Warders, Volume Two

by Mary Calmes

  At that point Kurt’s brain had apparently kicked in, but the water was higher than it should have been that time of year because of the rain, and there was just enough current to suck Joe under and pull him into a connecting stream that was swollen from a rise in the river. He lost his pants as he tumbled around and swallowed enough water to drown him. But he made it to the bank, and there he stayed all night, freezing, with only a T-shirt to keep himself warm. They found him the following morning, bruised, scratched up, with a mild case of hypothermia. He had never offered a good explanation as to why his clothes were off, but everyone had figured the poor kid was out of his head at the time. The bruises were credited to his ordeal, and while Kurt had been in trouble for not looking out better for his cousin, nothing more had come of it.

  “I’m gonna drop him in a well and see how he likes being cold and wet all night long,” I promised, my voice low.

  “No, you’re not.” Joe smiled and turned toward me, sliding his arm under my suit jacket and curling it around my waist, his head notched under my chin. “You’re gonna leave him alone. But make sure he doesn’t come near me so I don’t have to make a scene and tell him off.”

  As always, Joe worried about making other people uncomfortable.

  I clutched him to me, because just thinking about the fact that the dear, sweet man I held in my arms could have died at fourteen, and therefore never been at the club the night I met him, and not have been able to love me dearly and desperately for the past six years hurt my heart.

  What if there were no Joseph Locke for me to love? I could not imagine me without him; it just wasn’t possible anymore. He was my home, my whole life. Without him, nothing worked. I could be me out in the world, both professionally and as a warder, because I had a sanctuary to return to.

  “Baby?”

  I shivered hard.

  “I can’t breathe.” He laughed against my throat, his warm breath tickling over my skin.

  “Okay,” Elliot said as I let Joe go. He pulled his wife around in front of me, and Joe’s mother grabbed him, crushing him again.

  “Christ,” he muttered. “Mother, come on.”

  But she needed to remind herself that it was in the past and that she had her son safely in her arms before we could go in. Mothers were like that. Because Joe was the same way, he hugged her back tight and whispered into her hair. Everything was okay.

  Inside, the hostess led us to a large room in the back of the restaurant where two long tables were set up side by side. Each table sat twenty-five, and that was enough for just the family. For the party on Saturday, they were expecting a good three hundred people, but for the rest of the time, fifty was the high end.

  “Are you the only nonwhite guy in the room?” Joe asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Am I the only blind guy?”

  “Yes again,” I said, squeezing his hand.

  “And are we the only gay people here?”

  “For the third time, and the win,” I teased him, scanning the crowd. “I’m gonna go with yes.”

  “Oh thank God, I wanted us to be special.”

  “No worries about that, love,” I assured him.

  “Awww, thank you, honey. I—hey, wait a minute… that’s not a compliment.”

  I tugged him after me, and we went to speak to his grandfather.

  You could tell that when he was younger Henry Locke had broken hearts. The man was still stunning at eighty with his thick white hair, ruddy complexion, broad shoulders, and strong build. I was certain that women had swooned when he walked down the street at twenty-five.

  “Marcus!” He greeted me loudly, standing up, big grin on his face, arms open to receive me. “So glad you could make it.”

  “I wouldn’t have missed it,” I said as I stepped into him.

  He hugged me tight, pounded my back with his fist, and let me go before turning to his grandson. Unfortunately, he was careful with Joe—which my boyfriend hated— always treating him like he was fragile. Henry liked me better, and we all knew it, because I could do all the things he could, but mostly I had won him over when we took turns target shooting two Christmases ago. I had stood outside for hours with him, never tiring, never complaining, and we had bonded. Now whenever I visited, I was received warmly.

  After he spoke to Joe for a few minutes, we walked down the table to where Barbara had saved us two spots. Unfortunately, Kurt was sitting beside her. When my eyes flicked to his, he looked away, so I figured we were all on the same page.

