Seeking Sanctuary (Hometown Heroes Book 2)

by J. P. Oliver

  Lightly, without any malice or intent to hurt, he slapped my ass and I gasped, flushing a little. Usually when guys got physical like that, I’d tell them to fuck right off, but those guys weren’t like Victor. They were always seeking some kind of power trip, but with him… he was different. The intent, the feel of his hand—just everything. It was hardly a slap at all, but still I felt it prick my skin, urging me on.

  I began to bounce on him in earnest, the slide easy, my body made to yield to his.

  “You’re perfect,” he groaned.

  “Victor—fuck, I just—”

  “I know.”

  I felt him grip my cock, lips parting in an appreciative moan—only to feel myself stunted again. He wasn’t jacking me off, he was gripping the base, fingers a cockring. Making me last. I looked down at him, tears beading in my eyes as the oversensitivity clawed at my back, fire licking up my spine, searching for escape.

  My body was trembling. My muscles were aching, but as he looked up at me, Victor only grinned as if I’d said something perfectly sweet and murmured, “Together.”

  I understood, even if it drove me crazy.

  Dutifully, I rode his cock like my life depended on it.

  It was too much, more than my body was used to taking. His hips nudged me up, the swollen, slick tip dragging against my prostate until the tears were streaming down my cheeks despite all my efforts to hold them back. Embarrassment mixed with the intense pleasure of having him inside, unrelenting; his thumb brushed through the wet beneath my eye.

  He was close. The signs were all there: his breath was coming faster, and on each exhale was a rough little sound. His body was losing its rhythm. He was arching into me, every thrust purposeful and deep, so fucking deep.

  “Please,” I gasped, gripping the headboard with white knuckles. “Please, babe, I just—”

  “God.” His fist loosened, pumping instead of barring back. “You have no idea what you do to me, Adrian…”

  His name fell desperately from my mouth. One stroke, two, overboard, I was coming hard into his hand, not caring where it streaked, how illicit it was to look down and see the ropes of white streaked across Victor’s chest, his collarbone—his face, as it scrunched up in those final moments of ecstasy, until he was tipping, following after me blindly.

  My hands fell from the headboard, bracing on his damp shoulder.

  Goosebumps trailed up my back, erupting over my arms as the last intense tendrils of pleasure wove through me. Somewhere in the haze of finishing—that spot that feels like hovering between reality and a dream—Victor pulled out and helped lower me from my precious, quivering state. Uselessly, I collapsed onto the bed, and, in the periphery as I came back to Earth, I watched him slip from the bed into the bathroom.

  His padding feet. The sound of the sink briefly running. Victor returned with a damp, warm washcloth, which he used to wipe down his chest and cheek.

  “Fuck,” I chuckled as I watched him lick the smear of white from the corner of his mouth. “My bad.”

  Victor raised a brow and tossed the cloth to me to wipe my entrance of any excess lube. I did so lazily, shivering at even that touch to the still-sensitive nerves.

  “Do I look like I’m complaining?” he asked, hand extended, “Here, I’ll take—”

  I dropped the cloth to the floor, not-so-accidentally. “Whoops.”

  “Adrian—”

  “Leave it,” I murmured, tiredly gesturing to him. “Come lie with me.”

  Victor crawled into bed slowly, maneuvering the covers over our cooling bodies. I could tell his sheets were clean and expensive by the way they felt against my cheek. Outside, on the roof and at the windows, the storm was still going strong, I loved the lulling sound of it—just like I found myself loving the way Victor pulled me close, shared his warmth beneath the sheets, and never backed down.

  “Tired?” he asked, chuckling.

  I yawned and buried my face in the pillow, peeking an eye open. His face was warm, soft, sleepy at the edges of his bright, beautiful dark eyes. Oh, he was definitely a Savage with those looks of his: devastatingly handsome. I snuggled closer, deciding it might be fine to ditch the tough biker exterior for just one night.

  “Mm,” I hummed. “Being a power-bottom is exhausting work.”

  9

  Victor

  “Good?”

