Thirteen
Mason
I did want to teach Nash how to cook. But one look at his determined expression had me grabbing his hand and pulling him to the rear of the house and into my bedroom. I kept the space as sparely furnished as the rest of the old place, finding comfort in the clean modern lines of my bed and white bedding. The only other furniture was the lone matching nightstand.
Nash didn’t comment on the decor. Instead, he tugging me close for another blistering kiss.
“Did you mean your threat?” I whispered against his lips.
“I don’t threaten.” He ran his hands up and down my bare sides. “Only promise.” He kissed me again then pulled back with a frown. “But do you have supplies? Because I really was just coming to cook—”
I snorted because that was such a lie. “I’ve got stuff.” I opened the drawer of the nightstand, tossed what we’d need on the bed. I’d made a special trip to Coos Bay earlier in the week because no way in heck was I trusting Hauser’s Grocery with my personal business.
“Fancy.” Nash picked up the condom box, turned it around.
“Latex allergy,” I explained. The detail guaranteed I’d always been damned picky about who I did this with, but the second Nash had kissed me in the alley, I’d wanted this with him.
“Anything else I should know?” The tone of his question was serious. And he was looking at the condom box like it might have snakes it.
“I’m ticklish.” I tugged at his shirt. “And I hate waiting to unwrap my presents.”
“I’m your present?” He sounded doubtful but let me get the shirt off him.
“Oh, yeah.” I grinned at him, an obvious leer to make him smile before I went in for a kiss. Some things in life were just meant to be ogled, and Nash Flint’s chest certainly qualified—strong, broad, surprisingly tan with rosy nipples, and a lot of delicious fuzz including a trail that lead straight to his zipper, which was where I was heading next.
Still kissing him, I undid his belt one-handed. I knew from the other night that we needed to seriously up his underwear game. But as long as the very basic cotton boxer briefs hit my floor in the next twenty seconds, I didn’t really care.
He helped me out by kicking off his shoes as I pushed down his pants. But before I could admire Nash naked, he was shoving at my shorts, hissing when he figured out that I’d gone commando after my shower.
“Fuck. Mason.” Tone almost reverential, his eyes seemed to drink me in. In a single smooth move, he sank to his knees in front of me. And I could live to a hundred and three and never forget the sight of Nash Flint on his knees, rubbing his face against my cock.
He didn’t give me time to adjust to this new reality where Nash-freaking-Flint was going to suck me. No. He was already licking my shaft with long, purposeful strokes. Nash didn’t tease or torment, just went straight for what he wanted, all business as he swallowed me down. His strong hands gripped my hips as he started a slow, steady rhythm. I was glad for his grip—it kept me from floating to the ceiling. Gradually, one of his hands swept around to stroke up and down my crack, deliberate strokes of his broad fingers.
“Yes.” The combination of his hot mouth, the sight of him doing this for me, and those devilish fingers had me skating far too close to the edge far too fast. Nash didn’t make it any easier when he removed his hand only to have it return with slick fingers, all while never losing his rhythm on my cock. Fingers grazing my rim, he had me panting and my balls tingling.
“Unngh. Nash. Don’t wanna…”
“Then don’t.” He pulled back long enough to wink at me, cocky bastard. “Bed. Now. On your knees.”
I wasn’t usually one to take orders in bed, but something about Nash’s firm voice made my cock throb and my pulse hum. I complied, tossing the comforter to the floor as I climbed onto the bed. I got on my hands and knees, and Nash was there in an instant, kissing down my spine. His fingers were back to torture me, circling my rim in a way that had me shivering all over again. He took his time before pressing inside, slippery fingers heading straight for my gland. Felt good, but I rocked impatiently.
“Just go,” I urged. I’d never liked prep much—I liked the actual fucking, loved having been fucked, but the getting started business was always something I’d just as soon fast-forward through. My body didn’t always cooperate, though, and I willed myself to relax as Nash took care of the condom.
Unlike a lot of my lovers, Nash seemed to get the balance I needed between hurry-up and patience, getting into position and stroking my back with his free hand. “Rock back when you’re ready.” The command in his tone had me going pliant in a way that my brain’s commands hadn’t managed.
