Page 38 of King of Pain (Damaged Hearts #1)

Catch Me (I’m Falling)

Chance

We step back into our motel room, the cheesy bedside seashell lamp casting soft shadows against the navy and wicker decor. The room smells like sea air and something distinctly us now—Ant’s spicy cologne, the lingering salt on our skin, and the faintest trace of the tequila still in our system.

I let the door swing shut behind us and exhale, running a hand through my hair.

My mind is still stuck on everything Ant shared on the beach.

I knew his past held darkness. I knew it was bad.

But that ? That level of horror? I had no idea.

And the worst part? He talked about it like it was justa thing that happened to him.

Just a quiet acceptance of something no one should ever have to accept.

Yet somehow, despite all of it, he’s still standing.Still shining.

I glance over at him as he toes off his shoes, shaking his fingers through his hair, that effortless beauty still robbing my lungs of oxygen.

It’s not just what he told me today that’s rattling me.

It’sthe way he’s been on this trip. The way he pulled me to him in the club, the way hereachedfor me last night, wrapping me around his body without a second thought.

And then today.

He held my hand.

That probably shouldn’t feel like a thing , but to me, it is.

Hell, even when I was with Christian, everything was behind closed doors.

But Ant laced our fingers together like it was nothing.

Like it wasn’t one of the hardest things he’s ever done.

It’s a huge step for him, and he chose to take it… with me.

I haven’t even kissed him yet, and he’s already given me more than anyone ever has.

And fuck me… he’s never been kissed.

Never.

He handed me the privilege on a silver platter today. My possessive heart races at the thought of being the first man to claim those lips. The only one. He told me he needs time, and I’dgive him forever if he needed it. But the thought of being the only man to ever taste him?

Yeah, I need a distraction before my dick takes over my brain.

“You got any ideas for dinner?” I ask, steering my brain to safer territory.

Ant glances at me, stretching his arms over his head. “Yeah. I was thinking The Old Spaghetti Factory.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You’re going to let me eat someone else’s pasta?”

Ant grins. “Don’t get too excited. It’s not the best Italian food. Not even close. But some dishes are decent, and the atmosphere is fun. It’s more of an experience. Plus, it’s walking distance to the pier.”

I smirk. “Well, get your cute ass in gear and get cleaned up so we can go. I’m starved for some Italian.” I wink, proud of my inuendo.

Ant fires back with a playful grin and decides to play dirty.

He slowly and seductively unbuttons his jeans.

Right in front of me.

And drops them.

I freeze. My mouthfalls open. Because holy hell .

Black boxer briefs.Painted on . The huge bulge stretching against the fabric is…

What the fuck.

He doesn’t seem to care that my soul isleaving my bodyas he casually wraps a towel around his waist. Then the fucker shimmieshis boxer briefs down, stepping out of them, the towel still on and slung dangerouslylow on his hips.

I am not breathing.

Ant turns toward the bathroom, and just before he steps inside, hepauses.

Heglances at me over his shoulder.

And drops the towel.

Just lets it go.

A perfect, tight, bubble butt in all itsglory left in its wake.

Then, with the most innocent fucking voice, he says—

“Oops.”

My jaw drops.

“Did you mean this cute ass?”

Then he steps into the bathroom andshuts the door.

“Oh myGod!” I scream, and fall back onto the bed, hands covering my face.

“Fucking Italians,” I mutter to no one. “They need a warning label.”

After a torturous hour of watching Ant get ready, we’re walking into The Old Spaghetti Factory.

The restaurant is exactly what I expected: charmingly outdated with an eclectic mix of colorful décor.

Oversized wine bottles cradled in wicker sit on high shelves, the lighting is dim and golden, and each table is covered with crisp white butcher paper.

It’s big, but cozy, and reminds me of the small Italian restaurants in Boston’s North End.

The hostess leads us to our table, and I slide into my seat across from Ant. My gaze flicks to the pile of crayons in the middle of the table, and it clicks—that’s why the paper is here.

Ant notices what’s got my attention. “Oh yeah, they let people draw on the tables,” he says, grabbing a crayon and twirling it between his fingers. “Classy, huh?”

I chuckle. “I like it.”

We order a bottle of wine, agreeing to stay away from tequila after last night’s antics. When I ask Ant what’s good, he shrugs. “Stick to the basics. The spaghetti’s decent.”

I purse my lips in thought. “We’re getting the lasagna too. I need to compare.”

He huffs a laugh. “Of course you do.”

When our waiter arrives, we order two bowls of spaghetti, some meatballs, and a lasagna for the table. He leaves to put in our order and returns quickly with bread and salad. We eat in comfortable conversation, and when our first course plates are cleared, a quiet lull settles over us.

Ant picks up a crayon, glances at me with a tiny smirk, and scrawls upside-down on the table: Hi.

I smile, grabbing my own crayon: Hey.

His lips press together.

