by Layla Reyne
What was he doing? “Sean!”
He lifted a hand, and Trevor bit his tongue. “Which is why,” Sean continued, “at another time when you’re not just out of surgery and Trevor and I have slept more than a restless night on a horribly uncomfortable sofa, we’ll discuss how this works legally, what documentation we all need, how to make sure we’re all taken care of and all supported. But right here”—he tapped his knuckles against his chest—“I’m with the fucking romantic on this one. Are you with us too, Charlie?”
She bit her bottom lip and tears collected in the corners of her eyes, one escaping, and for a moment, Trevor feared he was about to lose it all, but then the corners of her mouth tipped up and she nodded. “I’m with the fucking romantic too.”
There was no stopping the grin that stretched across Trevor’s face. He reached into his pocket and withdrew the tiny satchel he’d asked Abel and Rachel to swing by his house and raid the sock drawer for. “Good thing I brought these, then.” He opened the satchel and tipped out the rings Sean had proposed to him and Charlie with a decade ago.
Sean’s smile was blinding as he reached across the bed, one hand grasping Charlie’s, the other Trevor’s. “Last time I’m gonna ask because this time it’s forever. Trevor Caldwell and Charlotte Henby, will you marry me?”
Trevor caught Charlie’s dark eyes, full of glittering hope and happiness. “Yes,” they answered the man they loved, together always.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Six months later…
“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” Charlie clapped her hands as she stood in the doorway of their bedroom at the beach house. It was technically their second home now—their condo in DC their primary legal residence—but this house would always be home. And Charlie would be spending every spare weekend and holiday she could get off work here once her niece was born next month.
And the two naked men tangled in the bed together would be with her. Always.
Trevor rolled onto his back and threw an arm over his face, groaning dramatically. “Why is she screaming at us at seven in the morning?”
“That whole leader of the pack thing went to her head.” Sean rolled with him, draped across his side and chest. “Think we could sneak out? Head back to DC?”
“We should’ve kept the apartment,” Trevor said, referring to the apartment she and Trevor had rented for all of two months before moving into Sean’s penthouse condo in the Paxton Building. “Used it as a hideaway.”
“She’s FBI. She would’ve found us.”
“And if I couldn’t, Marsh would.” She stepped to the end of the bed, hands on her hips under the hem of Trevor’s T-shirt she’d grabbed on the way to the kitchen to start the coffee. “My little sister is getting married tonight.” She pointed to the beach outside the window. “Right out there. We’re hosting. There’s a mile long list of things to do, which involves you two cooking and me going to the airport to pick up Marie and Marsh. And Rachel will be here in an hour to coordinate the rest of the deliveries. And there’s something else we have to do before all of that.”
“Sex?” Sean offered as he cupped Trevor’s balls.
She clapped louder. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”
Trevor laughed out loud even has he arched his back. “You second-guessing that whole married and moved-in-together thing?”
Sean shrugged and smirked over his shoulder at her. “Little late now.”
Charlie blew him a kiss, amused as always by their antics. Sean kept them from ever being too serious, and they needed that, more than ever now. Her job was far from easy, but it was good work. Trevor was dealing with departmental politics as usual, but he loved his students and loved DC. And Sean was working long hours as the head of Paxton. But each night they found their way home to each other, laughing and loving.
Using the distraction, Trevor tumbled Sean onto his back, pinned his hands to the mattress, and demanded a kiss. As Charlie watched them grapple, heat licked at the heels of humor, the match already lit by Sean’s earlier fondling.
“Oh, is that how it is?” Trevor rumbled.
If he kept rolling his hips and talking in that sexy voice, they were definitely not getting out of bed. “Trevor Caldwell Henby!” she snapped. “Get your ass out of the bed.”
“Hey!” He jerked half-around, now the one looking over his shoulder. “Why am I the bad guy? He’s the one with his hand around our dicks.” He pointed down, and Charlie was sure it wasn’t a lie. “Come see.”
