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  He chuckled triumphantly when Rick moaned and reached to tangle his fingers in Adriano’s long, tousled braid. “There,” he whispered, “a good start. You have never met a man like me, Rick. You never will again. This will be a love affair to remember.”

  * * * * *

  Hours later, yet still before dawn, Rick and Adriano lay as lazily as lords in Adriano’s rich bed. Rick marveled at how no one had questioned them, despite plenty of shocked expressions and whispers and giggles behind hands, but then again Adriano had a natural mastery working in his favor.

  God, did he ever. What he wanted, he got, and refusing him wasn’t an option. Rick understood that more than ever now.

  Adriano lazily circled the tip of his tongue around the underside of Rick’s cockhead between words, tickling the frenulum and humming with satisfaction when Rick had to let go of his cock in turn, the fat length slipping teasingly out of his lips when Rick hissed and cursed. “Stay with me,” Adriano murmured. “We have all night, if we wish it. There are no limits. Maybe we will make a game of it, seeing who comes the most often.”

  Rick wiped his face on Adriano’s ridiculously high-thread-count sheets, the pale bronze cloth already smeared with sweat and cum, and already ripe with the tang of sex. He’d lost it twice already, once by his own hand while Adriano fucked him deep and hard, and once when he and Adriano first made it to the bed and fought their way out of their clothes.

  The sleek slickness of Adriano’s bared belly and the cut of his hipbone had been too much for Rick to resist; he’d dragged Adriano to him and refused to let go, humping him, thrusting his rigid cock against Adriano until Adriano laughed triumphantly and seized control, driving him to orgasm. They’d come on one another’s stomachs and been ready again almost before the shared mess had cooled.

  “You’ll be the death of me,” he mock-complained, trying to catch his breath. Not easy, when Adriano continued to lap and nibble delicately around his cock, teasing with the exact right amount of sting and promise, crooning to himself as if he’d never enjoyed the flavor of a man or any other sex more. It’d go to a fellow’s head if he let it; Rick found it harder and harder these days not to believe Adriano really did enjoy him that much.

  “I know you so well already, Rick,” Adriano said before drawing his tongue in a wet trail down Rick’s engorged shaft. “Already, I know your body. You want this as much as I do, perhaps more. You would fuck all night long if I asked it of you. Would come for me until you climaxed dry, and then again.”

  “Stop ‑‑ teasing,” Rick rasped, seizing Adriano’s hip as much for something solid and supportable as to hold him still. Adriano liked to wiggle around when he was in an especially playful mood. “Do you want me to suck you off or not?”

  “Mmm. I think, yes.” Adriano stilled obediently, though Rick could sense his amusement. “Fair is fair,” he added, finally drawing Rick’s cock fully between his lips and sucking hard, with no more playing around. Rick fought not to bite down or shudder away. Whoever had come up with the concept of a sixty-nine, they were either a sadist or a genius. How was anyone meant to be able to concentrate when ‑‑ when ‑‑

  “Oh,” he gasped, letting go of Adriano’s cock as Adriano got down to business, kneading his hips and using his tongue and teeth to drive him out of his senses.

  Adriano drew off far enough to whisper, “A gift for you. I do not bottom ‑‑ I never bottom ‑‑ but as you please me so much, tonight you may fuck my mouth, Rick Sullivan.”

  “God.” Rick squeezed his eyes tightly shut. No one he’d ever been with had asked for this before. He started slowly, moving more quickly as he gained confidence, and then lost his head completely when Adriano took him without complaint, the tight seal of his lips and the faint prickle of his teeth sending him hurtling fast toward the point of no return.

  Adriano grunted, rocking his own pelvis. Rick realized that Adriano’s cockhead still lingered near his own lips, painting them with salty stickiness. He had only just enough presence of mind to lap at the precum, while begging Adriano for more in stifled, incoherent groans.

  His balls drew up tightly, white heat coiling in his groin. He fumbled for Adriano’s shoulder, tapping it hard. “Close,” he grunted. “God. So close.”

  Adriano growled and used the flat of his tongue to lash Rick’s cock. Rick got the message: he wasn’t pulling off. He was going to swallow.

