Rocco hadn’t wanted to risk taking Sophia back to his father’s house. Because of his father’s drinking, he had no idea what kind of state it would be in, but he assumed it wouldn’t be good. It had been four months since he’d last been back to visit—something he now felt like shit about—and the house hadn’t been great then. A man living alone was never the most house-proud of creatures, but a drinker living alone was even worse.
It had taken numerous phone calls before Rocco had eventually found somewhere close by with a double room free. It was a relief to find somewhere. He’d have managed if he’d been forced to sleep in the house, but there was no way in hell he’d have put Sophia in there. His head was spinning with all the things he needed to arrange. He’d never been great at that kind of thing, and he was thankful to have Sophia by his side. There were solicitors to speak with, and funeral arrangements to be made. His heart sank at the idea of the funeral, knowing there would only be a handful of people there. His dad would never have wanted a fuss anyway, but that didn’t make it any less sad.
It was late by the time they arrived at the bed and breakfast. The last of the sun had bled away from the sky, leaving a warm red glow across it. Through the hills and low-rise skyline of buildings, they were able to see the beach and the sea where they’d both grown up.
He shared a smile with Sophia and knew they were both thinking the same thing. It was good to be back here, together, but they both just wished it had happened under different circumstances.
They held each other that night, in a strange bed, but back in the town they’d once called home. Sex wasn’t something either of them initiated, and it was the first night they’d spent together where it hadn’t happened, but that was all right, too. They were more comfortable with each other now, falling back into friendship as well as intimacy, and it was enough to know they were there for each other.
The next day was filled with phone calls and appointments. He needed to register the death and then make arrangements for the funeral. He couldn’t see any point in delaying things, and as there weren’t going to be family members needing to travel long distances or anything like that, he was able to arrange it for the day after next.
Sophia squeezed his hand. “You ready to go to the house? You’re going to have to face it sometime.”
He nodded. “Yeah, I know.”
This was the part he’d been dreading most of all. He was going to have to come face to face with the sort of conditions his father had been living in, and he knew it was going to be like a punch to the gut.
They did the short walk over to his father’s house on the outskirts of town.
The place was exactly as he remembered it, dilapidated on the outside, the paintwork peeling from the windowsills, the guttering falling apart, and the roof missing tiles. The grass in the small front garden had grown knee-high, and he was surprised nobody had complained about it. Perhaps they had, but his father hadn’t paid any attention—or hadn’t been mentally or physically able to pay any attention. A stab of guilt went through him. He should have been here more. His father had spent his last few months alone, and Rocco wasn’t sure he’d ever get over that guilt.
“It’s not your fault,” Sophia said from beside him, her fingers entwined with his. “He was ill. He has been for a very long time. You couldn’t have given up your life for him. He would never have expected you to.”
Rocco let out a sigh. “Maybe not, but this all just feels so wrong. Thank you for coming with me. I don’t know how I’d be coping if you weren’t here right now.”
She released his hand to slip her arm around his waist and pull him closer. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”
He took a shaky breath and allowed her to tug him up the overgrown path, towards the peeling front door. His hand trembled as he put the key into the lock and turned it. He almost laughed at himself. He was supposed to be some big tough guy who worked in a tattoo studio and hung out with other big tough guys, but here he was, getting spooked by a house. A musty odour hit him and he tried not to grimace, bracing himself for the worst.
But, once he stepped inside the door, he realised it wasn’t as bad as he’d anticipated. Yes, the place had a bad smell to it, and dirt and grime covered every surface, but it wasn’t as though he’d just stepped into an episode of Hoarders, which was what he had been preparing himself for.
“It’s not that bad,” Sophia said, echoing his thoughts. “It’s just a little unloved.”
“Do you think that was how he felt, too, in his final days? Unloved?”
Sophia squeezed her arms around his waist. “You can’t think like that. I’m sure your father knew you loved him. But you were both grown men, and you had your own life. He would never have expected you to stay in this little town and look after him.”
“Maybe he’d never expected me to do it, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have. I hate to think of him living down here, alone, slowly dying while I did nothing to help.”
“Do you remember how it was when we were kids?” she asked, fixing him with those blue eyes he loved so much, making him focus on her rather than their surroundings. “There were days when you were terrified to go home. It wasn’t as though he was the perfect father, either, Rocco. Far from it. I’m surprised you stuck around as long as you did.”
“But my dad did stick around, unlike my mother. If he hadn’t stayed, whatever his flaws, then I’d have grown up parentless and without a home.”
She held him then, her arms wrapped around his neck, pressing her body fully against his, her hand stroking the back of his head as she pulled his face into her neck. They stood there like that for the longest of times, surrounded by the sad, final moments of his father’s life.
Chapter Eleven
They hired a professional cleaning company to come in and blitz the house. Rocco went through the meagre belongings his father had left behind, selecting only a few items to keep. Most of it was rubbish. His father hadn’t been sentimental, so there was little from Rocco’s childhood—a handful of photographs, a few pieces of old school work—but that was it. Sophia could see how much it hurt Rocco that this was all that remained of his father’s life.