“Is that so Henby-Paxton? Is it your fault our husband won’t get out of bed on the day of his sister-in-law’s wedding?”
Sean shifted his torso enough to grin at her from under Trevor. “We’re trying to get you back into bed too, Agent Henby.”
When Trevor’s sexy smile joined the battle, she surrendered, rolling her eyes as she stripped off the shirt. “Fine, I’m just going to have to come up there and fuck both of you.”
Sean snickered. “That’s the kind of leader we want.”
She kicked off her underwear, opened the drawer at the end of the bed, and retrieved her favorite toy and lube. She tossed them onto the bed, climbed on, and knee-walked herself up the mattress. Knees on either side of Sean’s thighs, she notched herself against Trevor’s back.
Trevor relaxed against her with a sigh. “Morning, honey.”
“Morning, babe.” She stole a quick kiss, then peered over his shoulder, and sure enough, their husband had his hand around both his and Trevor’s dicks. She winked at Sean. “Good morning to you too.”
He winked back. “We’re getting there.”
Chuckling, she opened the bottle of lube and squirted a generous amount into Sean’s open hand. He fisted Trevor again and both her men groaned as their cocks slid more easily together, rocking hard enough to move her too. Heat and wetness arrowed south, pooling hot and heavy between her legs. “Getting there faster now,” she teased.
Trevor licked and kissed the underside of her jaw, thrusting harder. “Fuck, baby, you both feel so good.”
She tossed the bottle aside, then reached an arm around Trevor’s chest, holding him to her, teasing the nipple she could reach. She lowered her other hand between her legs, two fingers skirting either side of her clit, teasing herself, before diving deep into her own heat, opening herself up. She nipped at Trevor’s ear. “For your sass this morning, I’m getting your ass.”
Sean growled beneath them. “And I get his dick.”
“You good with that?” Charlie asked Trevor, and given his frantic blissed-out nod, the sooner the better. Charlie withdrew her wet fingers and glided them down the cleft of his ass cheeks, reaching his puckered hole and circling the rim. He thrust into Sean’s fist with each swipe of Charlie’s fingers, each knuckle that breached his hole deeper.
“Christ,” Sean cursed. “I’m the luckiest man alive.” Charlie’s eyes shot to his over Trevor’s shoulder. “I love you both so much.” She held his gaze, not a trace of sadness or melancholy in his bright blue eyes. No tears. Instead, they were brimming over with desire and love, a decade’s worth burning hot as an inferno. “Always have, always will.”
Keeping their gazes locked, she circled her tongue behind Trevor’s ear, relishing the goose bumps that prickled his skin. “Let’s show our husband how much we love him too.” She drew him up and back, both of them on their knees, so Sean could bend back his legs and ready himself. He swiped the bottle of lube, squirted more on his fingers, and began to stretch himself for Trevor, bared for them to see as he worked one, then two, then three fingers into his ass. “This is what we get for making her the boss lady.”
“Fuck,” Trevor cursed as he rocked against Charlie and her fingers that were inside him again.
He wanted inside Sean, and she wanted him there too, but not quite yet. She slid free her fingers and pressed herself flush against his back. “A boss lady—a wife—who loves you and can’t get enough of our kisses.” She grasped Trevor’s chin and angled him aro
und so she could claim his mouth in a deep, plundering kiss. “Of your bodies and our bed.” She reached around his side and fisted his dick. “Of your hearts and our love.” She held up his hair and pressed a gentle kiss to his nape, right over the leather strip of his necklace.
“Fuck, baby, I need to come,” he keened.
Sean removed his fingers and yanked both legs back by the knees. “Then get inside me.”
This time, when Trevor lurched forward, Charlie let him go. Watched in eager anticipation as he planted his hands in the mattress on either side of Sean’s head and thrust his dick to the hilt inside him. Their combined grunts were almost enough to make her come. She was close too.
