Stonegate Stables - 17. Chapter 17

So began the most desolate time of my life. With Vincent gone, the house was empty and so was I. He was everywhere I looked. His jewelry was on the dresser, a constant reminder that he wasn’t there to wear it. Maria cooked in the pans he'd brought with him when he moved in. I ate whatever she put in front of me and five minutes later couldn't have told you what it was. I lay alone on the couch where we'd spent so much time loving each other. I wore his clothes, and thought of him day and night.

It was better at work because there was enough to do that I could go for an entire hour without thinking about him, wondering where he was, if he was okay. I knew he hadn't gone back to his apartment above the restaurant because I drove by there the first few days and never saw the BMW.

As much as I wanted to, I avoided calling Jesse for updates. As much as I wanted Ray obliterated from Vincent’s mind, I knew it was something that only Vincent could do for himself. As much as I wanted to rip Ray’s ass from stem to stern for what he’d done to Vincent and me, I knew I couldn’t be the hero in this mess. As much as I wanted anything, I wanted Vincent to come home happy, loving, and healthy. As much as I wanted Vincent . . . .

I took to staying at work late into the evening, checking on the horses, polishing saddles, straightening up the tack rooms; mindless stuff that I could do while letting every memory I had of the two of us run through my head. The one I kept coming back to was the night we met eight years ago.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It had started innocently enough in late August as an evening with Dylan and a couple of his buddies from law school. I had just won another Gran Prix and felt like celebrating so I'd made reservations at a nice Italian place called Corleone's. We'd eaten there when I was a kid, but I didn't remember it. I'd heard it was good, owned by the same family for 50 years or something.

We arrived and I gave my name to the maitre d'. He ran his finger down the long list, then looked up at me with faint disapproval on his face. "I'm afraid you must be mistaken, sir. We have no reservation for Flanagan."

"I called three or four days ago and spoke to a woman. Check again, please." He zipped down the list in record time, raised cool eyes to me, and shook his head. I looked at him for a moment.

"Get the manager, please." I gave him as steely a stare as a 22-year-old can manage, and after a moment, he turned on his heel, threaded his way through the tables and disappeared into the kitchen. A moment later, a man in chef's whites came striding through the restaurant and stopped in front of me. He was very Italian looking - black hair, long and tied back in a strip of leather; dark eyes; dark olive skin; strong facial features. The hollows of his cheeks were shadowed by the lighting and he wasn't smiling.

"Good evening. I'm Vincent D'Ambruzzo. I'm very sorry your reservation was misplaced but we're completely booked for this evening. May we reserve a table you for another night?"

I eyed him for a moment. "But we're here now, aren't we?"

"And I can't materialize a free table out of thin air." He stopped for a moment, reining in his impatience. "Please choose another evening and it will be on the house. Once again, I apologize for the error."

He held out his hand to me and I shook it, feeling the hard warmth of his palm against mine. I glanced up to see him looking at me intently. Dylan and the other guys had turned away and were heading for the door. I pulled my hand free and followed them, and as I stepped outside, I looked back for a second; he was staring at me as the door closed between us.

We got into the car and were almost out of the parking lot when I shoved my door open and hopped out. I looked at Dylan.

"I've gotta go back. I have to talk to him again. Go on, I'll see you later."

I slammed the door and walked away before they could object. I reached the restaurant door just as they drove away, so I sat down on a bench outside and thought for a bit. This wasn't me. Usually, when I saw a guy who interested me, by the time I glanced at him a second time, he was already approaching me. I simply had no experience in picking someone up, but I knew I needed to see him again.

I went inside and took a deep breath before walking up to the maitre d'.

"Please get Vincent for me. I need to speak with him for a moment." He treated me to a grim look. "Please." I gave him as non-threatening an expression as I could before he stalked off. I wandered nervously over to the wall and began looking at the various framed newspaper reviews all proclaiming Corleone's as the place to eat.