“I won’t be like this,” he told her that night as they lay tangled together in bed. “I won’t allow my life to end up so all I leave behind are a couple of boxes of rubbish.”
“That isn’t all your father left behind,” she replied. “He left you as his legacy, and I bet he was as proud of you as a father could be.”
The funeral was a simple, quiet affair. A couple of Rocco’s father’s old drinking buddies showed up to pay their final respects, but other than Sophia and Rocco, they were the only people there.
Rocco had told her he didn’t want to have a wake. He said the idea of sitting in some grotty pub while a handful of his father’s old friends got drunk in the corner was just too depressing to bear. Instead, after the service, Sophia and Rocco went down onto the beach where they’d spent so many of their childhood years.
Despite the sombre situation, the day was bright and hot. Holidaymakers lay on brightly coloured towels across the sand, while their children built sandcastles around them. Teenagers huddled together in gangs, some wearing t-shirts of bands they’d most likely never even listened to. They played music too loud, and all tried to talk over the top of each other in that over-confident yet self-conscious way teenagers seemed to blend together.
Sophia sat shoulder to shoulder with Rocco on the beach, both of them out of place in their rented clothes—with her in a summer dress and him in his suit. He looked handsome, though—just as handsome as he did casually dressed in his jeans and t-shirt, the combination of the suit and the tattoos more than pleasing on the eye. They ate fish and chips directly out of the paper and toasted his father’s life with cold cans of Coke.
“Is it wrong that I’m enjoying being here with you, despite the circumstances?” he asked her with a wry smile.
“No, not at all. Yo
ur father would have liked to know that you’re happy.”
“I am,” he agreed. “I wish I’d had the chance to tell him that we’d got back together. He always liked you. Called you ‘little Sophia’.”
She laughed. “Not so little now.”
“Nope.”
“I’m going to have to leave for London first thing in the morning,” she told him, wishing there was a way she could stay.
He glanced down at her. “Sure you can’t stay a little longer?”
She shook her head. “Sorry, I’ve got a hospital appointment. I can’t miss it.”
His eyebrows drew together in a frown. “Something important?”
“Well, yes, but it’s just routine as well.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“No, you’ve still got things to do down here. You’ll be okay to get the train back? I have to get Dad’s car back, too.”
“Of course. I’m going to worry about you driving all that way on your own, though.”
She nudged her elbow into his side. “Like I just mentioned, I’m a big girl now. I can handle it.”
He groaned and buried his face into her neck. “Sure I can’t convince you to stay?”
She laughed and hugged the back of his head against her. “I want to, I promise I do, but I can’t. This appointment has been booked for ages, and I’ll be in trouble if I miss it.”
He lifted his face from her and frowned. “And what’s the appointment for, exactly?”
She shrugged. “Oh, it’s just routine—testing how well my kidney function is and stuff like that. But you know how strapped the NHS is at the moment. They can’t afford to let appointments go to waste.”
“You’re right. I’m just being selfish, wanting you all to myself. I should only be another couple of days and then I’ll be back in London.”
She leaned in and kissed him. “We still have tonight.”
“And the rest of today. Which reminds me, I don’t want to sit out here, sharing you with all these other people. Let’s go back to the room. I want you all to myself.”
She didn’t protest when he took her by the hand and pulled her to her feet. The bed and breakfast was only a short walk back from the beach, but in their formal wear, they were both hot and sticky by the time they reached the room.
In the room there was a small, under counter fridge with a compartment for ice. They’d purchased some soft drinks when they’d arrived, and there was an ice tray in the freezer compartment.
“Is it bad that I’m English and I’m complaining about the heat?” she said, peeling off her dress. She was less conscious of the elasticised bandage around her fistula now with him, but that didn’t mean she’d let him see the fistula in all its lumpy glory. She knew the sight would shock him, and he’d ask more questions than he normally did. She wasn’t quite ready to tell him the severity of her illness yet. “I’m normally cold all the time.”
He glanced over at her from where he was bent over the fridge, and one side of his mouth curled in a lop-sided grin. “I’m not going to complain if it means you’re going to start taking your clothes off.”
“I was just going to change for a t-shirt and shorts,” she protested.
“No, you’re not. I like you in just your underwear.” He straightened from the fridge holding two iced glasses of water. “Now lie on the bed. I know a way of cooling you down.”
She arched her eyebrows. “Do you? So why does it look more like you’re thinking of heating things up.”
He gave a wicked grin. “Maybe I can do both.”
Holding back a grin of her own, she lay back on the bed, wearing only her underwear. Rocco scooped one of the ice cubes out of the glass. “Ready?”
She squirmed in anticipation. “No.”
He laughed. “Tough.”
He placed the ice cube on her stomach, just beneath her breasts, and ran it down to her navel. Sophia wriggled, the cold ice setting her nerve endings on fire in the best possible way. He reached her belly button and circled the ice cube around, the water pooling into the little dip, and then he lowered his mouth and lapped up the water.
