by Eden Winters
Bo withdrew, turned Lucky half on his side, and slid back in. Deep. So deep. He grunted as he shoved in. “You feel so fucking good. I could fuck you forever.”
“I’d let you,” Lucky ground out between clenched teeth. Too much, too much. The cuffs bit into his wrists, but he couldn’t give a happy damn. His nerves were alive, muscles tightening and pressure building deep inside. He turned his head and studied Bo’s face, the intense concentration, the sweat droplets sliding down his forehead.
The muscles flexing in his arms.
Half on his side, Lucky couldn’t move very well to speed the pace, and his cock might explode in a bad way if he didn’t get some friction, and soon.
Bo quickened the pace, moving in and out with jerky thrusts. “Ah, ah, ah,” he moaned. He buried himself in Lucky’s body, completely rigid, full bottom lip sucked into his mouth.
No! Not yet! Lucky still needed—
His orgasm blindsided him, slamming into him without warning. He shouted, “Bo!” and curled more fully onto his side, shooting across the floor without being touched. Again and again he shot, muscles trembling.
He didn’t rightly know when Bo sank down behind him, still inside, and wrapped an arm around him.
The hard floor was nearly unbearable now, along with the stress on his wrists. Without a word Bo slipped from his body, rose, and unfastened the cuffs, rubbing Lucky’s chafed wrists and placing a gentle kiss on each.
“Come on,” he said, holding out a hand.
Lucky latched on to Bo’s fingers. “Where are we going?”
“To soak in the Jacuzzi.” He glanced at the clock. “We’ve got three more hours and some change and I intend to make the most of every minute.”
***
“It was so cool!” Todd gushed, twirling spaghetti around his fork at the dinner table. “The special effects were awesome.” Tall, lanky, and with an intense focus whenever he spoke to someone, he’d likely turn heads at college.
Lucky struggled to find a comfortable position on the hard wooden chair, his ass being delightfully sore from an afternoon with Bo. The house should have smelled of tomato sauce, and not the floral air spray Lucky used to hopefully mask the scent of what he and Bo spent the afternoon doing.
He’d never look at the spot near the coffee table the same way again.
Bo sniffed the air and cocked a brow at Lucky. How did one hairy arch say Did you have to use the whole damned can?
Ty sat across from his brother, Bo and Lucky on either side, arms folded across his chest and scowling. “It was lame.”
Todd shot his younger brother what might one day be a pretty convincing go-to-Hell look. “That’s not what you told Rett.”
If anything, Ty scowled harder. “I don’t want spaghetti.”
Lucky bit back the “eat it or wear it” retort his mother often used. Of course, with three brothers and a sister, not to mention other assorted relatives and stray neighbors stopping by, if he didn’t eat, and fast, he lost his meal to wandering forks when his parents weren’t looking.
Bo responded quietly, “What would you rather have?”
“Anything but this.” Had to be one serious snit to keep the kid’s fork out of his food. Normally he put away twice the carbs Lucky could manage in one sitting.
“Did you know that spaghetti was one of the first things I learned to cook?” Bo didn’t seem fazed in the least by teenaged attitude. “I used to watch cooking shows, tried to make whatever they showed.” He wrinkled his nose. “Let’s just say my earlier efforts didn’t quite come out as planned.”
Ty’s expression didn’t change. Well, damn. It finally happened. At the tender age of sixteen his face had finally frozen that way from overuse.
Moose let out a whine, wasting his best hungry puppy eyes on someone refusing to look.
Todd perked up. “Would you teach me to cook, Uncle Bo?”
Uncle Bo. Uncle Lucky. Damned if Lucky hadn’t gone and gotten all domesticated.
“Sure.” Bo gave Todd a smile that made Lucky’s insides quiver. “I’d be happy to. I taught my brother. I tried to cook dinner every night so my aunt didn’t have to.”
“Why not?” Ty asked.
Spoiled brat. More than likely Charlotte worked her fingers to the bone then came home and served the little princeling.
“She worked, sometimes two jobs, to take care of me and my brother.”
Lucky shot a silent “shut up” at his nephew. He needed to drop the line of questioning now.
