Charting New Waters Read online

  “Um, no. I... I have a list of problems with American wines which I won't bore you with.” I really didn't want to get into a wine debate right then. I knew I was finicky.

  “But you have Lebanese wine?” He walked closer and inspected my collection of about 80 bottles.

  “I'm running low,” I said, looking over all the empty spaces. The unit could store almost twice that many.

  Vito looked up from the bottles and smiled brightly. “I think it's quite enough, but I will bring you a Sicilian wine for your world collection.” He pulled out a very nice white wine from Languedoc Roussillon and handed it to me. “You have very good taste, Joseph. I will be sure I do not disappoint you.”

  He took a seat gracefully on my sofa and crossed his legs the way European men do. He noted my crystal ash tray and asked, “may I smoke?” I nodded as I took the wine to the kitchen to open, leaving Vito in my living room to make himself at home.

  When I came back, he was smoking a thin cigarette which smelled of apples, kind of like what we Lebanese call nakhla shishe, a kind of molasses tobacco used in narguiles, or water pipes. It made the house smell like candy, and I smiled, relieved it would not actually be smelling like smoke. “Can I try it?” I asked, passing him his glass of wine. He passed it over, the butt covered in gold paper. It was the most luxurious, strange cigarette I had ever seen. Vito did not do anything cheaply. I passed it back with a smile. It tasted as good as it smelled.

  “What are all these things you have here?” he asked me, walking toward a lighted glass cabinet in the corner. He took a sip of wine and smiled brightly enough to give me another glimpse of his dimple.

  “Oh, some things from Lebanon. Sorry, I should have said I was Lebanese, but I didn't know when to throw that out there.” If only I could be honest about other things, as well...

  “Ah, nice. We are neighbors of sorts. Is this ivory?” He pointed to a small jewelry case with solid gold hinges.

  “Unfortunately. It's very old, I think it belonged to a great-great grandmother or aunt or something.”

  “You have a beautiful collection and home.” He sat back on the sofa and stubbed out the rest of his apple cigarette, looking over my paintings and other artifacts I'd brought back from the Parentland.

  I sat down beside him, our eyes meeting and holding before shying away. I had built him up over the past two months in my mind, and he was surpassing my dreams, so this was a big night for me. “Tell me something about you.”

  He looked down at his hands, which were quite large and expertly cared for. “I came here several years ago. My uncle, Dominic's father, invited me to go into business with him. I was quite angry when I saw I had moved so far from my family in Palermo in order to make pizzas at his very cheap Italian restaurant.”

  I could imagine. “He just wanted you to make pizzas?”

  He nodded. “I did, because I had no other recourse, but I was very angry. He lied to me. I was also living with him all that time, too, as his 'guest', as he called it, though I felt like his slave.” He reached for another cigarette and passed one to me, as well. He was nervous, I could feel it.

  “Are you still working for him?”

  He raised his eyebrows and did the most Sicilian thing ever, making a rude hand gesture, which made me laugh. “No. I saved all my money and opened a Sicilian restaurant.”

  “Of course you did,” I said, unable to resist chuckling at that. We had nearly finished our wine, so I ran to the kitchen for the bottle and came back. “So, what kind of place is it?”

  “Fine dining. I only carry Sicilian wines and only serve food from our regions. My uncle laughed when I told him of my plans. He said Americans wanted pizza and spaghetti, but I told him to want and to have no choice are two different things. I gave them a choice.”

  “And so you're doing well.” I surmised this because everything I'd seen of his was very high-end, including his mafiamobile. He nodded.

  “Yes. It is difficult to go there without a reservation. I recently opened a Sicilian pastry shop at the new outdoor shopping center near where we left Juan. If you would like, please come for an espresso tomorrow. I would like to see you in daylight.” He smiled warmly.

  “Well, maybe let's just see how tonight goes, first. I mean, you might not like me tomorrow,” I said nervously, stubbing out my cigarette and chugging my wine. “Would you like me to open another bottle? Your choice.” God, I was more nervous than I thought.

