Grudge (Virtue & Vice Book 5)

by Cait Forester

  “I’m not ‘baby’, yet, Marty,” Taggart said, still in character. He thrust, short and hard, the sudden partial entry stretching Martin’s hole so suddenly that it genuinely hurt for a moment.

  “Fuck,” Martin spat. “God damn, it, Tag, just get it over with. Tear my fucking hole up, it’s your god damned ass — use it, Tag. Please, just . . . just get inside me and make me yours.”

  Taggart stroked Martin’s hair gently, and bit his earlobe. “Okay, baby,” he breathed.

  At the same moment, he pulled Martin’s hips, and pressed himself in. It was tight, and it did hurt at first, but Martin was in ecstasy. Tag’s thick shaft glided past his ring, and popped through the inner one, plowing slowly through any resistance. The head of Taggart cock found Martin’s gland and the angle they were at was perfect. The pressure grew inside, and Marin shuddered as he let out a long moan.

  “Oh my — fucking God, Tag Yes.”

  There was no way, after all of that, that either of them was going to last more than a few minutes. But Martin expected to at least have to do some work.

  Taggart, though, went in slow, until he was in to the hilt and prying Martin’s cheeks apart to gain that little bit of extra depth. He grunted, and shifted his hands to Martin’s hips, holding him with a rough iron grip. “Still,” he breathed. “Shit, just — just hold still.”

  Martin didn’t move his hips, but he squeezed. His ring contracted around Tag’s cock, pulling in and up ever so slightly.

  Tag pushed out a sharp breath. “Martin, baby, just give me a second. Oh, fuck — I’m —”

  Martin squeezed again, harder, and again. Each time he did, Tag moaned, muttered at him to stop — and his cock pressed hard against Martin’s prostate. When he couldn’t stop his hips from moving, he rocked them just slightly, up and down, drawing Taggart’s shaft into slow, short, deep thrusts.

  Martin’s cock dribbled freely, and the pre-come became cloudy as the slightly burning, tingling feeling that radiated from inside and crawled slowly up his dick and out the top of it intensified. His cock jumped once, and then again.

  “Tag,” Martin cried, slow and low, “baby, oh fuck, baby I’m — keep going. Come for me. Come inside me Tag, fuck me hard, make me come, please.”

  Taggart was already on the edge himself. He obliged Martin like a beast, holding on tight as he pistoned into Martin’s hole deep, and fast, their bodies slapping together for just those few moments until Martin’s cock shot once against the tile and then dribbled as convulsions took over his hips, and the muscles inside.

  “Aw, baby I’m —” Taggart didn’t finish. He just groaned, and held onto Martin for dear life as he erupted. Heat spilled into Martin’s body as Taggart’s shaft swelled and began to pulse, his balls firing hard into Martin’s trembling chute.

  They barely managed to stay standing. Martin wondered, briefly, if he was ever going to stop coming. It wasn’t the full, sudden, explosive orgasm he was used to, instead a prolonged, almost teasing one that oozed out of him by inches.

  Taggart’s seemed to go on for a while as well, but eventually, he was empty. He held Martin close.

  Martin braced himself against the wall for both of them. “Mother of God,” he breathed, when he could speak again. “That was, uh . . . ”

  “Yeah,” Taggart sighed. “We should do that a lot.”

  “Rewrite history?” Martin asked. He chuckled, and moaned his disappointment as Taggart pulled out of him.

  But Taggart made it up to him by turning him around and pressing them both against the wall of the shower room again. He kissed Martin and trailed his fingers down still sensitive skin. “Are you really mine?” he asked.

  Martin nodded. “I am. All of me. I love you, Tag.”

  “Good,” Tag murmured. “I love you, baby. I want to keep you. I want you to keep me.”

  “I will,” Martin said. “I promise.”

  “Then let’s go home,” Taggart said. “And start our lives.”

  Martin grinned and nuzzled against Taggart’s neck. “We’re already home, baby.”

  Taggart made a surprised grunt, and nodded. He kissed Martin’s shoulder. “Yeah. I guess we are.”

