A Worthy Man

by Jaime Reese

  Drayton barely had a chance to react before his jeans were yanked down past his ass. Vann dropped to his knees and wrapped his mouth around him, taking him to the root in one gulp.

  Drayton dug his teeth into his lower lip, holding back a yell into the night as Vann pulled and sucked him deeply. The blood rushed in his ears, muffling all the sounds except for the hungry grunts and slurps pushing him closer to the edge. He ran his fingers through Vann’s hair and canted his hips forward, begging for more, letting out a strangled whimper when Vann gripped his hips and held him in place, controlling the pace as he always had when they were together.

  Bolts of electricity crackled throughout his body, awakening a starved libido craving more. Something inside him snapped. A slow rumble-growl stirred in his gut and rose up his throat.

  He twisted his fingers in Vann’s hair and thrust his hips forward, closing his eyes and throwing his head back, letting his body take control and losing himself in the sensation. The heat, the tightness, the need for more pushed his body forward, deeper into the warm, wet, welcoming heat of Vann’s mouth and throat.

  The air sawed in and out of his lungs, and fire sparked in his blood. It had been too long. He gritted his teeth, trying to cool a decade-long inferno burning through his veins.

  “Vann…” He barely had a chance to warn him before waves of fire and lightning shook his body and exploded into Vann’s mouth. A wash of numbness flooded him, weakening his legs as spasms rippled through his limbs. He hissed an inhale when Vann slowly released him and pressed a kiss to his hip while still holding him firmly in place with a steady grip on his thighs.

  “I think that’s the quietest you’ve ever been,” Vann said in a gravelly voice. His eyes slowly swept upward to meet Drayton’s stare. “I must have lost my touch.” He ran his tongue along his lips as if savoring Drayton’s lingering taste. He slowly rose, slid his hand behind Drayton’s neck, and pulled him into a slow, deep kiss.

  Drayton moaned with the spike of possessiveness that stirred within when he tasted himself on Vann’s tongue.

  They lazily separated from the kiss, still brushing their mouths together in a caress.

  “What about you?” Drayton asked, enjoying the scrape of stubble against his cheek.

  “One thing I’ve learned in the last ten years is how to pace myself. When I finally get to have you again, I want you yelling so fucking loud everyone in a ten-mile radius will hear.”

  Drayton’s breath hitched at the promise burning in Vann’s eyes. He’d missed this. Vann’s fire, his passion, and his unquenchable thirst.

  And Drayton damn sure couldn’t wait for more.

  Vann glanced to his left as he chewed his forkful of food, smiling as Drayton stared back at him. He loved how everyone welcomed Drayton each weeknight for dinner at the house. They were easing into a routine, and he definitely liked the idea of having some Dray time every night.

  “Can you pass the salad?” Matt asked, setting down the pitcher of lemonade on the table.

  Vann reached for the bowl, passing it to his right to Julian. He speared his own salad a few times and filled his mouth again, enjoying the tartness of the dressing and the crunch of lettuce. He glanced over to Drayton’s plate and watched as Drayton pushed one of the tomatoes aside on his dish. He still hates them. Vann quickly poked the small grape tomato and shoved it into his mouth, smiling when Drayton looked over to him and grinned.

  “Matt, where’s the soda?” Ryan asked.

  “Have some lemonade. It’s healthier,” Matt responded in that paternal way of his.

  Ryan smiled. “And that’s exactly why I need the soda. To offset all this healthy stuff you make me eat. My body’s going into shock.”

  A circle of laughter echoed in the eating area. Ryan stood and walked over to the pantry, grabbing one of the two-liter bottles Matt kept stashed for gatherings. He grabbed two glasses, filled them with ice, and soda—one for him and the other for Ben who chose to bypass the salad and head straight for one of the freshly grilled hotdogs.

  Ben never cared to eat anything healthy or fancy and always dove straight for the rolls and basic burger or hotdog instead of the juicy steaks or skewers.