“That’s it.” He praised each small movement of my hips, hand soothing my back. “So good.”
His praise was a drug, making me bolder, and I took him deeper and deeper, working past the stretch to the good part where he pressed up against my gland. “Yes. That.”
“Ready for more?” Nash’s voice was the same blend of gentle-firm as his hand on my side.
“Yeah.” I arched my back. “Need it.”
I moaned as he pulled back before thrusting forward again, an unerring stroke right against all the places that felt like liquid lightning.
“Feel so good.” Nash’s groans mingled with my own.
“Nash. Nash,” I panted, searching for something—I didn’t even know what.
“I’ve got you.” His hand found my dick, matching the insistent rhythm of his hips.
I moaned again, a low, inhuman noise.
“That’s it. Let me hear you.” His thrusts sped up, rewarding me for each gasp and whimper. I didn’t even recognize the noises coming from my mouth. The hand on my dick was sure and strong and made my hips buck, chasing more sensation. “Can you come this way?” His tone said he already knew the answer but wanted to hear me say it.
“Yes. Oh, fuck.” My eyes squished shut. That wasn’t always the case for me, but with Nash’s unerring skills, it was more a question of holding off long enough for him to get there, too.
“Tell me what you need,” he ordered.
“Harder. God. Please go harder.” This needy, begging thing totally wasn’t me, either, but Nash turned me inside out, made me not recognize myself. Keeping my eyes shut, I gave in to the fuck. My head fell forward, but Nash kept me from collapsing entirely. “Need you.”
“That’s it.” His thrusts sped up, hand on my hips tilting me to the perfect angle.
“Want to come.” The tingle was back in my balls and my ass tightened as everything went white hot.
“Do it.” Oh, thank fuck. Nash didn’t torture me and make me wait. His hand on my cock added a little twist on the upstroke that had my moans turning into whines.
“Nash.” My whole body trembled, right there on the edge.
“Come on, Mason.” The way he growled my name, forceful and plaintive at the same time, did me in. Body clenching hard, I came, wave after wave of intense pleasure that wrung me out. My rubbery limbs gave way, and I was vaguely aware of Nash’s thrusts getting erratic. He wasn’t loud like me, but his satisfied groan as he collapsed on me made me shudder all over again.
“Fuck. I’m squashing you.” Nash pulled out gently, but I still winced. “Sorry.”
He tugged me out of the damp spot I’d landed in, gathering me up in a clumsy embrace, pressing kisses to the back of my neck.
It was almost too sweet, so I cracked an eye open and looked over my shoulder. “My mattress appears to be in one piece. I’m disappointed.”
Nash’s laugh was a deep rumble that rolled through me. “Smart ass. We’ll shoot for bed breaking next time.”
Next time. I liked the sound of that far more than I should, which was dangerous.
“And, hey, you promised me food. I’m the one who should be pouting.” Nash shoved at my side which only made me burrow into him more.
“I’ll feed you, but I really need a quick shower first. I’m pretty sure t
hat I don’t trust you with my kitchen while I get clean, so you better come, too.” I smiled at him like my command had nothing to do with worry that he’d bolt. No, nothing like that at all.
“Shower? Together?” He gave me a bemused smile.
“New concept for you?” I sat slowly, loving the delicious ache when I moved, but what I really wanted to do was sleep for a week with Nash surrounding me. That wasn’t happening, though, and it was time to rejoin reality.
Nash finally gave a nod, eyes looking reluctant. “You’ve probably got more wild stories than me.”
“It’s a shower, Nash. Not an orgy.” I held out a hand to help him up then led him to the little bathroom. Nash’s discomfort only seemed to grow once we were in the small space. Spa-like, it was decidedly not. Similar to the kitchen, the only renovation it had seen had been decades ago and piecemeal at best. I wished I had Felipe’s Rose Quarter condo’s huge bath with the walk-in shower. That might distract Nash from whatever was going on in his head.