  The thought of his cum sliding down Adriano’s throat drove Rick over the edge. He thrust harder than he would have meant to, his need out of control; the head of his cock bumped against soft tissue as far as it could go; he dug his nails into Adriano’s thighs and shot over Adriano’s tongue. He shuddered, unable to stop thrusting through the second and third eruptions.

  Dazed, Rick struggled for breath and to see clearly. He whimpered in protest when Adriano let his softening length slip free, then swatted at him, annoyed, when Adriano pushed him away and sat up.

  Adriano pushed at Rick’s legs, turning him over on his back. Rick let Adriano manipulate him, too dazed to stop him even if he’d wanted to. Whatever Adriano was interested in, he could have it. Whatever Adriano asked of him, he’d give it. He’d want to let Adriano take whatever he desired. He knew that regardless of how new this relationship was, he belonged to Adriano, body and soul, the way he’d only ever given himself to one man before.

  But it couldn’t last.

  Rick knew, for Paul had taught him well, that hero worship was made of gilt easily scraped away, and that a bird in the hand was never worth two in the bush, which was to say, all good things came to an end, often sooner rather than later. And already, Rick knew that whenever he and Adriano parted, it would be the worst breakup of his life. He dreaded that almost enough to end it now, before he lost himself in the man.

  “Is something wrong?” Adriano asked, pausing with one leg thrown over Rick’s. He brushed Rick’s cheek, bringing him back. “Rick?”

  Rick blinked away the momentary alarm. “I’m fine,” he said shortly. “You’re not done yet, are you? I thought you’d more stamina than that.”

  The blazing heat returned to Adriano’s ever-present smile, almost savage as he fully straddled Rick and grasped the shaft of his own solid cock. “I want to paint you,” he said, pumping his fist up and down his erection. “Lie still for me and take it.”

  Rick closed his eyes, thrusting up even though he had nothing left to give. His cock twitched, trying its best. Adriano did this so easily to him ‑‑ got in his veins and made him want to do the impossible. Even the physical pain in his spent cock was too good to bear without crying out raggedly.

  “Shh, shh. I have you.” The slick, wet noises of Adriano fucking his own fist rushed through Rick’s ears, dizzying him. “Look at me, Rick. Will you look at me?”

  He had to obey. Forcing his eyes open, Rick tried to focus on Adriano, so vibrantly alive above him with his head thrown back, tendons corded in his neck and teeth gritted. So much larger than life in every way that he overwhelmed anyone in his presence. Fumbling, Rick tried to grasp Adriano’s waist and drag him forward, wanting nothing more in the world than to have Adriano’s cock in his mouth again so he could swallow, too, and keep a part of Adriano inside him forever.

  Adriano held stubbornly still, refusing to move, although he did ripple with pleasure when Rick quit trying to tug him and simply held on. “For you,” he panted, rising and falling. He cupped the head of his cock, squeezing, then stilled before shuddering almost violently. Thick strings of translucent cum dripped from between his fingers to Rick’s chest and stomach. Adriano released his grip, clumsily readjusted, and rode out the rest of his orgasm with his cum spurting directly on Rick.

  “There,” he said, short of breath and glowing with perspiration. His chest heaved in the struggle for air. “Now you are mine.”

  And with that declaration, he rolled off and collapsed at Rick’s side, already trying to gather him in. Rick went with it, not fighting. You couldn’t fight a forc
e of nature like Adriano; you could only swim or drown.

  “I will keep you here forever,” Adriano informed him, yawning tremendously. He tightened his hold on Rick. “Forever and a day. Sleep, now,” he said, deciding for both of them, manipulating Rick on his side. “Food when we wake, and then we fuck again. All of the night, and tomorrow, too, if we want.”

  “If you want,” Rick said quietly.

  Adriano chuckled. “And you do not? You cannot fool me, Rick.” He rubbed above Rick’s cock. “This gives you away, and this ‑‑” he tapped over Rick’s heart, “-- tells me you are not tired of me yet. I will see to it that you never lose your interest. Now, sleep.”

  A man of firm decision, Adriano yawned again and slipped almost immediately into slumber, his chin sunk on Rick’s shoulder.

  Rick stroked his arm, vision losing focus as he gazed across the shadows of Adriano’s private bedchamber. He didn’t see any of the sturdy, dark wood, or the saturated crimson of the chairs and drapes, or the gold of his antique clock ticking the seconds steadily away.

