by BA Tortuga
Jake’s eyes crossed a little, and Keye had to resist the urge to just kiss the man stupid. They really needed to do something besides fuck, but it sure was tempting.
“Look. I get it. I’m a nut and….” Jake hummed, one hand on the center of his chest.
“I like nuts. Pecans. Walnuts. Jakes.” Keye liked the way Jake rubbed all up on him the best.
“I… you’re distracting me.” Jake stepped closer, both of them migrating toward the cabin. Up the stairs. Through the back door. Away from the mosquitoes, which worried Jake, with the buzzing and the hunger, and didn’t that thought make Keye smile?
“I mean to. I have to have time to convince you that you won’t make me crazy.”
“What?” Jake’s hands moved up his arms.
“You just have to trust me, honey.” He kissed Jake’s mouth, tongue flicking. Jake’s little moan fascinated him, and the way the man pressed into him was a frigging addiction. He slid his hands beneath that tight little ass and lifted, needing more contact.
“Keye.” Jake’s ass went tight, body arching toward him. “Damn. You. I.”
“You. Me. Toast.” He was feeling almost cheerful. Weird.
“Toast.” One dark eye and one light stared at him. “I like you, Keye.”
“Good.” He kissed Jake hard, letting the touch take him back to that happy place. It was damned easy with Jake. The world started spinning, swirling in rainbow colors, making him dizzy as Jake opened to him. Crazy.
Then he heard Jake’s voice, down in his soul. Keye! Someone’s coming!
Shit. He tore himself away, instinctively pushing Jake down toward the safest place, which was a table. Then he jumped to one side, going for the weapon he had hidden in the main room. Information crashed on him—three men in an SUV, long-range weapons, pros. One was allergic to peanuts. Jon, Frank, Peter. Peter’s mom had cancer.
Jesus, was this what Jake’s mind was like all the time?
He guessed he could always fling his peanut butter toast at the one guy if the gun didn’t work.
Jake frowned. “If they don’t slow down, they’ll hit my car.”
Keye checked the Glock to make sure it wouldn’t jam up on him. “She’ll be okay.”
Jake went to the window, stared out, a frown on his face. No, no; going out to discuss things with them would not help.
“They want to kill me, magic. Not big on words, these guys. Go sit in the bathtub.”
“I don’t want them to kill you.” Jake shivered, stepped away. “God, they’re ugly. How can they do what you do and be so different from you? I hate crowds.”
“I’m just special.” He slapped that fine butt. “Go, get in the tub.” He would handle the ugly.
“In the tub.” Jake went, fingers trailing over his arm. “Okay.”
“The bathroom doesn’t have windows; the tub is porcelain-covered cast iron.” He grabbed Jake and gave the man a hard, brief kiss. “If I don’t have to worry about you, I can do my job better.”
“Just do your job.”
Keye nodded, glad he had more time than that first vision had shown him. By the time the vehicle with the would-be assassins in it flew around the bend, he had sweats on, and both of his hand weapons were on his person.
The first round of bullets came from the passenger’s side as the truck pulled up. Not particularly delicate, that. Not particularly effective either. He wasn’t exactly a careless drug dealer who could be taken out by a drive-by. He took out the front tire of the truck with his first shot.
The truck went spinning, the front end slamming into Jake’s car. Huh. Looked like Jake was right. Imagine that.
He took aim, took out the driver, then the front-seat passenger. Two down, one to go. The last one rolled out of the car and did some sort of Jackie Chan run and roll and leap toward the house.
Wow. Seriously? Where did these assholes get hired? Stunt Men R Us?
He shook his head, holding his position. There was no way anyone was going to get past his position, so he just had to be patient.
One of the windows blew out, and he groaned. Great. Glass. There went his deposit. Still, at least he could judge the angle of attack and get ready. Patience was his strong suit. Let the guy come to him.
And come the asshole did, although it was through too many windows to be one guy, and one of those windows was in the back near Jake.
Fuck. Fuck a goddamn duck. There were only supposed to be three. He took out the guy from the front, then headed to the back of the cabin.
