by Rhys Ford
“Kind of like an ex cat burglar gone straight and the cop who wanted him behind bars?” His partner laughed when Dante muttered a profanity back at him. “I’m just saying, sometimes life is weirder than we can even imagine.”
“Right now, I could use a little less weird,” Dante admitted. “It’ll be good to settle back into a nice, normal routine.”
“Don’t get me wrong, Montoya.” Hank chuckled, making himself comfortable in the SUV’s seat. “But once you hooked up with Stevens, you pretty much kissed any kind of normal goodbye.”
THE STOREFRONT’S sheet-covered wooden sign appeared to still have a few fans as Dante pulled into the drive. He braked to avoid hitting a bored-looking teen straggling behind what looked like his family on vacation, his face lighting up momentarily when they shuffled past Hizoku Ink’s windows. The tattoo parlor had its front door open, a bit of wind tickling the tiny bell hanging from its frame, and the teen slowed his steps, peering into the shop before one of the older women in the group urged him to catch up.
Manny was waiting for him when Dante let himself into the building’s side door.
It was still odd seeing his uncle on what was essentially Rook’s front porch. The hallway was bright, and with its black marble floors, gleaming ivory walls, and elegant sconces, looked more like a hotel lobby than an access to an elevator leading up to a loft. The row of framed retro sci-fi and horror movie posters lining the walls was a dash of Rook’s personality, as was the blue police box bas-relief fire door connecting the hall to the shop’s front room. The other side of the door was a plain gray, and Dante overheard one of Rook’s employees remark the blue build-out was on the wrong side, something Rook laughingly agreed to.
None of it made sense to him, even after Rook tried to explain it, but short of watching what looked like an eternity of television episodes to catch up on the inside joke, Dante’d just nodded his head and murmured something he hoped sounded polite.
A politeness mirrored on his uncle’s face when Dante made sure the outside door was locked behind him.
“What’s the matter, tío?” Kissing Manny’s cheek, Dante spotted a tall cardboard box near the connecting door. “That something you need me to take up to Rook?”
It was better to come out and admit he knew Manny was worried. A few months ago, his uncle would hem and haw, then lead the conversation back around to what was bothering him. But that was before Manny began working for Rook. Now the soft-spoken and gentle man who he’d come to love and care for had a bit of steel in his spine, and from the firm quirk in his lips, Manny was ready to speak his mind about something, whether Dante was ready to hear it or not.
“There’s something wrong with your man, mijo.” Manny tsked. “He came in all worried and tight shoulders. Did you say something to him? Do something?”
“Not everything is because of something I said, Manny.” Despite his words, Dante quickly rifled through what he’d said to Rook over the phone, then decided to place the blame directly at Vicks’s feet. “Do me a favor. If a detective named Vicks comes around, call me. I’ll see if I can find you a picture of him, but I’m not sure if it’s something to involve the rest of the staff with. He came after Rook today. Had him followed, harassed him while he was at that store he goes to downtown. I don’t like it.”
“You don’t like it?” His uncle frowned. “I know I don’t like it. They let him go. No charges, right? Can he do that? This detective?”
“Something’s personal for him in this. Rook’s on the hook for a B and E, but they can get those dropped. Sadonna made a statement that she gave him permission to enter the house. He just broke in because, well, he’s an asshole who wanted to get a cheap thrill,” Dante grumbled. “Okay, maybe not cheap. He probably misses it. The breaking-in part. Probably seemed like a legal way he could do it and not be arrested.”
“Instead he finds his cousin’s dead body.” Manny crossed his arms over his chest, a thoughtful expression flitting across his face. “What about the man who was at the house when Rook went in?”
“Vicks says Harold had a lover, and she says its true, but so far, I don’t have proof. If he exists, then we might have another suspect, but right now, he’s just a theory. Harold wasn’t gay, or at least no one in the family thought he was.” Dante mirrored Manny’s grimace. “Yeah, it’s too many whispers but no real evidence, but I left a message for the housekeeper. She worked for Harold for a long time, before he married Sadonna, so I’m hoping I can get something from her. After her, I’ve got Harold’s mother on the line. Camden and I are clear for the next week, so we’ve got a few days to chase this down. If the lover theory is true, it could have been him in the room when Rook broke in. If not, then I have to find out who hated Harold Martin enough to kill him, because Vicks likes Rook as the killer with Sadonna pulling his strings.”