  People kept stopping to see Joe, put their hands on his shoulders. The women leaned down to kiss him, and the men patted him affectionately. Everyone shook hands with me. The women hugged me when I stood, and the men clasped my hand as well, making me feel welcome.

  “So,” one of Joe’s cousins asked from the other side of me. “What do you do now, Joey?”

  He cleared his throat, hand on my thigh under the table. “I own my own company. It’s called Bumpy Road Limited, and we make plastic pieces that are in Braille that go over laptop keyboards and phones and watches and other things.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He pulled out his phone and everyone saw the clear plastic piece over the top that had Braille bumps on it.

  “That’s so cool,” another cousin told him.

  “Well, we have a lot of orders for them, and we’re adding new designs as new pieces of hardware—phones and stuff—come on the market every day. They work just like a gel skin, maybe a little heavier, so they can be peeled off and put on, and they’re durable, so they last a long time.”

  “How do you manage all that?” Ellen asked.

  “I do most of the on-site selling, and I have four outside sales people and then clerks and an office manager and of course an accountant and a lawyer and—”

  “Isn’t Marcus your lawyer?”

  “Marcus is a criminal lawyer,” he told her. “He doesn’t do boring contract work; he saves people’s lives.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Stop that,” Joe snapped. “Your work is very important.”

  Ellen was startled—it was all over her face.

  I winked at her, and she was thoroughly flustered. “Everything I do, the man knows.”

  She nodded fast, touched by that for some reason.

  The waitress showed up, and I thanked her for being a goddess for bringing me coffee. I was quiet after that, letting Joe order my food, sitting there, taking in the conversations around me, listening.

  I realized how tired I was—exhausted, really—and my body was starting to sink into the chair. But I smiled and leaned my knee against Joe’s and talked to his father about my caseload. When the food was delivered to the table by several waitresses at once, I registered how hungry I really was.

  “Marcus.” Joe said my name to draw my attention.

  “Oh, you have magic eggs. I got bacon and nifty toast.” I yawned as I rubbed my eyes. They were watering, I was so tired.

  “Okay.” Joe smiled. “And coffee?”

  “Coffee’s good.” I yawned louder. “God, I gotta go to bed.”

  “When?” he teased me.

  I snorted out a laugh. The man had a one-track mind.

  “Joe,” his mother began, “honey, your eggs are at—”

  “Oh, no, Mom, it’s okay,” he cut her off. “Marcus already said.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “He already told me where everything is on my plate.”

  “When?” She was surprised.

  I turned and looked at her. “He hates the clock thing. Has he never told you that?”

  She was looking at me with a bemused expression on her face. “No, dear, he never has.”

  Of course he hadn’t. Joe only ever told me the truth about everything. All the other nice people in his life, he shielded and protected and let them do whatever the hell they wanted to make them think that they were helping him. It was thoughtful and wildly distrustful at the same time. With everyone but me
, Joe worried about being a burden. And his family was wonderful, but still he was careful with them, never wanting to cause a stir or rock the boat. His relationship with me was the only one that was different.

  “Well, Deb, he hates it.” I smiled at her.

  “Oh. And so what did you—”

  Joe’s laughter was deep and husky, one of the many things I loved about the man. “Mom.” He coughed, still chuckling. “It’s Schoolhouse Rock.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “The numbers are—”

  “Oh!” His cousin Ellen smiled wide. “That’s right. Three is a Magic Number and—”

  “Nifty eggs.” Barbara nodded. “That’s right… naughty, nasty, nifty, number nine,” she sang softly.

  When she stopped, all eyes were on her.

  “What?”

  Ellen giggled. “That was quite the show of dorkiness there, Barbie.”

  “Yeah, I know, but—I got?” She looked at me, confused.

  I grinned at her. “You know, I got six, he got six, she got—”

  “Six.” She drew out the word as she smiled wide. “Yeah okay.”