  “Pi fauri,” he said with a smile, slowly rising to his feet and making his way over to my collection.

  “I only know a few words of Italian, which doesn't help. Sorry.” I waited for him to make his selection.

  “Good. Then it will not confuse you when you begin to speak lu sicilianu.” He selected a bottle and gave it to me with a wink. “I'll teach you all the dirty words first. You will look lovely speaking them in a fit of passion.” He ran his fingers through my blonde hair and thoroughly looked over my face in the light. “You're very beautiful, you know. We have such light people in Sicily, as well. They are rare and very treasured, as you are to me.” He went back to his place on the sofa and I scurried back to the kitchen to open the next bottle, also French. I'd bet money as long as I knew him, he'd never open any of the Tuscans.

  As I worked on the bottle, I worried deeply. I was hiding something from Vito. If I didn't break his heart, he might break my neck. Someone would be hurt by my deception. The question was who. Getting him a little drunk was the best course of action, just in case he figured out something was wrong...

  Chapter 2

  Vito

  I wanted him more than I wanted to live. In Sicily, we're somehow attracted to blondes. It's almost an obsession. But it wasn't just that. Joseph was nothing like the men in The Oasis. He wasn't interested in hooking up nightly with a different guy or showing himself off, and I appreciated that. I've never been interested in wasting my time and emotions on a man who didn't wish the same. I wasn't interested in waking up with a stranger in my bed, and I wasn't interested in wearing condoms. I wanted the kind of monogamous relationship that made all these things unnecessary. And I wanted Joseph.

  The more we spoke, the more I realized we had a lot in common. This was something I needed more than a pretty face—common ground. I'd left my country, left everything I'd ever known, and put my previously untested English into everyday use. I'd slaved in my bastard uncle's pizzeria for five years and saved all my money, living like a literal poor relation. Now I had the life I wanted in my adoptive country, I needed the man to share that life with. I hoped it would be this sexy blonde. He was a little shorter than me, but only by about three inches. I suppose he was about five-foot nine or ten. I only glimpsed him with his shirt off this evening. He seemed to be twice as wide as I was, with my thin frame inherited from my tall, lanky mother. I could tell he was the type who could build muscle quickly. I was jealous of that, always having been thin as a rake. I believe that's the American idiom...

  Unfortunately, now I was drunk. Joseph had quite the wine collection, and it was just too delicious to refuse, just like the man himself. I reached out to him and set his glass on the coffee table. I'd waited two months to touch him and a few hours more. I couldn't wait any longer. I pulled him toward me on the sofa and kissed him for the first time. He was just as delicious as I'd known he'd be. His strong arms engulfed me, pressing our chests together. He slipped his tongue into my mouth and I twisted mine around his immediately, savoring the feeling of him, the taste of him. His face was shaved, but this late, his bristles scratched against mine as he nibbled at my ear, then my neck. “I need you so badly, Joseph,” I breathed, running my hands up and down his broad back. “Take me to your room.”

  He tensed when I said that. A few things this evening had caused him to look ill at ease. I wondered what the triggers were. I could discern no obvious pattern. “Are you a virgin?” I asked, almost laughing at my stupidity. How on Earth could he be? “Mi scusassi.” I apologized at once.<
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  “No, of course not,” he whispered in my ear, his breath so hot, sending a chill down my spine.

  “Do you want to be with me?” I asked him worriedly. Each time I got too close, it seemed he pulled back a fraction. I hoped I hadn't come on too strong or done something else to put him off.

  “Oh God, Vito. I want you in every way.”

  That was encouraging, but he wasn't taking me to his bedroom. Man of action that I am, I eventually just pulled him up with me and dragged him around until I found the blasted bedroom. “Is this it?” I asked to be sure. I was a bit tipsy at this point, and tired. I'd had a very long day overseeing the new pastry shop and then going to the club. He mumbled something and dragged me to the bed. He laid me down on my back and climbed over me. I tried to touch his cock but he pulled back suddenly. I let it go. At least I was in his bedroom at last.