“Sounds like a soap opera. The wife’s probably guilty of something, but you don’t know what.” His uncle laughed softly. “And this Vicks doesn’t know your Rook at all if he thinks anyone’s going to pull that one’s strings. Get me a picture of this detective so I know who to look for. In the meantime, carry that upstairs to him for me. One of the auction houses delivered it today for Rook, but I was busy when he stuck his head in.”
Bending down, Dante picked up the long box, grunting slightly at its unexpected weight. “Mierda, this is heavier than it looks. What the hell is in it?”
“I don’t know, but he gets things sent all the time, so wipe that suspicious look off your face. It arrived before Rook came in, but he had us running around with all the merchandise he brought in, so I didn’t get it upstairs. We were busy. Funny how a broken window can drive up business. I’m letting my sign take the credit for that.”
“Probably. Or at least according to Rook.” Dante hefted the box up, tucking it against his side. “Don’t wait—”
“Please, I gave up on you coming home two weeks ago.” Manny patted Dante’s face, his cheeks plumped with a broad smile. “It’s nice living alone. I might get a boyfriend for some company. Or maybe a dog. Just be sure to stop by on Saturday to mow the lawn.”
“Kicking me out of my own house?” Dante teased, hitting the elevator button.
“Yes, but let’s face it, mijo,” Manny replied warmly. “We might share a house, but here, you share a home.”
THE LOFT’S heavy drapes were shut against the fading afternoon light. The Edison bulbs were lit, steeping the living space with a wash of sepia and gold. A soft vanilla scent teased Dante’s nose, and he left the box on the kitchen island, then followed his nose to the bed tucked behind the wall of shelves separating the long space.
A few steps later, he found Rook in a pair of cotton drawstrings and a T-shirt, sitting up in their bed with his knees up, leaning against the headboard, his hands curled around a cup of sweet-smelling tea.
His lover was lost in thought, his animated face stilled and nearly blank of emotion. It was odd seeing Rook so silent, so quiet. He seemed to always be moving. Even when sitting down, his hands gestured or his eyes caught on every movement, tracking the world around him with a scarily attuned focus. Odder still was Rook not noticing Dante’s entrance, because the man he’d fallen in love with vibrated in the presence of other people, hooked into even the slightest pulse when someone walked by.
Rook simply didn’t see him, and that worried Dante more than Vicks’s stalking, Sadonna’s lies, and anything else nipping at Rook’s heels.
“Hey, cuervo.” Dante toed off his shoes, then padded toward the bed. “You look like you’re chewing on something big in that head of yours.”
Rook sat still and silent, watching with solemn mismatched eyes, only blinking when Dante’s shadow from the lamplight fell over his torso. Dante took the cup from Rook’s hands, not liking the chill in his boyfriend’s fingers, and set the fragrant tea on the table next to the bed. The mattress dipped when Dante climbed onto it. He was about to say something to shake Rook from his silence; then his lover reach
ed for him, and Dante hooked his arms around Rook’s slender waist, pulling him in close.
It felt good lying on top of Rook, letting his body settle into the curve of Rook’s hip and the hardness of his belly. He shifted, sliding his legs over Rook’s thighs to rest his weight on his knees, and Dante echoed Rook’s sigh when he exhaled into the soft skin along Dante’s throat.
“God, I’m glad you’re home,” Rook whispered, tightening his hold on Dante. His hands stroked along Dante’s back, tracing the line of muscles still tender from his morning workout at JoJo’s gym.
His lips found a tender spot on Dante’s jaw, probably from the glancing blow he’d taken from Hank’s ex-partner when they sparred. The slight ache tingled, strangely stoking Dante’s arousal, and Dante embraced the spark of fire in his belly, letting it spread through him.
Rook Stevens was the one vice Dante could not live without. Even when he’d shoved Rook back into the shadows, condemning him as a con and liar, the sly-mouthed thief dug deep into Dante’s soul, infecting his blood with an intense want for the one man he should have walked away from as soon as he’d laid eyes on him.
