Conrad chuckled. “It nearly killed me dragging you over the threshold.”
“Sorry about that. I didn’t realize how badly hurt you were. I knew I shouldn’t stay but I couldn’t leave. I’m glad I didn’t.” Archer was mumbling, sliding into sleep.
“I’m not a bottom,” Conrad said through gritted teeth, thinking how his arse had just been in the possession of another guy and wasn’t complaining too much. He wanted to hurt Archer, damage him, bite him, taste him, lick him, suck him, kiss him, fuck him—be fucked by him. Oh God. What’s happened to me?
“Yeah, you said. I know. I get it. Neither am I. I’ll fight you too, but not now. I’m too tired.”
“I’ll try not to wake you when I fuck you,” Conrad said.
He felt Archer shaking as he laughed.
Chapter Eleven
When Archer woke in the morning with Conrad pressed up against his back, he almost lost it. It took no small amount of deep breathing before he calmed down. He thought his agitation might have woken Conrad but the guy’s exhalations remained steady on his shoulder. Last night, after he’d fucked him, Archer had fallen asleep. He’d fucking slept all night. Was that all he’d needed to cure his insomnia, silence his nightmares? Some guy lying next to him? Not some guy. This guy. Or was it just that this house was safe—for the time being at least?
But although a good night’s sleep might in one way be something to celebrate, it was also worrying. Archer needed to stay alert. He couldn’t afford to let his guard down or he could get them both killed. He felt responsible for Conrad, which was the best reason to leave him the fuck alone or conversely to never leave his side. One or the other, and since he’d always been a selfish prick, he suspected which way he’d ultimately roll.
He eased out of bed, retrieved his toiletries and gun from his bag along with a fresh set of clothes and padded to the bathroom. Once he’d closed the door, he hid the gun under a pile of towels. His head was full of Conrad. Every time Archer tried to think about what he needed to do, how to find a way to stave off the inevitable violent end heading his way, his attention drifted to the guy lying in bed a few feet away. Archer ached this morning, so he guessed Conrad would feel even worse, maybe mentally too. Archer had pushed and pushed, and he wasn’t sorry, but…
Now he wanted more, wanted his cock back in that hot, tight arse, wanted Conrad panting in his ear, writhing when he bit him. He knew just the place to drive Conrad crazy. He wanted him on his back with his legs shoved to his chest, wanted him up against the wall, on his hands and knees, tied up, gagged, still fighting…oh fuck. He had his hand on his thickening cock before he could stop himself. He leaned back against the wall of the shower and closed his eyes.
Freeing his head of images of what he’d like to do to Conrad only made room for what he was trying hard not to think about. What would it be like to have Conrad’s cock in his arse? Could he let that happen? He knew Conrad thought he would, but Archer only said what he needed to in order to get his own way. He squirted shower gel onto his fingers, reached between his butt cheeks to find his hole, and pushed into it while he worked his cock with his other hand. Fuck. That feels good, though the gel stings. But maybe not as good as a cock. It wasn’t the size of the thing fucking him that was the issue, but the power and control it gave the other person. That was what he couldn’t get his head around.
He heard a creak and snapped his eyes open.
“Don’t stop on my account,” a naked Conrad said from the doorway.
Archer took his fingers out of his butt, his hand off his dick. Conrad’s remained on his.
“Please don’t stop on my account.” Conrad moved up to the glass and pressed his face against it, twisting his features, mashing his mouth and leering while he continued to wank, and Archer laughed.
Conrad stepped into the shower at his side. “I do admire people who can multitask.”
Conrad’s cock stretched up over his belly, the head flushed dark red, his balls hanging heavy beneath. That line of short dark hair stretching to his navel was the sexiest Archer had ever seen. Would it go peppery gray like his hair? You won’t be around to find out. His heart pumped harder. Conrad wrapped his hands around his own cock and worked it as he stared at Archer. Enough of an incentive. Archer slid two fingers into his own arse and jacked off with his other hand as they looked at each other.
Who’d come first?
