Santori Reloaded Read online

  Wait, that didn’t work in quite the same way when one spouse was a guy, did it? Dammit. I thought of all of the prim older ladies from my dad’s church—Mrs. Stan Waters, Mrs. Harold Beasley, Mrs. James Proctor—and was actually jealous of their titles. Hell, I didn’t even have Gio’s last name. I was still just plain old Peter Santori.

  I sighed and chastised myself for being so petty and weird. Gio called me husband. I didn’t need to take his name to prove anything. Right now, what I needed to be doing was planning a honeymoon sexfest, because my man was out there waiting to be thanked properly for making an honest man of me.

  I rummaged in the closet, looking for inspiration. I couldn’t wear lingerie and heels like a bride would, and my sexiest underwear were the Calvins he’d seen a million times. What the hell did men wear on their honeymoons? Leather jockstraps and bow ties? Even if I’d had a leather jockstrap, I didn’t think it would suit me. Or more to the point, I didn’t think Gio would like me in something so stereotypical.

  Then it occurred to me that I didn’t have to come up with something new and cross my fingers that he’d like it. I knew exactly what got my man’s motor running, and it wasn’t sexy underwear.

  In the back of the closet was a box of old clothes we’d confiscated from my bedroom in my dad’s apartment. The things in this particular box were hand-me-downs from an aunt I’d never met, and apparently she hadn’t gotten the memo that I was a boy. Most of the things she’d sent were girl clothes and hair barrettes.

  Because of that stupid aunt, I’d done my time in middle school wearing girl’s Jordache jeans. My dad said no one would be able to tell, but he couldn’t have been more wrong. I’d been teased relentlessly by the other boys in my class, and then I’d been whipped when I’d dared to complain about it to my dad.

  I didn’t care to revisit any part of that nightmare, thank you very much, but there was something in that box that Gio would like.

  I rummaged around until I found what I was looking for. It was a white T-shirt with baby blue piping around the sleeves and an iron-on of David Cassidy’s face on the front. It was girly as hell, and David Cassidy’s fifteen minutes of fame as a 70’s heartthrob on The Partridge Family was long past. But it was perfect.

  Gio was crazy for me in tight little 70’s clothes. He’d been my age in the 70’s, so his young-adult fantasies were all tied up with bell-bottoms and afros and John Travolta doing the Hustle. I had no problem helping him live out his little disco boy fantasy. I told him once I would have worn a pair of roller skates with pom-poms and glitter laces if that’s what it took to get his dick hard, but fortunately it had never come to that.

  He was easy to please, really. My jogging shorts and tight little t-shirts drove him insane, and once I’d greeted him in nothing but a pair of bell-bottom jeans and a puka shell necklace, which had earned me a nice cum-bath right inside the front door. But this? The David Cassidy shirt? I was bringing out the big guns now.

  I paired the shirt with baby blue jogging shorts with white piping and deep slits up the sides. Terrycloth, no less. Gio was going to lose his shit.

  I brushed my teeth, lubed myself until I was nice and slick, and washed my hands. Then I stood in front of the mirror and struck a pose, poking my lips out in a pout I thought looked pretty damn sexy. I shook my hair out of its slicked-back style and was just about to spray on some Drakkar Noir when I remembered something else I’d seen in the bottom of that box.

  I ran to the closet and dug out a pink bottle with a rounded cap. Love’s Baby Soft perfume. That shit was about as unmanly as it got, but no other scent captured the 70’s quite like it. And besides, Gio liked me all soft and innocent, even while I was taking his cock like a natural-born slut.

  “Peter,” Gio called from the living room. “I’m going gray out here. Get a move on that sweet ass.”

  “Just a minute,” I called. “There’s one more thing I need to do.”

  High on a closet shelf was Gio’s old 8-track tape player, a yellow plastic box with a track changer on top that doubled as a handle. It looked more like a bomb detonator than a music player. Several stacks of tapes were lined up beside it. I didn’t recognize most of the bands, but there was a Bee-Gees tape, and I knew that was just the kind of sound I wanted.