I couldn’t worry too much about that—I really did need a shower because sticky with lube was not my favorite sensation. Leaving Nash to wrestle with himself, I cranked the shower on and climbed in the tub, leaving the curtain open.
“Those are ducks.” Nash finally said, gesturing at my cheerful yellow and blue curtain with a rubber duck motif.
“I let Lilac pick it out when I took her to the Walmart in Coos Bay.” I shrugged and grabbed the soap. “I’m not really much on decor.”
“I noticed.” A little smile teased at the corner of Nash’s mouth. Seeming to come to some sort of decision, Nash stepped in behind me. However, any fantasies I had about leisurely kissing under the water were lost to the realities of two men—one of whom seemed bound and determined not to touch—in a tiny space.
Sighing, I finished my washing, rinsed the soap, and passed it to Nash. I hopped out to give him more access to the water. Maybe someday I could introduce him to the pleasures of shower sex.
Someday. There I went again with the dangerous thinking.
“I’m putting the bacon back on,” I said as I toweled off. “Take your time. I’ll show you how to do the eggs when you get in there.”
I pulled on a fresh pair of shorts because I somehow knew that Nash wouldn’t be down with naked cooking. I put the bacon on the heat and whisked the eggs before he wandered in, back in his jeans, but no shirt. Now that was a nice surprise, even if his chest was a distraction from the task at hand.
“Sorry.” He rubbed his face. “Didn’t mean to get weird on you.”
“You didn’t.” I brushed a kiss across his mouth. “Although I totally want to show you how fun a shower can be sometime.” I said it casually, like we’d already agreed to a repeat. I’d known once was not going to be enough with Nash Flint, no matter how stupid doing this on the regular was.
Nash made a noncommittal noise that I decided to take as a maybe since it wasn’t an outright shutdown of the idea. “Did the bacon get ruined?” he asked, peering over my shoulder.
“Nope.” I launched back into the cooking lesson, trying not to enjoy the brush of his bare skin against mine too much. It was the best kind of strange, cooking together after the bed-shaking (if not bed-breaking) sex, feeling little twinges in my muscles to remind me of how hard we’d gone. Other than the quasi-freakout over sharing the shower, Nash seemed calmer now, and it was easy to delude myself into thinking that things could always be this natural.
“Here, you try.” I handed him the spatula as the eggs started to come together in the skillet. His whisking was adorably tentative. We worked together to serve up the bacon and eggs and then ate again at my little table. I could get used to this way too easily, shirtless Nash across from me, memories of the sex dancing in my head, simple food that tasted better because it was shared.
“I should let you sleep,” Nash said as we finished the dishes. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”
“You’re not.” I captured his mouth for a kiss that told him in no uncertain terms that I could be up for another round. But right when I felt his muscles go pliant, felt him waver about leaving, my phone rang over on the counter.
Frowning, Nash released me. I scooped up the phone, because this time of night it had to be an emergency. The screen flashed with a familiar number, and my stomach sank all the way down to the scarred linoleum. Jimmy.
“What?” I barked into the phone. Nash was already out of the kitchen, most likely headed in search of his shirt and shoes. Bolting. Just like I’d known he would.
“Sorry for how late it is.”
“No, you’re not.” I groaned and leaned back against the counter. “What do you need?”
“I forgot that Dad has a doctor’s appointment tomorrow in Coos Bay. Chester needs me—”
“Jimmy, I am not your daycare.” A rustling sound alerted me to a frowning Nash heading for my side door. I couldn’t stop him without alerting Jimmy that I had company. Fuck.
Jimmy went on about how this was a one-shot thing, the last time he’d need me, he promised, but my attention was more on Nash, who mouthed, “Text me if you need me,” before slipping out the door.
If you need me… Nope. I couldn’t afford to need Nash Flint, much as my body liked his. Jimmy was just one more reminder of that.
Fourteen
Nash
“So glad you could make it, Chief.” Everleigh greeted me near the door of the visitor center. I was there for another early morning Chamber of Commerce meeting, a command appearance sparked by the latest round of vandalism. But it wasn’t Everleigh’s sunny smile that held my attention.