“Are we racing or going for the slowest?” Conrad asked. “No, don’t answer. Fastest wins. Shit.” He jerked and gave a deep groan as he came, chomping on his lower lip, thick ropes of come spurting from his cock. “Christ. That’s your fault.”
The breath caught in Archer’s throat. Conrad’s eyes were bright blue now, so different to when he’d first seen him. Had life in them. Him in them maybe. Ripples of pleasure trickled down Archer’s spine. He was on autopilot, doing what his dick liked best—had liked best—tight short tugs at the head, long corkscrew pulls up, straight sharp drags down, getting faster while his fingers curled and twisted in his arse, caressing that small gland until he wanted to sink through the floor.
His breathing turned noisier as he neared his limit, hovered on the edge, yet he wanted to make this last, wanted to show he could make this last and then the bastard dropped to his knees, pulled away Archer’s hand to take his cock in his mouth, deep into his mouth, and Archer exploded. Those lips, the right pressure, Conrad’s intense concentration. Perfect. Archer’s knees shook as he emptied himself, tremors of satisfaction racing through his body.
He pulled his fingers from his butt and washed them behind his back. Conrad still held his cock in his mouth, still sucked gently as he massaged a spot behind Archer’s balls. He couldn’t come again, not that fast but he let Conrad play with him, closed his eyes against his better judgment and wondered what the hell that place was that Conrad had found on his taint. Conrad licked and fluttered his tongue and teased and lapped at him as water poured over his head and impossibly Archer’s cock stirred and twitched and thickened in Conrad’s mouth.
“I can’t come yet,” Archer said.
Conrad let him loose with a pop. “I know, but now you’ll ache like you want to.” He laughed and pushed to his feet.
Archer glared and wrapped an arm around his neck. They tussled under the water, though Archer was careful of Conrad’s back. He found himself letting Conrad wash him, rub soap over his shoulders and down his back, over his pecs and the muscles of his abs. His throat tightened. No one had washed him since he’d been a small boy. And when Conrad dropped to his knees again and soaped his legs, massaging his thighs as he’d done for him, Archer felt himself opening up in a way he’d not managed for a long while.
“Put your foot on that ledge-seat thing,” Conrad said.
“Why?”
Conrad rolled his eyes. “Santa’s come early.”
Archer lifted his foot and tension raced back as Conrad pressed his face against his butt. When he ran his tongue down the seam of his backside, Archer tipped back his head with a groan and choked on a mouthful of water. Conrad eased his buttocks apart and flicked his tongue over his hole. Archer dropped his head so the water sprayed on his neck but he still found it hard to breathe. Conrad pushed and pressed his tongue against the ring of muscles, teased with just the tip, and the sensation was so exquisite Archer shuddered with pleasure.
“Don’t stop doing that,” Archer muttered.
“Don’t give me orders.”
Archer smiled and his smile broadened when Conrad resumed, pressing and circling his tongue. If Archer couldn’t use words to keep him doing that, he’d have to reach back and grab Conrad by the ears to keep his face there. He’s fucking me with his tongue. Oh Christ. Strange sounds gurgled out of his mouth. He braced his arms on the shower wall and his toes curled. He was so intent on what Conrad was doing with his tongue, the guy had wrapped a hand around Archer’s cock without him
even noticing. Conrad worked in a syncopated rhythm, his tongue surging inside as his hand completed the slide on Archer’s dick.
I can’t come again. But he felt like he wanted to. That urge, that need, the wrongness of a tongue reaming him, the irresistible rightness. He pushed back against Conrad’s face, wanting more. Conrad obliged, still working Archer’s cock with one hand while the fingers of his other curled and dug into Archer’s hip. Conrad’s tongue flicked so fast in and out of the entrance to Archer’s body, he felt as though his insides were liquefying into molten lava. Archer leaned farther forward, rested his face against his arm, gulping air in short noisy bursts. The sensations in his lower body were so intense he worried his knees would collapse. Anything Conrad wanted, he’d give him. Anything. Just as long as he didn’t stop.
