Strung Up

by Lorelei James

  Then I’d met Breck.

  He’d taken my carnal education to a whole other level. It’d been an eye opener for me, experiencing that kind of deep passion and intimacy with another man. It’d given me hope that someday I’d find that same connection again, but something permanent I could be open about.

  The last time I’d seen Breck had been at my brother Sutton’s wedding. He’d shown up with a date—she was trashy and he was testy and surly with everyone. Even my sister-in-law mentioned Breck was quickly running out of friends on the circuit due to his recent attitude and actions.

  At the time I’d wondered how much longer he could continue to live the lie. I’d intended to take him aside and try and get him to open up to me, but that night my father had suffered a near-fatal heart attack. And much later that night, I’d ended up with Mick.

  My body flushed hot with guilt. I’d never told Mick about Breck. It hadn’t seemed relevant. Breck had been a sexual mentor. That was it. And after Mick and I were a couple, I hadn’t thought about Breck at all.

  Maybe that’s why you haven’t told Breck about Mick either.

  More guilt kicked in. Telling Breck about the death of my lover and that I’d spent the last two years in a fog would definitely put a damper on tonight’s possibilities. I still wasn’t sure if I could be with another man.

  But wouldn’t Breck be the perfect guy to test out that theory on?

  “Cres?”

  I glanced up and realized London’s sister, Stirling, was standing in front of me. “Hey. Sorry. My mind was elsewhere.” I smiled at her. “I hoped I’d get to see you since I heard you were living in the area and had become a farmer—which I see is a lie because you are not rockin’ the overalls.”

  Standoffish Stirling actually hugged me and laughed. “It’s true. I feel like a different person after I tossed off the shackles of corporate America. I’ve gone completely country, back to my roots.”

  I gave her bohemian outfit—jeans covered in rhinestones and a sheer, floral top—a quick once-over and whistled. “Overalls or not, farmer looks good on you.” Stirling was one of those tall, willowy Nordic blondes with an icy outer demeanor that scared off most men. She and I had always gotten along great because I wanted nothing from her except friendship.

  She kept a hold of my arm and squeezed my biceps. “Ranching has always looked good on you, Creston Grant. Are you sure you’re gay? Because a dude with your looks and physique should definitely reproduce.”

  Just then Breck sauntered in on the other side of the tent.

  Our eyes met.

  Heat from his hungry look rolled through me in a wave of want so strong I had to lock my knees.

  Yeah, sweetheart. I am one hundred percent about the dick.

  “Have you eaten?” Stirling said. “I got stuck waiting for Liam the Lab Loser to show up and missed the chow line.”

  “Actually, I was headed that direction.”

  “Let’s dine together.” She looped her arm though mine.

  I felt Breck’s eyes on us. I could almost feel his impatience pulsing through the air.

  It won’t hurt him to wait a little longer. And it’ll make you seem less desperate.

  So I remained fully aware of Breck pacing on the other side of the tent as I loaded up a plate.

  However, Stirling was blissfully unaware of the way my pulse jumped every time my gaze connected with Breck’s. Or the coiled tension in every inch of my body as I imagined his rough-skinned hands gripping my ass as I thrust my cock into that Hoover of a mouth of his.

  “You are starving,” Stirling said as we sat at an empty picnic table. “You just made a growling noise.”

  I forced my gaze away from Breck and concentrated on chatting with London’s little sister. “So who is this Liam guy? And why did you call him a lab loser?”

  Stirling sighed and signaled to the bartender closest to us. Immediately a server dropped off two Fat Tire beers.

  Handy to be dining with one of the Gradsky princesses.

  “I’ve spent the last seven years literally working in the corporate meat market, using my animal science degree to breed better beef cattle on a large-scale commercial level without growth hormones.”

  A concept I was familiar with since we didn’t use growth hormones.

  “Now I’ve partnered with my brother Macon and we’ve jumped into the organic farming market.”

  I said, “What organics are you growing?” even when I already knew.

  “Marijuana, man. It’s what all the cool farmers are doing.”

  I snorted.

  “But seriously, only three quarters of our total acreage will be devoted to pot. The rest is slated for organic vegetable production, concentrating on ‘heritage varieties’ that haven’t been crossbred.”

  “I knew that cold, corporate hard-ass persona of yours was totally fake.” I pointed at her with my beer bottle. “I always suspected you secretly wanted to be a professional pothead.”

  “Busted.” Stirling smirked at me. “What kind of farmer doesn’t regularly perform quality control tests on their crops?”

  “So this Liam dude is in charge of quality control in the lab and he’s blocking your access to product testing?”