She grabbed the toy, soaked both ends with lube, then inserted the thicker bulb end inside her, flipping on the vibrations that would tease her inside and out. She wanted her hands free to roam. Free to grasp one of Trevor’s hips and one of Sean’s legs to better position them. To spread Trevor’s ass cheeks and thrust the longer end of the double dildo inside her husband. To hold on tight and close as she pegged Trevor and Trevor fucked Sean.
“Holy fuck,” Trevor cursed and wobbled over Sean. “This never gets old.”
She smirked against his spine as she drew back then drove in in time with the pulsing vibrations. “I promised it wouldn’t.”
Sean’s hands glided up Trevor’s torso to meet hers where they came around and splayed across Trevor’s chest. “Nothing about loving the two of you will ever get old.” Charlie pushed Trevor forward for the kiss she knew Sean wanted and so she could plant a foot in the mattress and work Trevor harder with the dildo, knowing that’s what he wanted.
Letting her men set the pace, she closed her eyes and rode the roll of their hips, savoring their frantic movements and their escalating grunts and smacking kisses. Savoring the heat that built inside her and the vibrations from below and inside.
At Sean’s shouted, “I’m coming,” she opened her eyes and watched from over Trevor’s shoulder as Sean came apart beautifully, his back arching, his hands fisted in the sheets, his come streaking his chest, and the charms of his necklace in the hollow of his throat bobbing as he shouted their names. Trevor followed him over, buried inside Sean’s ass and groaning so deep Charlie felt it against her chest. Her nipples ached from the tremors, and with the vibrating dildo between her legs, it was all too much, a pleasure circuit that flipped and had her inner muscles clamped down on the toy as she planted inside Trevor and came apart while holding on to the two men she loved.
When she came back to earth, her breaths calming in time with Trevor’s and Sean’s, she removed the dildo then carefully eased it out of Trevor, chuckling at his mumbled protest. She tossed the toy aside and collapsed into a sweaty pile with her husbands. “I rule,” she huffed victoriously.
Sean, after a quick clean-up swipe for himself and Trevor with the discarded bedsheet, rolled half across Trevor to claim a kiss from her. “No one’s disputing that.” He pecked the interlocking hearts necklace at her throat, a wedding gift from him and Trevor, then claimed a kiss from Trevor too on his way back to the mattress. As Trevor caught Sean’s hand and held it against his chest, Charlie snuggled close and enjoyed the quiet moment, the waves outside, the sea breeze, and the simple pleasures of a place that would always be home to them.
Trevor dropped a kiss on the crown of her head. “What was it you were trying to get us out of bed for?”
“Well, there’s that matter of the wedding.” They all laughed, easy, free, full of love. A date to remember. She laid her hand atop her husbands’, their wedding bands catching the morning light. “And there are some dates we need to mark.”
Memories to be etched into the railing of their home—and hearts—forever.
Thank you for reading!
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Want more mystery and suspense in your LGBTQ+ romance? Turn the page for all the details on Prince of Killers, book one of the LGBTQ+ romantic suspense series, Fog City!
Book One of the Fog City Series
Read Now
No indiscriminate killing.
There are rules that make being Fog City’s Prince of Killers bearable.
The rules Hawes Madigan lives by.
Soon, he’ll be king—of an organization of assassins—and the crown has never felt heavier. Until the mysterious Dante Perry swaggers into his life.
No collateral damage.
Dante looks like a rock god and carries himself like one too.
But there’s more than meets the eye beneath those loose limbs and casual confidence.
He also carries a concealed weapon, a private investigator’s license, and a message for the prince—someone inside Hawes’s organization is out to kill the future king.
No unvetted targets.
In the chaos that follows the timely warning, Hawes comes to depend on Dante.
On his skills as an investigator, on the steadiness he offers, and on their moments alone when Hawes lets Dante take control.