Fingers teased Archer’s cock and balls back to full hardness. The sounds he was making echoed around them in the shower stall. Grunts. Whimpers. Gasps. Christ. He wasn’t begging but his body was. More. Don’t stop. Fuuuuuck. The hand on his cock tightened, rolled from root to tip and pumped fast. At the same time Conrad pushed so hard with his mouth against his arse that Archer almost fell.
“No, no, no,” he mumbled with no idea why when he was thinking yes, yes, yes.
Archer shook, his supporting knee beginning to buckle. Conrad’s finger joined his tongue and thunder rolled in Archer’s head. His body jerked as he came, stars exploding behind his eyes. Not much come but the intensity of the supernova orgasm blew his mind, stole his vision, his breath…my fucking heart. He felt himself sliding, Conrad holding him, and then they were together on the floor of the shower, wrapped in each other’s arms. Conrad rinsed out his mouth and then kissed him and Archer knew something had shifted inside him, something he didn’t recognize, or at least didn’t want to identify. He sensed it would be his downfall, would destroy him if he let it and he didn’t care.
A feeling that lasted no more than a minute. He had to care.
He stepped from the shower, grabbed a towel and his clothes and retreated to the bedroom. He dressed, picked up his bag and left the room before Conrad came out. That couldn’t happen again. They couldn’t happen again. He’d lost control, needed too much, had let Conrad manipulate him. Bastard. Archer had to take charge or he’d get them both killed.
But deep inside, something had changed. That flood of dark hunger had been like nothing he’d ever experienced before. Much as he might tell himself this couldn’t be anything, for the first time, he wanted that not to be the case. He wanted to believe Conrad was a guy he could be with, but if Conrad knew the truth about him, he’d run. If I tell him, then I won’t have to be the one running away.
Conrad took his time in the shower. He somehow didn’t expect to find Archer in the house when he emerged. Maybe rimming him was a step too far, but Archer hadn’t complained, and Conrad knew how good it felt. He’d been able to turn Malachi into a puddle. But where Malachi would have begged him to do it again, just for an hour or so, and teased Conrad that his tongue was longer than his cock, and Conrad would have felt everything was right in his world, everything was not right in Archer’s world.
Archer had got what he wanted. My arse. And Conrad had enjoyed it more than he’d thought he would but that didn’t mean he was going to be Archer’s or anyone else’s bitch. He wished he wasn’t attracted to the guy, wished he’d never met him. It was time to retake control of his life. He stepped from the shower and grabbed a towel.
So what now? He had no phone to call a taxi. He’d have to walk to the nearest town. He didn’t think he’d bother telling the police what Archer had seen at the cottage. What was the point? Archer wouldn’t be there to confirm it, and Conrad wasn’t sure he believed it. Some elaborate ploy so he got to fuck me? Well, it had worked. And I fucking rimmed him. He started to grind his teeth. This is a guy who’ll never belong to anyone.
He grabbed another towel for his hair and froze. What the fuck? Archer’s gun? It didn’t have to be, but he knew it was. Shit. He put the towel back in place. Conrad dried himself, and as he dressed in the bedroom, he heard Archer pounding up the stairs. His heart thumped.
“Forget something?” Conrad asked.
Archer paused at the bathroom door and looked back at him.
Conrad met his gaze. “Who the fuck are you?”
When Archer didn’t answer, Conrad turned away and packed his bag. He heard Archer go downstairs and let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He stripped the sheets from the bed and winced as his back went into spasm. Something told him this wasn’t a place Archer had rented but one he’d broken into. Conrad didn’t want to leave their mess for someone else.
The house was warm but a chill seeped through his bones as he carried his bag, coat, and the sheets and towels downstairs. He dropped the first two items in the hall and went looking for the washing machine. Archer sat in the kitchen feeding toast to Deefor. Conrad ignored him, found the washer and detergent, and set the machine going.