He heard Jake, the gasp half surprised, half pissed-off.
Shit some more. Keye put on a burst of speed, sliding toward the bathroom, coming in low.
“…leave me alone. I am not either bait, and if you don’t stop, I’ll tell everyone you still wet the bed!”
The guy staggered back from Jake, who was hitting him with a toilet plunger. Keye laughed, the sound embarrassingly like a braying donkey.
The guy turned, drew down on him, and the wood handle of the plunger came down on the man’s wrist. Hard. “I. Said. No!”
Keye broke off laughing as well as he could and grabbed the gun from the guy as it fell. Then he dragged the fool out of the bathroom. “How many more?”
“Fuck you.”
“Two, but you shot one. The other one is outside waiting to shoot us. They’re Frank’s friends, and they came on motorcycles.” Jake sighed, hit the guy with the plunger again. “And if you bite him, he’ll hurt you, Dwayne, so don’t.”
Keye wanted to hurt the guy anyway. “Is that an accurate count this time, magic?”
“As far as he knows.” Jake looked a little shocky. “I can only know what they know, and Frank didn’t know they were coming.”
“I mean right now.” He just needed to know if there were any more about to storm the house. Hang in there, magic.
I will.
Jesus. He heard that.
Jake nodded. “The one outside with a rifle. His name is Sam, and he hits his girlfriend. She’s sleeping with Dwayne here too. Tawdry.”
“Thanks, babe. Get me the tie off that robe.” He wanted to shoot the guy, but he figured he’d use the one they had to draw out the bad guy who was still out there.
“Okay.” Jake was holding together—just barely, but he was holding on.
Keye tied the guy up. “Stay away from the windows, magic. I need to go draw fire.”
“Don’t draw it to you.”
“Nope. To him, is all.” He grinned and yanked the bound asshole all the way out of the bathroom. He’d start shoving the guy in front of windows.
“Fuck you, man. Let me go, asshole.”
This was what happened when you hired amateurs. They made stupid mistakes. The guy tried to fight him, and Keye clubbed the bastard against the side of his head with a closed fist. Enough of this bullshit. These assholes come in, worry his magic man, break windows. He popped the unconscious man in the next window over.
“Here, kitty. Come get him.”
JAKE TURNED the water hotter, trying to scald off his skin. He just. He had to go. He had to go away from here. This was bad. This was bad, and somehow he was involved and all he’d wanted was money. He wasn’t… this wasn’t him. This whole violence and scary and people with guns thing.
“Jake?”
Wow, Keye did know his name.
“Yeah?” He was freaking out a little bit. A man with a gun had touched him.
“I need to clean up a bit, honey. Can I come in?”
“Are you okay?” He pushed the shower curtain open a little; he didn’t want Keye hurt. That was for sure.
“I’ll do. Are you all right?”
He nodded. “No.”
Keye had already shucked his clothes, and he looked pretty clean, but he stepped in with Jake anyway. That was nice. Warm.
“Is it too hot for you?” Was he too naked? Was this whole thing too weird? Was he going to have a meltdown?
“I’m good.” Keye pulled him close, let him res
t against that wide chest.
He’d been afraid that it would be nasty, awful, but it wasn’t. There was only silence. Yay.
Keye was like this amazing force field. He shut out the world.
Jake’s body started to shake, which was stupid, but there it was. Shaking.
“I got you, babe.”
He stopped, then bust out laughing, the joy so sudden and so big it almost hurt. Keye laughed with him, bending to kiss him a little before rinsing him off. Hard hands moved through his hair, over his skin, petting him. “Come on, magic.”
“Come where?” He followed, dripping, skin aching a little.
“Out here where we can stretch out.” Keye had cleaned up, and they lay on the bed, Keye easing him down, warm and hard against him.
“I was going to….” Oh. Good. His eyes crossed, and he scooted closer, rubbing against the amazing heat that was Keye.
“Nope. You were going to be right here with me and kiss me, babe.” Keye kissed him, lips on his, a little damp. Oh, kissing. He nodded, tongue testing the little split in Keye’s bottom lip. Keye’s hands slid down his back, fingers spreading his asscheeks. The man was focused.