  Vann smiled when Drayton squeezed his thigh under the table. The sneaky fucker always teased him when all the guys were around. He couldn’t wait until he had him alone later tonight on the back porch. Stealing kisses or feeling him up while keeping things on the down-low from the others in the house always spiked a hint of excitement in him.

  Ben reached over the table to grab the mustard, accidentally tipping his overloaded hotdog on Drayton. He wildly moved his hands, gesturing an apology.

  “It’s fine,” Drayton said, grabbing some napkins.

  Vann glanced over to his left.

  Time and space froze around him.

  Everything blurred.

  Every sound seemed muffled and distant by thousands of feet of water, reverberating where nothing was distinct.

  His heart pounded in his ears. He parted his lips as each breath came quicker. He thought he heard his name called but he wasn’t sure.

  Everything was a hazy blur except for one single point of focus—the red smear on Drayton’s shirt.

  A flood of memories slammed him from every direction and thrust him into his nightmare at lightning speed. The coppery smell of blood filled his nose and the sound of Drayton’s breaking bones drilled into his ears.

  Drayton’s soul-splitting yell thundered and echoed in his head.

  The helplessness and ripping pain consumed him. He screwed his eyes shut and slapped his hands over his ears, desperately trying to block out the vivid memory poisoning his senses.

  Drayton’s limp body.

  The blood.

  The bruises.

  The sounds. Each strike. That yell.

  Vann was transported back to the twenty-one-year-old version of himself, holding Drayton in his arms, begging on everything sacred in this world to take his life in exchange for the one he held in his arms.

  “Dray!” The yell tore through Vann’s throat until his voice broke. He ducked his head between his legs, desperately trying to block everything out and dull the searing pain piercing his heart. He thought he heard his name, the sound trying to break through the suffocating darkness.

  His hands were yanked away and he was pulled upright, an image of Drayton slowly sharpening in his vision. Those pale gray eyes, bright and alive. “Look at me.”

  “Grab a towel,” someone yelled in a muffled voice he barely recognized.

  He gasped each breath, begging the vision before him to be real.

  Drayton. Strong. Breathing.

  Warm, familiar hands braced his face. “Focus on me.”

  Vann screwed his eyes shut, willing his mind to cooperate. He was pulled forward into a lean wall of muscle, the sound of a strong heart pulsing against his ear.

  “Vann, I’m okay. I’m here with you.”

  He gripped the shirt in front of him, anchoring himself to this version of reality that was far more pleasant than the nightmare that kept trying to claw him back to the darkness.

  He timed his breathing with the rhythmic stroking of fingertips against his back, one inhale for each upward brush, and an equal exhale with each downward caress.

  Vann pressed his ear closer against the strong heartbeat, letting the steady, healthy beat ease him back to the here and now. A cold towel pressed against the back of his neck, jolting him back to reality with striking speed. He blew out a calming breath, hesitant to open his eyes and risk spiraling back into the nightmare.

  “Hold that there.” Julian’s familiar voice boomed with authority.

  Strong arms wrapped around him, holding him close and keeping the towel in place as warm lips pressed against his temple.

  “I’m okay.” Drayton’s whispered voice broke through the lingering haze in his mind. “We’re okay.”

  He opened his eyes and slowly eased out of the embrace, pulling the tow
el away from the back of his neck. He swallowed heavily as he surveyed the room. The kitchen was brightly lit, and the smell of the food on the table filled his nose. He ducked his head, embarrassment flooding him with the worry evident in those five pairs of eyes staring at him.

  “Tell me you’re okay, Shaw. I’m hungry and I’m not touching this food until I know you’re going to eat something.”

  He peeked up at Julian, knowing this was his way of making sure he was okay while trying to lessen the discomfort.

  “I’m fine,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. He took a deep breath, hoping to calm his racing heart. “I might jump right to the chocolate chip cookies though.”