  “Not hardly. Dr. Liam is my brother’s former client, supposedly a brilliant Ag bio-engineer and our secret weapon in advanced splicing technology. But he lives in his own little bubble. He doesn’t write anything down. He doesn’t follow instructions. He’s conceited. And he’s utterly lacking in any social graces. Lucky me has been tasked with teaching him to be a team player.”

  “I take it he’s resistant?”

  She rolled her eyes. “He’s a know-it-all jackass with an IQ of like a billion but he is incapable of learning basic clerical duties. He refuses to even try.”

  “Did you try getting high with him and see if that mellows him out?”

  “Twice. When that didn’t work I even tried to bribe him with a five-hundred-dollar bottle of scotch.” She shook her head. “No go there either.”

  “I’m guessing money isn’t a factor since you probably pay him plenty.”

  “We pay him a fuck-ton. So that left me with sex as an incentive. I hired this super-sweet, super-smart, super-hot college student with a porn-star mouth and a pair of DD’s.”

  For the first time ever, stick-in-the-mud Stirling reminded me of her wilder older sister London. “How’d that go?”

  “The woman might as well have been wearing a sackcloth and ashes or a nun’s habit for all the attention he paid to her,” she complained.

  I laughed.

  “Cres. This is not funny. This is part of what’s holding up production. Neither his formulas nor his gene splicing technique can be a secret from us. We need the ability to recreate in case something happened to him.”

  Keeping my attention on Breck, I pressed my lips to my bottle of beer and took a big swig, swallowing thickly and making a show of licking my lips when I finished.

  His wicked smile promised retribution.

  Bring it.

  “Cres. Are you even listening to me?” Stirling demanded. “I need your help.”

  I refocused after discreetly readjusting the crotch of my jeans. “What can I do? High-grade pot didn’t work, booze didn’t work, dangling a juicy, young coed didn’t work—”

  “Maybe because I dangled the wrong flavor of juicy coed,” she said. “Maybe he prefers beefcake.”

  Now she had my full attention. “Are you suggesting that I—”

  “Show up in the lab wearing a pair of running shorts with your bare chest and abs glistening with sweat? Absolutely.”

  I choked on my drink of beer.

  “I just need you to recheck my gaydar.”

  Before I could answer, a tray slammed down on the table.

  Stirling’s eyes widened.

  A tall, lanky man stood next to me, his posture regal. If he hadn’t worn a lab coat and glasses, I never would’ve guessed him to be an academic. He hit
the mark between a hipster and an indie rocker, seriously freakin’ hot in that nerdy way with his dark brown hair secured in a ponytail at the base of his neck.

  “I assure you, Miss Gradsky, there is nothing wrong with your gaydar. I am entirely heterosexual.” He turned and pinned me with eyes that reminded me of quicksilver. Then he offered me his hand and tight smile. “Dr. Liam Argent.”

  His heavily tattooed hand was smooth and his grip strong. “Cres Grant.”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Grant. And if I had any inclination toward a dalliance on the other side of the fence, so to speak, I’d be more than happy to see you in my lab, half-naked and glistening with sweat.”

  “Uh. Thanks?”

  Dr. Liam angled forward so he had Stirling’s full attention. “You know my conditions for taking clerical instructions, Miss Gradsky. You are the one who has refused to comply with the terms.”

  “Because I am not taking dictation as your personal secretary, dickhead,” she retorted.

  Yep. That response totally reminded me of London.

  “It’s not as if I demanded you wear thigh highs and stilettos with a Catholic schoolgirl outfit as you’re receiving my oral direction,” he said in a silken drawl.

  And…I’d heard enough. I had my own sexual tension to deal with. I didn’t need a front row seat to theirs. I stood and mumbled good-bye.

  Breck waited for me by the rear exit. “Did you get enough to eat?”

  “I guess. Sort of a bizarre dinner conversation so I don’t really remember what I ate.”

  He chuckled. “That’s Stirling for you.”

  Once we were outside, he briefly placed his hand on the small of my back to guide me. “Let’s start the tour this way.”

  Even that single touch caused my stomach to cartwheel.

  Blue light glowed from the big top. An electric guitar strummed once. Then twice.

  “Sounds like the dance is about to start,” Breck said.

  “I didn’t know there was a dance.”

  “I don’t think it’ll go late. Most of the guests left as soon as they finished eating.” He walked closer to me. “You ever danced with a guy, Cres?”

  “Like gone out two-steppin’? Nah. No clubs that cater to that around here. Gotta go into Denver to find that. What about you?”

  “I’ve hit a gay dance club a time or two. Slow dancin’ is easier with a guy because there’s no fighting about who’s gonna lead.”

  I smiled. “True. So if you don’t mind me asking…how’d you get this job workin’ for the Gradskys?”