Focused and wanting him—Jake could feel it everywhere, deep. It was big enough to block out anything bad, and it made him feel high, like Keye was the best kind of speed. He was caught in it, addicted. That was a good thing, right? That he liked what they were doing? Because Keye seemed weirdly determined to keep him.
Keye nibbled on his bottom lip, tugged, dragging his focus to that mouth. They kissed deeper, harder, Keye rolling him to his back and covering him.
Mine.
Jake heard it, clear as a bell, and he didn’t bother arguing. It was true, even after just twenty-four—Forty-eight? Thirty-six? Who the fuck knew?—hours. He was Keye’s. He could feel it from the tips of his toes up through his balls. He was Keye’s, and that was that. Keye rubbed against him, cock against his thigh.
Keye nodded for him, brought one of his legs up, spread him. That put them in even closer contact, Keye’s rough-haired skin along his, bringing up goose bumps. The heat was overwhelming, chasing away the shocky chills he’d had in the shower.
Yes. His lips opened, his whole world coming to a full stop. Keye’s tongue pushed into his mouth, tasting him, and that heavy body rested between his thighs, Keye rocking back and forth.
All Jake could do was moan and spread, make the offer that he needed to make.
“That’s it.” Keye murmured the words against his lips, long fingers moving down between them to press Jake’s hole. Those eyes held his, made the world so quiet, so still. He hardly breathed. Keye pushed a little harder, one finger slipping in, rough and scratchy and crazy good.
He found himself nodding, gasping a little. Keye rumbled, the sound pure pleasure, and rubbed all up on him again, hand trapped between them. Inside him.
More.
He wasn’t sure which of them thought it, even. Maybe it didn’t matter. It seemed to echo back and forth between them, getting bigger, the feeling growing and growing.
More. More. Moremoremoremoremoremoremore.
“Please. Please, Keye.” He couldn’t remember how to breathe.
“Soon, magic. I promise. Don’t want to hurt you.”
“No. No, you don’t.” Keye was his center, where he belonged.
“I got to find something.” Keye pushed up a little, which changed the angle of everything, making him see stars.
“Got to….” He arched, the world sparkling like a high-budget cartoon background.
“Ha! Got it.” Keye moved back down against him, jostling all the good stuff all over.
Jake wasn’t sure what “it” was, but he was 99.852 percent sure he didn’t give a fuck. He just waited, and suddenly there was lube. Boom. Keye must have been reaching for that.
Such a good man.
The fingers that eased in were strong, sure, way more on the side of evil than good. Jake approved. Keye opened him up, got him good and wet, which was nice, really, because he was ready for the fucking to commence.
“Deep and hard.” He was fairly sure Keye knew, but sometimes reiteration was necessary.
“I got you, babe. I promise.” Keye’s fingers slipped free, the heavy cock pushing against his hole, so big it almost hurt, which was perfect.
His body knew what it needed and he bore back, taking more, wanting more. Keye gave him everything he needed, sliding deep inside, hitting that mythical sweet spot like it was no problem at all.
It was nice to not even have to gasp or nod or say anything. Keye just pegged it again. In fact, the man seemed to have a real talent for it. Bang.
Jake’s eyes closed and they started fucking—good and hard, their skin slapping together enough it stung. Keye was making these noises, full-on caveman grunts, and it was hotter than the hubs of Hades, which his mom had always said and it never made sense. Until now.
Now.
Keye groaned, then bit his shoulder, shattering thoughts of anything but pleasure. His legs lifted up to curl around Keye’s waist, his breath panting out in heavy waves. God, he was going to pass out.
Not before he came, though, enough to rattle his bones.
It took all of two or three seconds of him shaking and squeezing, and Keye was right there with him, coming for him, deep inside. It was better than anything, even toast.
Keye chuckled. “Fuck, magic, you do make me happy.”
The words made him nod, belly hot. He barely knew this man, but Keye’s ultimate happiness seemed really important. Really, really.
Weird, but basically okay.
Keye slumped down a little, leaning on him. “Better?”