  EPILOGUE

  Six months later, Martin went to the mailbox. Grunt hopped along beside him. He no longer chewed his lead, which made walking him a hell of a lot easier than it had been only a few months before.

  He leaned into the post office doors and let Grunt scuttle ahead through them. The postman behind the counter waved at both of them. It had taken some doing, but there weren’t many places in town that wouldn’t let Grunt in. A three legged dog, for one thing, was a spectacle no one particularly wanted to miss. Grunt, for his part, loved the attention.

  The mail was spare. Not much in the way of junk. There was the bill for the In-Care Nursing Service. The woman who’d sent them, Edie, was quickly becoming Aunt Janey’s new best friend. There was a notice from the VA for Taggart, and a thick, heavy letter for Martin from the Secretary of State. He tried not to get too excited. There was always the possibility things wouldn’t go his way, especially after he nearly lost his internship. He hoped the VA notice wasn’t a bill or a summons for Taggart. Either was possible. He’d effectively rented the leg that the defense department had paid for. Since vets didn’t have a hard enough time as it was.

  Grunt trotted ahead, keeping a wary eye out as they walked back across town to Janey’s house. It was early, just after six in the morning, which was as early as anyone needed to get up in Willow’s End because nothing opened until then. It was entirely possible that Taggart would still be in bed. If he was, Martin planned on getting back in with him.

  Please let him finally sleep like a normal person, Martin prayed to literally anyone who would listen. It had taken this long to get Taggart to stop waking up at four in the morning every day. The bed was just cold without him in it, especially as winter started to close in on them.

  Taggart wasn’t in bed, though. When Martin opened the door to let Grunt loose into Janey’s house, the dog flashed across the floor, bounded into the kitchen and immediately barked his excitement that Daddy was finally up.

  Aunt Janey was still in bed, it seemed. She slept later and later as well, though she also stayed up later and later recently. Another sign of advancing dementia. But, having Taggart and Martin both around, more or less, full time, and Edie around the rest of the time did seem to help, as if the people around her were anchors to keep her in the here and now.

  That was just fine by Martin. He sidled up to Taggart at the stove, breathing in the mouth-watering smell of the thick cut bacon which Taggart didn’t seem to be able to get enough of, and slipped his arms around Taggart’s waist. “Got something from the VA,” Martin said. “Did you sleep good?”

  “Like a baby on a bottle of gin,” Taggart said. He turned to kiss Martin, and went back to turning bacon. “What’s in the letter? They want me to pay for that leg they let me borrow on accident?”

  Taggart insisted in calling it that. Martin thought of it more like an intentional manipulation, but it wasn’t his Marine Corps, it was Taggart’s. And it hadn’t been entirely pointless. Taggart managed to get a head start on his new leg, and now moved around on it about as well as he had the other one, though until they could get him a better model, something more advanced like the one he’d had before, he probably wouldn’t be sprinting anywhere anytime soon.

  Martin sat at the table, and set the bill from the nursing provider aside, and pressed his lips together as he turned the VA letter over and split the top. “And today’s VA atrocity is . . .”

  Taggart plated bacon, and leaned on the counter, watching Martin, waiting with him.

  Martin read over the letter once, and then a second time to make sure he hadn’t missed the word “rejection” somewhere.

  He hadn’t.

  “Baby,” he breathed, “it’s the VA loan. Holy shit. Up to three hundred thousand.”

  Taggart thudded across the kit
chen and dining room floor, and took the letter that Martin held out to him.

  He did the same thing Martin had, reading it once, twice. He put the letter down, and rested his hands on the kitchen table. “Shit. We — we’re gonna buy a house.”

  Martin fairly shook with excitement, and nearly turned his chair over standing up to tackle Taggart, gently-, in a hug.

  Taggart waved. “What’s the big one.”

  “SOS,” Martin said ruefully. “Something about an exam and a license but, I just don’t think I did that well on the written exam. I’m hands on and I took too long.”

  Taggart snorted, and snatched the envelope off the table. “Bullshit.”

