by Rhys Ford
It wasn’t just that Rob was beautiful in a way heavy with dangerous promise and broken hearts, Mace couldn’t handle the artist’s easy smile and sweet golden eyes. Rob was proof God was a mean prankster who’d molded a man out of caramels and cockiness. From the hard curves of his Filipino German features to the soft plump of his full mouth, Rob was trouble, a compact, muscular wet dream with a cutting tongue and a flirtatious nature.
And he seemed to slither around Mace’s defenses without even trying too hard.
“This was a really bad idea,” Mace muttered to himself as he closed and secured the front door. “Maybe it’s just been too long since I’ve had sex. There just hasn’t been time.”
Even before the words left his mouth, Mace knew they were a lie. He’d gone out with Ivo a few weeks before and hit up a club his younger brother wanted to check out. It was loud and pulsating, a colorful splash of warm bodies and neon lights with enough shadows in the corners to hide anything nasty a couple wanted to get into. He’d grown bored within an hour, and when Ivo stumbled off the dance floor, slick with sweat and followed by a group of casual friends, Mace made his excuses before he was trapped at the table between a set of pretty-faced twins who made it quite clear they would give him a good time.
It was stupid to leave, especially since they’d promised everything he normally went for—long, sweaty bouts of pleasure and no obligation for anything in the morning except perhaps a cup of coffee before he left.
He’d been wondering how Rob tasted after his first sip of coffee the entire night and for the life of him, Mace couldn’t even remember how the twins looked.
Standing behind the reception desk, Mace was thankful for its protective cover because, while his cock didn’t respond to the young men who cupped his crotch under the table that night, it thickened when his mind wandered to how the faint blue rivulet of hair-dye-tinted rainwater running down Rob’s neck would taste on his tongue.
“God… really fucking bad idea.” Mace huffed out the breath he’d been holding in. Intent on making coffee, he shook his head lightly to rattle some sense into himself and forced his feet to carry him back toward the lounge. “Okay, it’s just a couple of hours. As soon as Ivo shows up, I’m gone.”
MACE WAS the last person Rob expected to see coming through 415 Ink’s front door an hour before opening, but there was no mistaking his broad shoulders and chiseled face. Dressed in worn jeans and one of the shop’s T-shirts stretched to its limits across his torso, Mace looked… damned good, and not for the first time since he’d begun working at the shop, Rob closed his eyes and begged God to stop torturing him.
When he cracked one eye open, Rob saw God hadn’t quite gotten the message because Mace was staring curiously at him, framed by the opening at the end of the hall. Rob tugged on the handle of the back door to make sure it clicked shut and locked, and then gave Mace what he hoped was a welcoming smile.
Mace smiled back… sort of, and Rob felt his heart trip in his chest.
Jesus. The man was sex on legs. He kicked in every single instinct Rob had to push the man down to the floor and use up the ninety minutes they had before Rob’s first appointment. Mace made his teeth ache, and Rob wanted nothing more than to kiss him senseless until his dark eyes turned black with desire.
If that wasn’t frightening enough, he’d also scared the shit out of Rob when he called out in a gruff, dominating voice that got Rob to thinking about wrought iron bed posts and the twenty-five or so ties he had stashed in his closet, left over from school uniforms and formal suits he’d worn for family functions.
If he’d known Mace was going to be on the breakfast menu that morning, Rob would’ve dressed a little more carefully, or at least he thought he would have until he reminded himself that in no way shape or form was Mace ever on the menu. The brothers didn’t date staff, and he was pretty sure Mace hated him. Still, he was a delicious sight after running full tilt from his parking spot to the shop as the sky poured its guts out.
Rob’s hoodie was soaking wet, and it made squishy noises when he peeled it off. His jeans had large dark patches on his thighs and were drenched from his ankles to his knees. He grabbed one of the shop towels from the cabinet by the back door and attempted to get most of the water out of his hair. He winced at the blue streaks he left on the white terrycloth.