  Deborah Locke was beaming. “I love that.”

  “I like it too,” Joe told her. “And Marcus usually does it fast just like he did a minute ago when we’re out places, so it’s not a thing, ya know?” he said, reaching for his coffee.

  “Eleven?” she asked.

  “Good-good-good-good, good eleven, never gave me any trouble ’til after nine,” Ellen sang for her, off-key.

  I laughed at her. “Must you sing?”

  Everyone close to us lost it.

  “Oh.” Deb caught her breath, her eyes filling fast. “I just—”

  “Mother,” Joe cautioned her.

  She cleared her throat. “Okay—okay, sorry.”

  I chuckled, leaned sideways, and kissed her cheek. She turned to look into my eyes, her hands lifting to frame my face.

  I smiled at her. “You can cry whenever you like.”

  She nodded, leaning in close to kiss my cheek before letting me go.

  “Mother, you’re not kissing my boyfriend, are you?” Joe grumbled. “You have no idea where he’s been.”

  “Quiet,” his father scolded him. “Your mother can kiss him if she wants.”

  The looks I got after that, from everyone except Kurt, let me know I was golden.

  EATING WHEN you’re tired is never a good idea. The last of your energy gets sucked away to help digest food, and then you’re really screwed. I fell asleep in the van.

  Joe’s parents’ house in Nicholasville was a beautiful two-story Georgian Colonial in red brick. During the holidays there was a wreath in every window with an electric candle in the center. As it was early December, Elliot had not gotten around to decorating yet, but I was sure it would be on the agenda soon.

  As I trudged up the stairs, everyone else assembled in the living room, I considered taking Deb up on her offer for me to take a nap. She and Barb were going back out to run what sounded like a million errands before the dancing at the country club later that evening. It sounded so good, the nap, but I just splashed water on my face instead. Then I felt better, more alive, less like a zombie. As I was getting ready to go back down and join the others, the door to the bedroom opened and Joe came in.

  “Hey, you,” I sighed.

  “I know this is short notice,” he told me. “But my Dad is running over to his shop because he got a call to meet someone, so could we… go with him?”

  I saw the grimace, knew he would have much rather we climbed into bed together, but he was worried and I couldn’t have that.

  “’Course. Let’s go.”

  The relief on his face was a joy to see.

  III

  I HAD gotten myself pumped up for some kind of altercation during the half-hour ride from Nicholasville to downtown Lexington, but by the time we got there, whoever had been there was gone, leaving Joe’s dad looking at me as he had during the entire trip.

  “It was nothing, like I said. You guys didn’t need to come with me,” Elliot said.

  I studied his face.

  “I have no idea what Joey thought he heard the other day, but if there was cause for any concern, you know I would tell you.”

  “Why didn’t you want Joe to tell me what was going on? You told him you didn’t want me calling the police.”

  “I didn’t want him to give you the wrong idea, because I know you’re an officer of the court and so it’s your duty to inform the authorities if you think something is amiss. But they were just some punk kids, Marcus. If I couldn’t take care of it, I would have asked you.”

  I nodded, not believing a word of the rambling explanation.

  “You could be sleeping.” He smiled. “You guys really didn’t have to come with me.”

  “No, I know,” I covered, chuckling. “But I enjoy walking around down here, and this way you’ll take me for a beer before we head back, right?”

  “Absolutely.” His smile grew wider. “Why don’t you and Joe spend some time, just the two of you? I’ll answer some e-mail and check on the orders, and then I’ll meet you over at Dunbar’s in a couple of hours.”

  I agreed, and Joe and I headed out.

  “Shit,” he said, stopping suddenly on the sidewalk.

  “What?”

  “I forgot my scarf back there.” He made a noise of disgust. “Walk me back, ’kay?”

  “’Course.” I smiled at how red the cold made his nose.

  “Stop it,” he grumbled. “I can hear you smiling, and I’m not cute.”

