As he pulled to a stop in front of the house, his headlights shone on two men, completely naked, one nailing the other against a stone wall. They didn’t care they were in a literal spotlight. If anything, they seemed to love it more.
Tarr didn’t react. He’d been to clubs like this, although he had to admit he’d never been at a party in a mansion this size. Christ, this place was like an estate. He turned his head toward the main house. A wide stone staircase led to a set of massive double wooden doors. Balconies protruded from each of the other three stories, and if Tarr wasn’t mistaken, he was pretty sure there was a pool on the roof, as he could see women in bikinis leaning against the railing surrounding the top.
“So, this is Trig’s place,” Erick said. “He inherited it from his grandparents and holds these parties every weekend. He charges to get on the exclusive wait list and has cops in his back pocket. No one fucks with him. He just wants to have a good time.”
“A good time and orgies?” Tarr said with a smile.
Erick barked out a surprise laugh. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”
“How do you know him?”
“He hired me to track down an ex-boyfriend who stole from him.”
Tarr nodded. “And he’s a security expert?”
“Yeah, and he’s got access to everything. He’s rich and has connections. Every person here is some sort of wealthy heir or heiress or some shit.”
“Impressive.” Tarr peered up at the house just as the front doors opened, and a small man wearing nothing but a green jockstrap and black Doc Martens hopped to the top of the stairs, hand over his eyes as he looked down at the car. Erick opened the door, stepped out, and the man squealed. As Tarr got out of the car himself, the man leaped down the stairs like a little leprechaun, pink hair flying, and jumped into Erick’s arms. He held Erick’s face in his hands and smacked him right on the lips. “I’m so happy to see you!”
“Hey Trig,” Erick said, a genuine grin lighting up his face.
Tarr felt a stirring in his gut. Had Erick and Trig ever been together? He felt pretty firm in his belief that Erick wasn’t straight. “How are you?”
“I’m so so sorry about Flynn, baby. I didn’t know. Is there anything I can do?”
Tarr knew that Flynn was Roarke’s little brother, and that Erick and Flynn had been close friends.
Erick shook his head and set Trig on his feet. “It’s okay.”
Trig was expressive, waving his arms around with each word, hip out. “But I was already planning the wedding!”
Wedding? Erick glanced back at Tarr, and Tarr cocked his head. Erick didn’t explain. “We can talk later. Uh, Trig, this is Tarr, a friend of mine. Tarr, this is Trig.”
Trig seemed to notice Tarr for the first time. His eyes widened. “Oh my. You brought me a big ginger.”
“He’s not for you, Trig,” Erick laughed. “I think he’s straight anyway.”
Tarr didn’t think. He just opened his mouth. “Who said I was straight?”
Erick’s jaw dropped, and Trig clapped his hands with glee. He turned around, pale butt cheeks on display. “Well come in. I’ll give you the grand tour and then send you on your way with what you need.” He strutted into the house, and Tarr followed. Erick fell into step beside him.
Out of the corner of his eye, Tarr could see Erick’s brows were drawn in, and he was mouthing words like he was practicing what he was going to say. Tarr put him out of his misery. “I’m bi. Now quit acting surprised.”
Erick’s jaw snapped shut, and he entered the mansion behind Trig. Tarr was too busy looking around to pay attention to Erick’s reaction. There were people everywhere in various states of undress. Different music blared from the multitude of rooms, creating a cacophony of sound that Tarr imagined sounded better drunk.
Trig was talking, but Tarr wasn’t really paying attention. Trig led them throughout the first floor, which consisted of a good dozen rooms, including a ballroom and kitchen that could feed an entire army.
Finally he led them upstairs and down a long hallway, to a room that Tarr suspected was an office, with a large desk and computer—but the sex harness in the corner was distracting. Trig dropped onto a leather chair behind the desk and steepled his fingers with a faux-serious face. Then he laughed. “Sorry, I love doing that. I feel so presidential. Anyway, I got your list and have almost everything, but as you know it was short notice.”
“Yeah, sorry about that,” Erick said.
Trig waved him away. “No, it’s fine, but it’s taking a bit longer. I should have it by tomorrow so you guys are welcome to stay, party, shower, eat, sleep in no particular order.”