Now—Dante hissed at the sharp pain of Rook’s teeth sinking into his skin—he couldn’t imagine living without the worst-best mistake he’d ever made in his life.
“I’m glad I’m home too.” He took another taste of Rook’s lips, liking the smoky heat of his mouth and the sweet hint of vanilla and chai on his tongue. Rook’s cock thickened, nudging Dante’s hip, and he shifted, giving his lover’s arousal room. He found Rook’s nipple, rolling his thumb over its peak through the thin fabric of his shirt. “You’ve got on too many clothes, querido.”
“Really? Querido?” Rook rolled his shoulders back, letting Dante slide from his body and onto the mattress. He made a move to sit up, then narrowed his eyes when Dante gently pushed him back. “What? Like I haven’t been pushed around enough today?”
“You like it when I push you around.” Dante tsked. “Let’s see if I can remind you about that.”
Undressing Rook was always a pleasure Dante drew out as long as he could. He loved watching his lover’s body emerge from behind its cocoon of fabric and delighted in the glimpses of vulnerability in Rook’s face as he was stripped. Laid bare and exposed on the bed, Rook’s long body was a feast for Dante’s lust, stoked to a high flame at the secrets Rook hid from the rest of the world.
Rook’s past lovers were fleeting, shadows and echoes of sex, barely stopping long enough to make sure Rook got off, and if Dante were honest, Rook probably didn’t care to remember a single one of them so long as he’d come. Relationships were chains, invisible threads binding Rook to someone he was sure would walk away as soon as the going got rough.
And for Rook, the going got rough pretty often.
His callused fingers caught on the smoothness of Rook’s belly, snagging on the fine hair around his navel. Rook’s breath hitched, his flat stomach twitching under Dante’s touch, then settled when Dante pressed down on his skin, slowly exploring a terrain he’d never tire of.
There were imperfections, tiny scars and brown dapples where Rook’d been burned pulling cotton candy or popping corn kernels while working a carnival booth. Rook hissed when Dante slid the tip of his tongue into Rook’s navel, and his hands clutched at Dante’s thick hair when he moved farther down to suckle at the tip of Rook’s cock.
“Fucking tease,” Rook growled, straining to lie still when Dante laved at the ridge of his shaft. “Jesus, Montoya, you’re killing me.”
“Nuh-uh.” Dante chuckled. “We’ve gone over this. When you’re flat on your back and I’m with you like this, you call me Dante. Or did you forget that too?”
There were times when he’d ached to cuff Rook to their bed and take his time with his hands and mouth, but the man was impatient, always racing to get to the next place in his life. It’d been hard to pull back on the reins, showing Rook pleasure in taking his time. They struggled with Rook’s fears and distancing, the micro-shoves away Rook did to give his heart some space so it could shatter in silence when it was broken… again.
Dante could spend an eternity holding Rook’s heart in his hands, stroking at its wounds and kissing away its bruises, but only if Rook was willing to give it to him. Slowing Rook’s pleasure forced him to trust, to lay himself open for Dante and let himself be stroked, coddled, and loved.
“Say my name, cuervo. Tell me you remember who can do this to you.” Dante eased his thumb against the slit in Rook’s cock, rubbing at the dampness along its velvet crest. “You can let go with me, Rook. If you forget everything else, please… for us… remember that.”
The mistrust was there in Rook’s gaze, a prickle of anxiety and flight ingrained from a lifetime of quick escapes and hard beatings. The scars on Rook’s skin were nothing compared to the ones on his soul. Everyone failed Rook. There’d been no one to catch him when he fell, and he’d climbed out of the quagmire he’d been born into by sheer will and cunning, and Dante was determined to be the one Rook would turn to when his life grew too heavy to carry.
“I don’t forget, Dante,” Rook whispered, cupping Dante’s cheek. “It’s just… hard, but no, I don’t forget.”
He felt the moment Rook gave up his need for control when his lover sighed and the tension eased from his long, muscled body. From there, their hunger for each other took over, stoked by the strain of the day and Rook’s need to be held, despite his unwillingness to admit it.