  “You can’t hear me smiling.” I sighed as my grin got bigger. “And you’re adorable.”

  “I am not.”

  But he so was. There were freckles across the bridge of the man’s small button nose; his lashes were so long and curly and thick that when his hair fell forward, it caught in them, and his smile was mischievous and sheepish at the same time. He was devastating.

  “I’m sorry I dragged us out here for nothing,” he sighed, his head tipped back as he breathed me in. “God, you smell good.”

  “Oh yeah,” I rumbled. I touched his face, loving the feel of his skin under mine, the wicked gleam in his eyes, the sly curl of his beautiful lips.

  “Let’s go get a hotel room for an hour.”

  “That’s classy,” I teased, bending to kiss him because I couldn’t help it.

  He tasted like the spearmint lip balm he always used and the hot chocolate he’d had at the restaurant, and the flavors together when I sampled them made me a little crazy.

  His moan was deep and sexy. His lips parted and his tongue darted out to meet and claim mine. I grabbed him and turned, pulled him into a dark alley between buildings, and shoved him up against a wall, pinning him there. Normally my control wrapped around me, made me the cool guy, the rational guy, the guy who never gave himself over to impetuous action. But I had no buffer where Joe was concerned; he alone could pull down all my walls.

  “Oh,” he moaned, his breath catching, stuttering, before his hands fisted in my sweater and held on.

  He just fit me like no one ever had. My mouth on his, my thigh nestled against his groin, one hand buried in the thick, wavy auburn hair, the other kneading his ass as he pressed forward—all of it a dance we had perfected years ago. He always wanted to be closer. I couldn’t wait to have him there; being entwined was always best.

  The first kiss quickly became the second and the third with nothing but a panting breath to mark one from the next. His submissive whimper, so sweet, so heartfelt, infused with wanton need, made my balls ache. Every time, all the time, my lust for the man was like brushfire, consuming me, leveling me.

  He started to rub his bulging erection into my thigh, the contact making him shudder, and I was helpless to stop him, wanting instead to make him come apart faster.

  My fingers worked his belt loose, undid buttons, slid his zipper open just enough to get a hand down the back of his dress pants, sli
de over elastic and underneath. I had wet them, shoved them inside with our dueling tongues to make sure they were coated with saliva before I began my campaign.

  I lifted his hard, leaking cock from his briefs and gripped tight as I pressed slippery fingers slowly inside him from the back.

  “Marcus!” He gasped my name, whispering it fiercely as I stroked him and curved my fingers forward, pushing deeper, looking for the spot that would make him howl.

  “You’re so hot, so beautiful. Show me, baby. Come for me. Come in my hand.”

  His breathing changed to panting, and when my fingers pegged his gland, my name came out as a cry.

  “I have you. You’re safe in my arms, Joey. You know you’re safe.”

  “Yes.” His eyes fluttered with the sensations rolling through him.

  He rocked forward, pushing in and out of my grip, the friction, the pressure too exquisite a temptation. His hands were like claws on my sweater as he held on. His head tipped back, his eyes closed tight and mouth open. The orgasm built until I bent and kissed him, taking the roar into my mouth as his body went rigid with his release. He came hard, spurting into my fist, semen oozing through my fingers as he shuddered in my arms.

  The man trusted me implicitly, and that was all over his face. He knew wherever we were, no one else could see, because he knew that I wouldn’t share the sight of him. I would not allow anyone else to ever see my love’s surrender.

  I watched him finish, buck forward into my hand, press back on my long fingers, and the ache that had welled up inside me blossomed and became hunger.

  “Don’t you want me?” he asked, his breath stilted.

  “Always.”

  “Then?”

  “I can wait,” I breathed.

  “I could have too.”

  “But I had to put my hands on you,” I growled, leaning forward and kissing down the length of his throat.

  His low whimper was very sexy. “You could have put me up against a wall.”

  “This was better.”

  “You didn’t even get off.”