Page 33 of Operation Sunshine
He should have been asleep. Raj would bark at him tomorrow for looking half-dead on the floor, and he’d laugh it off the same way he always did. Franco knew why sleep eluded him, however.
Tonight, the rain had unlocked something.
A different sound came to him, that of summer cicadas in South Australia, so loud they could drown out thoughts, given half a chance. Franco was eighteen again, the air heavy with heat and the sharp scent of dust baked onto the roads.
That was the summerhecame through town.
Noel was a backpacker with sun-browned skin, hair that curled when it was wet, and a rucksack that looked as if it had already lived a dozen lives. He’d wandered into the Rossi deli one afternoon, the bell over the door giving a lazy jangle, announcing his presence.Franco had been slicing mortadella and trying not to sweat through his shirt, when Noel leaned on the counter with that grin.
The one that made Franco’s insides quiver.
The one with the power to stir his blood—and send it rushing south.
“Got anything that’ll make me forget I’ve been on a bus for eight hours?”
Franco had made him a panino the way his nonna had taught him—fresh bread, mozzarella so soft it nearly sighed, and tomatoes that tasted of the sun. Noel had taken a bite and moaned as if his tastebuds had died and gone to heaven.
That was all it took. Franco was done. Smitten. Lost in a haze of lust and maybe something more meaningful.
The days blurred into each other after that. Swimming in the Murray River until their skin wrinkled, lying side by side on the bonnet of Franco’s beat-up Toyota to watch the stars, their hands brushing but never staying still. The smell of river water clung to their hair, and Franco swore he could feel the sun still radiating from their skin long after sunset.
The kiss had been inevitable, slow at first, as though neither wanted to risk breaking the moment, and then hungry, as if they’d both realised at the same time that summer didn’t last forever.
They’d wrung every moment they could lay their hands on from those all-too-brief days and hot, passionate nights. If Mum knew about the guest Franco snuck into his bedroom every night, she never let on: Franco kept him hidden until he knew she’d be too busy to notice Noel leave.
But then the summer finally ended, and one morning Noel stood on Franco’s front step with his rucksack already strapped on. No fight. No explanations beyond,“I have to keep moving.”
Franco had nodded, pretending it didn’t matter, but when Noel was gone the silence in his bedroom had been so loud it ached. For weeks, he’d avoided the river, the deli roof,anythingthat smelled likesummer. He told himself love was a thing that came for other people, not him.
Not if he wanted to survive with his heart intact.
Franco rolled onto his side, the memory dissolving into the sound of rain again. He exhaled slowly, and a heartbeat later, uninvited, Ben Whitaker filled the space in his head.
Ben, with his sharp suits and sharper silences. The way he looked at Franco as though he was both a problem and a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve.
Those eyes, cool on the surface, but stay there long enough and there was warmth underneath.
Franco thought about the way Ben pushed his sleeves up when he worked, revealing forearms that should be illegal. The way his mouth twitched as if he was holding back laughter, or maybe something more dangerous.
Heat curled low in Franco’s belly, his pulse quickening.
But it was more than the way Ben looked: It was how Ben seemed to carry thisweight, this quiet intensity that kept Franco on edge in a way no one else ever had. The walls Ben kept up, the little cracks in his mask that had Franco thinking he could seethroughhim when it was the two of them alone in a room.
Like tonight.
Franco couldn’t explain it, but it felt like this—whateverthiswas between them—was different. As though he was seeing deep beneath the surface to something Ben didn’t even know how to hide.
What if Ben isn’t just passing through?
Franco let out a slow breath, letting his mind roam to places it shouldn’t. He let his hand roam too, chasing the hunger that had come up for him out of nowhere. He could feel his pulse under the satiny skin, feel the throb and heat of desire, but beneath the need, there was a small, sharp pain, too.
He didn’t want to feel this way, not for someone like Ben.
It was easier when people just left.
Franco tugged on his dick, his breathing quickening as he strokedhis flat belly, reaching higher to tweak his nipples, teasing his orgasm closer, coaxing it, until he was there, warmth coating his abs, shivers running through him.
Franco lay there, staring at the ceiling, his chest still rising and falling with the mini aftershocks. The rain outside had softened, but it didn’t matter. Beneath it, that now familiar ache lingered in his chest.
