Chapter 5: The Desk

The warehouse door rolled shut behind them with a boom that echoed up into the rafters.

Ben set the crock of starter down on the nearest shelf as carefully as if it held a child, and then he turned around.

The place smelled of old brick and river water.

It was a long cold room with a cot in an office at one end, and a steel desk.

At the far end stood a black brick oven big enough to walk into.

Dario had locked three bolts and was standing with his back against the door and his hands hanging at his sides.

"Whose is it?" Ben said.

"My grandmother's. She imported flour." Dario almost smiled. "Nobody else remembers it exists."

"And the men in my kitchen?"

"They'll tell Ignazio the shop was empty. That's all."

"Is that you?" Ben's voice cracked. "Are you taking me to him?"

"If I were, I wouldn't have let you hit the first one."

"That's not an answer."

"No," Dario said.

Ben stared at him across forty feet of concrete.

His palm throbbed under the dish towel.

His shirt was stuck to his back with the sweat of the alley.

He was so angry he was shaking, and under the anger something much hotter had been waiting all day.

He crossed the floor.

He didn't stop until their chests touched.

"Kneel," he said.

Dario's eyes went dark.

He didn't speak.

He lowered himself onto the cold concrete in front of Ben, big and slow, and tilted his face up.

Ben stripped his jeans off, kicked them away, and sat down on the edge of the steel desk with his legs spread.

The metal was ice under his bare thighs.

He was already hard, flushed and aching, and Dario looked at him.

"Hands on the floor," Ben said.

Dario laid his palms flat on the concrete.

"Don't lift them until I tell you."

"Yes."

Ben wound his fingers into that short black hair and pulled Dario's mouth to him.

The first touch of that hot tongue made Ben's head fall back.

Dario licked a slow stripe up the underside of his cock, and then took the head in, and sucked.

"Fuck," Ben said.

Dario took him deeper, patient and thorough, his cheeks hollowing.

His tongue working at the sensitive place under the head like he had studied it.

Ben grabbed the edge of the desk with his free hand.

He thrust his hips up before he could stop himself.

Dario took it, took all of it, and let Ben fuck his mouth without lifting a finger.

"Look at you," Ben said, hoarse. "Five years in a cell, and this is what you wanted."

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