Read Online (Blue Notes 2)The Melody Thief by Shira Anthony - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Shira Anthony
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thought, how different we are.
His nephews were lucky to have such a loving, attentive father. The kind of father Cary had always longed for.
His thoughts veered unexpectedly back to Antonio. How good he was with Massimo. So patient. Affectionate. Fun. Cary smiled and imagined Antonio’s laughter. The way he pushed the hair out of his face when he spoke animatedly. The low rumble of his voice.
At this, Cary’s cock happily asserted itself. Shit. The idea of hanging out at the apartment and jerking off was almost unappealing enough to subdue his traitorous erection. Almost, but not quite. He needed to get out of the apartment and do something with the nervous energy.
T WO hours later, he was bent over a toilet in the bathroom of a dive near via Padova, only a few blocks away from where he’d gotten mugged, and getting fucked to within an inch of his life. He closed his eyes and tried to settle into the rhythm of it, to savor the burn. It wasn’t working. He hated these toilets, glorified holes in the ground where you stood on porcelain footrests. There was nothing to hang on to except the sink to his left, but the cast made it difficult, and he had to press his good hand against the filthy tile wall. He kept slipping on the wet porcelain floor, and his partner finally grabbed him at the waist to keep him from falling.
Even the buzz of too much alcohol didn’t help him focus on the sex. He tried to relax into the movements, even tried to imagine his partner was Antonio. But Antonio wouldn’t be fucking him in a dive like this, would he?
Taking a chance that his partner wouldn’t let him fall, Cary took his hand off the wall and pulled and stroked his own cock. But he couldn’t keep himself hard, and the smell of urine made him queasy. His companion climaxed with a grunt, muttering something like “thanks” before he tossed the condom and left Cary alone, oblivious to the fact that Cary hadn’t come. It didn’t really matter; Cary wasn’t going to get off. He knew it.
A roach scampered across the floor about a foot away from his shoe. For the first time in years, Cary noticed the filth, and it bothered him. The walls were a dingy yellow, and Cary didn’t even want to think about what was stuck to the painted surface. He noticed a used condom in the corner, overlooked by whoever had cleaned the bathroom, if it had been cleaned at all, and his stomach protested.
He closed his eyes to gather his thoughts, but he saw his mother’s face in his mind’s eye. He heard her voice reminding him of what a disappointment he was. He was fifteen again, and he saw himself standing on stage, bowing to the applause from yet another adoring audience. He didn’t deserve their praise. He had only ever wanted hers , anyhow.
You have to earn the applause, Cary Taylor Redding. Nothing in this life is free.
He wondered what his mother would think of him if she could see him now, bare-assed and bent over a filthy toilet, reeking of alcohol and cigarettes. He laughed, and the bitterness of the sound hung in the air.
No wonder Antonio didn’t want to touch him. Who would want to?
Oh shit.
He leaned over the water and vomited. He took a few deep breaths and shivered, then pulled his pants up from around his ankles and zipped the fly of his jeans. He felt cold and sweaty under his clothes. Another wave of nausea and he was coughing and spluttering, a sour taste in his mouth, the back of his throat burning.
He splashed some water on his face, trying to avoid his reflection in the mirror. He caught only his bloodshot eyes in the dirty glass, but it was enough to make him pause and look.
Fuck this.
He would cut his losses and go home. Sleep it off.
T WO blocks from via Padova, he heard the footsteps behind him. He was a block away from where he had gotten mugged, and it was nearly the same time of night. He picked up his pace, his heart beating so fast it felt as though it might jump right out of his chest.
Now
His nephews were lucky to have such a loving, attentive father. The kind of father Cary had always longed for.
His thoughts veered unexpectedly back to Antonio. How good he was with Massimo. So patient. Affectionate. Fun. Cary smiled and imagined Antonio’s laughter. The way he pushed the hair out of his face when he spoke animatedly. The low rumble of his voice.
At this, Cary’s cock happily asserted itself. Shit. The idea of hanging out at the apartment and jerking off was almost unappealing enough to subdue his traitorous erection. Almost, but not quite. He needed to get out of the apartment and do something with the nervous energy.
T WO hours later, he was bent over a toilet in the bathroom of a dive near via Padova, only a few blocks away from where he’d gotten mugged, and getting fucked to within an inch of his life. He closed his eyes and tried to settle into the rhythm of it, to savor the burn. It wasn’t working. He hated these toilets, glorified holes in the ground where you stood on porcelain footrests. There was nothing to hang on to except the sink to his left, but the cast made it difficult, and he had to press his good hand against the filthy tile wall. He kept slipping on the wet porcelain floor, and his partner finally grabbed him at the waist to keep him from falling.
Even the buzz of too much alcohol didn’t help him focus on the sex. He tried to relax into the movements, even tried to imagine his partner was Antonio. But Antonio wouldn’t be fucking him in a dive like this, would he?
Taking a chance that his partner wouldn’t let him fall, Cary took his hand off the wall and pulled and stroked his own cock. But he couldn’t keep himself hard, and the smell of urine made him queasy. His companion climaxed with a grunt, muttering something like “thanks” before he tossed the condom and left Cary alone, oblivious to the fact that Cary hadn’t come. It didn’t really matter; Cary wasn’t going to get off. He knew it.
A roach scampered across the floor about a foot away from his shoe. For the first time in years, Cary noticed the filth, and it bothered him. The walls were a dingy yellow, and Cary didn’t even want to think about what was stuck to the painted surface. He noticed a used condom in the corner, overlooked by whoever had cleaned the bathroom, if it had been cleaned at all, and his stomach protested.
He closed his eyes to gather his thoughts, but he saw his mother’s face in his mind’s eye. He heard her voice reminding him of what a disappointment he was. He was fifteen again, and he saw himself standing on stage, bowing to the applause from yet another adoring audience. He didn’t deserve their praise. He had only ever wanted hers , anyhow.
You have to earn the applause, Cary Taylor Redding. Nothing in this life is free.
He wondered what his mother would think of him if she could see him now, bare-assed and bent over a filthy toilet, reeking of alcohol and cigarettes. He laughed, and the bitterness of the sound hung in the air.
No wonder Antonio didn’t want to touch him. Who would want to?
Oh shit.
He leaned over the water and vomited. He took a few deep breaths and shivered, then pulled his pants up from around his ankles and zipped the fly of his jeans. He felt cold and sweaty under his clothes. Another wave of nausea and he was coughing and spluttering, a sour taste in his mouth, the back of his throat burning.
He splashed some water on his face, trying to avoid his reflection in the mirror. He caught only his bloodshot eyes in the dirty glass, but it was enough to make him pause and look.
Fuck this.
He would cut his losses and go home. Sleep it off.
T WO blocks from via Padova, he heard the footsteps behind him. He was a block away from where he had gotten mugged, and it was nearly the same time of night. He picked up his pace, his heart beating so fast it felt as though it might jump right out of his chest.
Now
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