He’d never had a place of his own. In fact, he’d never had a bedroom of his own. Not one that he remembered, anyway. When he was placed with foster families, he always shared a room with one of the other kids, which had sucked because the only thing he’d ever wanted in life was to have a place to call his own.
His single mother had taken her own life, setting the dominoes in motion by leaving him with nothing and no one at the age of three. She’d even been so kind as to do so when he would find her—something he had apparently blocked out, according to the stories he’d been told. What the fuck a three-year-old was supposed to do when his mother was dead on her bed, he had yet to figure out. From the details that had been shared with him, it had taken two days before her boss at the grocery store she had worked for finally showed up to check on her. Teague had been living off crackers and water from the sink in the bathroom, or so they’d said.
From that point forward, he’d been a ward of the state. The longest he’d stayed with one family was two years, right after he had been taken into the system. Of course, he didn’t remember that. Being in foster care, Teague had been passed around from one family to the next, no one capable of taking care of a wild, out-of-control kid like him. He’d hated school and had started rebelling at an early age, which pretty much made him unlovable. To put it simply, he’d been unwanted.
Sure, he’d probably made it more difficult by acting out, but he didn’t feel bad about that. He’d been dealt a shitty hand; why should he have to make nice with everyone else? Fuck them.
He was sure there was some psychiatrist somewhere who would say that he used sex to feel close to people, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. He didn’t want to feel close to people. He wanted to get his dick sucked and his ass fucked. It wasn’t sexy, it wasn’t intimate. It was a means to an end. There was no psychological bullshit attached to his motives. If anything, Teague didn’t want love at all. He’d survived all these years without it; he damn sure didn’t need it now.
However, he had established a great friendship with the three guys who owned Pier 70. If it weren’t for them, he didn’t know where he’d be today. Cam Strickland had given Teague a job when he was sixteen years old, letting him help out in the repair shop, and over time, he’d proven himself. So much so that four years ago, Cam had offered him a stake in the business. Him. A broke-ass twenty-one-year-old with a high school diploma and a beat-up old truck that got him from point A to point B, was now part owner of one of the most successful marinas in the area. He hadn’t had a dime to contribute, but Cam said that wasn’t the reason they wanted to bring him on board. It’d been the nicest thing anyone had ever done for him. Ever.
Which was the very reason that Pier 70 was the only thing that mattered to him. He would do anything for the three people who had taken a chance on him, and the business they all held near and dear. No matter what happened, Teague would never let them down. That was his only motive in life.
A knock sounded on the door, and he took another long swig on the bottle in his hand before pushing to his feet.
It was time to get this party started, and time to stop thinking about all the bullshit.
HUDSON HIT THE button on the remote to change the channel. He continued to click past all the nonsense, finally settling on baseball. He turned it up another notch, trying to drown out the noise coming from across the hall.
For the past hour, Hudson had attempted to ignore the ruckus coming from Teague’s apartment. Between the music and the loud laughter, he’d been hell-bent on sitting on his couch and not going to put a stop to it. Despite what Teague thought about him, Hudson wasn’t an old man. He didn’t get his rocks off by being grumpy or interfering in other people’s lives.
What Teague did wasn’t his damn business, and he had somehow managed to talk himself out of interfering tonight although it had been touch and go there for a little while. If it hadn’t been for the hour he’d spent at the gym, followed by a cold shower and the pizza he’d devoured when he got home, he could’ve still been holding on to that irritation. Some people turned to drugs or alcohol to relieve stress; Hudson turned to weights. He didn’t drink. Maybe the occasional beer with his brother, but never more than that.
So, rather than go over there and tell the gang-bang boys to turn that shit down, he had turned on the television and tried to ignore them.
It was getting harder to do the louder they got.
As he watched the TV, trying to feign interest in a game with two teams he couldn’t care less about, he heard something crash across the hall, and he was immediately on his feet. Someone yelled, someone else laughed, and before he knew it, he was knocking on Teague’s door.
