Novels by Fredrik Starr

Carter’s POV The guys were laughing about something stupid, Tito was telling that story again about how Coach nearly tripped over his own clipboard during practice, and I was laughing too, but not really. My mouth was making the right sounds, my face doing the right thing, but my head wasn’t here. Not even close. I kept thinking about him. The look on Danilo’s face when I pushed him against his locker and threatened him. The way his eyes had burned with something, hurt? Anger? God, I don’t even know, but it had stuck in my chest like a thorn. I told myself I didn’t care, that it was the right thing to do, that none of it mattered. But if that was true, why the hell couldn’t I stop replaying it? I leaned against the lockers, arms crossed, pretending I was into the noise of my crew. But then I saw her. Antonia. Storming across the hallway like a damn hurricane. Eyes sharp, jaw set, fists clenched like she was about to murder somebody. And I didn’t need anyone to spell it out for m

Danilo’s POVI walked to my locker with this heavy pit in my stomach I couldn’t shake. I kept telling myself not to think about it, to just get over it, but I couldn’t. The look Carter just gave me rubbed me the wrong way. It was too cold and cutting. Like last night hadn’t even happened. Like the couch, the heat, the way he kissed me like he was starving, it was all just some bad dream I’d made up.But it wasn’t a dream. My lips still felt raw, my body still buzzing, my chest burning like it had been carved open.I tugged open my locker, stared at the books like they’d tell me what the hell I was supposed to do. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Fear, shame, I couldn’t even tell which. Maybe both.Then I felt it. A grip on my shoulder, hard enough to freeze me in place. My breath hitched and I turned, and it was Carter.His eyes weren’t soft, not like last night. Not drunk or messy or warm. They were cold, sharp, cutting right through me.“Don’t you dare say anything,” he hissed, low a

Carter’s POVI woke up with my face buried in the side of a couch that wasn’t mine. My neck ached, my back popped when I shifted, and for a moment I didn’t know where the hell I was. Then it hit me, like a car slamming into my chest.I am in Danilo’s house.I blinked, dragging in a breath that smelled of whiskey, and something else, something that made my gut tighten. Butter. For fuck’s sake, actual butter. My nose wrinkled, but then my eyes landed on him.He was lying right next to me, dead asleep. His dark lashes rested against his cheeks, mouth parted just slightly, like he was dreaming about something good. He looked… peaceful. Too peaceful.And me? I just sat there staring like an idiot, my brain replaying last night in sharp, dizzy flashes. His lips, his hands, the way he’d clung to me. The heat, the sounds, the rush of it.I swallowed hard, pressing my palms into my knees. No. No fucking way.But the ache in my hips, the stickiness on my skin, and the empty whiskey bottle sitti

Danilo’s POVI woke up to the smell of polish and lemon cleaner, the kind Rosa always used on the furniture. For a second, I thought I was dreaming because it didn’t make sense. Why the hell would my dreams smell like cleaning supplies? But then the pounding in my skull dragged me back to reality. My mouth was dry, my throat like sandpaper, and my body ached in ways that made it feel like someone had wrung me out and left me to dry on this couch.The couch.The couch where it happened. I am never going to look at this couch the same way ever again. I have defiled it and this sitting room.My chest tightened. Heat rushed through me even though I felt like death. I shifted and instantly regretted it. My lower back protested, and an ache deep inside me reminded me that last night wasn’t some drunken hallucination. It was real. All of it. Carter’s hands, Carter’s mouth, and his huge cock.And that’s when I realized I wasn’t alone.Rosa was standing by the armchair, a dust cloth in one han

Danilo's POV.Carter’s mouth was hot like lava, desperate, full of this raw untamed kind of hunger that I didn’t know how to handle and had never handled, but I just couldn’t pull away from. His hand clamped on the back of my neck, bringing me closer to him, kissing me harder until my lungs were screaming. The alcohol made everything looser, messier, my head, my body, every thought that wasn’t his just… gone.We stumbled into each other, he and I laughing and breathing too hard, until the back of my knees hit the couch. He pushed me down and came right after me, all in a jittery rush, and my chest squeezed like it was about to burst. His heart was hammering against mine, way too fast, way too uneven. Same as me.“Danilo…” His voice was low, rough, like he was saying it for the first time and wanted to taste it.I didn’t answer, I couldn’t. My hands were in his blonde hair, yanking him back to me. My shirt got pulled, buttons slipped, everything fumbling and rushed, the heat cranking s

Danilo’s POVThe ride back felt like holding my breath underwater. Heavy, thick silence pressing on my chest, every streetlight flickering over Carter’s face like it wanted me to stare. And God, I did. I gripped the wheel too tight, pretending I was focused on the road, but my eyes betrayed me every few seconds, stealing glances at his sharp jaw, the split lip, his hair still damp with sweat from the fight. Each time, my stomach did this stupid flip, like I’d swallowed a live wire.He didn’t say a word. Just sat there in the passenger seat, one hand loose on his thigh, the other drumming lazily against the window like he didn’t have a care in the world. But he wasn’t relaxed—his eyes kept flicking out at the houses when we pulled into my neighborhood. Big, perfect houses with glowing porches and lawns trimmed within an inch of their lives.When I parked in the garage, the motion light kicked on, lighting up polished cars and spotless tiles. Carter stepped out slowly, looking around l