by Layla Reyne
Trevor too, judging by the moan and the thud against the wall that could only be his head. Charlie’s affectionate, sexy chuckle confirmed as much and was enough to break through Sean’s lusty haze. Her nails scratching under his chin drew his gaze all the way up. The sight—Charlie’s naked body flushed and arched against Trevor’s, his erect dick in her grip against her hip, his hand clasping her breast—was second only to her sexy, in-charge smile.
“Get on the bed, Sean,” she ordered softly. “I want you inside me, and Trevor needs to get his cock inside you.” A cock that eagerly thrust into her fist, the darkening head glistening with precome.
Sean dropped a hand to his balls and clasped them tight, praying he didn’t come from the sight and words alone. A picture, a fantasy that had haunted his memories and dreams, unexpectedly reality again.
“Now,” Trevor rumbled from over Charlie’s shoulder, the earlier anger in his hazel eyes replaced with fierce hunger. He thrust again. “Please. If you want this too.”
Sean did, no question. He staggered to the bed and lay on his back, bared to them, his cock straining and leaking, his gaze and words pleading. Trevor knelt beside him on the bed and silenced him with a kiss, tongue invading his mouth as if he could lick up every drop of Charlie that Sean had devoured. Every drop of Sean too. And mixing a heady cocktail of Charlie and Trevor that Sean was getting all of.
Charlie’s weight settled on his thighs, and she rolled a condom down his length, making him hiss into Trevor’s mouth, which curved against his. Trevor drew back and dragged a thumb over Sean’s smile. Sean nipped his fingertip, flicked it with his tongue, and Trevor growled. He shoved his thumb all the way into Sean’s mouth, and Sean sucked hard. Trevor fell forward, hand braced on the mattress beside Sean’s head. “Do you want me to put a condom on? My last test was negative.”
Sean released Trevor’s thumb with a pop and shook his head. “I want to taste all of you on my tongue.”
Another growl, and then Trevor straightened, shifting on his knees, spreading his legs more, and bringing his cock right where Sean wanted it. Lower, Charlie took Sean’s aching shaft in her hand, positioned him at her entrance, and sank down onto him. He pushed into her warm, wet heat, savoring every inch until he was buried to the hilt inside her. He bent his knees, bumping her forward, and her lithe body spread atop him, her hands splaying over his chest.
All while Trevor filled his mouth and his senses, the sharp taste of his precome, the musky smell of his groin, the tickle of hair on Sean’s nose and on Sean’s fingertips as he skated a hand around Trevor’s thigh to his ass, fingers teasing his crack and speeding Trevor’s thrusts. Sean traced his other hand up Charlie’s side, into her hair, holding her close as their hips rocked, as her breaths quickened and the heat and wetness around his cock intensified.
Surrounded by them, this was contentment. This was home.
And in that instant, Sean realized he’d never have it again.
The agonizing revelation that he was doomed to spend the rest of his life as a nomad, banished from the only place, the only two people he’d ever loved, drove him to tears.
“Sean?” Charlie whispered, her voice trembling with worry as Trevor murmured a quiet “Baby.” He wove his fingers into Sean’s hair and eased him off his cock.
The soft words and familiar endearment made Sean’s chest ache more. He hid his face in Trevor’s thigh and mumbled, “Need a minute.”
Charlie stilled atop him but for her hands, which soothingly coasted over his chest, whisper-soft against his skin. Trevor’s fingers played a gentle melody in his hair, tapping lightly, threading through the longer top strands. Breathing deep, Sean focused on their scents—musk and salty sea breeze; on the sounds—the waves outside, their breaths, their kisses as they drifted back together above him; on the sight of that kiss—full of love and longing as he peeked out from his hiding place.
When he finally had his despair locked down, Sean nudged Trevor forward with the hand still on his ass. He slid his tongue along the underside of Trevor’s cock and took the thick length back into his mouth. Trevor hummed his approval, Charlie hers, and Sean rocked his hips once more. Rhythm steady, he closed his eyes and listened as pleasure took hold of them again.