Ty didn’t know when to quit. “Where were your parents?”
Lucky recalled the time he’d sat on a park bench in Florida while Bo cut himself open and bled his horrible childhood all over Lucky. “Tyler, that’s enou—”
Bo never missed a beat. “My mother died in a car wreck, and my father wasn’t very good at being a parent, so my brother and I lived with my aunt.”
He’d said the whole thing without a single flinch. Tonight in bed Lucky would hug the hell out of him.
Ty stared at his plate.
“If you don’t want that, we can save it for later,” Bo said, either unbothered or good at hiding a painful direct hit.
Ty pouted a few moments more, huffed, rolled his eyes, and finally put his fork to use.
***
They lay in bed, Lucky spooned against Bo’s back. “Did it bother you? My nephew asking questions.”
Bo shrugged. “Not much. My counselor’s been teaching me how to detach and tell my story without ripping my guts out.” Like when I told you, remained unsaid.
“He’s been quite the handful since his mother left, hasn’t he?”
Bo snorted. “You should’ve seen me at that age. It says a lot about my aunt’s willpower that she didn’t shoot me.”
Lucky smoothed his hand over Bo’s exposed shoulder and pecs, slowing a moment to comb through his smattering of chest hair. “I still don’t like him asking questions like that.”
“It’s okay.” Bo patted the hand Lucky stroked over his chest. “It worked, didn’t it?”
“What?” Lucky lifted his head from the pillow to stare down at Bo.
“Finding out someone maybe had it worse than him made him think, right? At least he ate.”
“But he shouldn’t be such an asshole to you.”
“To us,” Bo mumbled.
Yeah. Right.
“He’s lashing out. We’re handy targets. He’ll adjust. You’ll see.” Bo sounded so sure.
Lucky didn’t see. But teaching his nephew a lesson in the boxing ring like an SNB rookie might piss his sister off. Or not. “I forgot to thank you.”
“For what?” Bo said on a yawn.
“For putting up with me, my family. For getting Rett to take them to the movies.”
“Well, you’re not comfortable being intimate with them in the house, and lack of sex makes you grouchy, so consider it a public service.”
“I wasn’t grouchy.”
“If you say so.” Bo patted Lucky’s hand again. “You know, sooner or later we need to talk about this hang-up of yours. I get that you don’t want to set bad examples or anything, that it embarrasses—”
“I’m not embarrassed,” Lucky blurted, cheeks heating. “I just don’t think it’s right having sex with kids in the house.”
Bo remained silent for a few moments, then, “Lucky?”
“Yes?”
“How many kids did your parents have?”
What kind of fool question was that? Bo knew as well as Lucky how many Lucklighters walked the earth, courtesy of his parents. “Five.”
“And you’re the oldest.”
Lucky released an exasperated snort. “You know that I am.”
“So, your parents had four more kids after you?”
“Yeah.” Bo’d met all of them. “What are you getting at?”
“Just think about it a bit, it’ll come to you.”
Bo fell asleep without explaining.
Chapter Four
The
house was quiet, too quiet. Lucky leaned on the deck railing, sipping coffee and watching Moose roam ’round and ’round the yard, nose to the grass. Why did dogs make such a big fuss about where to take a dump?
Moose finally located the right bush to pee on, then kept on hunting for a place to squat. Dogs.
Cat Lucky jumped up on the railing, as if to say, “I know, right?” and leaned into Lucky’s hand.
Pink lined the horizon over the treetops in the distance, and around him the neighborhood came to life as cars trundled down the street, temporarily silencing a barely-heard lawnmower from a few streets over.
Parts of the backyard privacy fence leaned at an odd angle, and the railing supporting his weight needed a coat of water seal.
No matter what he and Bo fixed, the property continuously needed more work.
The glass door behind him slid open, and a moment later arms encircled his waist. Bo planted a soft kiss on the back of Lucky’s neck. Thank God the boys weren’t in the living room so they could PDA to their hearts content.
“Good morning,” The comforting scent of Bo combined with soap, toothpaste, and cologne. No matter what else he added to the mix, Bo still smelled like Bo.