As alliances are tested and traitors exposed, Hawes needs Dante at his back... and in his bed. But if the PI ever learns Hawes’s darkest secret, it’s not heartbreak he’ll have to worry about—but a bullet to the brain instead.
There’s no shortage of twists and turns in this LGBTQ+ romantic suspense series from Layla Reyne. Fair warning: buckle up, cliffhangers ahead!
An Excerpt from Prince of Killers
Hawes clocked him the second he walked through the restaurant door. At first glance, and he was getting plenty of those, the striking man with long dark hair and leather bracelets could easily be mistaken for a rock star. Not uncommon for Restaurant Gary Danko, the local watering hole of San Francisco’s elite. In the fog-shrouded hills of Fisherman’s Wharf, the Michelin-starred restaurant with its elegant yet laid-back vibe attracted athletes, entertainers, tech kings, and financial wizards, as well as the city’s political players and old-money families. Mr. Double Denim Rock God, with his long legs, windswept hair, and studded leather belt fit right in.
He carried himself like a rock star too, all loose-limbed and casually confident. All that was missing was the instrument, but a guitar slung over his back would be awfully inconvenient if Mr. Not A Rock God had to draw his real instrument of choice—the pistol tucked at the small of his back. Underneath a black tank and denim jacket, its impression was hardly noticeable, unless you were looking.
Hawes was always looking.
As was the chief of police sitting at the corner of the bar closest to the door. Braxton Kane moved quickly and discreetly, rotating on his stool and placing a hand on the stranger’s right forearm, playing the odds that the man was right-handed. His bet was correct. The man instinctively jerked back with his dominant hand, but then he settled just as fast, his casual air returning in a blink. He exchanged a few words with Kane and withdrew a small leather case from his jacket pocket. He pulled out what looked like a business card—from Hawes’s distance across the dining room—and handed it to Kane. The chief glanced at the card, and the wiry muscles of his army-honed body relaxed. He nodded toward Hawes’s table, apparently giving the stranger the go-ahead.
Cop.
Hawes dismissed the thought as quickly as it had come. That gorgeous hair was the antithesis of regulation, his carriage was all wrong, and Kane hadn’t recognized him. Neither had Hawes, and he made it a habit to regularly review the rosters of the local law enforcement agencies, SFPD and FBI included. The last thing he wanted to do was kill a LEO and upset the balance he’d spent the past five years rebuilding.
Merc was Hawes’s next best guess, the same conclusion
reached by the man and woman on either side of him, judging by the flash of metal barrels under the table.
“Safeties on,” Hawes ordered, voice low. There was a crowded dining room full of innocents between the door and their corner booth. And Kane wouldn’t have sent Canadian Tuxedo in his direction if he’d thought a shoot-out would ensue.
The man’s long limbs remained loose as he approached; his core, however, did not, the gun against his spine a steadying rod. Or were his abs just that tight? Hawes could see their defined ridges through the fitted tank as the stranger drew near. He stopped on the other side of the table and braced his hands on top of the lone chair there. The lighter ends of his hair draped over his shoulders, and Hawes wanted to run his fingers through the strands. Wanted to curl them around his fist and see if all the shades of brown in his hair matched the many shades of rain-soaked earth in his eyes.
Hawes wanted a lot of things he didn’t often get.
A name and explanation, though, he demanded. “Who are you?” No sense mincing words or introducing himself. The man obviously knew who Hawes was and had come here looking for him.
“Dante Perry.” No Canadian accent to go with the double denim. Fucking shame. Though the rest of it made sense. Dark hair and eyes, long face, olive skin, and a pronounced Roman nose. Italian descent to go with the Italian name, and judging by his lack of accent, local. Or if he’d had an accent at one time, he’d since lost it or otherwise trained it out.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Perry?”
Dante pulled out the chair but paused before sitting, his keen eyes darting between the table and Hawes’s companions, as if he could see what their hands held beneath the white linen and lacquered wood. He shifted his gaze back to Hawes. “I don’t plan to draw mine.”