  I looked up from my plate, heaped high with eggs and bacon and toast. “It’s amazing.”

  Adrian smirked, all smug and proud. He was perched across from me in one of the wicker chairs I kept in my sunroom, legs folded underneath him as he cradled his own plate, scarfing down his breakfast—the one we’d made together.

  “Good,” he huffed, stabbing at his eggs. “I’m a fucking master at making breakfast. I could live off of eggs and bacon for the rest of my life if I had to.”

  My eyes dropped to his bare legs. “Aren’t you cold?”

  “Nope.” He nodded. “My eyes are up here.”

  “I’m busy looking at your legs,” I said, which was true. They were out on display—when he rolled out of bed this morning, it was only to pull his boxers up his pale, toned legs and steal one of my rarely worn band shirts from my closet.

  It was a funny sight. Not because he looked funny, but because I hadn’t had a morning after with someone in a very long time. I felt content having breakfast with him, which was… confusing and scary and great.

  He hummed, leaning. “I don’t get cold too easily.”

  “Can’t relate.”

  While he seemed to be a natural heater, I was the complete opposite. Mid-fall was usually nice enough that I didn’t have to change the screens out for glass in my sunroom, but this was the first chilly morning of the season—signifying that winter was well on her way. It was crisp, which meant sweatshirt and flannel for me. I wasn’t like Adrian; I couldn’t just waltz around half-naked whenever I wanted.

  “Sure you can’t skip work this morning?” Adrian asked, relaxing back into the chair. “I’d be more than happy to make it worth your while…”

  I shook my head, grinning at the lilt in his voice.

  “As nice as that sounds,” I said, “I can’t. And that’s actually something I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Oh?” He cocked his pierced brow. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. I was talking with Beth—my sister—”

  “I remember Beth,” he chuckled.

  “We’ve just taken her on as a part-time financial director,” I explained, pressing my mug between my fingers. “But she’s only part-time, and we’ve got some financial stuff to clean up. I was just wondering if you might have any… insight. Beth said you have a background with business accounting.”

  Laying out a problem with the distillery felt more vulnerable than laying my body bare for him, more intimate and trusting. I supposed I did trust him—in more ways than one.

  Adrian nodded, chewing on the idea. He set his plate on the glass coffee table, unfolded his legs to let them drape over the chair’s arm.

  “What kind of cleanup?”

  “Payables. Overdue by a bit. Everything with my dad—it got lost in the shuffle,” I said, thinking it was a nicer way of explaining he’d been so overwhelmed by the treatments that he’d forgotten—something so unlike him. “And we’re planning to expand production for the distillery, as well, to meet the demand of all these new tourists. We’re thinking a business loan, but, like I said—”

  “It can’t be handled until we fix the payables,” Adrian finished.

  “Yeah.” I grinned, sheepish. “And, of course, if you’re not comfortable—”

  “Comfortable?” He cracked a smile, brows arching like it was the funniest thing he’d heard all morning; his smiles were so often wry and sharp, but this was one atypically soft. Like I’d said something really silly. “I might not look like it, but I kind of eat this shit up, Savage. Numbers are kind of my thing.”

  I didn’t expect that. With a relieved huff: “Oh.”


  He snorted and lifted his coffee to his face. “Yeah. I’d be happy to help out. Free of charge.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “What?” He cocked his head and his green eyes caught the morning light, faintly. “It’s not a big deal. You said you were having issues with money, anyway—”

  I frowned a little. “Not that bad.”

  “No, I—no.” He shook his head and sat up straight in his chair. “That’s not what I meant. I just mean, it’s fine.”

  We were discussing business matters, but my heart tightened in my chest as he grinned up at me. I thought of waking up in bed with him, just before him, and drinking in his presence. I hadn’t woken up in bed with someone in ages; his body pressed against mine, hand lingering on my waist and nose bunched up against my shoulder. I never would have pegged him as someone who cuddled close in his sleep, but it was a nice surprise.