“It’s Monday, so the jury’s still out,” Lucky growled. Damn, but he hated mornings, and Monday morning worst of all.
“Well, if the day turns out bad, I’ll make it up to you later.”
At one time, the day got better with such a promise. Now… Now “later” meant finagling time alone.
“You woke Ty up, didn’t you?” Bo nuzzled Lucky’s jaw.
“Yup.” His nephew would probably laugh at the dark blue suit, if he decided to acknowledge Lucky’s existence at all today. Lucky pulled at the silken noose around his neck.
Bo stepped to the side and let out a low whistle. “Mr. Harrison, you do clean up nice.”
Lucky scowled. He might be in a business suit, and had even combed his hair, but underneath all the window dressing lay an ex-con, redneck, tobacco farmer’s son. Bo? Lucky stepped back and appraised Bo’s hella fine body made to wear a suit. That man looked nice in anything he wore.
Or nothing at all.
No! Wait. Assless chaps. Black leather cradling the firm mounds of Bo’s ass. Yeah. Like framing for a work of art.
Lucky shifted to give his growing cock more room and shot a glance toward the living room. Empty.
Moose finished his business and raced back to the deck, paws and belly wet with dew.
Bo jumped back. Lucky shouted, “No, Moose!”
Roughly one hundred and twenty pounds of white fur slammed into Lucky, sending his coffee cup flying. It hit the deck and shattered.
Damn it! Third one in a month!
Bo sighed, knelt, and scooped up the pieces. “That dog really needs some training. Did you get any on you?” He turned Lucky one way and then another. “No, looks like he didn’t get the suit.”
With coffee, anyway. Wet, grass-stained paw prints meant spot cleaning the jacket.
However, dirtying up his suit might be a good excuse for a casual Monday, even if Lucky’s day called for a meeting with a bunch of pharma executives.
Meetings with CEOs and court appearances—two occasions Walter insisted on Lucky at least pretending to look professional.
“C’mon,” Bo said, taking the broken cup into the house. “We need to move. Ty, c’mon. We gotta get going.”
Lucky let the pets back in, wiped the worst of Moose’s damage away with a damp cloth, and met Bo and Ty at the front door. Bo held out another cup of coffee—a steel cup this time—and smirked. “Try not to break this one.”
He bounded down the steps toward his Durango. Ty ran an assessing gaze over Lucky’s attire, smirked, and followed Bo without a word.
Moose sat on his furry haunches a few feet away, tail swishing back and forth.
Lucky lifted the mug. “Don’t even think about it.”
***
They sat in front of the school. No one said anything, though music played softly from the Durango’s stereo. Lucky turned his head as far as he dared and watched Ty from the corner of his eye.
Ty swallowed hard, staring out the window. Kids called out to each other, paired up or forming groups, and sauntered toward the front of the school.
They knew each other. Many had likely been together since first grade.
Ty was the new student, without even his brother’s support as he’d have had last year. Lucky never moved from his birthplace until he left home at eighteen. Never had to make new friends, learn his way around a new school.
“I’ll be here to pick you up,” Bo said, finally prodding Ty out the door.
“That’s okay. I’ll take the bus.”
“Ty—”
He’d slammed the door before Lucky thought of anything else to say.
***
The blonde receptionist looked up when Bo and Lucky strolled past her desk.
“Hi, Lisa,” Bo said, corners of his mouth turning upward.
Lucky grumbled something that might have been, “Mawnin’.”
“Hi, guys.” Lisa flashed a quick smile and returned to business mode. “Mr. Harrison? Mr. Smith would like to see you.”
No matter how many times people called him by his new name, Lucky still hesitated a moment before answering to Simon Harrison. In his own head he’d always be Richmond Lucklighter. One day he’d legally change his name back.
Whenever he found the time and the money pit he lived in stopped sucking all disposable income from his wallet.
Lucky passed Bo his computer bag. “Can you take this to my desk? Let me go see what the boss wants.”
He strode into Walter’s office without knocking. Walter expected him, right? Besides, in over a decade working here, he’d only knocked a handful of times.