Tarr’s thoughts immediately went to his sister. “Can you text Roarke? Find out what’s going on?”
Erick nodded and began typing on his phone.
“I’m sorry it’s taking more time.” Trig looked honestly upset.
“No, it’s okay.” Tarr didn’t want the guy to feel guilty. He was doing what he could for them. “Appreciate your willingness to help out.”
“How do you two know each other?” Trig asked, gesturing between the two of them.
“I saved his life,” Tarr blurted out before Erick could answer.
Erick dropped his phone with a huff. “I saved yours back.”
“Then I saved yours again,” Tarr insisted.
“Okay, fine. So we’ll just save each other’s lives until the day we die, does that make you happy?”
“It will, actually, except we all know I’ll be saving yours more than you’ll save mine.”
“You’re full of shit.”
Trig’s head was ping-ponging between the two of them. “Um.”
Erick rolled his eyes. “First of all, Roarke answered, and the guys are just arriving in Florida. We got time. Second of all, I need a drink.”
Trig now had his chin in his hands, watching them with interest. “I see. And do you need a drink, Mr. Tarr?”
“Yes, seeing as I’ve been stuck in a car or hotel room with this dick for like ten years.”
“Ha!” Erick barked. “It’s only been like two days. And buddy, I haven’t even started to annoy you.”
“Why are we fighting right now?” Tarr couldn’t remember how they even got to this discussion.
“I don’t know,” Erick huffed. He leaned his head back on the chair. “I think I’m delirious. And concussed.”
“Concussed?” Trig asked.
“He got pistol-whipped,” Tarr explain. “Not by me. I saved him from being hurt more than a pistol-whip. Just one of the times I saved him.”
“I convinced you to jump from a roof or you’d be in a ditch with bullet holes right now.”
“Okaaaaay,” Trig said, rising to his feet. “Let me show you guys to the alcohol. I think you both need it.”
“Yeah, then I plan to be on the separate end of this mansion from you,” Erick said as they walked downstairs toward a room where the clinking of bottles could be heard.
“Sounds good, saw a little twink when we entered who I’d be thrilled to fuck out some aggression with.”
Erick’s eyes flared, and if Tarr was reading him right, he saw a bit of jealousy. “Go ahead, there’s a bodyguard here with a dick the size of a Coke bottle who I’d be happy to get alone.”
“Fine.”
“Fine!”
A cold glass was shoved into Tarr’s hand, and he didn’t even bother to look at it. Which was stupid, but fuck it. He threw back half of it, Erick did the same, and then Tarr turned around. Where did that twink go anyway?
Chapter Seven
Erick
Erick lost track of Tarr after his third drink. This was Trig’s house drink, some concoction he called a Mind Eraser, which was aptly named. There was, in fact, a bodyguard with a big dick but Erick didn’t know from first-hand experience. Trig had told him. And Erick wasn’t the type to hook up with strange guys. Flynn had been his one and only aside from some awkward fumbling with women.
&nb
sp; He paced the room, holding his fourth drink. Trig had disappeared, which was fine. He wasn’t Erick’s babysitter. Some guy in the corner was looking at him and licking his lips, but Erick wasn’t interested. In his slightly drunken state, he couldn’t decide if he wanted to hit or kiss Tarr. Maybe both. The fucker wasn’t straight and hadn’t said anything until now? But then…Erick hadn’t said anything either, had he?
Erick stomped out of the room, on a mission to find Tarr. The thought of his big body pressing some hot little gay against the wall made the bile rise in Erick’s throat. He was the one helping Tarr save his sister’s life. He was the one who’d convinced Tarr to jump off a roof. He was the one who gave a shit about Tarr’s conscience, about his damn life and legacy, even if the man didn’t himself.
A hand grabbed his biceps, and he tried to shrug it off, but the grip was too strong. Erick stumbled and then found himself slammed against a wall. Not too hard, but enough to make his head spin. He blinked to see who dared to manhandle him and stared into bloodshot green eyes. Tarr’s face was flushed from the alcohol, his red hair sticking up at odd angles like he’d run his fingers through it.