Slow and steady quickly escalated to wild and abandoned, the years of separation and longing getting the better of them. As teeth and lips clashed above him, Sean greedily sucked Trevor’s cock while his own pounded inside Charlie. Her nails dug into his chest as she tripped over the edge with a shout, as Trevor’s release filled Sean’s mouth, and as his own climax filled the condom inside Charlie. Sean wished like hell her nails on his chest and Trevor’s bruises on his hips would last, would permanently, impossibly, scar so he’d have physical memorials of this night. An entirely different kind than the ones on the banister outside but marking the date nonetheless.
The last time they’d come together. The first and last time they’d properly said goodbye.
Hours later, when dawn was beginning to break outside, Sean silently slipped out of the bed where he, Trevor, and Charlie had said goodbye two more times during the night. One time leisurely and tender, the other, their last, as desperate as the first. Walking through the house, Sean gathered his things and dressed, soaking up the quiet peace of home, storing it in his heart and mind.
He was sitting on the edge of the living room couch, rolling on his socks, when Charlie appeared in the bedroom doorway across from him, Trevor’s T-shirt hanging off one shoulder and skirting her thighs.
“What time’s your flight?” she asked.
“Two hours.” He slipped his feet into his dress shoes. “Out of Wilmington.” It would take him forty-five minutes to get there, leaving just enough time to check in, board, then have the inevitable breakdown with an in-flight beverage in hand and his face aimed out the window. No witnesses but the clouds and the morning sun.
“So, this is it?” Charlie said.
“Yeah, this is it.” He swallowed hard, stood, and crossed the room to her. Looping an arm around her waist, he rested a hand at the small of her back and with the other, wove a dark tendril of hair through his fingers.
Charlie fiddled with his unbuttoned collar as tears pooled in her eyes. She gave a watery chuckle. “I failed at not feeling.”
His own sad laugh was equally damp. “I should have picked a stronger scotch.”
She leaned forward and kissed his knuckles. “I’m devastated that more of my family is gone. I’m angry as hell at the way they were taken and at myself for playing a role in that.”
“Charlie—”
She talked right over him. “And somewhere below all that grief and anger, I’m still pissed at how you left and that you came back. And I’m pissed that Trevor and I have to move on from all this, from our home, if we have any chance of being happy. But despite all that hurt and anger, despite the fact I know I’m supposed to say goodbye and let you go, the only thing I can think to do is tell you we still love you and beg you to stay. That’s the only way I can think to make some of this pain and anger go away.”
But it wouldn’t truly go away, and the pain and anger would only be worse if Charlie ever learned the truth of why he left and stayed away in the first place. He couldn’t cause her more pain, couldn’t cause more damage. He’d made a promise.
Brushing aside her hair and curling his hand around her neck, Sean pressed his lips to her forehead. He breathed deep, a final inhale of all that was home, a final melody as Trevor snored in the background. When he was sure every aspect of home was committed to memory, he drew back and held Charlie’s tear-streaked face in his hands. “I love you, Charlotte. I love Trevor too. Always have and always will,” he vowed. “But I have to go.”
“Are you going to keep tabs on us?” she asked, repeating her question from the previous night.
“No.” After the night they’d just shared, after learning they’d be in DC too, there’d be no way Sean could resist seeking them out if he knew
exactly where they were. And that would be the opposite of moving on. So no, he wouldn’t be checking up on them any longer. He wouldn’t be looking back. “I’m going to let you live your lives, Charlie. Let you and Trevor be happy.”
“But what about you?” She rose on her toes, her lips soft against his jaw. “Is that enough, Sean?”
“Knowing you’re both happy is all I need.” He nuzzled her cheek and inhaled one last breath of cocoa butter and salt. Listened once more for the sleepy rumble from the other room. “Take care of him.”