He came around the corner quickly and stopped a few feet away, raising an expressive black eyebrow inquiringly. I immediately forgot everything I had planned to say as I looked into those dark eyes. He gazed steadily back at me, no help whatsoever.

"Can I . . . can I buy you a drink?" I stammered. God, could I get any more lame?

His other eyebrow rose to join the first. "In my own restaurant?"

He owned the place? Jesus, he didn't look much older than me. I blew out a breath and gave up; I was obviously no good at this. I raised a hand in a gesture of surrender and turned away from him, but I didn't get far. He grabbed my hand out of the air and pulled it to his chest, bringing me with it. I came to a stop about a foot from his face, close enough to smell that he'd been eating something tomato-y.

"Save your money. I'll buy you one." He spoke softly, his voice deep, and then towed me back through the kitchen door. Just inside he turned to me, put a spread hand on my chest and pushed me gently back onto a tall wooden stool. "Don't move." I settled back against the cool white tile wall and hooked my heels over the rungs, the imprint of his hand warm on my chest.

As he walked away, he snapped out some Italian to one of the guys making salads at the long stainless table to my right and in a moment I had a glass of red wine, a basket of bread, and a little plate of olives, meats and cheeses they used on the antipasto salads. The guy who brought me the food was as dark and good looking as Vincent. He stuck out a hand and gave me a big white smile.

"Tony, Vincent's cousin." I thanked him, then settled down to nibble and watch Vincent. I had never been in the kitchen of a large busy restaurant and it was impressive. There were at least twenty people cooking, stirring, serving, and swearing. Vincent stood at a huge stove, three or four pans going at once, flames leaping up, handing out orders left and right to the scurrying help.

Things slowed a little at one point and he walked over to me, stepping just into the V of my spread knees. He swiped an olive from my plate and slid it into his mouth, chewing slowly as he looked me over. I was holding a piece of bread in one hand; he gripped my wrist, bringing the bread to his mouth and took a big bite, washing it down with a sip of my wine, never taking his eyes off mine. I had the glass sitting on the seat of the stool between my legs and when he reached for the stem, the back of his hand brushed the fabric of my crotch. I flinched a little and he gave me a steamy look before carefully replacing the glass without touching me.

He walked away and I closed my eyes for a second, willing my dick to settle down, but it wasn't listening and continued to thicken despite my best efforts at thinking of everything but the feel of Vincent's knuckles on my balls. I wiggled around for a minute, but finally had to stand up and make an adjustment as casually as I could.

Vincent chose that moment to glance at me and his gaze dropped to my hand as I straightened out my stiff cock. The muscles of his jaw tightened and he lifted his eyes to mine, his expression unreadable. After another half hour, during which my dick leaked through my pants, requiring me to keep a napkin draped across my lap, he handed off the stove to another guy, and came over to me.

He stood between my knees again, a little closer than last time, and spoke quietly. "I live upstairs."

I looked up at him and nodded, not trusting myself to speak. We walked back through the kitchen, out a door, then turned and went up a flight of stairs. He stood aside after he opened the door and let me pass through ahead of him. It was a charming apartment, full of slightly shabby, old family furniture, homey and comfortable. I turned slowly in a circle, a smile spreading over my face.

"This is great," I said, turning toward him. While I'd been circling, he had come up behind me and I turned right into his arms. He held me loosely, his hands clasped in the small of my back. I gripped his upper arms and leaned back slightly to look at him, a little nervous now that I was actually alone with him. He was an inch or two taller than me, which I liked. He studied my face for several moments, stopped at my mouth briefly, then came back to my eyes.

"Kiss me," he said softly.