Over by the far wall, Mason was setting up a display of breads and muffins and a little sign that advertised the tavern. He wore dress clothes again, and I wasn’t sure what it was, but him in a pressed shirt did something weird to my insides. Maybe it was how it made him look older, more worldly, but it could also be that it was just plain hot. The peek of skin where he’d left the collar of the blue shirt unbuttoned, the muscled forearms poking out of rolled-back sleeves, the ass—which I now knew was more muscular than it looked—defined by the khaki pants.
As if he sensed me checking him out, he turned, giving me and Everleigh a smile. No winks. No slyness. Only his usual friendliness, suitable for casual acquaintanceship, but it still jangled me all up. The other night his smiles had been more intimate, meant for me alone, and hell if the memory of the impromptu cooking lesson wasn’t equally as seductive as the memory of fucking him. I hadn’t been a coward after this latest bout of insanity—I’d gone to the tavern for lunch yesterday, but Mason had been out, which left me to Ringer’s brisk service.
And okay, I’d been a bit of a coward, leaving while Mason was on the phone, but I couldn’t take the risk of that brother of his coming over. Honestly, that should have been the wet blanket on any remaining lust I had for Mason, but one sight of him standing there in those clothes with a grin that was nothing but friendly, and I was back being a prisoner to my desire for him.
Everleigh clapped her hands and called everyone to order. Mason took a seat on the opposite side of the room, and I refused to feel even one iota disappointed that he wasn’t closer to me. I couldn’t go thinking like that.
“As all of you know, the Fourth of July is coming. We’ve advertised in several regional publications this year, and we’re hopeful for a big turnout.” The Fourth was always a huge tourism weekend all along the coast, and while I appreciated patriotism as much as anyone else, it was one of my least favorite weeks of the year—marked increase in drunk driving, bar fights, parking violations, illegal beach bonfires, and general mayhem that had the whole department pulling long hours.
Everleigh asked for my input on our policing plans, especially for the town fireworks celebration over at Lake Moosehead that the Chamber sponsored, and that drew my attention away from Mason. My gaze did return to him, though, when the topic changed to the vandalism spree, and I had to mention the broken window at the tav
ern. People were understandably nervous, and I hated that I didn’t have more answers for them. For Mason whose tight eyes and furrowed brow said the matter was still weighing him down. I wanted to ease those worries in the worst way, but I managed to keep my head professional the rest of the meeting, even when Mason gave an update on the LGBTQ tourism initiative. And if I was relieved that his slick Portland friend wasn’t there, well, that was simply wanting a shorter meeting, nothing to do with misplaced jealousy.
As the meeting wound up, I hung back for reasons I refused to examine, drifting closer to where Mason was packing up the leftover baked goods.
“You walk?” I asked, casually as I could muster.
“Nope. Had to drive all this stuff over.” The smile he flashed me had a fair amount of regret in it, as if he knew I’d been about to offer a ride.
“That’s good.” Fuck. Now I didn’t know what to say or do.
Mason didn’t seem to suffer any such indecision. He said, “I’ve got a marionberry pie on the menu today. That was really popular the last time I offered it. Stop by for lunch?”
“Maybe,” I hedged, keeping a professional distance between us. “You need a hand carrying this out?”
“Sure.” He handed me one of two boxes. “Actually, would you like that box for the station? I kind of over-baked for the meeting.”
Marta was sure to give me heck, but I nodded. “That would be nice. I’m sure the department will appreciate it.”
“Good.” He paused by the door. “See you around, Flint.”
Something about the way he said my name rankled—I missed being Nash, being the name he moaned in the still of the night, being the guy he teased while sitting at that little table of his. I carried my bad mood all the way back to the station, and I was about to climb out of the Jeep when my phone beeped with a message.
Enjoy the food. You off this evening? I’m off early-ish, around 8, and I’ve got a huge craving for pasta. Really tired of burgers and sandwiches. Come over, and I’ll teach you a basic white sauce. No tomatoes.
Trust with a Chaser (Rainbow Cove Book 1) Page 11