A young, attractive black guy pulled the door open. He was half-dressed, missing a shirt, with his jeans unbuttoned, showing off the bright red briefs beneath. In his hands, he was holding what appeared to be a broken bottle—likely the reason for the noise.
Knowing he shouldn’t, Hudson’s gaze swept the room, and he felt rage boil up inside him when he found Teague on the couch, his dick stuffed into some skinny white guy’s mouth. His hands balled into fists, and a tremor of unrestrained violence coursed just beneath his skin. Telling himself this wasn’t his business was no longer working. Not by a long shot.
“That’s it, Jason.” Teague groaned, his head falling back, his eyes closed. “Suck my dick… Oh, fuck, yes. Such a good cocksucker.” He pumped his hips, his dick tunneling in and out of the guy’s mouth while he held his head in place. It seemed oddly disconnected, as though Teague didn’t give a shit whose mouth his dick was in, as long as it was wet and warm. The fact that Teague was wearing a condom only added to the emotional detachment.
Interesting.
“What the fuck you want, man?” the punk kid in front of Hudson asked.
Hudson ripped his attention away from Teague and peered down at the other guy. He nodded toward the stereo and signed for him to turn it down.
“What the fuck, man? You stupid or what? I don’t know what this”—the asshole had the audacity to flail his hands around—“even means. You’re gonna have to use your words.” The kid slowly enunciated the next sentence, as though Hudson was ignorant. “You know, with … your … mouth.”
Hudson was tempted to knock the little shithead out, but he refrained. He’d heard every lame-ass insult he could hear in the thirty-five years he’d been on this Earth. They had started when he was in kindergarten, and strangely enough, there were even assholes who still tried to push his buttons with their stupidity to this day. The most recent … the little bitch in front of him.
“Come on, Benny!” Teague hollered, tightening his grip on the cocksucker’s hair. “Come put your mouth on my nuts. They ain’t gonna suck themselves.”
As Teague yelled, he turned and Hudson captured his gaze from across the room.
“What the fuck?” Teague glared at him. “Go the fuck home, Hudson. You ain’t invited to this party.”
Well, that explained a little bit. Teague was slurring his words, and there was an empty fifth of Crown sitting on the coffee table. Knowing Teague, he’d downed that shit all by himself.
Hudson shook his head. He wasn’t going anywhere. Not until they turned this shit down.
“Dude, this guy’s whack,” Benny, the little bitch, announced. “Can’t even talk. What kind of freak can’t talk?”
Never once did Hudson look away from Teague.
“Man, Benny, shut the fuck up. Get over here and suck me, you asshole.” Teague laughed, but Hudson didn’t hear any humor in his tone.
Benny never looked away from Hudson. “Not until the retard goes away.”
Funny how the guy felt ten feet tall and bulletproof with a little alcohol running through his veins. He didn’t know the first damn thing about Hudson, yet he’d already resorted to firing ignorant remarks. Being that Hudson was six two and this little punk was even shorter than Teague, he towered over him by roughly half a foot, outweighed him by p
robably thirty pounds of muscle to boot. He could’ve laid him out with a thump on the nose.
Hudson turned his attention to Benny, making sure the little punk saw the fury burning in his eyes. He wasn’t angry about the adolescent name-calling. He’d long ago learned to let that shit roll right off him. No, his ire was directly related to Teague lying on that couch, his dick in some asshole’s mouth.
When Benny attempted to close the door in Hudson’s face, he took a step forward, keeping the door from shutting. He put his hand on the wood and shoved it open, sending it slamming into the wall behind it, causing Benny to stumble backward.
“Dude. What the fuck’s your problem?” This time the cocksucker was the one asking questions, kneeling between Teague’s legs.
Hudson pointed toward the hallway.
“What the fuck does that mean?” Benny asked, laughing like a hyena. “This fucktard can’t even talk. How stupid is that?” Again, the shit-fuck started flailing his hands, mocking Hudson.
“It means get the fuck out,” Teague called out, anger flashing in his eyes.
