“To your left. High on the shelf above the TV, I think.”
Jordan turned his head, squinting at the camera. “It must be really tiny, because I still don’t see it.”
“You’re looking right at it.”
“Huh.” Jordan didn’t attempt to get to his feet and remove the camera. He just stared at it for a long while before saying in a dejected voice, “It pisses me off that your creepy stalking doesn’t even piss me off.”
“That’s ironic, because my creepy stalking does piss me off,” Damiano said, his gaze roaming over Jordan’s face. He liked looking at him. He hated just how much he liked looking at him. How could a person’s face become a source of comfort after ten days of sleeping on top of the other man—literally—and looking after each other? It made no fucking sense. Or maybe it did make sense on a base, instinctive level, but it wasn’t a good enough explanation for Damiano.
This wasn’t him.
He wanted to stop feeling this way. Jordan muddled his thoughts, made him irrational. Reckless. Stupidly obsessive. Stupidly obsessed. Just plain stupid.
“Then stop stalking me,” Jordan said.
“Thanks for the advice,” Damiano ground out. “I would if I could.”
That was the crux of the problem. He couldn’t stop. His self-control and rational thinking went out the window when it came to this man.
Jordan’s throat worked. Sighing, he closed his eyes. “I’m still horny,” he said with no self-consciousness whatsoever. But then again, they’d seen each other at their worst and weakest. Admitting horniness was nothing.
“And you’re telling me that why?” Damiano said.
“Well, you did chase off my booty call, so it’s your fault.”
“I didn’t chase him off. You did.”
“You know what I mean, you ass.” Jordan’s expression was sour. “As if I could say no to you.”
Christ.
Damiano stared at the ceiling, trying to ignore his thickening cock. This was a wrong thing to get aroused over.
He heard Jordan sigh again and murmur, “Do you know there are over four thousand miles from Boston to Italy?”
It seemed like a non sequitur, but Damiano knew it wasn’t.
Silence fell over the line.
“You should jerk off,” Damiano said, his voice more clipped than he would have liked. “I promise not to watch.”
Jordan opened his eyes and looked straight at the camera, his expression strange. He licked his lips. “What if I want you to watch?”
Damiano went still, his stomach tightening and his cock twitching again. “Didn’t know exhibitionism was your thing.”
“It isn’t,” Jordan said with a bitter smile. “I just want—you know.”
“I know,” Damiano said. If Gustavo were still alive, Damiano wouldn’t grant him a quick, painless death this time. He would make him suffer for fucking them up like this.
“Go ahead, caro,” he said, involuntarily adopting a gentler tone. Christ, he was disgustingly soft when it came to this man.
He watched Jordan unzip his fly and pull out his stiff cock. Jordan’s breathing hitched in his throat, his eyes growing half-lidded and his cheeks slightly flushed. He put his phone on speaker. “Talk to me,” he asked, stroking himself. “About anything. In Italian, if you want to. I just need to hear your voice.”
Damiano pressed the heel of his hand to his cock and started talking in Italian, quietly recounting the events of the day, everything that had frustrated him about it. It felt freeing, and not just because Jordan didn’t understand Italian. He wanted to tell him these things, share his thoughts with him and hear Jordan’s opinion. Thankfully, he had enough self-control left to speak in Italian. It was risky to do even in Italian, no matter how secure the line was.
He hadn’t even noticed when he pulled his cock out and started jerking off too, staring at Jordan’s flushed face. It was strange. He was very much aroused, but it wasn’t really about getting off. He wanted. He wanted to step into the screen, crawl on top of Jordan, put himself inside him, and merge them together.
The thought made him come, his orgasm catching him completely off-guard.
Damiano gritted his teeth and glared at the mess on his shirt, frustrated beyond belief despite the orgasm.
Christ. This was getting out of hand.
***
He told himself he wouldn’t do it again.
He told himself he had better things to do with his time than to have weird sort-of phone sex with another man. He did have better things to do. Far more productive things.
But there were upsides of being the boss: no one could question him if he decided to set work aside and do something unproductive. The same thing was also the downside: that he didn’t have anyone to answer to.
So he kept doing it.
And things got progressively weirder each time.
The second time it happened, Jordan was already in bed, so it didn’t seem all that strange to ask him to get completely naked and let Damiano look at him.