Dangerously Happy (15 page)

“
Getting it’s one thing. Putting up with it on the daily with the guy—a guy—you’re sleeping with is something else.”

“
You’re right. And I can already sense that the longer this thing between us lasts and the closer we get, the harder keeping it a secret it will be, emotionally, psychologically. But we’re brand new. And unless you know something I don’t, we haven’t even figured out what this is, exactly. Which is fine. Unless it isn’t.”

I laughed. “You lost me.”

“
I don’t need to know exactly what this is, unless you do. It’s another question that cropped up at the party that night. Or maybe it’s an extension of the jealousy question.”

“
Are you asking me if this is going somewhere?” I said in a voice that was more playful than I felt.

“
I think it’ll go where it’s going, regardless of what we think or tell each other right now. What I guess I’d like to know is whether you have an expectation or desire for monogamy.”

“
Oh.” Even in my own mind I’d dodged this question a hundred times since the first time I’d spent the night with him. “I don’t know. Do you?”

“
Well, like I said, this goes back to the jealousy issue. I like what you and I have. I’d be sad to lose it. But short of you deciding you didn’t want to be with me anymore, you wanting to fuck someone else wouldn’t hurt me. But I get the feeling you don’t feel the same way.”

“
I’m starting to feel like the greedy boy who wants to keep his cake and eat it too.”

“
Because you want more freedom for yourself than you’d like me to have?”

“
No—ha, well, maybe—but no, not really. I mean because I feel so possessive when I won’t even be open about what’s going on between us.”

“
We can put that whole thing aside. Really. I don’t need to parade around holding hands. I’m a pretty private person. Or, as one or two people have put it, I’m rather guarded. Things that are precious to me, I tend to keep to myself. I guess that ties in to why I like being physical with you upstairs more than down here, where anyone and everyone roams around three nights a week.”

“
As long as me being ’closeted’ (I couldn’t keep the implied quotes out of my voice) isn’t hurting your feelings. Or making you feel like I’m, I don’t know, less into you than I am.”

“
You’re not hurting my feelings. And I promise you I’m not gauging how important I am to you by how we are when there are a hundred other people around. Or even just the rest of your band.” We nuzzled, kissed, nuzzled a little longer. “But you do still have to answer my million-dollar question about your feelings about monogamy. Like I said, I’m not jealous. And given that you might not feel like you’re getting all your needs met just by me, maybe we should keep it open. So you can be with women,” he added in an adorably sheepish way that was totally incongruous with his manner throughout the rest of our talk. “On the other hand, being a promiscuous slut is pretty played out for me, so—especially in the short term while we’re figuring our relationship out—I won’t feel deprived if I’m not sleeping around. I just need to know what you want so I don’t do anything that would hurt you. Or hurt us.”

“
I guess . . .” I don’t know why it seemed impossible to say it.

Dario leaned in, planted a few soft kisses along my temple. Gave me a sweet smile. “You guess what, baby?”

I cleared my throat. “I guess . . . this thing with you is new and intense. And as my freakout at the party clearly demonstrated, I don’t quite have a handle on my feelings. For me, I guess, fooling around with anyone else would just confuse me even more.”

“
So, no kissing Joe Burke or Melissa, for either of us?”

I laughed. “Deal.”

“
Deal. Which means this weekend, you can feel safe and know that if you see me talking to Alex or Burke, you don’t have to worry about finding me in a dark corner or upstairs doing anything more than smoking a bowl or droning on endlessly. And if you change your mind, just come and talk to me about it.”

“
Okay.”

“
Anything else you think we should talk about?” I must have grimaced or something at the idea of any more discussion because Dario laughed and said, “Then for fuck’s sake, can we please go upstairs and screw until we pass out?”

“
God. Yes.”

Dario leaned in and whispered in a throaty voice that went straight to my cock, “But tomorrow night, we’re going to have a talk about bondage.”

On the bed. Naked. Kissing. Up on our knees, chest-to-chest, belly to belly. Dario drawing back. Smiling.

I told him, “You look like you’re gloating over a secret.”

He laughed. “You’re too good at reading me.”

“
But I can’t read what the secret is.”

“
Good. Life’s dull without surprises. What’s your favorite color?”

I laughed. “Red.”

Then he pushed me down on the mattress and straddled me, pinning my wrists over my head. The kiss he gave me then drove a surge of blood to my cock, and soon he had me writhing under him. I wanted to pull him closer against me, I wanted to grab his ass, I wanted to slide my hand between us and stroke him, but he didn’t let go of my wrists when I tried to move. Instead, his grip tightened and he extended his arms, stretched his torso, until my arms were pulled taut over my head, almost to the point of discomfort.

He put his mouth close to my ear and purred, “I changed my mind.”

“
About what?” I tried to sound playful, though I was suddenly feeling thrown off and nervous.

“
About waiting until tomorrow night to talk about bondage. Also, I changed my mind about talking about it.”

I laughed. “Dario, I’m not sure . . .”

“
Not sure? About what?”

“
Not sure I’m ready. Not sure I want to do that.”