“Shit.” There wasn’t enough bleach to get out the stains his hair left behind, but he didn’t have much of a choice. It was either the towel or his neck, and Rob had no intention of spending the day looking like he’d painted himself with woad in preparation for battle with the Wild Hunt. When he stole a glance, he was startled to find Mace walking toward him. Rob held the towel up and said ruefully, “I’ll replace this.”
“Have you met my baby brother?” Mace’s chuckle was a splash of light against the dark tones in his voice. “Most of the towels in our house look like they were used to mop up a My Little Pony slaughter. Don’t worry about it.”
“Is Gus okay?” Remembering what happened on the shift before, Rob’s mouth went dry. “He’s not sick, right? Shit, I drank out of his coffee cup accidentally yesterday. Thought it was mine.”
“No, you’re fine. Gus was supposed to open, but Jules woke up with the flu, so he’s watching Chris. Ivo’s coming in at three to help with any walk-ins so Bear doesn’t have to do a double shift.” Mace nodded toward the employee lounge. “How about if you make coffee, and I’ll get the cash box set up. We can open the doors whenever you want. Bear told me you had a client first thing so you’d need backup. I’m just here to handle the front and make appointments if anyone comes in. Do you need help setting up your table?”
“Normally Dave does it, but since he got quitted… I’ll take care of it.” Rob was struggling. He knew what he had to do to get going that morning, but Mace seemed to take up most of the space in the shop’s hallway. His feet refused to move, and Rob wasn’t sure his knees were up to holding his weight if he had to squeeze past Mace to get to the main room. “Ivo told you about Dave, right? Oh, and some guy stopped us before we—”
“I know about the guy. Don’t worry about him. If you see him again, just walk away,” Mace growled at him. “And yeah, Ivo told us about Dave last night. Bear’s going to see if we can’t get an assistant in. I know running an apprentice is better, but usually that comes with an ego and an attitude. Right now I think we would rather just pay somebody to help with appointments and setup and breakdown, but Bear has the final say in that.”
There definitely was something up with Mace, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize the bearded older man who’d come out of the shadows when Ivo approached the restaurant’s front door had something to do with his agitated state. It was a quick encounter, but Ivo’s heated shutdown of the man bordered on violent. There’d been an edge in the air, and Ivo quickly excused himself from grabbing a burger, shoved a twenty into Rob’s hand, and told him to grab a meal on the shop.
Rob had bought food for himself and Lilith. He’d noted the crazy in the man’s face and the similarity of his eyes to Mace’s and contemplated what to say to Mace the next time he saw him. He just didn’t realize it was going to be the next morning.
He was given a bit of a reprieve when Mace went to set up the register for the day, and Rob hustled to get his ink palette arranged before his client came in. It was hard to ignore the rattle of Mace moving around the shop and the heat of his presence on Rob’s back even though he was yards away. He took out the sketch he’d done for the stained-glass peacock he was going to wrap around an ex-nun’s thigh, smoothed out the wrinkles on the tracing paper, and tried to get his racing thoughts under control.
“You’ve got shit to do today, dude,” he scolded himself as he spun around on his stool to get his machines from their cases. “So he’s here. Big deal. He comes here all the time. He owns a part of the fucking shop. He’s just—”
“Here’s some coffee.” Mace reached over Rob’s shoulder and put a mug down on his wor
ktable. “What do you need me to do?”
What he really needed him to do was step away. If even the thought of Mace in the shop muddled Rob’s senses, the sear of Mace’s hip on his back wiped away any grip Rob had on his sanity. He didn’t have to imagine the strength in Mace’s body, because he felt it when Mace’s leg muscles bunched and gave when Mace stepped back. He didn’t go far, or at least not far enough for Rob to breathe easily. No, his every intake of breath was overwhelmed with the musky deliciousness of Rob’s wet dream and the woodsy, clean scent Mace wore on his skin.
“Nothing that I—” Rob stammered on his own tongue.
And then the world fell apart.
There was never any warning when California woke up to turn over. If there were, Rob probably would have stayed in bed that day. If there was one thing he hated, it was feeling helpless, and nothing made him feel more helpless than an earthquake.