“You’re so bad,” she said with a smile.
“I think we need to get rid of some more of these clothes.”
“You first.”
Rocco was still wearing his suit from the funeral. He stood and pulled off his tie and then undid the buttons of his shirt, revealing his tattooed, hard body. She didn’t think she’d ever get tired of seeing him naked, of running her hands over his skin, and marvelling how the skinny boy she’d once run around the beach with had developed into this incredible specimen of a man. His hands went to his suit trousers, and he slipped them from his hips so only his boxer shorts were left.
“Now you,” he said.
“But I only have my underwear on,” she protested.
“Not for much longer.”
He covered her body with his and slid his hand beneath her back. With surprising dexterity, he popped the clasp and whipped her bra away.
She raised her eyebrows. “I don’t know if I should be annoyed or impressed.”
“Oh, you’re definitely going to be impressed in a minute. Now lie back and shut up.”
Repressing a smile, she did as she was told. Her naked breasts jutted up to meet him as he took another ice cube from the glass and placed it on her left nipple. She gasped, her nipple crinkling at the contact and arousal shooting straight down between her thighs. From the long, thick line in his shorts, she could see Rocco was enjoying this, too. If he grew just a little harder, the head of his cock would appear over the waistband.
He circled the ice around her nipple, ensuring it was a tight little bud, and then moved onto her right breast. He repeated the process, ducking his head to suck her wet nipple into his mouth. Sophia groaned and placed her hand on the back of his head, pressing him against her. Her back arched. She wanted more, needed more.
Rocco fished out another ice cube and placed it on her belly again. He slid the cube down, but this time, instead of stopping at her navel, he went lower. She gasped when she realised what he had planned. He paused at her hips, hooking his fingers beneath the waistband of her knickers, before pulling them down her thighs and throwing them to one side. The ice cube was still melting on her stomach, but he took it between his fingers again and slid it down, through the small patch of golden-red hair at the juncture of her thighs.
“Open your legs for me,” he growled.
She wouldn’t have dared disobey. She spread her thighs for him, and he moved the ice lower. Her hips bucked as it ran over the top of her clit, and she let out a groan and squirmed as the coolness went lower still, between her heated folds to melt and dribble down over her arsehole.
“Oh, my God,” she moaned, flinging one arm over her eyes, barely knowing what to do with herself.
The ice cold against her own heat was driving her crazy.
Then his mouth was on her, lapping away the combination of melted ice and her cream. She thought he was done with the ice, but he fished out another cube and put this one in his mouth. His tongue was cold as it swirled around her clit, building her higher and higher, so she snatched little breaths, curling her fingers in the sheets. She’d never known pleasure like it. Then he pushed an ice cube inside her as he continued to lick her, and she came with wave after wave of pleasure.
Rocco shoved his shorts down, and his cock sprang out to meet her. With the ice now melted inside her, he quickly rolled on a condom and positioned himself at her entrance and shafted the head inside. “God, you feel cold. That’s so fucking incredible.”
“I know, I know.”
Her hands found his shoulders, and she wrapped her legs around his hips. He fucked her that way, sinking himself deep, and then he pulled out and flipped her around so she was on her hands and knees. As he took her from behind, his thumb met with her asshole, and he applied just enough pressure not to penetrate her, but to send sparks of arousal condensing tight withi
n her core. She looked over her shoulder, wanting to see his face as he came. His handsome features tightened, his lips slightly parted. All the muscles in his chest and shoulders were bunched, his gaze focused on her rear end and the view he must have of his cock sliding in and out of her.
She moaned at the image, and her orgasm built again. It hit just as Rocco gave a grunt, signalling him coming, and her sheath pulsed around him, sending her wild with bliss.
He leaned over her back, his arms wrapping around her waist, and pulled her into him so they spooned while kneeling. He placed a kiss on her damp, sweaty shoulder and then nuzzled her hair. Her hair was clammy from perspiration and clung to her neck.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of doing that,” he said.
She grinned and twisted to kiss him. “I hope you never do.”
Chapter Twelve
Sophia woke early the next morning, not wanting to leave but knowing she had to. Rocco was still sleeping, his long lashes resting on his cheek, one arm flung over the top of his head. She could happily have sat and watched him for hours but she had a long journey ahead of her and she couldn’t be late.
She used the adjoining bathroom and quietly packed up her belongings. When she was ready, she leaned over his still-sleeping form and gently kissed his lips.
He stirred at her kiss and, as she was straightening, he reached out and caught her arm.
“Hey, you can’t go.”
He tugged her back in, and she laughed. “I have to.” She struggled against him, though she knew they were only playing.
He buried his head against her stomach. “I think I should shut you in this room and not let you go.”
“Then you’d get me in a whole heap of trouble,” she protested. And I’ll end up very sick.
He released her. “Okay, okay. Text me when you get back to London, though. Let me know you made it safe.”
Forged with Ink (London Inked Boys Book 3) Page 6