Hudson watched as Teague pushed the cocksucker away, knocking him onto the floor. Teague huffed, yanking off the condom before pulling up his jeans and getting to his feet.
“Yeah!” Benny yelled, moving closer to Hudson. “Get the fuck out!”
“I’m talkin’ to you, asshole.” Teague blasted Benny with a hateful glare. “Grow the fuck up, man. Get outta my fuckin’ apartment.” Teague turned back to the cocksucker. “You, too. This is over.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Benny turned his attention to Teague. “We were just getting to the good part.”
“Like I said… This. Is. Over.” Teague pointed to the door.
Benny grabbed his shirt from the floor while the cocksucker grabbed his clothes. Neither of them said a word, but if looks could kill, Hudson would’ve been laid out on the floor in need of a body bag. Not wanting to halt their progress, Hudson took a step back and let them leave, ignoring the urge to shove them along.
When they were out of sight, he turned back to Teague.
“You, too!” Teague yelled. “Get the fuck out.”
Hudson shook his head. He wasn’t going anywhere.
“You’re a giant fucking asshole, you know that?” Teague pinned him with a glare. “Why the fuck do you hafta interfere with my fucking life? I haven’t been laid in three goddamn months, and I simply wanna get off. There was a damn good chance that woulda happened if you didn’t stick your fucking nose where it doesn’t belong.”
Although he seemed to have sobered somewhat, Teague was still slurring his words. Hudson snatched Teague’s phone from the coffee table and shoved it at him before retrieving his own from his pocket. He pulled up Teague’s contact info and typed out a message:
What the fuck are you doing with those assholes?
Teague’s phone vibrated and the kid looked down at it.
“I was getting my goddamn dick sucked. What the fuck did it look like?”
Hudson typed out another message: Two?
Teague appeared confused when the message showed up on his phone. He looked up at Hudson. “Two what?”
Hudson nodded toward the hallway, cocking an eyebrow.
“Ahh.” Teague went to the refrigerator and grabbed a beer. “You don’t like the fact that it takes two to please me, huh? What? Are you jealous? Or just a prude?”
Hudson typed again: If it takes two, you haven’t been with the right man.
Teague scowled at his phone when the message popped up. He set his phone on the counter, opened his beer, and lifted his eyes to meet Hudson’s. The kid laughed. “What? You think you’re man enough?”
Hudson didn’t think, he knew.
He had no idea what compelled him to do what he did next, but whatever it was, he wasn’t strong enough to resist it.
Three
FUCK.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
The second he said those words, Teague noticed the determined gleam in Hudson’s eyes. Rather than their usual brilliant emerald color, they were darker, more intense.
Teague wasn’t nearly as drunk as he was pretending to be. Sure, he had been at some point tonight, but his buzz had quickly been dampened when that jackass Benny had started talking shit to Hudson. It was a wonder the guy could walk out of here. Had he been in Hudson’s shoes, Teague would’ve laid the fucker out for talking shit like that.
Maybe Teague wasn’t Hudson’s biggest fan, but he damn sure wasn’t going to sit back and let someone talk shit to him like that. Only now, he kind of wished Benny and Jason were still there, because Hudson was stalking him from across the room, and that glint in his eyes was dangerous.
Teague swallowed hard as he backed up against the refrigerator. He ran out of room before Hudson got to him, but his reflexes were dulled by the alcohol, so he didn’t manage to dodge him in time.
Hudson planted his hands on the refrigerator—one on each side of Teague’s head—with a thud, shaking the glass bottles inside. For the longest minute in the history of time, Hudson didn’t move, simply stared, their noses practically touching. Teague tried to come up with some smartass thing to say, something that would get Hudson to back off, but he couldn’t formulate words with Hudson so damn close.
Fucking hell, Hudson smelled good. That enticing scent of expensive cologne was like a bolt of lust straight to the nuts.
And because of that delicious scent, the heat of Hudson’s body, and the softness of his lips, Teague found himself practically climbing the man as Hudson kissed him hard.
Oh, fuck.