  * * * * *

  He’d known it couldn’t last. Known it all along.

  But when he walked away from the Dominici Vineyards a handful of months later, betrayed and cast aside, it didn’t make him feel any better to confirm that he’d been right.

  Chapter One

  Crash!

  Rick jerked awake, struggling up to his elbows on his bed. The practical, sturdy quilt he favored sleeping on, the one in every hideous color possible, had rucked up beneath him, the thick wrinkles digging into his back. He blinked against the harsh morning sunlight streaming through his eastward-facing window, noting that at some point during the night his makeshift paper sunshade had been torn down.

  The signs could only point to one thing: Hamish was hungry and had chosen to make a display of his displeasure.

  Dropping heavily back down, Rick extended one arm and let his hand dangle over the side of the bed. “Hamish,” he muttered. “You’re a dead dog, you are. Hamish!”

  A clicking of claws and excited doggie whining heralded the inky-black, overenthusiastic puppy’s approach. Hamish lavished Rick’s hand with happy, slobbery licks before sitting down, his tail thumping a ragged rhythm on the floor, barking his good morning greetings.

  Or ‑‑ Rick thought, squinting at the old-fashioned brass alarm clock set askew on his wicker bed stand ‑‑ more like good afternoon. “You’re too old for this, now,” he murmured to himself. “You didn’t even tie one on last night, Gramps.”

  Granted, he had been awake until nearly five a.m., grumpily restless after a nasty bout of nightmares followed by insomnia, but what would his old countrymen in St. Augustine have to say about such a slugabed? It didn’t bear thinking of.

  “Yes, well, that’d be one of the many reasons why I linger on well past my travel-on date in sunny San Luca, Italy, instead of drowning my sorrows in lukewarm tea back in bog-arse old Britannia, wouldn’t it?” he asked Hamish rhetorically. “You’re wanting breakfast, then, aren’t you?”

  Hamish, who didn’t give two figs either way when it came to his master’s habit of talking to himself as long as a food-related word appeared in there sooner or later, sat up straighter, wagged his tail in a near frenzy, and barked.

  “Right, might have known. Out from underfoot, then, you.” Rick groaned, stretching, and winced when his back popped. “God almighty, and I’m only just past thirty.”

  Hamish regarded him impatiently.

  Rick sighed. “Kibble,” he said, pointing in the direction of the kitchen.

  Hamish scrambled around and raced away, leaving Rick with a moment’s peace in which to get dressed. Only a moment, mind, before he came back again, whining and pawing at Rick’s leg both before and after he’d managed to tug on his oldest pair of jeans, worn soft as linen, well-decorated with ragged holes at the knees and old smears of both mud and paint. He shrugged on a thin concert T-shirt, “Coriander Falsies”; he’d kept it mostly for the sake of remembering the bloke he’d gone with, a sweet young thing with wide brown eyes and lips made for sucking cock. He’d proved worthy of his advertising, too.

  “Good times,” he said, stomping his way into sturdy work boots and lacing them tight, pausing every now and then to push Hamish away. “For the love of God, animal, you’re not starving,” he scolded as he rubbed the top of the juvenile mutt’s head.

  Hamish licked his face. Rick shook his head and tousled the dog’s silky, floppy ears. “At least I’ve one friend out here, eh?” he asked. “A British lad turned Italian hermit. It’s a mad, mad, mad world, fellow. Still, it’s not that bad, is it? You’re better company than some I could mention. Right? Here, if you remember this trick you’ll get a piece of j-e-r-k-y.”

  Hamish whined. Bloody hell, the dog had only gone and learned how to spell.

  Still, a test was a test, wasn’t it? “What do you do when you see an Adriano?” he asked.

  Hamish bared his teeth and snarled.

  “Good boy!” Rick whistled between his teeth as he made his way to the kitchen. Right, so he’d taught his dog to loathe the bastard who’d broken his heart. A tetchy thirty-something eccentric like him, well, it was only to be expected.

  Once Hamish was ecstatically tucking into his bowl of meaty chunks and hard nuggets of dry food, pausing for the occasional slurp of water, Rick took advantage of the momentary peace and quiet to put the kettle on the stove and rifle through his collection of tea packets. When he’d arrived in San Luca, the most rural spot he could find in which to lick his wounds, he’d been armed with an ironclad explanation for the locals that he was here to work, not to socialize or play.