  I jammed the tape into the slot and thanked my lucky stars that I’d been playing around with the thing about six months earlier and had replaced the batteries.

  The Bee Gees started to sing high and sweet, and I smiled.

  “Peter…” Gio called again.

  “I’m coming.” I opened the door and stepped nervously through it.

  Now that we’d exchanged vows, I wasn’t sure how to act. The easy intimacy we’d built over the past two years had taken a vacation, and now it felt as if we were meeting for the first time. I stood there biting my lip, the tape player dangling from one hand.

  “Do you like what you see?” I asked, trying for sexy but hitting somewhere around the uncertain mark instead. My voice was so quiet, the tinny music coming from the weak mono speaker nearly drowned me out.

  Gio sat on the sofa wearing nothing but his dress shirt and pants. The shirt was untucked and unbuttoned all the way down, and I thought he had never been sexier. He took one look at me and let out a groan.

  “Hell, yes, I like what I see. Get over here and let me take a closer look.”

  I moved over to the sofa, making sure to wiggle my ass as I walked, and set the tape player down on the coffee table. Gio stared slack-jawed as I grabbed the half-empty champagne bottle and took a deep swig. It gave me a thrill to remind him that before I met him, I wasn’t proper at all.

  “You look stunning,” he said.

  “Yeah?” I licked champagne from my top lip, very slowly, making sure he noticed.

  “Yeah,” he groaned. “You look like you’re ready to wash my car.”

  I laughed. “Would you like to sit behind the wheel in your business suit while I get all sudsy and crawl around on the hood of your Mercedes, Mr. Rivera?”

  “Don’t tempt me, Peter. It’s not particularly warm out tonight, and I don’t want you to catch cold.”

  “We’ll save the car wash for another day, then. Right now, you have a wedding gift to unwrap.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Does that gift happen to be wrapped in David Cassidy wrapping paper?” He reached out and tugged at the hem of my tiny shirt.

  The look on his face—a playful smile combined with fevered eyes—was arresting. I was barely able to force myself to take a step back.

  “Wait,” I said breathlessly. “We haven’t had our wedding dance.”

  Gio’s eyes flared, and he leaned down and tried to look up my shorts. “I have something better in mind than dancing.”

  “But isn’t it a tradition?” I pouted a little. I could always get him to do what I wanted with a bit of subtle pouting.

  He smiled and shook his head. “Do you want to be carried around on chairs, too? Or throw rice at each other?”

  “No, the dancing will do.” I grabbed his hand and hauled him to his feet. “Come on, husband.”

  “You like the sound of that, don’t you?” He took my hand in one of his and slid the other around the small of my back, pulling me into a loose embrace. “Husband,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper.

  “I’ll never get tired of calling you that.” My free hand went around his neck, and I looked up into his eyes. “Not in a million years. Not ever.”

  We started to sway to the beat of the music. I could tell Gio knew what he was doing when it came to dancing. His posture was confident and relaxed, and the way he held me felt like absolute perfection. Even though I had been the one to ask him to dance, I had no clue what I was doing, but Gio did the dancing for both of us. Like always, he led, and I followed. And he made it so easy. Almost as easy as breathing.

  He took me on several turns around our makeshift dance floor, past the TV, around the sofa, and back again. His unbuttoned shirt
fluttered at his sides as he twirled me and pulled me close again. I giggled, loving the warmth of his bare chest beneath my palms and the tickle of crisp hairs against my fingertips.

  Then he snatched me roughly up against his body, his erection digging in just below my belly button. “I’m too hard to dance.” His voice was huskier than usual, his words more of a warning than a statement.

  “Mmmm…” I fit my lips to the side of his throat and trailed open-mouth kisses all the way down to his shoulder, feeling him shudder in response.

  He lowered his hands to my ass and palmed my cheeks, skimming his fingers up under the edges of my shorts and gently caressing the bare skin he found there. “Peter…why do you smell like every girl in my graduating class? I feel like I’m back at my high school prom.”

  I reached down between us and stroked his hard cock through his dress pants. “Did you have a boner like this at prom?” Up and down I rubbed his shaft until his breaths were harsh and his fingertips dug hard into my ass cheeks.