Warmth infused him, trickling down his spine, right through his balls, and down to his toes. He was assaulted by a sense of need so overwhelming his knees threatened to give out. He’d only been kissed like this once before and that had been a fucking dream.
There was no question who was in charge here, and it damn sure wasn’t Teague.
Trying to gain some semblance of control, Teague fumbled behind him, managing to set his beer on the counter before he grabbed on to Hudson and held him, thrusting his tongue into the big man’s mouth, taking what Hudson was clearly offering. Under normal circumstances, he would’ve refused the kiss, choosing for that wicked mouth to do other things, but this was Hudson and…
Fuck.
No one had ever kissed him like this. No one had ever even tried.
The guy was so damn big, his chest solid against Teague’s. At five nine, Teague wasn’t a big guy by any means, more like average. But up against Hudson, he felt small. And he fucking liked it.
The memory of that dream flooded him. This felt like déjà vu.
Hudson cupped Teague’s jaw with one hand, his grip bordering on painful, holding him in place while he plundered his mouth. Their tongues dueled, teeth clashing together as they both tried to inhale the other. Teague shouldn’t have enjoyed it, he shouldn’t have wanted more, but he did.
Hudson pulled back before Teague was ready, but he didn’t sign anything or go for his phone. They stood there, eyes locked, panting as they fought for breath. Teague mentally willed Hudson to kiss him again, but he didn’t. Instead, Hudson took a step back, grabbed Teague’s phone from the counter, and tossed it toward him. He managed to catch it, though he wasn’t sure how. Not only was the alcohol making his brain fuzzy, that damn kiss had intensified the sensation.
Hudson typed something on his phone while Teague willed his dick to chill the fuck out.
You want someone to fuck you the right way, I’m your guy.
Teague’s eyes widened in disbelief as he read the message, then read it again. When he looked up, he noticed Hudson was walking out his front door, pulling it closed behind him.
What the hell had just happened?
Teague tapped out a reply: You make an offer like that and you walk out? What the fuck?
A few seconds later, another message came in. The offer stands. You want to be fucked the right way, you simply have to ask. Th
ink about it. In the meantime, don’t let me see your dick in anyone’s mouth. You’re lucky I didn’t lose my shit. When you’re ready, you know where to find me.
Shit. Teague was ready now. He messaged Hudson and told him as much.
The response he got back was not one he wanted.
Two things you should know. One, I’m in charge, and two, you have to be sober. You make that happen and I’ll show you exactly what you’ve been missing. No strings.
Teague dropped onto the couch and stared at his phone. He didn’t know how much time passed, but he never moved, still trying to process what Hudson was telling him. Or more accurately, what Hudson was propositioning.
Could he be serious?
Sex with no strings.
He could only imagine what sex with Hudson would be like. The man would no doubt dominate him in every fucking way. Even the thought made his dick throb with anticipation. Sure, he’d had plenty of sex in his life, but never had he been truly dominated by a guy. Then again, he’d never wanted to be.
It was the very reason Teague went for guys his size, not bigger. Keeping things cool and on an even keel was what always worked best for Teague.
Right?
No strings. With Hudson.
Holy. Fuck.
HUDSON DIDN’T EXPECT Teague to respond to him after that. In fact, he didn’t want the kid to. He wanted Teague to think about what he was telling him, about what he was offering.
Granted, Hudson had no fucking idea how things had gotten that far, but when he’d had his tongue in Teague’s mouth, when he’d felt the way Teague was trying to devour him, the only thing Hudson could think about was owning him in every possible way. He wanted to show Teague exactly what he was missing when he ventured into these bullshit orgies that he claimed to find satisfaction in. If the kid wanted someone to satisfy him, Hudson would be more than willing to oblige.
He replayed what had happened in his head. Knocking on the door, seeing Teague face-fucking some little pussy while he kept his eyes closed. Had he been thinking about someone else? He damn sure hadn’t been focused on the mouth that was on him. Hudson wouldn’t have put up with that shit. He would’ve insisted Teague watch him while he swallowed his cock.
Speechless (Pier 70 #3) Page 3