He gave Archer time to say something but he didn’t. Conrad wasn’t going to beg. He was a barrister, Queen’s Counsel; he couldn’t associate with someone who was illegally carrying a weapon. Why the hell does he have a gun? He didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to know. The less he knew the better. He could guess plenty. He walked out of the kitchen, put on his coat, picked up his bag and left the house.
It was a miserable, gray, drizzly morning and that suited him fine. He’d take it steady and once he reached a town, get a cab to a station and from there…home, London. Maybe he ought to start work. It would stop him thinking how much his life had changed in a matter of days and how long it would take to put all this behind him.
Less than a hundred yards down the road he heard the car coming. Archer pulled up alongside and the window went down.
“My name’s Archer Hart.”
Conrad stared at him. Archer offered him his driver’s license.
“Your real name?” Conrad didn’t take the card.
“That’s what it says on my birth certificate. I don’t have that with me.”
Conrad huffed. It started to rain more heavily and he gritted his teeth and started to walk again.
“Get in the car.”
“What do your family call you?”
“I don’t have any family.”
“What do your friends call you?” Conrad asked and added under his breath, “Apart from fucking wanker.”
“I don’t have any friends. Get in the damned car before I make you get in.”
Conrad kept walking.
“We’re seven miles from the nearest town. You won’t make it.”
“Why would you care?”
“I don’t want to have done all that massage for nothing. Get the fuck in.”
Conrad opened the rear door, put his bag inside and climbed in the front. Deefor jumped onto his lap, licked his face, then curled up.
“You didn’t rent that house, did you?” Conrad asked. “You broke in.”
“I left them more than enough money in compensation. I told you, using credit cards is dangerous. Whoever is after you knows I’m with you. They’ll be looking for use of my card too.”
“Maybe I asked the wrong question,” Conrad said. “What the fuck are you?”
“Why can’t you just accept what I told you?”
Conrad stared out of the window into the driving rain. There had been something and now there was nothing. What was the point in pushing? They were going nowhere. But questions tumbled in his head. Mostly about the gun.
After a few miles of silence, Archer pulled off into a public parking area next to a wood. He switched off the engine, flipped open one of the boxes in the center console, took out a pound coin and offered it to Conrad.
“What’s that for?”
“I’m employing you as my lawyer. I don’t want you to repeat what I say.”
Conrad put the coin in his pocket. “You can give me the other seven hundred and forty-nine pounds later. You have one hour.”
Archer took a deep breath and then didn’t say anything. Conrad’s heart pounded in an uncomfortable way. The silence continued and Archer’s pale face told him he was going to say something bad.
“I don’t think there’s much you can say that will shock me,” Conrad said. “I’m a lawyer, remember? Bit like a priest listening to confession except I’m supposed to come up with something more useful than telling you to fuck off and say a few Hail Marys.”
“Right.”
Conrad swallowed hard. “I won’t repeat what you tell me unless I’m legally required to do so, if you were involved in fraud or money laundering or I needed to speak out to prevent you or someone else committing a criminal act that might result in bodily harm.”
Archer laughed, though it wasn’t a happy sound. “I get paid to kill people.”
What? Conrad wasn’t sure what he’d expected to hear, but it hadn’t been that. Kill people? Oh Christ. That can’t be true. His logical brain took a jump. “Me?” he choked out.
Archer shook his head. “You’d already be dead. And I didn’t phrase that right.”
“Which bit?”
“I used to be paid to kill people. I’m no longer in the business. Trying not to be in the business, but there’s someone who won’t accept my decision and if that person isn’t lying to me, there’s another someone who wants me permanently out.”
“You mean permanently out as in dead?”
Archer nodded. He stared at him intently and Conrad guessed he was looking for signs of fear or disgust. He felt a little of both but he was good at hiding his feelings, at least in a semiprofessional context. His overriding emotions were ones of shock and curiosity. Why did you do it? Who did you kill? How? When? Where? Fuck. Conrad had been told gruesome stories by sadistic psychopaths that had chilled him to the bone, whinging excuses by pedophiles that sickened him, but this was Archer. This was a guy he’d…oh fuck.
Breaking: Fall or Break, Book 2 Page 15