Love Him Desperate (On the Market #5) - E.M. Lindsey Page 0,28
over the edge.
Isaac didn’t need much more to follow, and Raphael felt him pulse, felt the come spill, and then felt Isaac gently pull out. His sweat left him uncomfortably cool under the spinning fan, but Raphael didn’t have the strength to move. His fingers twitched, his legs relentless in their spasms as they shook against the pillow, and Isaac dragged fingers up and down his spine until his breathing started to even out.
“Now do you want to talk about it?”
Raphael shook his head and pressed his face against the mattress, but he told him anyway. “Rose set me up with some terrible woman who walked out before we ordered. And,” he started, but he realized he didn’t want to talk about Dmitri with the man who had just fucked him stupid. He didn’t want to talk about Dmitri with anyone, because if he was going to save what relationship they had, Raphael needed to let his feelings settle into something more manageable.
“What is it?” Isaac pressed.
He closed his eyes. “I think I’m lonely. And don’t get any ideas, that’s not why I’m here.”
Isaac chuckled quietly and pressed a kiss to the back of his shoulder. “Yeah, it is. But that’s okay. We can’t love each other the way you need to be loved, but I can give you this.” His arms tucked around him, and Raphael squeezed his eyes shut tighter.
“Will it ever happen for me?”
“Yes,” Isaac said without hesitation. “I’ve never wanted to be anyone else other than me. I’m happy knowing I’ll spend the rest of my life just like this. But if I were ever to be different—I’d want to be different with someone like you. And someone will see your immeasurable worth.”
Raphael had such little hope—and that wasn’t the worst thing to lose hope in. Lonely wouldn’t kill him. Lonely wouldn’t ruin him. It was simply an old friend who stayed a bit too long.
“Dmitri brought me twinkies this week.”
Isaac made a soft noise. “Tell me you didn’t eat them.”
He didn’t. He’d taken them home though, and he’d left them on the counter next to his kettle. He looked at them every morning, and he wondered if the rumors were true—if maybe they’d never go bad. If maybe he could keep this tiny, ridiculous reminder of what he could have, but was too afraid to reach for.
He should throw them out.
“I’m not going to punish myself to make him feel good,” Raphael said, but that was only a half-truth. He had a feeling it would be hard to tell Dmitri no. “It was just sweet. He’s a good person.”
“I don’t know him well, but he seems all right. Better than his friend. Fitz’s nephew.”
Raphael shrugged. He knew the stories about Owen, but not the person, and he’d been the subject of enough gossip to know how much it hurt. “Will you be at the market this week?”
“Yes,” Isaac said. He didn’t let Raphael go, but he loosened his grip. “I was working on a couple pieces tonight for my stall.”
“You want to get back to it?”
Isaac rumbled a laugh. “Yes, I do, but I’m going to hold you until you fall asleep. Okay?”
Raphael nodded, half wanting to argue, but he was already half gone. It was nice, in this moment. It was pretend, a pretty lie about a life that didn’t belong to him, but he took comfort in it for what it was, and he let Isaac’s gentle hands lull him to sleep.
Raphael successfully avoided seeing Dmitri until the following week when he met Lorenzo for lunch. Pushing through the staff door at Indulgence, he wheeled into the kitchen and came to a skidding halt when he saw Dmitri leaning over the baking table with his lip between his teeth. He had a spinning cake stand in front of him and a sea of cupcakes to the left which looked nothing like what Wilder normally sold.
“I know you’re there,” Dmitri said, not looking at him. “I feel you watching. Judging.”
Raphael couldn’t help his laugh as he pushed his chair closer. “What are you doing?”
“Wilder has been begging me to get better at icing, but I’m just…” He waved his hand helplessly at the cupcakes. “I’m hopeless.”
Raphael wanted to offer some sort of affirmation or promise he’d get better, but he had always been disastrous in the kitchen. He lifted his hand, but his fingers didn’t obey right away, and he flexed them a few times as he felt them tingle. A surge of anxiety