Then, with slightly shaky hands, he writes upside-down again: I like you.

A million butterflies take flight in my gut and flutter their way up to my chest. I move to the other side of the table, leaning close so I can write properly. As I do, I feel Ant’s hand slide onto the back of my thigh, just resting there.

Then he slides his hand up further.

The crayon slips in my grip sending a streak of red across the paper.

While Ant snickers, I try again, writing: Catch me.

He looks up at me, confusion written on his face.

I continue, writing directly underneath.

When I straighten, Ant’s eyes are locked on my words, his smile so blinding it could power the entire state of California: I’m falling, Beautiful.

He lifts his gaze from the paper on the table, and our eyes meet. No words pass between us. None are needed. Our hearts are already speaking a language all their own.

I reluctantly go back to my seat, and the food arrives, breaking the moment. I dig into the lasagna first. One bite in, I push the plate away dramatically.

“Nope. Get it away from me.”

Antloses it. His laughter is big and bright, his entire face glowing.

I shake my head, groaning. “Seriously, I don’t think I can eat anyone else’s lasagna ever again.”

He just smiles bigger, and then—

“Just eat your food, sexy. I want to go to the pier.”

I black out. I die. I ascend.

I manage to take a bite of a meatball, but my brain is stuck on a loop.

He called me sexy.

I am never recovering from this entire trip.

I peer over at Ant as I pull the car out of the motel parking lot and get us on the road back home.

I can't stop looking at his lips. Ever since his big reveal—I can't stop watching them move.

Last night after dinner, we went to the end of the pier and just watched the water for a while. Well, he watched the water. I watched him. He seemed so at peace, so happy, and it took everything in me not to grab his face and beg him to give me the smallest taste.

And when he moved behind me and wrapped his arms around me while pressing against me, my heart did the drum solo from“In the Air Tonight.”

When we’d gotten back to the motel, he’d stripped down to thoseobscenelytight boxer briefs that do absolutely nothing to conceal his huge dick. Then, without hesitation, he pulled back the covers, flopped onto the bed, and said, “What are you waiting for?”

I just stood there, blinking at him.

He let out a dramatic sigh. “This is your fault, Sullivan. Last night—and then waking up with your arms wrapped around me? Turned me into an addict.”

I’d reminded him that it was his drunk ass that pulled my arm over him in the first place.

He just shrugged. “Semantics. The point is, I’m astrung-out snuggle slutnow, and you’re my dealer.”

Even though it was absolutetorture, I climbed into bed and wrapped my arms around him.

Ant was out in two minutes flat. I had to lay there, trying to sleep—an impossible task with his body pressed to mine and the intoxicating mix of his cologne, body wash and just him taking over my senses.

My mind wandered and poured over the events of the last six months and no matter where my thoughts ventured, they kept circling back to one thing: I’ve found my someone. My person.

I don’t know how else to describe it, but that’s what this is. It’s him. He’s the reason I wound up in Arizona, the reason I walked into Devil Records that day. Every moment that led me here, every twist of fate, makes sense now. It was always leading me to him .

And the craziest part? He has no idea just how much he's given me in return.

For a while, I thought Christian and I could be something. That we’d move here together, start fresh, and maybe even build a life. But now? Now I see how foolish that was. Christian was easy, comfortable.

But this? What I have with Ant? It’s something entirely different. It's raw and uncharted and a thousand times more powerful than anything I ever had before.

Christian wasn’t ready for anything outside of the bedroom. I see that now. But Ant? Ant grabbed my hand and held it in public. He pulled me close on the dance floor. He reached for me to wrap myself around him.

But the fact that he’schosenme to be the one he gives his first kiss to? It makes me dizzy. I want that kiss so badly it aches, but I know how much it means to him. I know he needs time, and I’ll give it to him.

Because Anthony Pacini isn't just another guy.

He's the guy.

And right now? Right now, he's got his hand on my thigh as we start the drive back to reality. I don't know what's gotten into him, but I'm living for it. He's like a beautiful butterfly pushing his way out of his cocoon, showing off his vibrant colors. I can't wait to watch him fly.

“Oh shit. I love this song!” Ant shouts, snapping me out of my thoughts as the opening riff of Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers'“Runnin' Down a Dream”starts to play through the car speakers.

I laugh and pull to the side of the road.

Ant looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “What are you doing?”

I just smile and press a button. The top of the convertible starts to pop off and fold into its storage in the back. The California winter air rushes in, cool and salty. “We need the top down for this. Start the song over and sing with me.”

Ant’s grin is instant. He restarts the song, and as soon as the first chords hit, I pull back onto the road, the wind whipping around us.

And then we sing . At the top of our lungs and completely carefree. Ant throws his hands in the air, laughing as the wind tangles through his dark hair. He closes his eyes, letting himself feel it, and in this moment, he looks so untroubled… soalive.

He’s never looked more beautiful.