A K-cup coffee dispenser sat gathering dust on a cabinet, while an overly large coffee cup sat on Walter’s desk, the plain kind found in the department’s break room. It’d take too many K-cups to get Walter’s morning going.
The same overflowing bookcases lined one wall, with the cheesy “It Takes Teamwork” poster hanging behind Walter’s desk. Windows to the right of the bookcases offered a view of the street and let some light into the room.
The furniture hadn’t changed in Lucky’s time with the bureau, a long way from new even on his first day on the job.
The oversized mahogany furnishings suited Walter, a man who cared more about work than appearances and chose function over statement. At six feet six, and with a linebacker’s body gone to seed, Mt. Walter made an imposing figure no matter who else entered the room, commanding attention with shrewd-eyed perception and a reputation for taking care of his own while making crime bosses shake in their shoes.
Fear or respect. You’d give the man one or the other. Sometimes both.
Nearly every inch of the desktop held papers, folders, the coffee cup, and assorted pens and paperclips. He’d carved out a small empty spot directly in front of him to rest his folded hands.
“Ah, Lucky. Good morning!” Walter’s not-quite-a-smile didn’t lift the folds of his jowls. He didn’t even make a crack about Lucky’s attire. He peered over the tops of his bifocals, a familiar gesture.
Lucky sank into the chair in front of Walter’s desk, unease building inside. He’d known the man too long not to recognize the somber mood.
For ten minutes Walter prattled on, more breakroom gossip than business. So unlike him. Normally he came right to the point. Small talk wasn’t his style.
Lucky waited him out.
Walter steepled his fingers, elbows on the desk. Uh-oh. Shit, meet fan. “Now, while I have you in here, there’s another matter I’d like to discuss with you.” The businesslike tone matched the boss’s neutral expression.
What had Lucky done now? Or what was he going to be asked to do that he wouldn’t like? He forced himself not to slouch and show the sudden twisting in his gut. Walter didn’t often take an overly stern tone with L
ucky, normally saving the professional side of himself for reporters, pharmaceutical company directors and, well, others. Not Lucky.
“What’s up?” Lucky ventured. Oh, God. Had Walter volunteered him for something?
As practiced as he’d ever heard his boss speak, Walter said, “I’m not getting any younger.”
Lucky jerked. “What?” Oh shit. Surely not… “You’re not sick or nothing, are you?” His biological father still recovered from a near-fatal illness, courtesy of a chunk of Lucky’s liver. He couldn’t stand for anything to happen to the man who’d taken on the role during his family’s rejection.
Walter waved a meaty paw. “Other than high blood pressure, a touch of arthritis, and failing eyesight, which I’ve battled for years, no. However, a man in my position, whom others depend upon, in many cases during a life or death situation, should be at the top of his game. I’m long past.”
Lucky didn’t need to rely on the information he’d gotten from a body language class to pick up on the cues. Walter wouldn’t meet his eyes—a rare occurrence—and tapped his fingers on the desktop. He wasn’t happy.
“You’ve always been there for me. I’ve no complaints.” Pulling from the cocky guy act he defaulted to when in doubt, Lucky added, “And mine’s the only opinion that matters, right?” He forced a grin.
Walter laughed. “Still the same old Lucky. Please. Don’t change. This department needs you just as you are.”
What the fuck? “What are you talking about?”
The gale force winds of Walter’s sigh should’ve ruffled the endless piles of paper on his desk. “The powers that be have suggested that, perhaps it’s time to pass the torch.”
Lucky shot to his feet. “They want you to retire?” How dare anyone suggest age made Walter a lesser man.
“Lucky, sit down. While I appreciate your outrage on my behalf, they do make a point. I haven’t met the requirements for field work in quite some time.” He patted his paunch. “New technology, new methods. The department needs to keep up with the times. I’m too old-school, apparently.”
Lucky ignored the order to sit. If he didn’t let off some anger by pacing, he’d slug something. “They’re forcing you out? Who?”
Even with being ousted hanging over his head, Walter remained a company man, through and through. “After careful consideration, and poring over the job requirements and qualifications, I’ve come to realize they’re right.”