Page 85 of The Contract

Liked to use the word “sweetheart.”

There’s no picture of Evan because these are the boys that Noah rescued. These are pictures that Noah took after he got them out.

I get to the two boys that aren’t identified, and it’s not because they aren’t known. The one with no name who has a list, the beautiful, refined looking boy with gray eyes, is Rafael. The other, the dark-eyed boy with the strong, handsome face, has no list because he doesn’t need one. Because Dante will never forget that list. Because that boy is him.

I think about the scar on his inner thigh that runs up to his groin. I think about his rule about how I can’t touch his cock or ass with my hands or my mouth. I think about every fucking moment with him.

“Shit,” I mutter when tears plop onto the photo of him. “I’m sorry. Fuck.” I use my shirt to try to fix the damage, but the photo is spotted. Permanently marked.

Dante takes it from me. There’s a strange look on his face. A complicated one. He’s uncomfortable. But he’s not angry about the damage. In fact, his lips tug a little.

Then I fucking ruin it because I can’t help but say, “Your parents …”

His expression darkens. He closes the folder. “Capelli took me for revenge against my father. Business shit.”

There’s clearly a whole story there, but it’s not what matters to me, not right now. “And when you came back?”

“I made them uncomfortable.” Dante is staring at the closed folder, not looking at me. “They wanted me to pretend that nothing had happened. They told people I’d been studying abroad.”

“Fuck, Dante.”

He shrugs like it doesn’t matter, but I know it does. I saw how it hurt him to be around his mother. I heard his father’s angry shouts that day in his office.

Dante says, “Noah got control of Rafael because his parents were dead, but my parents had legal control of me. They wouldn’t let Noah help me. But when I turned eighteen, he came back. The very fucking day. He saved my life. Fucked up as it is. But that’s not his fault.”

“You’re not fucked up.”

“I am. I’m violent. I’m possessive. Obsessive. Deviant.”

“Well, I fucking love how you are, everything about you, so I guess I’m fucked up too.”

He sucks in a breath. He freezes, like he doesn’t know if he heard that right, like he desperately wants it to be true but is afraid to believe it. And this time, it’s easier to tell him bluntly, “I love you, Dante.”

“Fuck, Tristan. I love you too.”

His words rock me back. They’re so heavy, so intent. I don’t realize my eyes are closed until I find myself suddenly hauled against him. His lips crush against mine. I’m curving into him, opening to him, and when he devours me with his kiss, when his body shocks mine to sudden, hungry life, I feel grounded in a way I haven’t for days.

He centers me. Anchors me. And somehow sets me free.

I’m quickly soaring out of myself as his tongue sweeps into my mouth like he’s trying to possess me. But he already does. I’ve been his for a while now. Is he really mine?

He’s grabbing at my ass, tugging at me in a way that has me jumping up to wrap my legs around him. He catches me so easily, holds me so tightly. My head is above his in this position, and I take quick advantage of it. I plunge my fingers into his hair in a way I’ve never allowed myself to do. I try to kiss his face, but he’s got it buried against my neck like he’s overwhelmed. He’s shaking. He’s making harsh little sounds.

I grip his hair and rock against him. I can’t help it. He sets me on fire.

We’re moving. Then I’m being lowered. My back hits the mattress. He rocks into me, grinding our cocks together through our clothes.

“Are you going to fuck me in your murder basement?”

He draws back from kissing my neck. He smiles at the term. “Yes.”

“With Rafael torturing someone fifteen feet away?”

His smile turns into a grin. “Yes.”

“Without even asking me?”

Ignoring my question entirely, he starts unzipping my pants. My cock presses against my black briefs through my open fly. Dante scoots down and gently bites my cock through the cloth.

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