Author: Alexa Land
Category: LGBT
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/alexa-land/page,16,529414-all_in.html
When she finally ran out of steam, Christopher and I escorted her to the front of the hospital and helped her hail a cab. She was obviously exhausted by the stress of the past few days, dark circles under her watery brown eyes. “He was a damn fool to fly so soon,” she griped. “But thank God he’s home.”
Once she was deposited in a cab bound for her house (she’d given up hiding at the hotel), Christopher turned to me and said, “Well, I guess you don’t need me anymore.” He looked a little lost.
I pulled him into a hug and said, “Like hell I don’t.”
He held on to me and said quietly, “But your boyfriend’s back now. And we’re not chained together anymore.”
“About that. When did you figure out how to open the manacles?”
“Um…within ninety seconds of examining them, that first night we spent together.”
“Why didn’t you remove them sooner?”
“I’m so sorry, Charlie. I just…I wanted to stay with you. I know that sounds stupid and pathetic. But I liked being with you. And I wanted to at least have our forty eight hours together, before we went our separate ways.”
I pulled back to look at him and he avoided my gaze, so I gently took hold of his chin and tilted his face up to mine, my arm still around his shoulders. “We’re not going our separate ways.”
His big blue eyes searched my face. “We’re not?”
“Nope. You’re my new roommate, remember? You agreed to move in with me.”
“Why would you still want that? Especially after I tricked you, made you stay chained to me.”
“Why? Because you’re my best friend,” I told him.
“I am?”
“That can’t be news to you, Christopher Robin. After everything we’ve been through together? After the million ways you’ve been there for me? Of course you’re my best friend.”
He smiled at that and put his arms around me again, resting his head on my chest. “You’re mine too, Charlie.”
I kissed the top of his head and held him for a while before finally letting go of him and handing him my house key. “I’m going to try to spend the night here if the staff lets me. You should go home to our apartment and get some rest.”
“Ok, roomie. See you when you get home.” He smiled at me warmly before turning and heading down the street.
The doctors were just leaving, still engrossed in conversation, as I returned to Dante’s room. “Hi angel,” he said with a big grin. I started to sit on the chair beside the bed, and he said, “What are you doing? Come here.” He was laying on his right side, and gestured with his chin to the bed beside him.
“That seems like a really bad idea,” I said. “I don’t want to jostle you.” I reached out and brushed his silky black hair back from his forehead.
“Please?”
I sighed and kicked my shoes off, then gingerly got up on the mattress beside him. “I can’t resist when you ask so nicely.” I carefully lay on my side, sharing his pillow, his face inches from mine.
“Hi,” he said softly, with a sweet smile.
“Hi Dante.” I was smiling too.
His dark eyes searched my face. “My beautiful angel,” he murmured. “Do you have any idea how much I missed you?”
“I have some idea, given the fact that you just jeopardized your health to come home to me.”
He leaned forward so his forehead was resting against mine and let his eyes slide shut. “Totally worth the risk.”
I started to reach out to him, but then stopped myself. “I don’t know where I can touch you.”
“Go ahead and take a look. I’d say it looks worse than it is, but I guess I’d be lying.”
I sat up and pulled the covers back. His left arm was in a cast to mid-bicep, a sling holding it against his stomach, tubes from an IV running into his upper arm. His right hand was in a cast to mid-forearm. His left thigh was bandaged knee to hip. And surgical tape wound around his chest, holding a big square of gauze in place. I drew in my breath and met his gaze. “How close did the bullet come to your heart, Dante?”
He hesitated and then admitted, “An inch.”
“Holy shit.”
“Come here, Charlie,” he said gently. I lay down again, pulling the blanket over both of us and sliding my fingers into his hair, my forehead against his again.
“I almost lost you.”
“But you didn’t. I’m here.”
“Thank God,” I whispered.
I ended up spending all night in Dante’s hospital bed, despite the protests of the entire medical staff. They only backed off when Dante threatened to buy the hospital and fire all of them. He tried to tell me that he’d never be able to sleep here in the hospital, but sheer exhaustion and narcotic pain killers knocked him out within a few minutes. I lay there for a long time, watching over him before I too drifted off.
In the morning, Dante’s forehead was creased with concern. “Are you ok?” I asked him, sitting up and looking him over quickly.
“I didn’t think this through,” he said quietly.
“Didn’t think what through?”
“Coming home to you in this condition.”
“Why? Are you in pain? Should I get the doctor?”
He shook his head. “No angel, I’m ok. I’m getting a steady drip of pain killers from my IV, so I really don’t feel much of anything.” It occurred to me that even if he was in excruciating pain, Dante really wasn’t the type of man to admit it. I’d have to keep a close eye on him, make sure he really was doing ok and not just putting up a brave front.
“Then what’s wrong?” I asked, brushing his hair out of his eyes.
“I’m ridiculously helpless with these casts on each arm. I didn’t think about what that would mean during my recovery.”
“It’s going to be ok, Dante. I’ll help you.”
“That’s just it. I want you to know you don’t have to take care of me. You’re not under any obligation—”
“Of course I’m going to take care of you,” I said.