  The worry in Julian’s pale green eyes diminished as if he sensed the subtle thank-you in Vann’s response. “You’ll have to get through me first,” Julian said with a half smile.

  “Eat up, guys,” Matt said, leaning forward and handing each of the guys a plate.

  Vann tossed the towel from one hand to the other, thankful the house owners weren’t making a big deal about his little freak-out.

  Drayton took the towel from his hand and folded it, setting it on the table. He cupped Vann’s face, drawing his attention. He didn’t need to say a single word, the worry in those gray eyes cut straight through to his soul.

  He looked down at the red stain on Drayton’s shirt then glanced up again. “I’m okay,” he whispered. “I promise.”

  Drayton nodded once and turned in his chair to face forward, clearly recognizing the last thing Vann wanted in that moment was to dwell on what had happened and compound the embarrassment in front of the others.

  Ben gestured another apology, which Vann accepted with a weak smile.

  Vann took a deep breath, steeling himself. That one night had changed his life forever and would haunt him until his last waking breath. He stared at the food on his plate, swallowing past the knot in his throat. He could do this.

  Drayton reached under the table for him, taking hold of him and setting their clasped hands on his thigh. He awkwardly ate with his left hand, refusing to release Vann’s hand.

  A slow current of peace spread through Vann’s body with the strong, grounding hold. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Drayton’s cheek, not caring about the others sitting at the table or Ben’s stare focused on them.

  He straightened in his chair and picked up his fork again, keeping his tight hold on Drayton’s hand, needing that connection to keep him grounded.

  He pierced another forkful of salad and resumed eating his dinner, knowing he’d always find a way to make it through anything, as long as Drayton remained steady at his side.

  Drayton stood by the window and stared out into the city below from his top floor office building. People crowded the busy streets, hurrying at the crosswalks and sprinting to and from shops for coffee and breakfast sandwiches. He loved to watch the early morning commuters in their routine. Sometimes, he’d practice reading people, trying to figure out what the man in the blue shirt would do when he spotted the cop giving him a parking ticket…or what the brunette woman in the brown pantsuit would do if she had any idea the guy sitting alone at the small round table stared at her, as he did every morning.

  Sometimes, she’d stand in line with another man or woman, obvious coworkers from their matching attire. Today, she stood in line, chatting with a man wearing brown slacks and a crème-colored shirt. He’d been there with her several times before. It was either him or the blonde who always seemed to wear her hair in a bun.

  He wondered if the guy would ever stand and go talk to her. He wondered what the woman would do if he did. They followed this routine for weeks. Why would today be any different?

  The man stood from the table and straightened his suit, pitching his drink in the nearby wastebasket before walking toward them.

  Drayton straightened, anxious to see if today would be the day the man finally made contact.

  Maybe she’d shy away from his advances, play the games most couples often played during the dating dance. Or maybe she’d slap the shit out of him for whatever perverted comment he made.

  He’d never been able to read people, a skill Vann seemed to have in spades.

  The man approached and leaned in, getting their attention. The man gestured with his hands and relaxed his stance. They smiled, laughed, and then…

  Drayton frowned.

  The man sat with the other man at a free table while the woman walked away.

  He sighed. He’d never get this shit right. And his gaydar was obviously defective.

  He turned away from the window and picked up the file on his desk. One of these days, he’d figure out how to read people. Until then, he’d focus on the things he knew: math, equations, solving problems, and finding answers. He’d leave all the people riddles and touchy-feely stuff to Mia and Taylor. They had a gift in that area, just as Vann did. And he trusted them implicitly, especially when it came to issues with his employees.

  He’d focus on contract negotiations and business strategies. Success in those areas required precision, attention to detail, rational thought, statistical and financial analysis—all effortless skills he could accomplish in his sleep. But he relied on Taylor and Mia for their cause and effect analysis of the human psyche, to tell him how one of his suggested contract changes could strike a person’s ego or spark some personal warfare he was unprepared to battle.