  My eyes dropped to his smart grin, I took his chin in my hands, and tipped his face up for a kiss across the coffee table before I could think too deeply about it.

  Adrian hummed against my lips, pleased. “You sure I can’t convince you to miss work?”

  “I can’t.”

  “So is that a yes?” he asked.

  “That’s a yes.”

  “Good.”

  I let his chin go and watched him sink back into his chair, a little more color to his face.

  “It’s not just because we’re fooling around, is it?”

  “No… well,” and Adrian shrugged, the cocky grin returning. “It might have a little to do with it. I consider it just a really good perk.”

  “Knock it off. What are you doing the rest of the day?”

  “Don’t know.” He shrugged. “Didn’t really have any particular plans.”

  “Well…” I paused, considering, because what I was about to offer felt just as vulnerable as asking for help in the first place, felt like stepping over major boundaries. “You want to come see the distillery? Get a feel for the place? I’ve got all the financial documents there anyway.”

  “Really?” Adrian grinned. Was he excited? “Never been there before, even when I was rolling with Zach and Wyatt. Too many trade secrets back there, he said. Yeah. I’ll go. Not like I’ve got anything better to do today.”

  “What about your folks?”

  “They’ll be fine. They’ve got each other and their crime show marathons.”

  “Ah.” I lifted my mug in cheers. “The joys of retirement.”

  The air around us settled, content and pleasant. The screens concaved gently in their frames as the breeze blew through it, taking soft gold and brown leaves off their branches with it. The skitter was dry as they brushed against the house, and everything smelled like the earth and coffee and crisp air.

  I grinned, glancing down into my coffee cup. This was nice.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Don’t thank me yet, Savage.” Adrian shook his head, stood, and scooped up our empty plates. “You’re gonna have to drive me home first. I can’t make a good impression in yesterday’s boxers and your T-shirt.”

  I drove Adrian back to his place for a change of clothes and a quick shower.

  I was intent on waiting in the car, but he said it would be useless. His Pops had apparent balls of steel when it came to socializing; if I didn’t go in on my own, his Pops would come out and make me—in a nice way.

  So, while he ran upstairs to freshen up, I was stuck with his folks. They were nice people. There was a lot of Adrian’s personality in his Pops; they were similar in their way of speaking, the easy, rasping lilt, and in how they seemed to like to tease. And he looked so much like his mother, it was insane: the same features, the same hair color, the same eyes. It was sweet to see little pieces of Adrian in both of them.

  I sat with Adrian’s mom at her kitchen table while Pops just, well, popped back in for a quick hello before he was back to work in his shed. She poured me tea and asked about me, about what our plans were.

  “I’m actually taking him to work with me,” I chuckled. “He’s a smart guy. I could use some of his insight; his experience.”

  She hummed. “He is. Where is it you work again?”

  “The Savage Distillery.”

  “Oh! That’s something.” She smiled—she even had a similar smile. “What is it you do there, if you don’t mind me asking, hon?”

  “I’ve taken over for my father,” I explained, sipping at the tea. “This is really good—he’s been sick, so he’s had me running the distillery since he’s taking a leave of absence—”

  “Running it?”

  I paused, catching her wide stare. “Y-yeah. Running it.”

  “That boy never tells me anything,” she muttered, squinting at the staircase—at Adrian, by some extension. “He didn’t tell me you were one of the Savage boys, hon.”

  I shrugged, not sure what to say to that exactly. “That’s okay.”

  “I heard about your father.” She reached across the table to grip my hand. It was tender and her hand was small, soft, unworked. Her nails were a dusty pink color, freshly manicured. “I was sorry to hear about him being so sick, I… he’s a very good man, your father. The town’s always appreciated him and your family’s business.” And then she winked. “God knows I’ve abided a time or two myself.”

  I chuckled, anxiety twisting in my stomach remembering him at home. “Well, thank you, I’ll make sure to pass it on.”

  “From May Cole,” she added.

  “Of course.”

  “Mom, why are you harassing Victor?”