  He put it to his forehead. “I see . . . that you passed your exam and got your license like everyone fucking knew you would. This coy game you play about how you’re not all that smart is getting old.”

  “You like my games,” Martin crooned. “Don’t say you don’t.”

  Taggart pursed his lips a bit and shrugged. “Well, let’s see.”

  Martin sat and waited.

  Taggart pulled pages out, unfolded them, and read them with a serious expression. He winced as he did, just slightly. His eyes flickered back and forth a few times over the same section, it looked like, and he shook his head a bit. “Shit,” he said. He dropped the pages. “Baby, I’m sorry.”

  “I fucking knew it,” Martin sighed.

  “I know,” Taggart said. “We’re gonna have to find a house to buy somewhere close to a clinic or something. Or at least somewhere you can open up your own practice. This limits our options. I was looking forward to a cabin on a mountain somewhere we could live off the grid and shoot at people who wouldn’t get off our property.”

  Martin opened his mouth, eyebrows pinched, before he snapped it closed and snatched the papers. He read over them, flipped a page, and tossed them back on the table as Taggart stifled a laugh.

  “You son of a bitch,” Martin muttered. But he smiled, and let the relief wash through him. That was it. Janey was taken care of, he and Taggart were going to find a place of their own, close, but far enough to give his Aunt a sense of some freedom, and with a mother-in-law suite for when she was ready. And Martin would keep on doing what he’d come to love so much working at the VA hospital.

  “That, I think,” Martin said, stretching, “is all the surprise success I need today. I’m gonna go back to bed while I still have a chance to avoid whatever the next thing is that screws all this up.” It was like a clock, looming and ticking in the distance. Inevitable.

  Taggart frowned. “I just made breakfast. And, also, I taught Grunt a new trick. Took a few days. Want to see it?”

  “I’ll eat breakfast and still be able to go back to bed,” Martin pointed out. “But I’ll take you up on a dog trick. Did you teach him to get a beer out of the fridge? Because that’s useful.”

  “Almost,” Taggart said. “Very close.”

  Taggart whistled, and Grunt dashed into the room, one of his nearly destroyed chew-toys in his jaws. “Drop it,” Taggart said, and Grunt did, listening attentively as his tail whipped back and forth. “Good boy. Alright. Ready? Big Question!”

  Martin raised an eyebrow, and craned his neck to see over the table. Grunt took off into the house, and was gone for a moment.

  He came flying back into the kitchen with something in his teeth. He stood patiently, holding it.

  “Go Papa,” Taggart said.

  Grunt cast his muzzle around twice or three times, and trotted over to Martin. He carefully placed what was in his mouth on the floor.

  It was a box. A little one, purple and felted.

  “Taggart, is this—”

  “I couldn’t manage to get him to open it,” Taggart said. “Must less actually do the really good part.”

  Taggart knelt, and picked the box up. He glanced down at Grunt. “Good boy.”

  Then Taggart opened the box.

  Before it was fully opened, Martin had already tackled Taggart to the ground. This time literally. He straddled Taggart’s hips, and pressed his lips to the Marine’s.

  He straightened, smiling. “The answer is ‘yes’.”

  “I was gonna ask if you’d dig us a new latrine,” Taggart said. “Glad you’re such a team player. This here is the key to the tool shed.”

  Martin laughed. “It is not. Give it to me.”

  “Nope,” Taggart said. “You have to eat breakfast first. Latrines laters.”

  They wrestled, but eventually, still on the floor, Martin won, or, his deadly Marine let him win, but he considered that a technicality.

  Either way, Taggart slipped the ring on Martin’s finger, and Martin slipped the matching ring on Taggart’s.

  “Will you, then?” Taggart asked.

  “Yes,” Martin told him. “You’re gonna stick it out with me, right? Even if things get hairy? Because I will.”

  “Absolutely,” Taggart said, and crossed his heart. “On my honor, baby. All the way.”

  “Hoo-rah,” Martin barked.

  Taggart snorted, and laughed. “Yeah, baby. Hoo-rah.”

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  Thank you for reading Gudge by Cait Forester and Brian C. Palmer.