  He opened my trousers and shimmied them down my legs, pulling my shoes and socks off when he got to my ankles. He didn't bother with my shirt and didn't move toward taking any of his own clothing off, which I found interesting, but I was quite intoxicated and did not pay much attention.

  “Let me suck you,” he said, moving to my side. Of course, being sucked was one of my fondest wishes. I lifted my cock and directed it to his mouth happily. I sighed deeply with relief to finally have some sort of intimacy with this man.

  He did a damned fine job with those full lips of his. His entire mouth turned me on. He had a tiny gap between his two front teeth which I found alluring for its imperfection. His tongue was among the most skilled I'd ever had in my mouth, and now it was driving my cock to madness. I tried not to moan, but we Mediterraneans are not known for being quiet. I noticed Joseph was also very vocal in his ministrations, murmuring endearments as he licked up and down my length, kissing and nipping the inside of my thigh, and rolling my balls around in his mouth and hands. He was completely selfless in his work, as if he had one job to do, and it was me.

  Before I knew it, I was coming in his mouth, saying the crudest things in my language as I did. Joseph wiped at the corners of his mouth with his forefinger and thumb, his blue eyes twinkling in the dim light. He slithered up my side and began kissing my lips with a neediness that shocked me. I complied, kissing him ravenously. I don't know how long we kissed, but I remember he would not let me open his trousers, swatting my hand away. It wasn't terribly fair, but when I got hard again, Joseph returned to the billowing, blankety depths below and serviced me once more.

  He did this a few times. I don't think I've ever come so much in my life. I also don't believe I've ever felt quite as close to anyone without touching them in return. I longed to taste him. I needed to be inside him. “Joseph, please. I want to fuck you this time,” I said, nearly begging. At first, he stilled and said nothing, my cock still in his mouth. I thought he'd refuse me, but then he moved. He rolled on his side away from me. I heard him unzipping his jeans and I sighed with relief. He pulled them down just far enough to bear his ass to me and passed me a bottle of lube from the dresser drawer.

  I expected more interaction from him. A man this passionate ought to be facing me, letting me kiss him, run my tongue over his body. It felt almost clinical. “Are you sure?”

  “Um yea, I'm sure,” he said meekly. It wasn't the most sincere phrase I'd ever heard.

  “Do you... require I use a condom?” I had one in my wallet, but I really hated them. I'm not a small man in that department, and they routinely rip or cut my circulation off unless I can find the large size. Also, I couldn't feel anything.

  “No, I trust you,” he said. “I don't sleep around. I haven't had sex in more than four years, so I'm okay. What about you?”

  Four years? What on Earth? The man was gorgeous! How did that happen? I was nearly sober now, hours after we'd gone to bed, and I could now take in everything he said more precisely. “Ah. That is...a long time. I hope I do not disappoint you. I had a partner in Palermo for many many years. Since I came to America, I have only slept with one man from time to time. In this case, I used protection.” I'd used it because Mark was what I would term an unpaid whore. He'd been in the club tonight, fucking someone in the bathroom, ever the classy gentleman. I hadn't thought it polite to say hello under the circumstance, but he'd seen me. I called him The Hole in my language, because that is all he was to me. He assumed this to be an endearment, which I let him believe. I never even kissed him, afraid of what he could pass me orally. Clearly, there was no intimacy there, and I'd missed it over the years.

  I lubricated my fingers and went to work loosening Joseph's wonderfully tight ass. I hoped he would be able to take me easily or at all. I kissed the back of his neck, wishing he'd at least take off his shirt so I could run kisses up and down his back. “Do you need more?” I whispered in his ear. He felt ready to me.

  “No, I can take you,” he said with a moan.

  “Now I will take you,” I said with a growl, lining up my dick and slowly pushing in. He opened to me like a flower. He was still very tight, but accommodating. He was all heat and muscle, engulfing me. I tried to see to his needs as I slowly increased my pumping, but he swatted my hand away.

  Something about his dick. He was hiding something from me. Was he impotent? Was he damaged somehow? I didn't like this secrecy, but perhaps he needed time to trust me, if it were something sensitive such as that. I let it go, but only because this was new for us both, and I was fucking him as I'd wanted, so really, should I have complained?