  “No,” he said. “Back then, I didn’t have a pretty boy stroking me on the dance floor.”

  Keeping up the relentless massaging of his cock, I tightened my arm around his neck and tried to get closer. It was difficult, because we were already so close we were practically one person, but I made a valiant attempt.

  Gio rewarded me by lifting me off the floor, hands cupping my ass, and walking me to the nearest wall. My legs went around him, and I gasped as my back came up against cool sheetrock.

  Gio ground his pelvis between my legs and groaned long and low next to my ear. “I want you, sweet pea. I thought it would fade by now, at least a little bit, but…” He sucked my earlobe into his hot mouth. “It only gets worse, this relentless ache to be inside you. You drive me fucking crazy.”

  “That’s why you married me, isn’t it?” I breathed against his temple, feeling the slickness of sweat starting to accumulate there. I cataloged every little sensation: his hair tickling my nose, the slight moisture of his skin, the scent of his body wash. Honeysuckle and wood.

  It was all so overwhelming. Even after two years, I couldn’t get enough.

  Gio pinned me to the wall and placed a hand on my jaw, his thumb tracing the shape of my lips. “I married you because I want to spend the rest of my life worshiping you. Because I want you to wake up every day knowing you’re safe and loved. And because you’re mine, and I’m never going to give you up. As long as there is breath in this body, you have a place to call home.” He rutted up against me, nudging the hard line of his cock between my spread legs, against the sensitive place beneath my balls. “And because you drive me fucking crazy.”

  His lips found mine, and, as he licked into my mouth with all the fervor of a starving man, he reached between us and undid his pants. The graze of his knuckles against my balls sent a shiver through me. His pants dropped to his ankles along with his briefs, and then his cock slipped up inside the loose leg of my barely-there shorts. The swollen head nudged at my bare flesh, finding my hole and pressing upward.

  “Such a good boy,” he murmured when he felt the lube. Slowly, he pushed the head of his cock inside. “Keeping yourself all slick and ready for daddy’s cock.”

  “Yesss,” I breathed as the sting of insertion faded to a gentle throb. My dick pulsed inside my shorts.

  Gio bit down on my shoulder. Not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to make me moan. That’s when I knew he was going to be rough. Usually, he was gentle and reverent, but tonight would not be one of those times.

  He sucked hard where his teeth bit into my flesh, drawing blood to the surface with a sharp sting. The pain was exquisite, and my dick pulsed again in response, wetting the underside of my terrycloth shorts with precum. I whimpered as the stinging at my throat turned into a delicious ache I could feel all the way down in my balls.

  And then Gio surged in, nailing me to the wall in one stroke of his hard length. My mouth fell open in a silent gasp.

  “This is what you get…” He slid almost out of me, then pounded in again with a grunt. “When you wear things like this.” His hands wound into my shorts at the back, and he pulled, causing the fabric to tighten in the front, binding my cock and balls in the most satisfying way. Then he rocked into me with several powerful strokes.

  “Yeah,” I whimpered. Because, oh God, that felt good. And Gio was making sexy threats, grunting like some base thing, and torturing me just a little bit. He was showing me who was boss, and I was pretty sure it was my favorite thing ever.

  I wiggled shamelessly on him, sinking down and stretching myself wider, trying to take him in deeper. Needing more. Always more. Straining for that last fraction of an inch that promised to satisfy me but never did.

  He pulled out slowly and slammed up into me again, grunting with pleasure and exertion. His arms trembled as he held me there, suspended and impaled on his thick, hard cock. He was wet now, slicked from root to tip with lube, and he began to move smoothly in and out of me. His hips pistoned in time with the music, the funky beat and the intense friction driving him into a frenzy.

  He was beginning to lose control. I loved it when that happened. When the animal he kept so tightly reined broke free.

  “Your ass was made to take my dick,” he growled out between furious grunts and sawing breaths. “Only mine.”

  “Yes. Yes,” I chanted. “Only yours. Only ever yours.”