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  Virtue & Vice

  Doubt

  Denial

  Sin

  Gamble

  Keep reading for a preview of Cait’s next title, Run, coming 17 December 2020!

  PREVIEW: RUN

  The first rays of sunlight glinted off the barrel of the gun as I opened the door to my condo, and I jerked in surprise.

  “Look, we need your help.”

  I swallowed heavily, and my eyes traced a path between the gun and the man who held it.

  Nathan Peterson. My ex. He was dirty, and there were bags under his eyes, and he wasn’t alone. His free arm was wrapped around Finn’s body, half supporting his weight, and I gasped as I saw Finn’s blood soaking through the thin blue chambray shirt he wore.

  “Are you going to let us in or not?”

  It was cold outside. Goosebumps were already standing up on my arms; I’d only planned to nip out to my car and back for the papers I'd left there yesterday evening. They must’ve been half frozen.

  “Are you going to keep that gun pointed at me?” I asked, and watched as Finn shot Nathan a Look, sending a vaguely apologetic, if pained, glance in my direction.

  I barely breathed as I waited for Nathan’s answer. I wasn’t sure what I wanted him to say. He wasn’t going to hurt me, I decided. He would have done it already. Even with Finn injured, Nathan could have shouldered me aside easily, could have jammed the gun into my belly, moved me by the threat alone.

  It only took a moment for him to lower the weapon, and as his hand moved, I realized that his finger wasn’t even on the trigger. I didn’t realize how tight my shoulders had become until they relaxed.

  “Look, we’ll be out of the country in a few days,” Nathan said, “so there’s no need to get your panties in a twist. You can go to the cops after we leave.”

  It was a weak excuse, and we both knew it. Last night’s headlines flashed up in the front of my mind: Prison transport van wrecks; convicts escape and Gay inmates escape prison transport van. I’d barely dared to click on the links; I hadn’t been sure what I wanted to see. But there they were, their names in black and white, their mugshots filling the screen. I hadn’t known whether I wanted them to be caught or to get away.

  (That’s not the truth. I wanted them to escape - but it’s not the sort of thing you admit to yourself. Not when I didn’t belong to either of them. Not anymore.)

  Even now, in the doorway, I wavered. I wasn’t proud of it. My fingers itched to reach out to them, my bo
dy swaying on my feet. I was disgusted with myself. Something of it must have shown on my face, because Nathan shuffled Finn against the wall - careful that he didn’t press the bloodstain against the vinyl siding - and leaned in closely. It was like a parody of the way things used to be, circumventing all my working brain cells when Nathan wanted something.

  “Don’t you remember the way his skin felt under your hands?” he whispered. “Those muscles hard and rippling?”

  His voice was low and deep, but I could hear the panic underneath the false calm he was trying to project. It was disgusting, to use old lust against me in this situation, but I could still read him. He was grasping at straws because he thought straws were all he had.

  In the end, I wasn’t sure whether it was the panic or the words themselves that acted like a splash of cold water over my head.

  “My boyfriend’s in the bedroom,” I said softly, but inside, I was fuming. How dare he? How dare he reduce what we’d had - what we’d all had together - to mere sex. And then try to seduce me with it, while Finn was hurt and bleeding.

  Nathan shouldered Finn’s weight again, and this time, they pressed forward, crowding me back, and the door closed with a quiet click as Nathan gestured with the gun. “Get rid of him, then.”

  I glanced cautiously over my shoulder.

  “Look,” Nathan said gently, “we don’t want to hurt you. Or him. But we don’t know him, and we’re through being anyone’s patsies.”

  I didn’t understand what he meant, but that was okay - I didn’t have to in order to recognize the truth of the situation. No matter what was about to happen, it was best that Tom left. Probably they just wanted bandages, food. Maybe to steal my car. I could do that. Bandage Finn up, reassure myself that he was going to be okay. Pack them a bag of food. Call the cops once they leave; Nathan had a gun, after all. A ready made excuse for my cooperation. We could do this - whatever this was - nice and peaceful, but the longer Tom stayed in the house, the more likely he was going to be caught in some kind of crossfire.