  The locals laughed at him - kindly ‑‑ and ignored his strictures with great good cheer, plying him with tea and tartan, and in one memorable case of mistaken nationality, Tim Tams. God only knew where they’d found those. And Hamish, the dog, had been a gift from them as well, as they’d insisted he needed company of some kind.

  Fortunately, they did soon take a clue about his lack of interest in the single women thereabout and to his relief, made nary a scrap of fuss about it and only joshed with him about casting a broader net to find some pretty young men for him.

  Mostly, though, they did leave him alone these days, just the way he liked it. A smile and a wave when they passed in the street suited him; he didn’t want or need any more.

  The only constant that remained was the tea. A rare week went by when he didn’t get a package hand-delivered to his post box, a well-established San Luca joke. Well, waste not, want not. Rick shrugged, choosing a packet of Lapsang souchong and wondering if he’d be able to locate his proper tea ceremony cups and whisk among the boxes he’d yet to unpack. Italy was hardly the first country he’d traveled to once he left rainy old England behind, and certainly wouldn’t be the last.

  He hadn’t written any travel guides since he’d finished and mailed off the book he came to Italy to write, but that was fine. He’d enough savings to get by on until he was ready to move on, and in the meantime he savored the sultry Italian heat, letting it warm him clear through to his bones. And afterward? A vagabond’s life for him, thank you, with nothing to tie him down and no one to answer to.

  Especially no one who could stomp on his heart; he’d had quite enough of that, thank you, from Signor Adriano.

  He did miss regular sex, though. Rosie Palm and her five ugly daughters were only decent company for so long before a man grew bored. Ah, but he’d learned his lesson, hadn’t he? Quick, anonymous fucks when he went into the larger cities with bored or curious or roguish fellows, never the same one twice and no names given.

  So it left him lonely in his own bed in San Luca at nights. So what? Better that than coming home to, say, Adriano, all long bronzed limbs splayed out ‑‑ one knee drawn up, perhaps, while he stroked the length of his rigid cock and gazed at Rick, challenge and lust both evident in his eyes and sultry, self-confident smirk. Black curls tumbling over the whiteness of a
linen pillowcase, illicit piercings gleaming gold from his nipples, navel and cock, the crisp black lines of a scrolling family motto on his hip, and not a damn bit of honesty in the man, as Rick had later discovered.

  “And that’s fully enough of that,” he decided out loud, leaning against the edge of the range and wishing the kettle would hurry up and boil. “I miss the bastard, I’ll admit that. Fine. I miss the sex.”

  Long Italian nights, sultry with sweat on bronzed chests, salt and spunk on his tongue, the deep tenor of Adriano crooning about how good he was, how well he knew how to please a man, once or twice swearing that he loved Rick and only Rick.

  “All right. I miss the sex enough to wear out my wrist for wanting a taste of him again. Doesn’t mean I’m daft enough to waste my life in pining, though.”

  Hamish drew up stiffly, his ears twitching.

  “I already anthropomorphize you enough, so don’t go acting like you understand me,” Rick scolded. He relented almost immediately, softening his tone. “You’re a good fellow even if you do drive me half mad. Don’t worry, I’ll find you a good home when I move on.”

  Normally, Hamish would respond to a soothing tone by woofing a contented response and plowing back into his food with renewed appetite. This time, his reaction was quite the contrary. He twisted about, galloping to the door of Rick’s rented villa and pawing at it, barking fit to raise the dead.

  Ah. The intruder alarm. Rick knew that sound. He rolled his eyes and pushed the kettle off the heat. Hamish wouldn’t settle until he’d had a good look around, and nothing in the world was worse than stewed tea.

  Almost nothing. Finding out he was the dirty little secret of the man he’d loved, a piece of arse on the side rather than someone he could plan a future with; well, that hadn’t been a treat either. Damn Adriano, anyway. Rick scowled, his mood darkening.

  “If you’ll let me get past you, you daft bugger,” he scolded, wrestling Hamish away from the door far enough to turn the knob. “And wait, you, until I’ve got your leash ‑‑ oh, hell, never mind.”