  I reached down between my legs and slipped my hand into the waistband of my shorts. My cock was so stiff and so needy for release, the skin stretched taut over the hardness within. I grasped it hard and yanked frantically up and down.

  Gio’s cock was wrecking me, pounding slickly in and out of the little hole that stretched around him. Wet sounds and desperate grunts combined with the falsetto screeching of the Bee Gees, and it sounded like heaven to me. Heaven and sin all rolled into one.

  Gio’s whole body was trembling now, shuddering with the weight of me, his muscles strung out with his impending orgasm. The look on his face, the way his blue eyes smoldered darkly, said he was close.

  I was caught like a butterfly on the wall, pinned by his solid body and the long, thick cock that plunged in and out of me with such force it made my teeth rattle. A tide of sensation rose within me, spreading from my balls all the way to my addled brain, and it seemed it would never crest. Like maybe it would just keep rising and rising until I was lost to it forever. But then I was coming hard, spurting thick strands of white across David Cassidy’s smiling face.

  Gio groaned, eyes locked on the mess I was making all over my shirt. He must have liked it, because the sight of it tipped him over the edge. He lifted his gaze to mine, his eyes wild and surprised, and cried out as he came. His body quaked and spasmed uncontrollably with every buck of his releasing cock as he slicked my quivering passage with hot seed.

  I don’t know how long we stood there, locked against that wall and panting against each other, but eventually Gio lowered me to the floor with shaking arms. I unfolded myself like a rusty lawn chair and tried to stand on knees that were stuck in a painful three-quarter stretch.

  When Gio shuffled awkwardly away from me, I glanced down to discover his pants still binding his ankles. I couldn’t help giggling.

  “Laugh it up,” he said. “I think I do pretty well for an old married guy.”

  I ran a hand down his taut ass cheek, admiring the contour of muscle. “Mmmm…You do pretty well for any guy.”

  In an uncharacteristically goofy moment, Gio spread his arms wide, pants still puddled around his feet, and grinned. “This is all yours now, baby. For better or worse.”

  Chapter 3

  PETER

  A couple of months later, Gio and I sat in the Grotto surrounded by his closest business associates.

  Gio had reserved the entire back dining area for us—the one that was more like a veranda than a dining room. Tall shrubs and columns afforded privacy from the outside world. Candles burned in hurricane lamps affixed to the w
alls, and the dim, flickering light glinted off of the deceptively crude-looking utensils and stoneware place settings. Though Gio and I usually dined outside of the Alcazar, the warm, rustic atmosphere of the Grotto always felt like home. Because it was. This was our place. We fucking owned it, and wasn’t that just a rush?

  Gio was seated at the head of the table, of course, and I was on his left. Theo sat next to me, sipping a whiskey sour. Across from me was Teddy, and then Frank. Carlos sat at the other end of the table, looking out of place as he always did around the others. I figured it was because he was a wholesome family man, and these other guys—Gio excluded—were questionable at best.

  “So is this a meeting or a party?” Frank asked before dipping a piece of bread into a saucer of spiced olive oil and shoving it into his mouth.

  “A little of both,” Gio said. “I have an announcement to make, and I wanted you all together so that I only have to make it once.”

  I stopped chewing a mouthful of bread and glanced at Gio. He hadn’t told me he’d be making an announcement.

  “You could have just told Frank,” Theo said with a smirk. “The rest of us would have known it within an hour.”

  “Hey,” Frank said around a mass of chewed-up bread. “You watch your fucking mouth.”

  “He’s right,” Teddy said. “You can’t keep a secret to save your life. Not from us. You’re worse than those gossiping biddies from my mother’s old quilting circle.”

  “Not that I’m complaining,” Theo said, raising his empty glass toward the young blond waiter who had been assigned to serve us exclusively. “I never turn down a free meal.”

  “Or free drinks,” Gio said with a raised brow.

  “Or free drinks,” Theo conceded with a grin that showed off that rogue incisor I used to find so appealing. “For real, though, it was nice of you to do this.”

  “Yeah,” Teddy said. “Thank you for inviting us, Gio.”