  Regardless of what others thought, he didn’t enjoy pissing people off. He’d heard the rumors from others in the industry describing him as cold and insensitive. That was utter bullshit. If he were the heartless bastard they painted him to be, he wouldn’t care about their comments. But he did. More than he wanted to admit.

  He guarded his privacy, staying out of social media and avoiding interviews. He’d offer a quote to a journalist of a science or automotive piece, but never a photograph. He saw, firsthand, how that type of attention affected people. His father had been obsessed with what people thought of his image, always appearing in some casual mention in the society section of the paper. One tiny negative comment in passing always resulted in a late night out and too many days of irritability for the family. And his mother… She craved the attention and always endeavored for more with each article or photograph that appeared.

  But that type of social prestige and greed resulted in her downfall, ultimately landing her in prison with multiple consecutive sentences.

  Drayton sighed. People were the variables in the formula. And the solution on how to intermingle with them often eluded him. So he chose the safer route and focused on building the company and working on the next innovation.

  He sat at his desk, landing on his chair with a deep exhale. The one person he could effortlessly read had scared the crap out of him the night before. He pinched the bridge of his nose and blew out a shaky breath. His father and what had happened that night had left a scar on Vann—on both his face and soul. He had never seen Vann so vulnerable, so devastated with pain. Drayton was thankful he didn’t remember much of anything from what had happened the night of the attack. He remembered telling Vann to hide until his father made his nightly rounds. Vann stayed inside the closet where he usually hid until he was able to sneak into Drayton’s bed for the night. But his father had taken longer than usual that evening, probably letting off some steam after their loving family dinner where Drayton had corrected him—an act of absolute atrocity in the Delereux household—then had come out.

  His parents weren’t happy the family tree wouldn’t sprout another branch.

  But he never would have imagined his father would beat him while he slept. Ignore him, reprimand him, attempt to brainwash him into thinking he was mistaken…sure, he could imagine his father doing all those things. But not trying to beat or kill him because of the hold society had on him and the whispers from his rich circles.

  More proof Drayton sucked at reading people. He hated how Vann had been the one cursed that night—with a haunting memory etched in his mind and face
and a permanent record that would follow him forever.

  Vann didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve any of the bullshit life always seemed to hand him. Yet, somehow, Vann always found a way to make it out of the mud of despair. He’d emerge with a little wear, but always found a way to move forward with his strength and resilience.

  But it tore at Drayton’s soul that he had been the cause of that lingering pain in Vann.

  He reached for his ringing cell phone, thankful for the distraction from his dark thoughts.

  “Hey,” he answered.

  “Don’t beat yourself up about last night.”

  Drayton sighed into the phone. Fricken Vann could still read him like a building-size billboard. “I’m not.”

  “Bullshit. I know you are. We can’t change what happened that night. So I have to find a way to deal with this stuff. I had a talk with Matt. He’s got a counselor who comes by the house a few times a month. He’s calling her to ask if she can swing by the house this afternoon.”

  “I’m sorry,” Drayton said, running his fingers through his hair.

  “Don’t be. You’re alive and we’re together. I’ll work through everything else. I just wanted to make sure you knew I was okay.”

  Drayton exhaled a shaky breath. Vann wasn’t a romantic, but somehow, he always knew exactly what Drayton needed to hear.

  “What were you doing when I called?”

  “Looking out the window of my office.”

  “It’s seven o’clock. In. The. Morning.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I thought I was going to catch you before you headed out. I didn’t think you’d already be at work.”

  Drayton spun around to look out the window, enjoying the surprise call and the calmness that flowed through his body, knowing Vann sounded more in control than he had last night. “Don’t sound so shocked. You’re up already.”

  “But my ass is still in bed.”

  Drayton bit his lip. “Oh yeah?” He closed his eyes, a vivid image coming to mind. The sight of a younger version of Vann lying in bed, with his round, bare ass in the air and his legs and arms draped possessively over Drayton.