This one struck hard, rolled in waves, and knocked him off of his stool. The floor moved underneath him, an endless second of tumbling he couldn’t seem to stop. He cried out or maybe even shouted in fear, because everything went Wonderland and folded in around him in accordion creases of walls and lights. Something snapped and popped, and then the shop was drenched in an inky black. But before Rob could fall into a panic, he felt someone strong and warm gather him up—a fearless and steady someone who murmured as he wrapped his arms around Rob and pulled them under the worktable to ride out the earthen storm.
“I’ve got you,” Mace whispered with a sensual heat molten enough to chase away the cold lingering in Rob’s bones. “Don’t worry. Nothing’s going to happen to you. I won’t let anything happen to you. Just hold on to me and don’t let go.”
Seven
IT WAS stupid to get aroused. Rob was pressed down into the painted cement floor, half sprawled on the spongy floor mat he’d put under his stool to cushion his feet, his right cheek slightly gouged by the sharp corner of the padded square. The ground wasn’t shaking anymore, but the old building swayed and creaked as it tried to settle back in on itself. Outside, the rain continued its furious screaming, almost as though the sky were enraged at the earth’s hubris of interrupting the storm.
The earth might have stopped shaking, but he sure as hell hadn’t.
Rob could feel every inch of Mace’s long body against his. The heat of his breath on Rob’s ear tickled, and then Rob’s mind seized at the idea of Mace’s tongue there instead. The press of Mace’s hand into his side was warm through the fabric of Rob’s shirt, and he longed to explore how much hotter those tapered fingers could get if they could find their way to Rob’s bare skin.
He felt… safe and horny at the same time, a confusing and conflicting set of emotions Rob didn’t have time to parse out before Mace rolled over and slid off of Rob’s back. He didn’t just miss the heat. He missed… Mace, missed knowing it was Mace holding him, lying on top of him, filling up all of his senses, because the air tasted of him, and Rob only knew he wanted—needed—more.
There were a million and one reasons why kissing Mace was a bad idea. Every single one of them flipped through Rob’s brain, starting from Mace being one of the shop’s owners to there was no future in it. The rational half of his brain screamed that it was a bad idea, and his stomach twisted into proverbial knots at the thought of what would happen afterward.
He did it anyway.
Rob didn’t think beyond no, this is a bad idea. He hooked his fingers into Mace’s waistband before his brain could register an objection. His knuckles brushed against a silken line of dark downy hair, and Rob lost what little wits he had left. Clutching at the rough denim, he yanked Mace toward him, fought to get his arm loose, and then cupped the back of Mace’s head once his hand was free. The space between their mouths was lean, and all Rob had to do was tilt forward to close the gap.
He parted his lips and leaned in for a kiss.
Mason Crawford tasted as good as he smelled.
The feel of skin against his fingers was as much a part of the job as art, ink, and needles. He intimately knew the sensation of sleek muscle under his palm, the tensile strength of a tendon as it flexed, and the rigid firmness of bone beneath his thumb. Still, Mace’s jaw in the cup of his hand, the rough scratch of his unshaven cheek, was different.
All of it was different.
The taste of coffee on Mace’s lips was familiar, but the sweetness of something primal lingered beneath it, something dark and alluring that simmered with a hint of heady intoxication. Rob feared he would get drunk on it if given half the chance. He flicked his tongue across Mace’s pressed-together lips and was elated when they parted. The hands he’d wanted on his skin were quick to find the hem of his shirt, and Rob gasped when Mace skimmed his long fingers up his rib cage. Time slipped away, or at least that’s what it felt like, because Rob didn’t have enough of Mace in his mouth when the kiss intensified and stole away the last bit of Rob’s sanity, and he found himself on his back, the floor mat giving beneath his shoulder blades.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Mace growled into Rob’s mouth. The rumble of Mace’s deep voice echoed against Rob’s teeth, and he smiled through the kiss. “Aw, fuck it. Bear’s just going to have to kill me.”