I licked my lips and swallowed, then tilted my face up to his and kissed him with my mouth closed. He opened his eyes when I pulled back, touching his tongue to the middle of his lower lip, then leaned forward and kissed my jaw, then the little hollow behind my ear, then my neck. My eyes dropped shut and I moaned softly. He wrapped one arm around my shoulders and tightened the other at my hips, pulling me close against him. Taking advantage of my open-mouthed moan, he kissed me, exploring my mouth thoroughly while I hung in his arms. He kissed better than any man I'd ever been with, slow and thoughtful, gentle but insistent, and I could feel the promise of his teeth behind the soft pressure of his lips.

When he broke the kiss and pulled back to look at me, I was totally out of it and he chuckled softly, pushing me onto the couch. He dropped to his knees between my legs and began to unbutton my shirt, taking his time and kissing every new bit of exposed skin.

By the time he got to my belt, I was breathing hard and reaching for him, but he pushed me back and proceeded to slowly strip me naked. When he had me laying there with my iron hard dick throbbing in the breeze, he stood and raked his eyes up and down me very slowly, smiling slightly, then undressed and lowered himself onto me.

As his erect penis touched mine for the first time, I began to climax in big gasping spasms that jerked my body underneath him. He groaned deeply and held me tight, thrusting several times into the warm slickness between us before grunting his way through a hard orgasm, adding his load to mine.

He lowered his forehead to my shoulder and nuzzled into my neck, getting his breath back. It had felt wonderful but I was mortified. God, I had cum like a horny teenager, shooting before we even got started. When I tried to roll away from him, he realized something was wrong and grabbed my jaw in firm fingers, forcing my face to him.

I clamped my eyes shut, too embarrassed to look at him. He was silent for a moment, and then chuckled again, making me feel stupider than ever.

"Open your eyes." I shook my head and he laughed aloud. "Sean. Look at me, please." I just lay there. "That's the biggest compliment anyone has ever given me." I cracked one eye open; he was smiling warmly at me from about four inches away.

"Was I that good?" he asked with a grin. I opened the other eye and nodded, starting to smile a little. He cracked up and kissed me, sobering as he did, until we were locked together again.

He bit my bottom lip gently before backing off. "Do you have any idea how fuckin' hot that was? No one's ever responded to me like that. And I couldn't wait either, not once you shot." He slid off and took me by the hand, not letting go until we were in the shower together, hot water cascading over us as we soaped each other. He dried me off, making a production out of it, and we lay down on his big bed on our sides, facing each other, knees bumping.

"You okay?" he asked me, running a hand over my short damp hair.

I nodded. "I don't usually do that," I muttered. "But watching you in the kitchen, the way you kissed me, then when you undressed me on the couch; it all just built up, I guess. Shit, I almost came in the kitchen when you picked up my wine glass."

"Yeah, sorry about that. I really didn't mean to touch you; just one of those happy accidents." He chuckled again. "The look on your face . . . "

"Yes, I'm sure it was priceless," I muttered, my dignity still smarting from my lack of control on the couch.

He began kissing me again, those long, slow kisses that tugged at something in the pit of my stomach. He worked his way down me, taking his time, bypassing my dick to lick my balls, sucking one into his mouth now and then, rolling it with his tongue. Eventually he slid to the top of my cock, flicking at my slit for a moment, then plunging down to bury me in his throat.

I came off the bed with a gasp, grabbing his head as he was coming back up. I held him still for a long minute, determined to last 'til he did this time. He eased up a little, sucking me softly for a long time, nipping at the skin of my belly and running his hands over my chest, pinching a nipple occasionally.

"Ready to cum for me again?" he murmured.

"Ohhhh, God," I moaned, not exactly an answer to his question but it seemed to be sufficient. He rose to his knees, pushed my legs back, and scooted up to my ass, wrapping both hands around our joined cocks. He began a quick steady rhythm of thrusting into his tight hands, and the ridge around the head of his cock dragging along my dick got me off in just a couple minutes.

This orgasm was much better, longer and more complex, a rolling sensation that he read perfectly, letting my response guide the intensity of his movements. He started to shoot just a stroke or two after I did. The pulsing of our cocks against each other in the firm grip of his fists was unreal.