“
What’s your favorite color?”

“
What? I already told you,” I said, my voice high and tight and weird. I tried again to pull my wrists out of his grip, but he held tight.

“
Tell me again.”

“
Red.” I huffed, adrenaline making me shake, making my heart race.

I flexed against his grip, half testing his strength, half testing my fear. He didn’t let go. He kissed me, very softly. Then looked at me with that gaze that made me feel like our souls were touching. Then kissed me again, softly, and when I gave in to his gentle warmth and kissed him back, he came at me more hungrily, a deep, possessive kiss, and something about being pinned like that, my torso stretching, straining, made the sensation of his body sliding against mine feel absolutely exquisite, and the want flooding my body pushed away that anxious uncertainty his grip had provoked.

But then he started flexing and shifting and using his legs he pushed mine apart, got his hips between my thighs. I felt his hard cock against my belly, brushing against my dick as he writhed over me, kissing me deeply, but slowly. Then he drew back and gazed down at me. Reading me. When he reached for the drawer, when he grabbed the bottle of lube I tried to pull my wrists free of his one hand, but somehow I hadn’t noticed he’d done something with the sheet, twisted it around my wrists and hands. He’d done it so quickly and furtively I figured it would be easy to twist and flex my arms and hands a little and get myself free, but no.

“
Dario. I really can’t move.”

He grinned. “I know.” He said it as if I’d told him that dogs can’t fly. “What’s your favorite color?”

“
Dario . . .”

Soft kiss. “Be a good boy, and tell me one last time.”

“
Red.”

I felt weirdly vulnerable. Something beyond the physical restraint of not being able to move my arms. Like something was happening that I couldn’t control, not with my body, not with words. Like things were simply happening to me regardless of anything I might think or feel.

Dario lubed up his swollen cock, taking his time about it, enjoying stroking himself with one hand while he held me down with the other, enjoying watching me watch his hand slide over the glistening length of his shaft, the gleaming, rosy crown of his cock. Then he got more lube and slipped his fingers between my ass cheeks.

My voice cranked up with panic now I pleaded, “Dario, not like this.”

Another bemused grin. “There’s one word you can say to make me let go of your wrists. One word, if you want me to stop anything I’m doing. But only that one word. So, you can tell me no, you can tell me you’re scared, tell me it’s too much, too hard. You can even cry, and I’ll keep going. But if you say the one word, I’ll stop that second.”

“
What word?” I asked, starting to really freak out.

“
What do you think?”

In my panic it took me a couple moments for my mind to calm enough to come up with the obvious. “Red?”

“
Yes. You won’t forget it, will you?”

“
No.”

“
Good. But only use it if you really want to stop things.”

Then he shifted and flexed and slid his greased-up cock between my ass cheeks.

“
Dario,” I practically yelped.

“
I didn’t put on a condom. Do you think I’m going to fuck you bareback?”

“
No.”

Holding me down, holding my gaze, Dario started writhing over me, and his cock slid back into the cleft of my ass, then forward, nudging against my balls before it slid back again, Dario sighing, groaning as he used his legs to force me to splay open even wider. Nervous as I was, I was rock hard. Aching. But he didn’t touch my cock. For once, he seemed totally focused on his own pleasure, the slippery sliding and chafing of his cock nestled into that narrow crevice, him hovering over me, pumping his hips as if he were fucking me. Then he stopped, and settled the weight of his body down on top of me to keep me pinned while he reached overhead and—I realized after a moment—fasten the sheet binding my wrists to the headboard. Then he reached back into the drawer, fished around for a few seconds, my mind riffling through remembered or invented images of toy after phallic toy, all of them thicker and longer than the two fingers he’d put up my ass on a few occasions, a couple of them larger than any cock I’d ever seen, terrifying proportions of length and girth. The one he seized and held up for my appraisal while his gaze locked on my expression was somewhere in the mid-range. Smaller than Dario’s cock, but definitely bigger than those two fingers I’d let him fuck me with.

Dario got a glob of lube in his hand, then watching me watch, greased up the dildo. Lying there, holding that little three-letter word ready on my tongue, I watch him set the dildo on the nightstand, then flash an aroused grin before he took hold of my hips and with no apparent effort, lifted me and put me on my belly. I don’t know why, but that drove my panic through the ceiling. Being face-down, not able to easily see what he was doing, not being able to read my safety in his gaze, all of a sudden I felt abandoned, helpless. Honestly, terrified. Then he was hoisting my hips up and wedging a pillow, two pillows under me, in a low, aroused growl by my ear, said, “Be a good boy and present for me.” Then one hand on the small of my back, gently but irrefutably pressing down, and one hand—I can’t describe how
possessive
this felt—cupped my balls and part of my cock, and lifted, making me raise my ass up in the air.

“
Yes. Fuck. Just that that,” he purred, sounding like his arousal was escalating with my embarrassment and fear. “Don’t hide in the pillow like that, baby. Turn your face to the side. Good. Now I can watch you, see what you’re feeling while I fuck you.”

My heart was hammering so hard I could barely breathe.