Page 55 of King of Pain

“Did your grandma teach you how to cook like this?”

He nods, his expression softening. “Yeah. My grandma on my dad’s side. I was always in the kitchen with her, curious about cooking. It was… an escape for me.” He hesitates, his fork pausing mid-air, like there’s something more he wants to add. But then he shakes his head slightly and takes another bite.

I want to ask, but I don’t want to push too hard. He’s opening to me slowly but surely, and the last thing I want to do is send him spiraling backwards.

On my next bite of lasagna, a burst of sauce glides over my taste buds, and my eyes close involuntarily as I try to pinpoint the flavor.

“What’s this flavor in here, Ant? It’s almost sweet, but not quite. I don’t like when sauce is too sweet. This is perfect.”

“That’s my own twist on my grandma’s recipe,” he says, his tone casual but with a hint of pride. “Most people use sugar to reduce the acidity of the tomatoes. I use a little cinnamon and a splash of heavy cream instead. It does the trick without making the sauce too sweet.”

“Well, it works. This really is the best I’ve ever had, Beautiful,” I tell him.

This time, instead of blushing after I call him Beautiful, he beams, his smile lighting up the room. It hits me square in the chest.

“Thanks,” he says, his voice soft but filled with gratitude.

After dinner, he puts away leftovers while I clean. We move around each other in the kitchen as easily as we did earlier. It feels comfortable, like this is something we’ve been doing for years.

Later, we settle on the couch to watch a movie. Ant picksRaiders of the Lost Ark, which makes me laugh.

“You’re really committed to the Indiana Jones thing, huh?” I tease, nudging him.

He rolls his eyes but smiles, finishing the last of his wine.

The movie ends, and we both decide to call it a night. Ant sets up his bed on the couch while I head to my bedroom, the scent of garlic and tomato sauce still lingering in the air. Speaking of lingering, Little G stays by Ant’s side, clearly stating where his loyalty lies tonight. Again. Little deserter.

I slip into my bedroom and flip on the light, pulling my shirt over my head. I toss it into the laundry basket, my thoughts drifting back to dinner. The care he put into it. The homemade sauce, the perfectly toasted garlic bread, the rich and creamy filling. The company. It wasn’t just a meal. It was an experience, and one I’m not used to. Certainly not while I was growing up.

I shake my head as I step into the bathroom to brush my teeth, the taste of red wine still on my tongue. Spending the evening with him felt easy. Natural. There wasn’t any awkwardness. Instead, we talked, we laughed, and for a few hours, it felt like we were... something more than temporary roommates. Something more than coworkers.

Something I’ve never had before.

Rinsing my toothbrush, I lean on the sink for a moment, staring at my reflection. I close my eyes, and all I see is Ant. More specifically, Ant stepping out of the bathroom earlier, his skin damp and glistening from the shower, a towel wrapped low on his hips. My cock thickens at the memory. He didn’t just look good, he looked unreal. And that bulge? Jesus. My mouth starts to water thinking about it. I don’t know if I wanted to stare or drop to my knees and hope he’d take mercy on me and fuck my throat senseless.

I splash cold water on my face and shake my head, trying to clear the image.

Patience, Sullivan. He needs time.

Except no matter how much I try, the way his face flushed and how he avoided my gaze sticks with me. Was he embarrassed? Flustered? Or... was it something else?

Pushing aside the thought, I finish in the bathroom and head back into my room. I push off my jeans and boxer briefs in one swift motion and slide into bed. The sheets are cool against my naked body as I settle in, flipping onto my back. I stare at the darkened ceiling, the faint sound of the TV in the living room drifting through the walls.

I eye my nightstand, briefly considering grabbing the lube, and my new dildo sitting in the top drawer, and taking this big dick bulge-induced frustration out on my prostate, but the weight of the day starts to pull at me. My eyes flutter shut, and as sleep starts to take over, my last conscious thought is that Ant is worth the wait.

Several hours later, in the middle of the night, I’m jolted awake by a sound that sends a chill down my spine.

A scream.

Not just any scream. The kind that’s raw, and filled with terror.

I throw off the blanket, toss on some shorts, and rush into the living room.

Ant is on the couch, thrashing in his sleep, his face twisted in agony.

“No, no, stop!” he yells, his voice breaking.

“NOOOOO!” he screams again, louder this time.