"You . . . are . . . incredible," I panted out as he crawled up to kiss my neck. He rolled over and picked up the phone, dialed two numbers, asked for Tony, then spoke for a moment in Italian, laughing at something Tony said.

He rolled back to me. "I hope you’re hungry." Now that he mentioned it, I was starving. I'd had dinner reservations for four hours ago and had eaten only some olives and bread since, plus a glass of wine that had obviously gone straight to my head. He slid out of bed, hitching his chin at me. "Come on."

I followed him into the kitchen where a mechanical noise had me looking around curiously. He pointed at a small door in the wall. "My grandparents built this place and lived here until just a few years ago. He put in a dumb waiter so he wouldn't have to walk down stairs every time he wanted something to eat." Just then there was a faint 'ding' and he stepped forward to slide the door up, revealing a large tray.

Handing me the bottle of wine and two glasses, he lifted the tray high on one hand and walked back to the bedroom where he sat the tray in the middle of the bed and climbed in to sit cross-legged next to it. I handed him the wine and one glass, then joined him, sitting on the other side. As he lifted the lids one by one, I saw that we were sampling just about everything Corleone's had to offer. There were small portions of spaghetti, lasagna, ravioli, some odd shaped noodles in Alfredo sauce, several dishes I couldn’t identify, a big basket of warm bread, and one of Tony’s large antipasto salads.

I shook my head as I looked at all that food for just the two of us. "What, no desert?"

"You're desert," he replied, sliding his eyes down to my soft cock, at rest on the wrinkled pillow of my scrotum.

That shut me up, and I handed him the cork screw, waggling my glass at him. He removed the cork with a flourish, presenting it to me for approval as he bowed slightly. I sniffed it as pretentiously as I could, trying unsuccessfully to stifle my giggles, and nodded my acceptance.

After he filled our glasses, he held his up for a toast, gazing warmly at me. "To a one of a kind evening. May it become an equally memorable morning." Evidently I wasn't going home tonight.

I clinked my glass to his and we drank, and then fell on the food like wolves. He fed me olives, sliding his finger along my lip with each one, and I tore off bits of bread to pop into his mouth. On the third one, he lunged forward slightly and grabbed my fingers gently in his teeth. I shrieked with surprise, then clapped a hand over my mouth, laughing so hard I could barely sit up. The entire meal was like that - fun, silly, sexy.

Finally, I groaned and flopped back on the bed, unable to eat another bite. He took the tray to the kitchen and came back to curl up behind me, pulling the sheet over us. He snugged me back into him, wedged his soft dick into my butt with a quiet 'mmmmm', and slid his hand up to rest on my chest, his fingers spread over my heart. I looked out into the dark of the room as I dozed off, so glad that I had followed my hunch.

Dawn was just beginning to lighten the room when Vincent woke me by getting out of bed. I heard him in the bathroom, peeing, then brushing his teeth. When he came back, he crawled onto my side of the bed and bit my shoulder hard enough to make me yip.

"Go do whatever you have to, and get your ass back here. I have plans for it." With that promise ringing in my head, I staggered into the john, noticing that he had put out a new toothbrush for me. When I got back to bed, he was lying on his back, hands behind his head, legs spread slightly, and I stopped to look at him in the early morning light.

He was hard and lean, the muscles of his legs, belly and chest well defined, his shoulder muscles bunched from the position of his arms. His skin was dark all over, his penis darker, and his smooth scrotum darkest of all, the center seam black in the dim light. There was a wedge of black hair between his small hard nipples that pointed the way south, ending in a patch of short black curls around his cock. The darkness of his skin made the pillow appear stark white, like his teeth in the big smile he gave me.

