30. Tristan

THIRTY

Tristan

Sunlight bleeds through my closed eyelids. It's so quiet up here and the lounge chair is so comfortable that I'm half dozing when I hear the sliding glass door open and close.

I open my eyes and roll my head to the side as Dante walks across the patio in nothing but his black warmups, carrying two steaming mugs.

He's the most goddamn beautiful man I've ever seen. He is a bit beat to shit though. His bruises from the night he got the concussion are fading, but there's still a bandage on his abdomen and one wrapping his forearm. That one was me, of course. The cut on his neck is the newest, but it's minor. It might not have been though, if he weren't so damn dangerous.

But he's like a fucking commando.

"Thanks," I say as Dante hands me one of the mugs. My eyebrows jump as I taste it. "Wow. You got it right."

A pleased little smile tugs at his mouth as he settles in the chair next to mine. For a while we're silent, and I just soak the moment in. I love it. I guess this kind of thing is normal for most people, but I don't think I've ever sat on a patio and drunk coffee with anyone.

And it's a hell of a nice patio. Broad and clean, with glass paneling at the edge so the city view isn't blocked by a railing.

I have been on the patio before. I came against that glass. But I've never sat here like this. I've never been in the hot tub either, which is out of sight where the patio wraps around the corner. He's so damn rich. And gorgeous.

It makes me think of another rich, gorgeous man. I don't want to think about Rafael, but something is preying on my mind.

I decide to say it.

"I think Rafael is in love with you."

Dante snorts. "Don't mistake his hard-on for love." He adds wryly, "Though you wouldn't be the first one."

"You're blind to it because of your history with him."

Dante looks at me, serious now. "He's not in love with me, Tristan. He's … it's difficult to explain."

I wait while Dante works out what to say.

"He's … sensitized to me. Because of what we've been through together. Because of what we know about each other. Does it bother you?"

"It did at first. But I'm … I'm working on it."

"You liked that he saw me fucking you."

I hesitate then admit, "Yeah. I wanted him to see that you were with me."

"I am with you."

"With no contract," I point out.

"Do you want one?"

"No. Do you?"

He doesn't answer me. He's thinking. It makes my heart skitter. Shit. I didn't expect him to want one. Oh fuck.

His phone starts vibrating in his pocket. He pulls it out and frowns.

"Who is it?" I ask.

"My mother." He looks agonized, which I understand now.

I understand, all too well, why he was so stiff and uncomfortable and angry with his "nice" mother. I know parents can be shitty. Evan and I were taken from ours when I was too young to remember, but he told me what useless drunks they were. Even so, I can't get over the shock that his parents expected him to pretend like nothing had happened to him. I can't believe they wouldn't even let Noah help him. I can't believe he tolerates them as well as he does.

"Do you want to talk to her?" I ask.

"No."

"Then give that to me." I hold out my hand.

Frowning, wary, Dante hands me the phone. I accept the call.

"Mrs. Adesso," I say, "this is Tristan."

"Where's Dante?" she asks breathlessly.

"He's not available." I don't ask her if she wants me to tell him something. She doesn't deserve that courtesy.

"Is he okay?"

"No thanks to you, but, yes, he's okay."

She sucks in an audible breath, and so does Dante.

She doesn't pretend to not know what I mean—she fucking pretends that I didn't say it at all. My temper boils as she gets to her point.

"Lorenzo Capelli was found dead in his home," she informs me. "A professional job apparently."

"Huh."

"The case is unlikely to go anywhere."

"Huh."

"I thought Dante might want to know."

I hang up on her.

"What a piece of shit," I snarl. "She is fucking unbelievable."

"Easy now. That's my mother you're talking about," Dante says, but he's smiling a little.

"Don't you dare stand up for her," I snap at him. "She can fuck off."

He huffs and sips his coffee.

"They're calling Capelli's death a professional job," I report.

"I thought they would."

"You don't think it'll come back to you?"

"No. I know how to cover my tracks."

"But Dominic—"

"Don't worry about him."