“Did you find Coke-bottle dick?” Tarr growled inches from Erick’s face. He pressed against him harder, one hand on either side of Erick’s head, caging him in. “Huh, Erick?”
Erick was pretty sure he could shove Tarr and the guy would let him go, not putting up a fight, but Erick didn’t shove. He didn’t do anything. He only stared up at Tarr, chin tilted, not willing to back down or act intimidated. “What answer do you want? Do you want me to tell you I got railed in the roof hot tub? Maybe I was on my knees among the backyard topiaries.”
“You’re full of shit.”
Erick stole a glance around them. Tarr had pulled him into a room, one of the few empty ones in the whole damn place that was crawling with people. The only light was spilling in from the hallway, and this looked to be some sort of library. Shelves of books lined the walls, floor to ceiling.
“Well, what about you? Did you find that twink? Bend him over the kitchen counter near the cheese platter?”
Tarr’s nostrils flared, like he was contemplating something, and then he tilted his hips just enough that Erick could feel the hardened shaft in his pants. “Does this feel like I got off?” His voice dropped low, almost seductively, and Erick’s knees almost buckled. His blood ignited in a way he hadn’t felt in a damn long time, in a way he wasn’t sure he would ever be capable of again. But there was this magnetism about Tarr, this desire to cut him open and see if his heart beat the same as everyone else’s.
Erick inhaled sharply, feeling his own cock harden. “Feels like you’re sexually frustrated.”
Tarr laughed darkly. “You think? I’m infuriated that I’m attracted to you. Because you’re annoying and curious. You ask too many questions. You make me question beliefs that have kept me alive for the last decade. And you look damn good with a tiny towel wrapped around your waist.”
Erick grinned, his heart pounding out a drumbeat in his chest. “Wait, are those…compliments? I mean back-handed compliments, but those are kind of compliments.”
Tarr shook his head. “There you go being annoying.”
“I think you like that though. Maybe you should repeat those compliments again so I can memorize them better.”
“Why?” Tarr asked quietly, ignoring Erick’s rambling. “What the fuck is it about you?”
Erick risked a touch, just one. He raised his hand and stroked Tarr’s cheek, the course red stubble rough on his palms. “What is it about you?” He didn’t want this to happen, he didn’t want to find himself under a man like Tarr, a hit man who ruined lives. But he couldn’t deny the attraction and his desire to justify Tarr’s existence and way of life.
Tarr eyelids fell to half mast, and he leaned into Erick’s touch, before his eyes popped open, his jaw hardened, and he took Erick’s hand and braced it against the wall over his head.
He was so close now that Erick could feel Tarr’s breath on his lips. He could see every freckle, every striation in his green irises. Tarr wedged his knee between Erick’s legs, his thigh nudging Erick’s balls. Tarr swallowed, and Erick knew he couldn’t miss that Erick was hard too.
“Maybe just a kiss,” Tarr whispered hoarsely. “Get it out of our systems. I’m sure it’ll be awful. I bet you’re a shit kisser.”
“I am. And I’m sure you are too.” Erick could barely breathe. It was taking all of his effort not to grind onto Tarr’s knee, to create some friction. His chest heaved as he stayed locked on Tarr’s gaze. “We’ll kiss and hate it, and then this’ll be done, right?”
Tarr nodded with a jerk. “Then I won’t think about you in that tiny towel.”
“I won’t think of you in that hotel room, hair damp, bulge visible—”
Tarr lunged. Hard. Fast. Their teeth banged together, and then it was all tongue and spit. Bruised lips and moans. Erick lost his mind at the taste of Everett Hawk. He was forbidden and dangerous, full of pain and loneliness but the promise of something oh so good.
He was a magnet, and Erick was helpless to resist the pull. Tarr pulled out of the kiss, whispering a “holy fuck” before reaching for the fly of Erick’s jeans. Erick angled his hips off the wall, needing more, a hand in a fist, some spit, and a solid grip. He wanted Tarr. He latched onto his neck, sucking up the skin, and Tarr groaned just as his hand slipped into Erick’s briefs. He gripped his shaft, hard, and Erick keened, thrusting into Tarr’s fist as he began to stroke.