“Always.”
That would have to be enough.
Chapter Two
Jefferson Marshall was a legend.
A legend for his oft-cited treatises. For the gilded awards lining his office walls. For the well-placed students who had crossed the threshold of his lecture hall. Marshall’s scholarship and his progeny were an institution of their own.
Standing slouched and unconscious, a gag in his mouth and a thick rope noose around his neck, the man known as the Kingmaker seemed anything but legendary.
He awoke slowly, attempting to open his eyes, but his eyelids dragged, and his legs ached as if he’d conducted a day full of lectures. And there was some sort of pressure around his neck, scratching his skin like the rough wool of a cheap overcoat.
Inhaling, the strong stench of hay and manure assaulted his senses, causing him to gag against the cotton between his teeth and depressing his tongue.
The dense fog clouding his mind dissipated instantly.
In the dim light emanating from below, Marshall’s well-trained mind quickly surmised he was in a barn on a raised wooden platform above horse stables. He attempted to look at his feet and met resistance. His eyes flared with panic, and he lifted his hands. He clutched at the thick, braided rope around his throat with tingling fingers. The more he tugged, the tighter it became.
Shifting to the gag that strangled his cries for help, he fumbled for its knot behind his head, stilling when his fingers brushed the hang knot at the base of his neck. He turned his gaze skyward, following the rope to where it disappeared into the rafters above—the symbol of his imminent mortality.
Mortality that grew closer when a terrifying sound echoed out of the darkness, chilling him to the bone.
The first cackle was muted, far away, but then it became louder, more hysterical.
Panic made his palms wet and caused his fingers to slip on the knot.
If he could just get rid of the gag…
Working with renewed resolve, his focus was rewarded when the gag slipped from his mouth and fluttered silently into the abyss below.
Relief coursed through him as he took his first unencumbered breath, oxygen filling his lungs with air and his heart with hope.
Now for the knot at the base of his neck…
Abruptly, the manic laughter stopped, replaced by a far more dreadful sound.
The swoosh of the trap doors opening beneath him was the last thing the legendary Jefferson Kingmaker Marshall heard before swinging to his death.
Chapter Three
The sun had barely been up an hour when Charlie parked in front of the HU Equestrian Center. The middle barn of the large complex was swarming with police officers and crime scene techs. Thankfully, the only van in the lot so far was the medical examiner’s. No press on the scene yet, thank fuck. But in a town Hanover’s size, it was only a matter of time, and once the reporters caught wind, city hall would too, and Charlie’s day would be shot to hell.
She and her team needed to work fast. She stretched to the glove box, grabbed her weapon and badge, clipped them to her belt, and shoved open the car door with a booted foot.
“Deputy Henby,” Officer Sylvan greeted as she entered through the open barn door.
“Morning, Wally.” Wallace had been her brother’s partner and was a friend of the family. Shortly after the funeral, he’d come to her and asked not to be immediately repartnered. He’d needed some recovery time, and HPD had needed a new local affairs liaison, which included dealing with HU and campus security. “Keep it locked down out here for us?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a nod. “Let me know if you need anything.”
She joined Detective Diego Perez where he stood next to one of the barn stalls. “What’ve we got?” Dispatch had given her the basics, but she wanted to hear it from the officers on the scene.
“Professor Jefferson Marshall. Distinguished member of the faculty at HU.”
Hanging by a noose from the barn rafters, his face so swollen it was hardly recognizable, Professor Marshall looked far from distinguished.
“He was found like that by one of the stable hands,” Diego said as the crime scene techs loosened the noose and lowered Marshall into a body bag. “Last person here yesterday closed up around nine. Time of death looks to be between then and five this morning.”
“We’ll let your wife be the judge of that.” Diego was married to the county ME, who was also one of Charlie’s best friends.
“Maggie’s dropping the hellions off at my mom’s. She’ll meet us at the morgue.”
