimenting with something I truly felt he would enjoy, could I set aside my own desires for a chance to be with him? “Yes.”
I didn’t regret my answer. Most of my life had been about putting the needs and wants of others first. It was time for me to take control, even if that meant this man fate had dropped at my doorstep would never be more than a roommate and possibly, hopefully, a friend.