That was exactly what Rob wanted to hear.
“I won’t tell him if you don’t,” he muttered into Mace’s ear. Then he nipped lightly at the tempting lobe. “This is stupid. I don’t even like you. And you can’t stand me.”
Rob’s T-shirt was caught over his chin when Mace stopped pulling on it. His view of the shop was filtered through the thin fabric, and then Mace wrestled it free and hooked it behind Rob’s neck. Mace was on his knees, hunkered over Rob’s torso, supporting his weight with his hands flat on the floor. His gaze flickered across Rob’s features, and then their eyes met, and Rob wondered at the strong emotions that roiled across Mace’s beautiful face.
“What makes you think I don’t like you?” Mace drew his fingers up Rob’s side with a slow, erotic sear of a touch. “I can’t stand to be near you without wanting you. Yeah, this pisses me off, because underneath that fake toughness is a spoiled little boy. I know guys like you. People are disposable, but it’s not like I’m looking for anything other than a couple of hookups. I can’t touch you because you’re Bear’s—the shop’s—and as much as you make my teeth ache, you’re bad news. All the way around.”
There were times in a man’s life when he had to grab what was in front of him. Mace Crawford offering sex in the shadowy confines of a darkened, closed-up tattoo shop after a heart-pounding earthquake was something Rob knew he had to grab before it slipped away. Mace was an itch he had to scratch, a guy he had to experience at least once in his life, let the man blow his brains out so he could move on to saner and better things.
Or at least that’s what Rob told himself when he grabbed at Mace’s short dirty-blond hair and yanked him down for another kiss.
“I’ve got a couple of condoms in my wallet, and we have about half an hour before someone comes knocking on the door.” Rob tried to dig into his back pocket for the leather wallet his mother gave him when he was sixteen. “Make it worth my while, Crawford. Make it worth getting fired over.”
It took less than a minute of scrambling and heavy panting, and then Rob’s ass was resting on a pile of clothes and Mace’s hands were everywhere. The man knew what he was doing. There was no doubting that. It was as though he’d read a manual about where and what Rob needed from a lover, because Mace’s mouth and fingers were a sublime dip of heaven.
Rob gasped when Mace slowed down after the quick strip of jeans and shirts. They didn’t have a lot of time, but Mace was going to use every second of it. His teeth clipped at the edge of one of Rob’s nipples, and he gasped and arched into Mace’s narrow hips. His own hands were busy, one filled with the hard, thick cock jutting up from between Mace’s powerful legs, and it was all Rob could do to hold on.
Mace found the tender skin along his throat where Rob lo
ved to be kissed and nibbled. He heard a little chuckle from his clandestine lover when Mace discovered Rob hadn’t been circumcised. A moment later his smile grew wicked and fierce while Rob gasped and nearly lost himself to his release as Mace shucked back his foreskin and exposed his sensitive tip. The press of Mace’s callused thumb on him was almost too much to bear, a bright, brittle sensation that rippled up his cock with every stroke.
But if Mace’s thumb was too much for Rob, it was his mouth that took him over the edge.
“God, we don’t have time,” Rob ground out, his mind folding in on itself in an origami puzzle of pleasure. His thoughts couldn’t work past the tight shock waves brought on by Mace’s mouth around his cock. “I need—”
“I need to taste you,” Mace mumbled. Then the back of his throat closed around Rob’s cockhead. He swallowed once or maybe three times. Rob wasn’t sure because he simply couldn’t think anymore. “We have time. And if I don’t get inside of you now, I promise I’ll have you flying so you won’t regret it.”
Any other time Rob would’ve mocked his arrogance, but Mace dragged over the jar of Vaseline that had fallen from Rob’s tattoo station, dipped his fingers into it, and then pressed into the crest of Rob’s ass. His balls grew tight, and the ring of muscle gave way beneath Mace’s explorations. The tip of an index finger sliding into his heat tingled every nerve under Rob’s skin, and he lifted his hips and silently begged for more, even as Mace swallowed him down again.