They eased into their lovemaking, Rook’s soft murmurs on Dante’s skin as gentle as his fingers around Dante’s shaft. There was laughter, husky and rough, mellowed by the flush of need flickering between them, an ember banked under the ashes of a long, difficult day brought to life by the slide of their bodies.
Dante loved the feel of Rook in his hand, the soft crinkle of sparse chestnut strands at the base of his cock, and when the heat of his fingers warmed the powdery scent of Rook’s inner thighs and sac, he adored breathing him in, amused at Rook’s odd shyness at being explored. His own skin bore the marks of his lover’s curiosity, his throat marbled with nips and his chest wet from tentative tastings.
“Lift your knees, baby,” Dante urged, falling madly insane at the play of golden light on Rook’s outstretched torso. He bent over, suckling at the tip of the black crow feather inked over Rook’s hip bone, then clicked open the lube bottle Rook’d tossed at him. Dante used the tip of his fingers to pull Rook’s chin over, guiding Rook’s attention up toward him. “Look at me. I want to watch you when you feel this.”
His fingers were hot with slick when he pressed two of them into Rook, easing them in halfway until Rook’s eyes went dark, their contrasting hues bleeding to nearly black when he lowered his lashes and hissed. Dante kneaded at the spot, working himself into Rook’s tightness, and when he thought Rook couldn’t stand any more, he bent over to taste the moisture dewing Rook’s cock.
Men with greater words described their lovers’ spend with images of stars or ocean-kissed wine, but Dante liked the unbridled, unapologetic reality of Rook’s salty-bitterness, a uniquely masculine burst of molten need cupped into the curve of his tongue. His lover didn’t taste of the evening sky or a burst of the sea. Rook left the sting of a man’s body in Dante’s mouth, a mellowed sweat and musk he savored in the back of his throat and ached to delve into time and time again.
Something flashed in his mind, and Dante laughed, nearly breaking the mood between them. Rook’s slight frown was something to be kissed away, and he’d nearly succeeded, but his lover pushed at him, aroused but curious.
“What is it?” his magpie poked.
“I was thinking you tasted a bit like the salt on a margarita glass, that little bit of bitter before the punch of tequila and sweet hit.” Dante teased around Rook’s rim, drawing his fingers out slightly as he slicked his shaft with lube. Rook’s frown deepened, and his fingers found one of Dante’s nipples, running a sharp thumbnail under its nub. “Hey, ouch. You wanted to know.”
“Tequila. Bad things happen with tequila,” Rook grumbled.
“I kind of like bad things,” he said, nestling between his lover’s raised knees. Bending forward, Dante guided the tip of his cock to rest against Rook’s body, holding himself there as he kissed Rook long enough to leave him gasping. “Probably why I’m in love with you.”
He captured Rook’s mouth in a punishing kiss and slid achingly slow into his heat, gasping when Rook clenched instinctively down on his cockhead. Dante rocked his hips, stroking at Rook’s belly. Their limbs were tangled, Rook’s fingers digging into Dante’s thighs, then his back and ass, pulling them in tight.
Dante let his weight settle over Rook’s torso, bracing himself with his knees between Rook’s legs and his hands flat on the bed. Hunched over Rook’s chest, Dante grazed his mouth over his lover’s parted lips, breathing in Rook’s panting tea-scented huffs. A moment later, a single long push and Dante was seated into the damp heat he’d been needing since the moment he came home.
“Fuck, you’re…,” Rook rasped, hooking his arms around Dante’s neck, letting himself be lifted up off the mattress and edged onto the pillows near the headboard. They were damp with the first sheen of sweat, a glisten nearly lost in the creeping darkness falling over the loft as the day rolled over the horizon. Another jut of Dante’s hips and Rook grunted, furrowing his brow. “Dante….”
“Hold on to me, cuervo.” He was firm, supporting Rook’s back and shoulders with a shift of his hands. Dante curved his lover against him, and Rook’s legs lifted, hooking over Dante’s hips. “Just hold on.”
It took them a few second to find their rhythm, a bit of slap of wet skin and a sharp pull of breath between Rook’s clenched teeth. Then Dante found the angle he needed to make Rook moan. If poets dripped honey about the touch of a man’s seed on their tongue, they’d have wept until they turned to stone if ever Dante could describe how he felt with Rook wrapped around him.