  I went to draw my hand away from hers, but she held steadfast, smiling brightly as Adrian appeared in the kitchen doorway. I did a double-take myself. Gone were the black jeans and band tees. Instead, he was dressed in neat, clean slacks and a crisp white button-up, the sleeves rolled up to show off his forearms and their sporadic tattoos.

  My mouth went dry. I thought of tearing the business clothes off of him.

  “We’ve gotta go, Mom,” Adrian explained. “Victor’s already running late because of me.”

  “Fine,” she sighed, releasing me and waving us off. “Go on. Get out of here and take your handsome boyfriend with you.”

  I flushed, chuckling. “Not boyfriends, ma’am.”

  “Mmhm.”

  “Mom,” Adrian started, shooting her an annoyed look.

  “Got it. Not boyfriends.” She grinned like she definitely didn’t believe us. “Take your handsome friend to work before he’s late.”

  Adrian seemed happy to usher us both out of there after that, thankfully avoiding any potential incidents with his Pops. Once we were on the porch, he seemed to breathe a little sigh of relief.

  “Ready?” he asked, glancing at me and—pausing. “What?”

  “Nothing.” I shook my head, chuckling under my breath. “For a biker, you clean up pretty nice, you know that?”

  The cockiness returned tenfold, easing over his face.

  We took my car down to the distillery, where it was nestled back in the autumnal trees. The whole drive down, I replayed his mother’s words in my head: boyfriend.

  We weren’t boyfriends. I hadn’t had a boyfriend in a long time, and the last time I did, it was a total shit show. I wasn’t looking to repeat that, but—when I looked at Adrian, I felt something. Something complicated and light. It was happiness, but I knew better than anyone that happiness could be temporary. Just because we were fooling around and having a good time didn’t mean we were boyfriends.

  I wouldn’t be any good for him anyways. Who’d want to date a nervous wreck and workaholic like me, anyway?

  We breezed past the front desk with my promise to give him the grand tour: the main floor, vast and open and full of fermenters and pots and distillation columns—and he seemed surprised that I knew so much about the specifics of distilling whiskey. He didn’t need to know the ins and outs of how we did it—how the machines did it—to help adjust our finances, but it was somethi
ng I wanted to share. He was interested, and I felt confident; this was my comfort zone.

  Eventually, we made our way upstairs, past the break room and offices and bathrooms, lingering outside of Beth’s office. The door was propped open and when we entered, she was bent over the large desk, working hard scanning the books.

  I cleared my throat and tapped the glass.

  Her head snapped up. “Oh—God, holy shit, you scared me.”

  “Sorry,” I chuckled, stepping to the side and gesturing. “I brought a visitor.”

  Beth straightened and stood as Adrian revealed himself. We welcomed ourselves inside and I watched them shake hands, Beth laughing, “Thank God. I told my brother we’d need someone like you. Glad he finally caved.”

  “So, he’s mentioned me before?” Adrian asked, grinning sideways at me.

  Beth, catching on and happy to have any reason to tease me, narrowed her eyes at me, too. “Oh, he’s maybe brought up a thing or two.”

  I felt the heat creep into my face. “Seems like you two will get along.”

  Too well.

  “Yup.” Beth beamed, grabbing a nearby chair for Adrian to join her at the desk. “You can go now. I’m sure Adrian and I have much to discuss.”

  Each on their own was bad news. Put together, I was sure they had the potential to be nothing short of a nightmare. Deciding to just let it go—knowing they were probably going to gossip about me—I sighed in defeat and took a step towards the door.

  “Fine, fine.”

  “Uh, ‘scuse me, boss,” Adrian said, raising a hand at me. “When’s lunch?”

  I checked my watch. “Whenever. In a few hours?”

  “Get lunch with me?”

  I grinned, despite myself, knowing Beth was probably watching all of this very carefully. But in that moment, for once in my life, I didn’t care that someone saw; that eyes were on me. I recanted my single step, closing the space between Adrian and I easily, pressing a casual kiss to his lips—feeling like it was the most natural thing I’d ever done.