Filthy Things Boys Do

I dropped my fork hard enough for my Mom to flinch.

“Jay—”

“You don’t get to call him that.”

Silence.

Heavy.

Ugly.

Mario sat across from me like he owned the damn table. Black t-shirt stretched over muscle. Tattoos crawling down thick forearms. Gold chain glinting against dark skin. Calm. Too calm.

Like he wasn’t the reason I couldn’t breathe right in my own house anymore.

My Mom sighed tiredly. “Jason, please don’t start.”

“Don’t start?” I laughed sharply, pushing back in my chair. “You bring some fucking gangster-looking stranger into the house and expect me to what? Call him Dad?”

Mario finally looked up from his steak.

Those eyes.

Jesus Christ.

Dark. Steady. Unmoving.

The kind of eyes that made you feel naked even fully clothed.

“Watch your mouth,” he said quietly.

That should’ve pissed me off.

Instead heat climbed up my spine.

I hated it.

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

“Jay,” my Mom warned softly.

Mario wiped his mouth slowly with a napkin. “Your mom’s speaking to you.”

Something snapped inside me.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

The chair scraped loudly as I stood.

My Mom looked exhausted already, rubbing her temple. “I have a flight tonight. I wanted you two to spend time together before I leave.”

I froze.

“What?”

She gave me a hesitant smile. “Just a few days. Maybe you’ll finally get to know him.”

The room tilted.

“You’re leaving me here with him?”

Mario’s jaw ticked once.

My Mom stood carefully. “Jason—”

“Fuck this.”

I turned fast, but her voice cracked behind me.

“Jason!”

I spun around.

“No, fuck you.”

Pain burst across her face instantly.

Regret hit me a second too late.

Because suddenly Mario was moving.

Fast.

One second he was across the room.

The next his hand wrapped around the side of my neck.

Not choking.

Not hurting.

Control.

Pure fucking control.

My breath caught embarrassingly hard.

“Easy,” he murmured low enough that only I could hear.

His grip tightened just slightly.

Enough to make my knees weak.

Oh my God!

I stared up at him, pulse slamming against his palm while his thumb rested just beneath my jaw like he could feel every panicked beat.

“You apologize to your mother,” he said calmly.

I should’ve fought him.

Should’ve shoved him off.

Instead my cock twitched painfully in my sweats.

Humiliation burned through me.

His eyes dropped briefly to my mouth before lifting again.

“I said apologize.”

The deepness of his voice hit somewhere low in my stomach.

I swallowed hard.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered.

“Properly.”

Heat flooded my face.

“I’m sorry, Mom.”

Mario’s fingers dragged slowly away from my neck.

Deliberately.

Like he knew exactly what he was doing to me.

“Good boy.”

Fuck.

The words landed like a punch straight between my legs.

I jerked back from him instantly, breathing too hard.

My Mom looked confused.

Mario looked perfectly composed.

Which somehow made it worse.

I turned and practically ran upstairs.

The second my bedroom door slammed shut, I grabbed the back of my neck.

I could still feel his hand there.

Still feel the rough scrape of his thumb.

“Fuck,” I whispered shakily.

My dick strained against my sweats and disgust rolled through me so violently it made me dizzy.

This was wrong.

So fucking wrong.

That was my Mom’s boyfriend.

Her future husband.

And all I could think about was the way his voice dropped when he got close to me.

The way he said good boy like he meant it.

I fell asleep angry and woke up to pounding on my door.

For one disoriented second I forgot where I was.

Then his voice came through the wood.

“Open up.”

My stomach tightened immediately.

I yanked the door open too fast.

And instantly regretted it.

Mario stood there in gray sweat shorts hanging low on his hips and absolutely nothing else.

Fuck.

My eyes betrayed me immediately.

Broad chest.

Hard stomach.

Tattoos disappearing beneath the waistband.

Big thighs.

Bigger bulge.

Heat slammed into me so hard I stepped backward.

Mario noticed.

Of course he noticed.

Those dark eyes slid over my face slowly before meeting mine again.

“Your mom called,” he said. “She landed.”

I nodded dumbly.

“She also said if I let you starve in here, she’d kill me.”

“I can feed myself.”

“You haven’t eaten since dinner.”

I opened my mouth.

He stepped closer.

My breath hitched and instinctively I took a step back. 

He stared at me briefly, eyes unwavering, my heart skipped a beat.

“You always this difficult?” I asked instead, clearing my throat because my voice was failing me. 

The corner of his mouth twitched slightly.

I hated how attractive that was.

“Depends who’s asking.” He answered with a low chuckle. 

My cock twitched in my pants. 

The sound was deep and… warm. 

My thighs nearly pressed together.

“Come downstairs,” he said suddenly, “Help me cook.” He added, already heading to the stairs. 

“That sounds terrible.” I mumbled 

“Wasn’t a request.” He replied over his shoulder, already part way down the stairs. 

And fuck me, he had no business looking like that in those shorts.

None.

I stared shamelessly at the flex of his back muscles, at the tattoos wrapping around his shoulders, at the thick ass visible beneath the thin gray fabric.

My mouth went dry.

What the hell was wrong with me?

Ten minutes later I finally dragged myself downstairs.

Big mistake.

Mario had somehow removed the shorts too and changed into black compression shorts that stopped mid-thigh.

I nearly walked directly into the wall, my eyes wide. 

He looked up from the kitchen counter and smiled!

Dimples.

Fucking dimples.

“Bout time,” he said.

I swallowed hard and moved toward him carefully.

The kitchen smelled like spice and smoke and something warm.

Mario stood at the counter seasoning chicken, powerful arms flexing with every movement.

I couldn’t stop staring.

“You gonna help or just eye-fuck me all night?”

I choked on air, blinking rapidly. 

His mouth curved slowly when I went red.

“You’re an asshole.”

“Mhm.”

“Didn’t say no though.”

Heat exploded across my chest.

Mario handed me a knife. “Cut the peppers.”

I grabbed it too quickly.

It slipped slightly in my sweaty palm.

Before I could react, Mario moved behind me.

Close.

Too close.

One large hand covered mine instantly and I shivered. P

“Relax,” he murmured near my ear.

Every muscle in my body locked, I could feel every part of him and his body heat. 

His chest brushed my back lightly as he adjusted my grip on the knife.

Slowly and patiently, he cut the pepper while I stood barely breathing, my entire body was trembling. 

Mario noticed immediately.

“You’re shaking.”

His voice had gone lower.

Rougher.

I stared down at his hand covering mine.

Big.

Dark.

Veins running along his wrist.

My brain was melting.

“I’m not,” I lied weakly, my voice barely above a whisper.

Mario leaned slightly closer, something hard brushing my butt. I fumbled in my movement. 

“You sure about that, pretty boy?”