“I won’t tell her you called your kids that,” Charlie said as she snapped on a pair of gloves.
“Me?” Diego splayed a hand over his chest. “Those are her words. Direct quote.”
Charlie didn’t doubt it, that Maggie would say such a thing or that she and Diego, two fiery individuals, would have equally fiery children. They came by it honestly.
“Got something,” said the tech peering into Marshall’s mouth. Using a pair of forceps, he extricated a rolled strip of paper and held it up for Charlie.
She took the tiny piece of paper and carefully unfurled the scroll, revealing the strangest suicide note—handwritten in red, block letters—she’d ever read:
#1 – A PLAGUE UPON YOU, MURDERERS, TRAITORS ALL!
One word caught her attention, making her heart pound and transforming the scene from merely disturbing to potentially dangerous.
“Move away from the body,” she ordered and took several steps back herself. She raised her voice so everyone working the scene could hear. “We’ve got a quarantine situation. Shut the doors and call the biohazard team.”
A stunned moment of silence and a shouted “Now” later, Wallace kicked into action and swung the barn doors closed, plunging them into darkness.
By late afternoon, the only piece of good news Charlie had received all day was the all-clear earlier that morning from the biohazard team. No toxins or pathogens were found at the scene, but neither were any more clues. The body, the barn, and the surrounding areas were all clean.
She’d left the Equestrian Center at noon, then spent the next two hours working the phones with Wallace to deal with city hall, HU, and the local press, who’d finally gotten wind of Professor Marshall’s death. After escaping that hell, Charlie had made another pass at the crime scene, recentering herself in the process of picking apart the stable. Aside from evidence that the bale lift had been used to lever the professor to the upper level, something anyone would need to use to haul him up there, she’d found nothing more on her second look around.
She hoped Maggie would be more successful. Cause of death—hanging—appeared obvious, but underlying toxicity, pinpricks, or the like would be critical in ruling the death a suicide or murder. There was the note, but the professor’s son, an FBI cyber agent who worked out of The Hague, insisted to Charlie on a call midday that it would be very unlike his father to commit suicide. Granted, father and son were estranged—perhaps Agent Marshall didn’t know Professor Marshall that well anymore—but everything Charlie personally knew about Jefferson Marshall, everything she’d also heard from others she or her officers had talked to that day, confirmed as much. Still, until evidence to the contrary came to light, suicide remained on the table along with murder.
She was back at her desk, combing through interviews and reports, when a commotion at the front of the station distracted her. Through her office window, s
he spotted Trevor towering above the crowd, and then a moment later, Annie appeared, her face as dusty as her and Trevor’s purple-and-white uniforms.
“Ten and oh!” she shouted to the cheers of some and the groans of others.
Hanover had an active municipal softball league, the teams fielded from the HU staff and various governmental departments. The HU team had two ringers—Trevor, a CWS champion, and Annie, a former softball pitcher for UNC. They were going to be hell on HPD when they faced off in the league playoffs next month.
Charlie met Annie just outside her office. “I expected nothing less with you on the mound and Trevor catching.” She looped an arm around her sister’s shoulders, ignoring the dirt and sweat and hugging Annie to her side. She was proud of them both, but more than that, she was so relieved her sister was smiling and talking to her again. It had been a rough six weeks since their brother’s and father’s deaths, a rough month since their funeral, but they seemed to be coming out the other side of it, and Annie seemed to be on the way to forgiving her, even if Charlie would never forgive herself. “I’m sorry I missed it.”
“Jaylen’s wishing he’d missed it too.” Annie snickered at the officer who joined them, an umpire’s mask dangling from his fingertips. Sweat dappled his short, cropped hair and an indented strip from the mask’s band darkened his forehead above his brown eyes. The teams rotated officiating duties, a few players from a third team providing the line judges and umps for the two teams playing. Jaylen had filled in at the last second for Wallace, who’d remained trapped in the barn with Charlie.