As I crawled across the bed, he pushed me over so that my back was to him. He turned to face the foot of the bed and began kissing and licking his way down my back. As his tongue slid into the valley of my ass, I knew I was in trouble again. There isn't much that winds me up more than a tongue or a finger up my butt, and I had a delicious feeling that's where this was headed.

The wet warmth of his mouth zeroed in on my hole, long, slow licks that I could hear as well as feel, the slight texture of his tongue providing the perfect friction on the billion nerve endings there. I buried my face in the pillow and did long division in my head, trying not to squirm back into his face every time he darted the tip of his tongue into me.

After a few minutes of that, he pushed me onto my belly, shoved a pillow under my hips, and got serious about it. I struggled to hang on to some sort of dignity but ended up with my knees as far apart as I could get them, and my ass in the air, groaning aloud with every move he made. One time he bit the back of my thigh, high up, and I thought it was all over, but he squeezed my balls hard enough to make my eyes cross and I was able to back away from the edge.

"Sean?"

"Uggghhhhhh........"

He chuckled. "I guess you're ready." He rolled me onto my back, making sure I ended up with the pillow under my butt, and I heard the 'pop' of a snap top, then liquid warmth as he drizzled lube all over my groin like frosting on a cinnamon roll. He used both hands to slather it around, coating himself in the process, and before I knew it, he had slid a hard bony finger into me. I felt every knuckle go in, quivering a little as I pulled my knees back into my armpits.

He slowed down then, moving his other hand over me, stroking my cock a few times, rolling my balls in his palm. His second finger felt great and I began to move with him, pressing into his hand, and by the third one, we were both whimpering each time he pushed in.

"You okay with this?" he panted out as he rubbed the head of his cock up and down my ass, the slippery sound of it arousing me even more.

"Yes!" I cried urgently, desperate for him to get inside me. “Yes!”

He pushed short and hard, one time, and popped in. My second 'yes' was an octave higher than the first as the initial twinge of his entry jolted through me. His cock was fatter than his three fingers and it took me a moment to adjust to him. I gripped his thighs hard and he held still until I relaxed, then began short strokes that carried him a little deeper each time ‘til he was buried in me, his pubes scrubbing my butt. He dropped forward onto braced arms, head hanging, resting there as his breathing slowed.

He began moving again with slow, deliberate strokes that made use of every inch of his cock. I could feel the thick veins of his penis gliding along the nerve-rich skin of my hole. He took his time, thrusting into me with a long ‘ahhhhh’, silently inhaling on the outstroke. I’d only been screwed by a couple guys other than Dylan; most of my sexual activity to this point of my 22 years consisted of blow jobs and the occasional finger fuck or rim job.

So I’d never been fucked by someone like Vincent, someone who knew what he was doing and who was able to tailor the experience to the man he was with. He paid attention as he changed tempos, stroke lengths, and angles, coming back to what I most responded to. He slowed when I began to quicken, increased his pace when I moaned for more, keeping me at a high level of arousal that took me to another plane entirely. I quit thinking about anything but the feel of him, the way he smelled, the sounds our bodies made together.

I stroked myself steadily as he moved in me, feeling my cock harden slightly in my fist each time he pushed into me. I lost track of time, but finally his breathing increased along with the speed of his strokes and he leaned down to kiss me. “I want us to cum together. Tell me when you’re close.”

He angled his hips and glided across my prostate with every thrust, watching my face carefully, tuned into me like I’d never had anyone do before. When my expression tightened, he said, “Do it, I’m ready.”

I nodded once and let go, feeling him swell within me as I cried out loudly with each shot and trembled between, as the next one built up. He was right there with me, pumping into me steadily until he slowly let himself down onto me, his arms shaky and his breathing ragged.

“Thank Christ I’ve got the day off.” he muttered. “I’m gonna need it.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

We spent the day together, driving into the city for an afternoon of wandering the streets, window shopping, browsing in old book stores and junk shops, having coffee at a sidewalk café. We stopped for dinner at a little Mexican place he knew that had no menus; you just got whatever they had decided to make that day. It was very small, only five tables in what looked like their living room, and the food was incredible. We ate by candlelight, talking about our work, our families, nothing special. By the time we got back to his apartment, I was in love.