  “Macon Gradsky contacted me. We’ve stayed in touch over the years.” A funny look must’ve crossed my face because he clarified, “Macon isn’t gay. He and I were competitors. We met for the first time at the National High School Rodeo finals. He was the All-Around champ for Colorado and I was All-Around champ for South Dakota.” He flashed that megawatt grin. “I whupped his ass in tie-down ropin’ and bulldoggin’. He beat me in saddle bronc ridin’. We both ended up attending University of Wyoming and were teammates on the college circuit. I went pro after I graduated and he went to law school.”

  “Sounds like you’ve known the Gradsky family for quite a while.”

  “Rodeo is a small world.” He smiled sadly. “A small-minded world too.”

  “So was it your decision not to go on the podium and introduce yourself tonight? Or did your bosses ask you to hang back?”

  “Fully my decision. The focus tonight needed to be on them, not on me.” He blocked the path so I couldn’t race away. “The Gradskys know you’re gay?”

  “Kind of a hard secret to keep with London as my sister-in-law.” I said dryly. “But yeah, they know.”

  None of the yard lights were on around the buildings. Probably to keep guests from wandering. A tiny sliver of moon did little to slice through the darkness. I wondered if that darkness made it easier for Breck to take my hand.

  My heart jumped into my throat. It’d been so long since I’d had that simple connection it felt foreign.

  That’s because it’s not Mick’s hand.

  Breck’s hand was bigger. Rougher. Stronger from years of handling coarse ropes. He locked his fingers more tightly to mine. Mick’s hands had always been cold and clammy—and it bothered him enough that we rarely held hands. Even when we were home alone.

  Why are you thinking about that? Every comparison you make will add to your uncertainty. If you can’t follow through with simple handholding, let him know now.

  Fuck that. I could do this. I had to do this.

  And I’d take it far beyond handholding.

  As soon as we cleared the corner of the next building, I dropped Breck’s hand and pushed him against the bricks. “Take off your hat.”

  He removed his hat with his left hand and let it fall to his side, holding it lightly against his thigh. Automatically his right hand came up and he ran his fingers through his dark hair, trying to get rid of the mark the hat band had left.

  It shouldn’t have been a sexy move, but with him, it was. Because I knew even when it was dark, Breck retained his pride that he wanted to look good for me.

  “Aren’t you ditching your hat too?” he asked in a raspy tone.

  “Not yet. Keep your right hand by your side too.”

  “Fuck, Cres, I wanna touch you.”

  With me standing on the cement curb, we were eye to eye. Mouth to mouth. I flattened my palms beside his head and leaned in until we were groin to groin. “You’ll get your chance, just not right now.”

  A soft grunt escaped him and gusted across my lips when I rocked my pelvis into his.

  His cock was already hard.

  So was mine.

  I pressed my lips to his and held them there. Then I slowly started to move them. A little to the left. A little to the right, keeping up that easy glide until his lips were fuller. Softer. Wetter. I dipped my tongue in the seam, licking the inside edge of his upper lip and then his lower. Getting a taste of him.

  Like smoke and whiskey. Not the minty taste I associated with Mick.

  That’s good. Keep going.

  I convinced myself I was anticipating, not stalling. That I was treating this tease as a test to see if Breck could control his dominant nature and let me set the pace.

  Are you sure it’s not a test for you? To see if you freak out when you remember that the lips clinging to yours aren’t Mick’s?

  Stop.

  Breck deserved my full attention.

  When I allowed our tongues to touch, he growled, “Fucking kiss me already.”

  That’s all I needed. I dove into his mouth like I owned it.

  Greed overwhelmed me.

  Yes. Yes. This.

  Fuck. I needed so much more of this.

  My head spun as I went at that lush mouth from every angle. My hand cupped his jaw so I could open him up wider, get deeper. Our tongues stroked. Our lips pursed and pressed and glided and teased.

  Harsh panting breaths echoed around us and mingled together. Soft groans. The click of teeth. The sounds of passion.

  I could not get enough.

  I’d missed this urgency. Craved it.

  How had I survived without it? It hadn’t ever been this way with Mick. Not even in the beginning.

  It’d only ever been this way with Breck.

  Seemed I’d forgotten that too.

  I broke my mouth free, sliding across Breck’s smoothly shaven skin to drag my teeth down his jaw, nipping at his chin and the tender flesh of his neck.

  Breck let out a muttered, “Christ.” Then he tilted his head to the side, giving me full access to his throat, and I nearly snarled with satisfaction. I’d never had his surrender.

  Now I did.

  Now I wanted it all.

  And I’d take it all.

  Pushing back on my heels, I reached for his belt buckle, my mouth continuing to maraud his neck and jaw as I unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans. Hooking my fingers inside the waistband beside
his hipbones, I tugged his jeans and briefs down to the middle of his thighs.

  He hissed in a sharp breath when I lowered to my knees.