Erick gripped Tarr’s hips, unable to speak as Tarr jerked him strong and sure. Tarr’s other hand threaded into Erick’s hair, holding his head to Tarr’s neck.
“This what you need?” Tarr rasped. “Christ, you light up when I touch you. I imagined you would. It’s written all over you. Bet you go wild with a dick in you, huh?”
He did, and his ass clenched even thinking about it, but he was too focused on that hand on his dick that was stroking just enough to drive him crazy but not enough to get him off.
“Fuck, I’m going to bust out of my jeans if you keep making those noises,” Tarr muttered.
Erick wanted more. More skin, more taste, just more. He pushed Tarr away so his hand left Erick’s pants, and Erick turned them around, slamming Tarr back against the wall. He hit with a surprised “oomph,” hands smacking the wall at his sides.
Erick dropped to his knees between Tarr’s spread legs, and Tarr’s eyes widened. Erick hurriedly opened Tarr’s pants and pulled out his long dick. Ginger hair curled at the base. Erick licked his lips and took Tarr into his mouth.
Tarr gasped loudly when Erick engulfed his dick until the tip hit the back of his throat. Erick glanced up at him. His head was tilted back, one hand flat on the wall, the other resting on the back of Erick’s head. After one suck, Tarr tightened his grip in Erick’s hair, enough to burn his scalp. Erick loved it. With one hand stroking his own dick, and the other holding the base of Tarr’s shaft, he continued to suck. Bobbing his head, a blow job meant to be quick and dirty and get Tarr off.
He glanced up again to find Tarr watching him now, mouth slack, eyes burning. “I didn’t even get to imagine what your mouth would feel like, but I can tell you that I wouldn’t be able to dream how good this feels.” His voice was deep, breathy, and so sexy that Erick knew he’d be hearing it echo in his ears for a long time to come.
Erick sucked harder, knowing Tarr was close to coming. He worked his own dick, loving the feel of Tarr’s dick in his mouth, wanting the full taste, and the thought of it was driving him to the brink of his own orgasm.
“I’m gonna come,” Tarr gasped. “Up to you if you want to stay on.”
He did, and as Tarr’s dick pulsed and his taste filled Erick’s mouth, he came himself, spilling over his hand and onto the floor at Tarr’s feet.
Erick let Tarr’s dick fall from his mouth, and he leaned against his thigh, catching his breath as the last of his orgasm left him trembling. His knees hurt,
and his jaw ached, and he had to blink a couple of times to come back to himself, to remember where he was and whose feet he knelt at.
Tarr. A man who killed. Who had a profession that Erick despised.
* * *
Tarr
Tarr spent a few seconds in complete bliss. Erick had just blown his mind, and now he knelt at Tarr’s feet, quiet, trusting, as he rested his hand against his thigh. Tarr’s hand was in his soft hair, and he gently began to stroke, wondering how long they could rest here and pretend the real world didn’t exist.
Tarr had started this just wanting to get Erick off and out of his head. And it had turned into something completely different. That was the thing—Tarr was able to separate sex from feelings when he was paying for it or when it was a hookup where he didn’t know the other person’s name.
This…this was different. He had wanted Erick. Not anyone else. He’d wanted Erick’s lips on his, his skin, his dick.
Now he’d gotten it, and he wanted more. It was a total one-eighty in a matter of minutes, but that was how Tarr worked. His loyalty went 100 percent or not at all. His feelings were zero or complete. He hated it about himself, because he was either a cold bastard or so devoted that he’d give his life for another.
It wasn’t even about the kiss or the blow job. It was about Erick, who clearly wanted Tarr to be a better person, who believed there was a better person in there. Who kissed him like he couldn’t get enough, who knelt at his feet like he could stay there for hours. For one of the few times in his life, Tarr was terrified—of rejection, of keeping Erick alive, of keeping himself alive.
He felt the minute Erick came back into himself. His body stiffened, and he pulled away from Tarr’s touch. He rose to his feet slowly, drawing his hand across his mouth, and Tarr instantly registered a touch of disgust and regret in the curl of Erick’s lips. Tarr’s heart lurched.
Final Day--a Wired & Dangerous novella Page 6