He led me upstairs and took me to bed, very gently this time, kissing me a lot and looking into my face as he brought us to two more orgasms each, one of them with nothing but those slow, wet kisses and a finger performing miracles inside my ass. He touched my cock only the last ten seconds of that encounter, sliding his knuckle slowly down the underside of my penis three times before I erupted into a gushing flow of cum.

He gave me a ride back to my folk's place about midnight, holding me for a long time, waiting until I was safely in the house before driving away. When his tail lights were out of sight, I sat down in the big overstuffed chair that we'd had as long as I could remember. Last night and today had been wonderful. Vincent was remarkable in bed, pushing all my buttons more accurately and with more finesse than anyone ever had, but he was interesting out of bed, too, someone I wanted to spend more time with.

We hadn't discussed our personal lives much, although I did toss out that I wasn't serious about anyone by saying that I didn't mind all the travel, since I had no real reason to stay around home. He said nothing of the sort, leaving me to wonder if I was just a one night thing for him, an over-eager diversion who had shot within ten seconds of getting naked. After my initial humiliation, we had been good together, in sync in bed and out, and I hoped he’d remember that when (if?) he thought about me.

I flew off for three weeks, hitting big shows in Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, and New York before finally dragging my tired ass out to the curb in front of the airport at noon on a Tuesday, looking for my dad's car. As I was cursing him for being late, I spotted a familiar figure. Vincent was lounging against the fender of a blue truck, thumbs hooked into the front pockets of faded old jeans, fingers pointing toward his cock, in a snug white t-shirt that showed off his chest, with the tight peaks of his nipples visible from where I was standing.

Jesus, he was hot. He was watching me, and I just stared at him for a moment, sure that I was seeing things, thinking what a coincidence that he was picking someone up at the same time I happened to be coming home. I said I was tired, okay?

He finally smiled at me, lifted one hand, and crooked his index finger at me a couple times in a 'come here' gesture. I hauled my suitcase and gear bag over to the truck and watched while he tossed them in the bed. When he turned back to me, he chuckled at my stupefied expression.

"I called your dad. He told me when you were coming in. Hope you don't mind, but I'm kidnapping you for a couple days. You don't have to leave 'til Thursday, right?" I nodded. "Good. Get in."

He opened the door for me and as we left the airport, he settled a hand onto my thigh and left it there as we drove to Corleone's. Once we were up in the apartment, he pulled me to him in a warm hug, rubbing his face up and down my neck with his characteristic 'mmmmm'. After I yawned in his face for the 3rd time in a row, he eased back. "You're out on your feet. Sleep for a while and I'll wake you for dinner."

He began to undress me and by the time he pushed me back on the bed and tugged my jeans off my feet, I was out. I woke to late afternoon sun slanting through the window and the heavenly smell of Italian cooking, full of garlic and tomatoes. A long hot shower and freshly brushed teeth had me feeling pretty good.

As I was butt naked bending over putting on clean pants, I felt his presence behind me and took my time getting one foot, then the other, into my jeans, straightening slowly, giving him a show as I wiggled them over my hips, and pulled them up just to where my dick was still hanging out as I turned to him.

His eyes were black, his jaw tight, and I could feel the heat from his smoldering expression clear across the room. He didn't speak, just held out one hand that drew me like a mongoose to a cobra. He cupped the hand around the back of my neck, pulled me to him, and sank into my mouth in a deep, wet kiss that I felt in my testicles. Three weeks apart had done nothing to cool the heat between us, and my jeans were back on the floor in about two seconds, followed by his as he backed me to the bed, pushed me over, and crawled onto me. Seven minutes later we were both covered in cum, staring at the ceiling, panting our way through the recovery stages of two ball-draining orgasms.

