He’d forgotten how ugly, how fierce his possessiveness could be. It listened to no reason. He felt entitled to watch Jordan, no matter how much his rational side was disgusted and irritated with the situation—with his own weakness.
No matter what he told himself, Damiano still found himself watching the live feed every night before bed. He watched for a couple of minutes, to make sure that Jordan was fine, and then turned the video off, the deep, gnawing pit in his chest a little placated. Placated, but never satisfied. It was beyond aggravating, but Damiano had gotten used to the feeling over the past months.
The only time the need was remotely sated was when he had literally put part of his body inside Jordan—when Jordan had sucked his cock—but that was something he’d tried not to think about, the memory making him uneasy.
His unease had nothing to do with Jordan being a man. Damiano had always considered himself straight, but he also wasn’t bothered by the idea of gay sex. Normally, what he wanted, he took. If it happened to be a man, it wouldn’t make much of a difference. But Jordan wasn’t just someone he wanted to stick his cock into. It would have been simpler if he were. Damiano would have just fucked him and moved on.
The problem was, his desire to fuck Jordan didn’t really stem from his cock. It was a twisted, insane desire to possess, a desire for closeness and ownership that happened to affect his cock too. He wanted to devour him, to tear into his heart and burrow his way inside. Even during his last visit, the rush he got from coming all over Jordan’s thighs had little to do with physical pleasure and everything to do with his desire to own him, to mark him up, to brand him as his. He felt like a dog that wanted to piss all over his territory. It was utterly disgusting—and utterly dangerous.
Sighing, Damiano sat down in his bed and opened his laptop. A few clicks, and he was watching the live feed from Jordan’s apartment.
But this time it wasn’t Jordan he saw on screen.
Not just Jordan.
Damiano went rigid as he stared at the video before enlarging it.
There was a man sitting next to Jordan on the couch in the living room. They were sitting way too close, both of them nursing beers as they talked. The stranger was smirking in an obnoxiously flirtatious way, the way men did when they were hoping to get laid soon.
Jordan was harder to read, his body language stiff, but he was smiling and he didn’t pull back when the other man put his hand on his thigh in a rather possessive manner.
Something ugly twisted up Damiano’s insides. There was a creak of plastic and, glancing down, he realized he was holding the laptop too tightly. His knuckles were white.
Mine, the thing inside him said. Mineminemine.
He tried to quash it, but it was fruitless. He could barely think as he reached for his phone and found Jordan’s number. He pressed Call before he could stop himself.
He watched Jordan flinch as his phone went off. Jordan looked at the screen and his face went very still.
Jordan didn’t have his number, of course. But the Italian country code would probably give him an idea of who might be calling him.
He didn’t wonder if Jordan would answer. He knew he would.
Jordan’s throat worked before he walked away from that dickhead and brought his phone to his ear. “Don’t tell me you have my apartment bugged, you creep,” he hissed.
“Tell him to leave,” Damiano said. “And to never come back.”
Jordan huffed. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Throw him out,” he said softly. “I will give you the attention you so badly wanted from me.”
It was just a guess, but it was gratifying to be confirmed correct when Jordan’s pale face flushed.
“Fuck off,” Jordan said, but he did turn to the dickhead and say something. There was no sound in the video, because Damiano normally had it turned off.
“Happy?” Jordan said bitingly when the guy left, but his tone didn’t match his expression. There was some irritation there, but it wasn’t the strongest emotion.
“What happened to you being straight?” Damiano said.
“None of your business,” Jordan said, stretching out on the couch and putting his head on a throw pillow. He looked tired and soft with his hair rumpled. “But if you must know, I was horny and worked up, and that guy was just there. I figured I might as well let him suck my cock.”
“And him looking like a poor man’s version of me is pure coincidence?”
Jordan turned onto his back and glared at the ceiling. “Shut up,” he grumbled without much heat. His jaw worked, his lovely blue eyes darting around the room. “Where is the camera?”