"He might want revenge," I say.

"Maybe. But I doubt it. If he does, it'll just be for show."

I frown. "That could still be dangerous."

"I can handle Dominic Capelli. Don't worry your pretty little head about it."

"Don't fucking condescend to me."

Dante sets his coffee on the ground. "You are really fired up. Come here and be nice."

"No."

"Have it your way."

He's out of his chair and on me so fucking fast that my coffee goes flying, spilling in an arc, the cup shattering on the ground. He doesn't care. He rips off my pants even as I flail, fighting him because I'm so fucking pissed. At his mother. At him.

He flips me and pins me down on the cushions. My knees are on the ground. My cock is trapped under me.

He's out of his own pants in seconds. I hear a packet tear. Fuck, he had lube with him. He was planning to fuck me. But then, he's always planning to fuck me. As a general rule, that's how I want it, but right now I'm furious.

Dante slicks his cock then yanks me to my feet, though he keeps me bent over.

"Why are you so pissed?" he demands.

When I don't answer, he slaps my ass. I cry out at the sting, but I still don't answer, so he sets his cockhead to my hole and shoves inside me.

I'm loose from fucking during the night then again this morning, but it still makes me cry out. He pounds my ass with brutal thrusts. I'm just starting to yield to it, to moan, when he pulls out abruptly.

Furious all over again, I yank upright. "What the fuck—"

Dante grabs me around the middle and hauls across the patio to the sliding glass door. I expect him to open it and drag me inside, but he pushes me against the glass instead, pinning me with his heavy, powerful body. His hard cock prods my ass.

I start to push back against it, trying to penetrate myself with it, but he slaps my ass again.

"Tell me why you're angry!"

"Because you want a fucking contract! Because you want to fuck me for money, like that's all this fucking is! Like I'm just some whore!"

He stills. His hand remains on my stinging ass. "You think that's why I paid you?"

"Obviously."

"I paid you so you'd have money. So you'd have power and freedom. So you would be safe. And I'm going to keep giving you money. It doesn't have to be formal, but it's going to happen, and you're going to fucking accept it."

"I don't want that apartment."

"Fine, but you'll accept the money."

"For what ?" I snap, still pissed.

"College. A car. I don't give a shit."

" College? "

"If you want. You could get your GED in a few months. You could be in college next fall if you wanted."

"So that I'm less embarrassing."

He slaps my ass again. "Are you somehow deaf to the words if you want ? What's the real fucking problem here?"

"You want a contract! That's the problem! You don't want me without stupid rules—"

"Goddamn it, Tristan, I need rules. I'm a fucking psychopath, don't you understand that?"

"Well, you're my psychopath, and I want you without a stupid fucking contract making it feel like it's not real!"

He laughs. He laughs so fucking hard that he's shaking. His hard dick jerks against me.

He says against the back of my neck, "You beautiful fucking crazy thing, I fucking love you."

And with that, he thrusts back into me. I cry out in relief and pleasure, and I watch our reflection in the glass as he brutalizes me with his hard, rough thrusts. I'm bent over, hands against the glass, until he hooks an arm around my chest and hauls me upright. His hand closes on my throat, and I watch my body lift every time he thrusts up into my ass.

I'm loose and open to it, letting him fuck me, loving how he fucks me. It feels so goddamn perfect that when he hits my prostate on another deep thrust, cum jets from my cock, leaping high, hitting the glass and the ground.

Dante bites my trap as he starts to come, fucking me hard through both our orgasms, until he's just milking me, driving the last spurts of cum from my cock, letting it drip.

He's looking over my shoulder at our reflection and mess. He massages my throat.

"Do you understand how dangerous this is?" he whispers against me.

I shiver in delight.

"Do you understand there's no word now that ends this?"

I sigh in relief.

"You're crazy, Tristan Marshall."

"So are you, Dante, and I love you like that."

He sucks in a breath, and I turn my head to meet his kiss. His cocks stiffens inside me. Mine lifts, hardening.

"I love you too," he says, and starts fucking me again.