After a few minutes, I heard Vincent chuckle and turned to see him shaking his head slowly. He rolled his eyes to me and smiled. "Not sure what it is about you." He kissed me. "But I'm really fuckin' glad you're here. Hungry?" Since I'd had nothing but coffee for breakfast and peanuts on the plane, I was famished.

He led me by the hand to a private table for two behind a screen where we could enjoy the ambiance of the main dining room but still have some privacy. The always-smiling Tony appeared with salads, bread and wine, then we slowly worked our way through thick, cheesy lasagna covered in a meat sauce. I learned his Grandpa had brought the recipe with him from Italy as a young émigré, fresh off the boat from Sicily.

Domenic Bonamente D'Ambruzzo started as a sidewalk vendor in New York City at age 14, quickly becoming a cook at a series of restaurants, always working his way up. At 17 he met and married Lauretta Simone in a matter of weeks and quickly produced Cesare, Tony's dad, and Luca, Vincent's father, just 13 months apart, then added a daughter, Francesca, two years later.

The family ended up in Texas when the owner of the restaurant he was working at sold the business and moved to Nacogdoches to help his brother with their aging parents. He lent Domenic $5000 to get started and the rest is history. Corleone's opened the summer Domenic turned 22 and has been one of the best Italian places around ever since. It sits on twenty acres outside town, in a curve of the river. A pile of gold bars couldn't buy that land now but in the late 50s it was just cattle and weeds. Over the years, the family built a little gazebo and a large open sided shelter for weddings and other celebrations, and did a booming business in catered outdoor gigs eight months of the year.

Cesare had died in a car wreck when Vincent was a kid so the business went to Luca who ran it with Vincent, Tony, Francesca, and assorted other relatives. I didn't know any of this at the time, but over the years that Vincent and I became lovers, then good friends, I became an honorary D'Ambruzzo, invited to the endless succession of birthdays, weddings, anniversaries, and funerals that a large family generates.

Tony brought us one tiramisu for desert, with two spoons, and said something to Vincent in Italian. Vincent turned to me, replying as he ran a finger down my cheek, then along my lower lip, getting a laugh from Tony as he left. I gave Vincent a questioning look and he smiled.

"He said you're cute. I told him he should see you naked." He sobered as he studied my face, his dark eyes a little sad, and I wondered what he was thinking.

After dinner we took Irish coffees out to the riverbank, tossing stale bread to the ducks and enjoying the cool of the evening. I felt great - rested, full, happy - and made myself just live for the moment. I had a strong urge to ask Vincent more about his private life, but the fact that he hadn't volunteered much made me bite my tongue. I didn't want to hear that he had a boyfriend who just happened to be out of town the two times we'd been together, so I kept quiet, which wasn't difficult sitting there in the curve of his arm as the light faded from the sky.

When it was full dark, we went back upstairs and settled down in front of the TV, snuggled up on the couch in the first of what would be hundreds of nights we'd spend this way. The movie didn't hold our attention for long because Vincent, who was lying behind me, couldn't keep his hands to himself and had me hard and dripping before the third commercial. He dragged my jeans far enough down my thighs to get his cock between my legs, thrusting slowly from my ass forward, his dick shoving my balls out of the way each time he stroked.

Eventually he rolled me onto my stomach, pushed one of my legs off the edge of the couch and slid down to give me the second best rim job I ever had, the first being the morning we'd been together three weeks ago. This time he didn't ask if I was ready or was it okay, he just straddled me and slowly worked his rock hard erection into my ass, inch by thick inch. He grunted softly when he hit bottom and lowered his weight onto my back, kissing my shoulders and neck while he fucked me silly.

Partway through, he hauled me to my knees and elbows, put one foot on the floor and began to work me over as I'd never been worked before. Whenever I got close, he'd stop thrusting, reach for my balls, circle his thumb and finger above them, and tug them firmly away from my body until he felt I could continue.