“Maybe that’s not the best idea….”
“Sure it is.”
He hesitated for a long moment, and then he admitted quietly, “I’m so fucking scared of losing you, Charlie. I can’t imagine why you’d want me when I’m so pathetic and broken. And I’m worried about being a burden to you, that having to deal with me in this condition day after day is going to drive you away.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Dante. I love you. And it’s like I tried to tell you before – I’m all in with this relationship. That means in sickness and in health, in good times and bad. I’m going to help you heal, and we’re going to be together. Because it’s what we both want.”
“I do want that. God I want that,” he murmured, and leaned in and kissed me gently.
Chapter Eighteen
For the last five weeks, Dante and I and Christopher Robin and the zombie lap dog from hell had lived as one big, odd family in my little apartment. It had been…interesting.
When Dante decided to step down from his role as the head of his ‘family business,’ he also decided to move out of that big villa on Nob Hill. It was the headquarters for mob operations, and always crowded with family members and business associates. It made sense to turn it over along with the job. He had most of his personal belongings put in storage. And he held on to enough of his legitimate investment properties that money was never going to be an issue for him.
Dante and Christopher were adapting to their new role as roommates. It was a little awkward at first, but they were always unfailingly polite to one another. And Christopher was learning to address Dante by his first name, while Dante only occasionally called him Austin.
They had taken on the joint project of trying to civilize Peaches, a task I gave up on in the first five minutes of that little experiment. Dante mostly acted as consultant since he couldn’t do much physically, looking up dog training videos on his phone and coming up with ideas and theories. Dante and Christopher we
re bonding well against their common enemy.
Their biggest success to date had been managing to brush Peaches’ teeth, which had involved wrapping the dog up in a blanket like a big burrito, then using a toothbrush duct taped to the end of a broom handle to swipe at his teeth while he snarled and snapped. It was a total triumph in that everyone still had all their fingers at the end of it, and the dog’s breath actually improved slightly. Very slightly. (Christopher had actually tried to take the dog to the vet for a professional cleaning, but Peaches had gone so psychotic when they went to tranquilize him that they’d been asked to leave. I tried to tell him that would happen).
Dante had been in pretty bad shape for the first couple weeks following surgery, but every day he grew stronger, he healed a little more. He still couldn’t do a whole lot even five weeks later, especially with the casts on his arms, but he seemed to be in much less pain. He never complained, but I’d learned to read the quiet signs, the tightening around his eyes when he was suffering, the set of his jaw.
I had taken a leave of absence from work and was Dante’s constant companion, his nurse, his cook, his valet – whatever he needed. Jamie and Dmitri and Jess and Callie had worked out some sort of schedule, and one or more of them appeared every couple days with baked goods, DVDs, flowers, magazines – little ways to brighten our days, keep our spirits up. I was so grateful for my friends.
And my newest friend Christopher Robin and I bonded over, of all things, football. Turned out he was a huge Atlanta Falcons fan, and he and I developed a good-natured rivalry and watched every NFL game obsessively on the big new TV Dante bought for the apartment (while Dante tried and failed to pretend he was interested in the sport).
When Christopher gushed about the Falcons, he’d start to slip into a slight southern drawl – it only came out when he was really excited or upset or tired and forgot to reign it in. He finally admitted that he’d grown up in Georgia, but had spent all of his adult life trying to shake the accent. He didn’t seem to want to talk about his time in the south.
There were two Christophers (neither of which ate much). One was the laid back art student that dressed in baggy t-shirts and jeans and spent his time either sketching in a patch of sunlight on the living room floor, or hanging out with us and chatting animatedly about pretty much anything. The other was the prostitute that grew serious when it was time to go out on an assignment, donning his tight, revealing ‘work clothes’ with studied indifference, double-checking his pockets for condoms and then leaving with a smile that looked real, but that never reached his big blue eyes.
He didn’t talk about his job, and I didn’t ask. I tried to be ok with what he did for a living, even though I feared for his safety, and worried about what this was doing to his sense of self-worth. And on days when he came home and went straight into the bathroom without a word and soaked in a tub of hot water for over an hour, my heart broke for him.
I talked to Dante about it. He wanted to pay for Christopher’s schooling so he could quit working, but when we introduced the subject to Christopher, he got really angry and told us he refused to accept charity. Later on he apologized. And still refused to take the money.
Dante wasn’t done trying to intervene though, and on a random Thursday night he announced that he was going have a friend over for dinner, and asked Christopher to join us. The visit was preceded by a caterer. He prepared a lavish meal for us while Peaches went full Cujo, hackles raised, growling menacingly and trying to bust out of his pen the entire time the man was preparing the meal. By the time the caterer left, all the Peaches trauma had resulted in a pronounced facial tic. Dante paid him double.
And when Christopher went to open the door for our guest, he gasped and stammered, southern accent as thick as I’d ever heard it, “Oh ma gawd, it’s Ian Tremont! If this is a dream, nobody pinch me!”
