Glimpse- An Obsessed Mobster Love story

Chapter 4

Ambrose sat outside of John's guest room the entire time the doctor stitched him up. Even though John wasn't in any pain, Ambrose didn't like seeing the needle go in and out of his skin. The doctor had sedated John, knocking him out like a light. That gave Ambrose plenty of space to sort his thoughts.

He couldn't stop replaying the night's events in his mind. First his shock at seeing John, of all people, strut out onto that stage in those tight little briefs - if the thong could conceivably be called briefs. Then the unbearable heat in his body when John started dancing. His moves were sensuous. His body was divine. Ambrose had seen him naked already on the security camera, but watching him twist his body into those poses on that pole had Ambrose hard enough to hammer nails. He wanted nothing more than to rip John from the stage and devour him alive. He didn't hear a word his allies were saying from the moment John got on stage.

He recalled the satisfaction he got when John realized who his audience was. He recalled John's blush. His suddenly more sexual, baser movements. His uneven breathing. And then John did a few spins on the pole. And as he spun he looked around the room instead of at Ambrose. Ambrose hadn't liked that.

The moment that was the most vivid in his memory was the moment John's face transformed from that nervous little grin to absolute horror. Someone at the club must have signaled him. Whatever contact that gave him information at the wharf had to have been there to tip him off. The fear morphed his features until he was the picture of terror. Ambrose had felt his soul clench at that look. He never wanted to see that look on that man's face ever again.

And then John had done it again. He'd known about a set up, and he'd saved Ambrose. Again. This time at the cost of his own health. He'd thrown himself into Ambrose's arms not to attack him, but to save him from a bullet.

'Get on the ground, IDIOT!' He had screamed at Ambrose. No one ever screamed at Ambrose, and no one called him an idiot. But when John did it, Ambrose found he didn't really mind.

Seeing him bleed made Ambrose boiling mad. He was darkly satisfied to know that the shooter's boss had been identified and was being hunted even as he sat waiting for John to be fixed.

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John woke up in Ambrose's guest room. He recognized his surroundings and groaned. Considering he disappeared right after being shot, he knew the girls were probably freaking the fuck out.

He was laying on his stomach on the bed and when he pushed onto his hands and knees he felt his back twinge. There were bandages wrapped around his ribs. He remembered getting in the ambulance, getting some pain meds that made him really sleepy, and he passed out sometime during the ride. It was kind of nice not being awake for the stitching-up process.

John stood on shaky legs and took stock of his body. He felt alright. He was naked and didn't see any clothes anywhere, but he felt alright.

The door opened and Ambrose walked right in without even knocking. John turned his back out of instinct and then felt like a blushing virgin for doing it.

"Do you not know what knocking is?"

"You're not supposed to be out of bed."

"I gotta piss. How did you know I was awake?"

A pause. "The guard outside your door heard you groaning and I thought you might need more pain medicine."

Why do I feel like he's lying?

"You put a guard outside my door?"

"He's gone now. Do I have to keep talking to your back or will you face me?"