As I mentioned, I was fairly inexperienced in the fucking department, and no one had ever done that to me before. Underneath the discomfort was the knowledge that when he finally did let me go, I was going to blast cum right through the couch cushion and scream like a hyena.

When all I could do was whimper and moan, he pulled out for a moment, flipped me over and slid back in without missing a beat. I started to blow the instant I grabbed my cock, and it was every bit as intense as I'd thought it would be. I couldn't even exhale until about the fifth spurt, then managed one gasping breath before twisting and grimacing through three or four more, the fingers of my free hand boring holes in Vincent's leg.

His orgasm was equally impressive, spraying hot, creamy, Italian cum all over my chest after catching me on the chin with the first shot. We went to bed after that and slept. I couldn't have come again with a gun to my head, although I think Vincent thought about it before he realized I was down for the count.

Probably thanks to my nap the previous afternoon, I woke up before he did and watched him sleep. He was on his side facing me, his chin tucked down onto his loosely fisted hand. He looked much younger, his face relaxed, a strand of his long hair across one dark cheek.

Those couple of days were wonderful. He worked off and on, cooking during the busy times, dropping in now and then to make sure things were running smoothly. Wednesday during the lunch hour, I sat on the stool in the kitchen and watched him, knowing what that finger he pointed across the kitchen with, felt like as it slid into my ass, knowing I was getting in deep emotionally, knowing nothing more about Vincent than I did the first night we met.

Over dinner in his apartment that night, I knew I couldn't fly away for a month tomorrow with no idea of what was happening between us, if anything. He was quiet, too, and when we went out to sit on his top step after dinner, he spoke before I could get up the nerve.

"Sean, I really like you. I can't . . . I'm not free to commit to a relationship right now," he said softly, looking away from me out to the river. "But I want to see you when I can, when you're in town, if you want to. It's all I can do right now."

I sat still, feeling like someone had hollowed out my guts, wondering if I could stand being with him whenever he could, yet having no idea what, or who, he did the rest of the time. I touched his arm, and when he turned to look at me, his eyes were dark and full of emotion. At that moment, I knew I’d do whatever it took to spend time with him.

"I want that, too," I told him honestly.

He leaned forward to rest his forehead against mine, eyes closed. "I'm sorry."

I cupped my hands around his face and pulled away to look at him. "It's okay. We'll make it be enough."

He dropped me at the airport and I went off to ride horses all over the country, getting home every few weeks for two or three days. Sometimes he was there to meet me at the airport and sometimes he wasn't. That became the pattern of our relationship, except for one incident a few months after we met.

I'd come home unexpectedly and borrowed my dad's car to run over and see him. He answered the door only after several knocks, opening it just a few inches. Vincent looked at me quickly, then lowered his gaze to the middle of my chest where it stayed. The door frame put him in shadow but it looked like he had a black eye, and when he rested his hand on the edge, I saw that his wrist was raw with what looked like rope marks. I took a shocked step back and forgot everything I was going to say.

"Sean, I can't see you right now," he said in a subdued voice. "I'll call you." He closed the door and I drove back home on auto pilot, stunned at what I'd seen. He called a few days later and sounded like his usual self, wishing me luck.

I was gone a month that time, and he was waiting at the curb when I walked out of the terminal. I stopped and looked at him for a long moment while he watched me, his face expressionless. As I walked to him, still unsure, I saw him swallow hard and that did it for me. I dropped my bags and went straight into his arms, letting the feel of him wash away whatever doubts I had about being involved with him.

He was trembling as he crushed me to him, and I knew then that I was as important to him as he was to me, regardless of anything else.

We had a great three days together, and for the next couple of years, I always let him come to me.

~~~~~~~

Reminiscing was wonderful and it took away a little of the ache I felt in Vincent's absence, but it was nothing like the real thing, and I prayed that this would all be over soon.