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But we shot the shit, ate steak, and drank like sailors. If that’s not the definition of a great night, I don't know what is.
Right now, I’m heading with Jericho to the beach—along with Santino and Marcello. We’re fortunate that none of us have to work right now and we have all this time to spend with our new boy.
The day will soon arrive where Marcello has to go back on another mission—and where Santino and I will need to look after Jericho. He needs to be okay with us, especially Marcello, working so much.
That’s the main reason Marcello’s ex cheated on him with a fisherman—he wasn’t around enough. Jericho better not do that.
Jericho adjusts his sunglasses. "This is beautiful."
"It sure is, baby boy." We all take in the glistening Mediterranean.
The sea unfurls before us, welcoming the sun’s rays. Shades of blue mingle with deep royal purple, lending it the appearance of an Impressionist painting. By the shore, the sun paints the water with the most magnificent teal.
It almost reminds me of the Caribbean. When I was a boy, my brothers and I used to head to a private island near Jamaica to sunbathe and snorkel. It was a way to get a break from the mundanity of Mafia life, where we could relax in safety from our enemies.
Marcello cocks his right brow. "Last one in is a rotten egg."
Santino bats his ribcage. "Don't do that."
"What?" Marcello feigns innocence. "All I’m saying is that we’d better rush in. The water might grow cold."
"I highly doubt that." Jericho pinches Marcello’s right cheek. "Although, it’s cute that you think so."
Marcello growls as he takes a step toward Jericho. In one swift motion, he rips off Jericho’s clothes and thrusts them to the ground.
Jericho squeals, ramming his hands over his crotch. "Daddy!"
Like a mighty caveman, Marcello scoops Jericho into his arms—and tosses him over his shoulder.
"You’re my mouthy sack of potatoes, boy," Marcello growls, marching down the cliff overlooking the beach. "Golden, yummy potatoes—ones Daddy wants to mix with butter and eat."
Jericho smacks Marcello’s back. "You’re a beast!"
Santino can’t help but laugh. "That’s what you get for talking back to your Daddy."
"I wasn’t talking back!"
I issue Jericho a stern look. "Never insinuate that one of your Daddies is wrong when he’s being silly. It results in instant death."
Shedding our clothes, each one of us rushes toward the water. We skip and laugh, not caring that we’re grown ass men, our bits hanging out, our big cocks flopping everywhere, slamming against our abs as our hairy balls swing back and forth, shaking in the wind.
I punch Santino’s back playfully, which makes his ass cheeks jiggle, and his balls shake a bit more, swinging to and fro, causing a laugh to escape me.
Jericho giggles. "Your balls are like punching bags, Daddy."
Santino scorches Jericho with a stern look. "Don't make fun of Daddy’s nuts."
Marcello lifts his right hand and fondles Jericho’s sack from behind. "Your testicles are the same, boy."
Jericho moans, his eyes closing as he rests his forehead on Marcello’s shoulder. "Your hand tingles."
"I know, baby boy." Marcello rolls Jericho’s balls around his palm. "You have to put up with my warm touch now. That’s what you get for making fun of Santino’s big balls."
Jericho cants his hips into Marcello’s chest, bucking and thrusting. "Giving me a woody!"
Luckily, we arrive at the beach. Marcello stomps into the water, beads of liquid splashing everywhere.
He leaps into the sea ass-first—he and Jericho crash under the surface, their laughter drowned out by gurgling, bubbling ripples, before Marcello emerges mightily and holds Jericho up.