  I thought I'd last hours and hours after him sucking me about four times tonight, but every time he moaned or moved or clenched his muscles around me, I came closer and closer, finally grabbing him around the waist with one hand and his neck a bit roughly with my other hand while I came. I'm not interested in BDSM or anything, but perhaps I'm primitive in my way because nothing makes me feel more in control than when the most sensitive part of a man's body is in my grip. For me, that is his neck. Animals instinctively protect their necks and predators always go for it. So do I.

  I was relieved he didn't mind at all. It made him even more excited, in fact. “Don't pull out yet, just a little more,” he breathed. I wasn't sure if he meant more pressure on his neck or more fucking. I did both, having no time to decide. He liked both, and after much squirming about, he came, loudly.

  I pulled his body flat against mine and bit the back of his neck. “Are you mine?” I asked through heavy breath. I knew it was too soon, but I'd watched him for months! I'd dreamed of him, used my hand and that idiot Mark while nothing but Joseph flooded my mind. My desire for him had never wavered since I'd first seen him. Now, after this glorious fuck, I was compelled to have him and keep him.

  He was catching his breath and I slid out. He went to closing his jeans right away, confirming there was something about his dick he was hiding. I felt terribly for him. I would have told him then that I didn't care, but it might have embarrassed him, so I stopped thinking of it. “I want to be, Vito. I think I fell in love with you from afar, like people did hundreds of years ago.” He was still facing away from me. I wished he were naked in my arms.

  “Like a masquerade or a ball, we caught each other's eyes from across a crowded room?” I laughed at my attempts to be romantic. I suppose I am, but in a more modern way than what we were discussing.

  “Yea, like that.” There was a laugh in his voice. “Exactly like that. I mean, of course we have to learn more about each other, so I can't say it's actual love, but you know what I mean, right?” He was nervous. I could hear it in his tone.

  I did know what he meant, but if I told him the truth, that I was probably already 75 percent in love with him, he might get scared and think me a psychopath. I held him close and said, “let's try to sleep a little.” He slept flat on his stomach. Yes, he was definitely hiding something.

  I stayed with him until about eight that morning. He told me he lived with his parents and asked if I might sneak to my car, which I found sweet. He was respectful. I kissed him one
last time and reminded him to come to the pastry shop later in the afternoon. I went to my car cautiously, seeing no one. I hadn't realized I was pretty much in the forest, but it was lovely. I got in my car and left at once, and when I'd gotten out on the main street, I pulled over and set my GPS to home. He really did live at the end of the Earth. “An hour? Figgh'i buttana!” He would have to move or else stay at my place. I'd not keep making this long trip.

  That idea filled my mind as I drove. What it would be like to wake up each morning to my lovely Joseph. As soon as culturally acceptable, I would ask him. I couldn't stop smiling all day long at that idea.

  Chapter 3

  Joseph

  “Who was the hot guy?”

  I watched my sister Lina wander through my apartment shamelessly, looking for evidence of last night. She noted the two wine glasses set close to each other on the coffee table. She noted the strange little cigarette butts in the ash tray. She tried to get into my bedroom, but I stopped her in time.

  “You have eyes like a hawk,” I muttered, slamming the door closed. “Shameless spy.”

  “Wallah, I know I do! I'm just happy for you. He's really... I don't know... sophisticated-looking. And you're a snob. Seems like a perfect fit.”

  I didn't consider myself a snob at all, unless using a knife and fork at the table made me so. My family had poor table manners. I hated to say it, but going out to eat with them was embarrassing. My mother still ate mostly with her hands, and the sight of her tearing a steak apart in a restaurant was a wonder to behold. My sister was an exact replica. When we left the table, one side looked like a tornado hit it, with bread crumbs, sauces, sugar granules that missed their iced teas and a mountain of napkins all over it. The other side was just an empty plate with a napkin on top. The latter was of course my side, and I was teased relentlessly for it, accused of not knowing how to enjoy my dinner.