“Uh-huh.” Keye made almost everything better, in some strange way.
“Cool. We’ll nap a little before we head to Vegas.”
“Vegas?” Wait. What? “There are bad guys in Vegas, Keye.”
“There are. And unless I go settle with them, they’ll keep coming. I have a mind to take a nice long vacation with you.”
“I worry.” Those hands made it easier to relax, though.
“I know. You’ll help me.” Keye sounded so sure, and the hand that pushed through his hair was firm, comfortable. Not tangly at all, as if Keye’s fingers oozed No More Tangles, which ew, but also interesting, because instant lube… assuming that stuff was lubey, of course.
Keye shook him, hard. “Focus, magic.”
He had no idea what to say but “Okay. Let’s go to Vegas.”
His feet were itchy to move, after all, and Keye was like his own personal calamine lotion. With a gun.
How cool was that?
Cats in a China Shop
BROCK DANIELS grinned at his driver, who had pulled up in front of the high-rise building with all its glass windows and snorted. “I know, right? Not my usual place.”
Hell, normally he just drove himself, but he had ten thousand things to deal with today, and this way he could at least multitask. Besides that, he hated downtown Dallas. It was so cold and clinical.
Lord knew Brock was way more… rustic. He’d made his name opening restaurants that did giant cuts of meat and side dishes swimming in bacon fat and butter. His cookbooks all had log cabin covers. This was a real aberration for him, but it was also important.
“It will cost less to run off gas than it will to park in this part of town, boss. Call me when you need me. I’ll run out and get the car washed.”
“Got it.” Brock hopped out of the car, headed into the building, and stopped at the enormous directory to look for Eggshell Studios. By all accounts, this designer could recreate the china pattern Brock needed, which had gone out of print sometime in the 1800s. He needed it for his mom and dad’s fiftieth anniversary.
He always reminded people he was the youngest kid by twenty years when they asked about his folks.
Eighteenth floor. La-di-da. Still, this dude was the best. Jean-Claude. Did people really just go by first names? Not that he had any room t
o talk. Texas knew him as B. Daniels, so who was he to judge, right?
Right.
Dishes. He had a picture, a drawing, and a vague memory. It would have to be enough. His mom had lost the set in a tornado, and damn it, he wanted her to have it. He was cooking her and Dad the same meal they’d had on their first anniversary, just on a much grander scale.
Brock hardly ever went home, so when he did, he made it count.
The elevator took him up so fast it was a tiny bit disconcerting, his belly dropping to the cradle of his hips. Brock swallowed hard, and his ears popped. Gracious.
The office he stepped into was all white and chrome, which perfectly framed the wildly colored samples of porcelain and the patterns on the walls. Something deep in his chest responded to the controlled chaos, and he breathed easier.
A lovely little blonde stepped up with a toothy smile and jacked-to-Jesus hair. “Good morning, sir. My name is Jackie. How may I assist you?”
“Hey. I’m B. Daniels. I have an appointment with Jean-Claude at eleven.” No piranha assistant was gonna intimidate him. His PA, Gene, could eat this girl for lunch.
“Oh, excellent. Please, have a seat. Would you like a latte?”
He was motioned to a white damask sofa that had obviously been tortured to make it curve that way. He perched on the cushion, which was hard as a rock. “Uh. Yeah, I would love one.”
“Yes, sir. One moment.”
There was doodley-doo music playing, and it set his teeth on edge. Seriously? The wandering notes of the flute made him flinch every time the trill got shrill. Hey, that rhymed.
A perfectly made latte was placed on the table, along with a tiny spoon. “Jean-Claude will be with you in moments.”
God save him from froofery.
He tasted the latte and grimaced. Soy milk. Blegh. God save him from… shit, he didn’t even know who would serve someone soy milk. Hippies? Not someone in a glass tower. They could afford real milk, right? He shifted, his left asscheek going numb.
“Sorry for the delay, sir.” The soft voice was cultured, smooth as silk. “How can I help you?”
He stood, trying not to knock the latte over. When Brock looked up, though, he dropped the stupid little cup right on the white sofa. Holy shit.