Turned out, Ian Tremont owned the most famous art gallery in all of San Francisco, and was an old poker buddy of Dante’s. Christopher’s paintings dotted our apartment, and Tremont was instantly captivated by them. Within minutes, he gave Christopher his business card and asked him to be a part of his gallery’s annual new artists show in January. Over dinner, the two of them went on and on about art, Christopher hanging on Ian’s every word and vice versa.
I began to get the impression that Tremont was as interested in the artist as his art, and I took a long look at the gallery owner. He was a handsome man of about thirty, with grey eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled, and tidy light brown hair and impeccable clothes. Christopher was completely focused on him, almost mesmerized. There seemed to be a little something between them, a spark that went beyond mutual admiration, which for some reason surprised me.
After dinner Dante feigned exhaustion, and he and I retired to our bedroom while Ian and Christopher moved to the couch and kept talking. I kissed my boyfriend on the cheek and said, “That was really nice of you.”
“Christopher deserves an opportunity like this, and it was easy enough to introduce them.” Dante exhaled slowly and settled against the pillows.
“Are you in pain? Do you want your meds?” I asked as I sat beside him and took his hand.
“No thanks, I’m fine.”
I curled up beside him, and he brushed back my dark brown hair from my forehead. It was getting kind of shaggy, since I hadn’t done much for myself over the last five weeks, including trips to the barber. He was studying me closely, something he did often, a little smile on his gorgeous lips as he said, “When I’m fully recovered, I want to take you someplace wonderful as a thank you for all you’ve been doing for me. Maybe Fiji, someplace warm and tropical.”
“Sounds nice,” I murmured, and kissed his fingertips as he lightly traced my lips. He more or less had the use of his right hand, the cast beginning at the base of his fingers. He’d found he could feed himself and take care of most basic needs with that hand, the other completely useless in a big cast to his fingertips.
He leaned in and kissed me, slowly, deeply. Over the last month, Dante and I had spent countless hours talking, and in later weeks, when he felt a bit better, countless more hours making out like teenagers. Our time together had been sweet and tender and romantic, and it had been wonderful to really get to know him.
Of course, since he’d been so badly hurt, we’d steered clear of anything sexual whatsoever. Dante had been in no condition to mess around, obviously. My only outlet was the time I spent in the shower every morning, twenty four hours worth of sexual tension spelled out across the tile wall.
So when Dante’s hand slid down to my ass I was a little startled, and I looked up at him curiously. “Will you do something for me, Charlie?” he asked.
“Of course. Anything.”
He grinned at me and said, “Take your clothes off.”
“We can’t mess around, Dante. You’re not well enough.”
“You’re right that we can’t fuck. And we still have to have a very long discussion about how we’re going to have sex once I’m healed. The basic issue still remains – that I don’t want to hurt you, and can’t get off any other way. But I’m not opening that can of worms right now. I’m just asking you to get naked.”
“If that’s what you want,” I said with a smile. I stripped myself quickly for him and lay down on my back, looking up at him. His fingers traced my skin, circling my nipples before meandering down to my navel, and then down my happy trail. My cock was already half-hard, and when he ran a fingertip over my slit, I gasped. He slid his fingers down my shaft and caressed my balls, and I let out a low moan.
Dante smiled and said, “Your best friend and a major player in the art world are right on the other side of that door. You need to be quiet, angel.”
“Then maybe you should stop playing with me,” I whispered with a grin.
He pretended to consider this, then said, “No, I think I’ll keep playing with you. In fact, please bring me the briefcase that’s in the bottom of the closet, Charlie.”
> I rolled off the bed and did as he asked. I set the case on the mattress and popped it open, and a nervous laugh burst from me. “And here I’d assumed this was full of paperwork.” What it contained instead was a whole bunch of sex toys. There were dildos and butt plugs and some things I actually couldn’t name. My cock throbbed in anticipation, and I asked, “Are you really feeling up to this, Dante?”
“Yup.”
“You sure?”
“I want to give you pleasure, Charlie. You need more than a daily release in the shower.”
“Oh man. Can you hear me when I play with myself?” I felt the color rising in my cheeks.
“It’s the highlight of my morning,” he said with a smile.
I grinned embarrassedly and said, “Ok, so what do you propose we do with this stuff?”
“Normally, I’d just have you lay back and have all manner of wonderful, dirty things done to you. But since I can only use one hand, and just barely, this is going to have to be much more collaborative.”
“I just have to ask,” I said, peering into the case. “In the past, did you take this portable sex kit with you when you travelled? And did you ever go through airport security with it? Because that had to be entertaining.”
“Nope. It was all selected specifically for you.”
“Wait. You had workers pack up your playroom and put it into storage when you moved out of your house, you weren’t well enough to do it yourself. So who did you send in to put together a sex kit for your boyfriend? And oh my God, if you say it was your pal Dmitri, I’m going to kill myself!”
“God no. Like I’d want Dmitri – and by extension, your ex – involved in any of our private business.”
“Well thank God. But then who packed the case?”
“It wasn’t packed from my playroom. This was all newly purchased at a sex shop.”
“Oh. By who?”
“Christopher.”