by S A Sommers
“Yes,” I whined.
I watched his lips curl in a smile. “Why don’t we go find out if hay is actually worth rolling in?”
I grabbed his hand and ran.
Hay was totally worth rolling in.
MARCUS
I PICKED ANOTHER piece of hay out of my hair and shook my head. I’d forgotten that hay got everywhere, and it was sticky. Not gooey-sticky, but thorny-sticky.
Chase’s hand trailed up and down my back, trying to distract me or entice me, who knew.
I sighed and turned to him. I whispered at him, “Sweetheart, I told you when we agreed to stay here, I’m not fucking you in your parents’ house, in your childhood bedroom.”
“Hayloft is fine,” he said.
Leaning down, I kissed his nose. “I’m going to look like the hayloft if we keep that up.”
“Mmm, my own personal sexy scarecrow.”
“No. Never say that again.” But I was laughing. “Meanwhile, I smell breakfast.”
He flopped back in the bed. “I think I’m still full from Abuelita’s chicken last night.”
“Or are you still full from our second trip to the barn?”
He shook a lazy finger at me. “Do not pervert the fried chicken.” His hand dropped to the bed. “Damn you, Marcus. Now I’m hard.”
It had been mostly the memory of our second trip to the barn than anything else. He’d said fast and dirty, and I obliged. I was sure his ass still twinged.
“Now? You’ve been hard since you woke up twenty minutes ago.”
“Have pity on me, baby!” he cried, poking my side with his finger.
In the next instant, he was biting his fist in his mouth because in one smooth motion, I had turned, pulled the sheets down and swallowed his cock whole.
He was not ready.
After a few bobs and licks, I pulled off and gave him a devilish grin. “You want it, you got it. No noise, sweetheart, or I’m going to have to spank you.”
“That’s not a threa—ah!”
Honestly, I’d had no intention of giving him a blow job because this was his childhood bedroom in his parents’ house and that was just weird. But as soon as he said he was hard, I couldn’t ignore the lust anymore.
It was fun to try and make him scream or groan than to make him come, so I kept edging my poor boyfriend. He squirmed and made muffled sounds—he bit his lips and fist—he cover his eyes with his arm and tried not to even whimper.
Chase tasted delicious. I would never ever tire of tasting him, his cock, his balls, his cum. His skin was flushed and warm and the muscles of his thighs rippled as he squirmed. His nipples were pearled and his expression was one of bliss.
But even more, I liked being around him. He was sweet, strong, handsome…willing to forgive. He had come to see his father despite the fear of a second rejection.
I couldn’t help myself with this man.
Slipping a finger over the sensitive skin around his hole, I petted him lightly while sucking hard and finally allowed him to fall over the edge into the bliss of orgasm.
“Shit!” he yelled.
I won.
I grinned around his dick, taking every drop of cum he wanted to offer me. He whimpered as I drank him down, and cleaned him off, very thoroughly. So thoroughly, he was starting to get hard again.
“Oh, God, no more right now. My cock is willing but the flesh is spongy and bruised.”
My laugh erupted out of me. “Did you just quote Zapf Brannigan?”
“What of it? He was right.”
Flopping down on my stomach next to him, I kissed his cheek. “God, I love you.”
Whoa.
There was a terrible banging on the door downstairs. We jerked and looked toward the hall. Without another word, we quickly pulled on some clothes and made our way down the stairs.
Beth was hurrying from the kitchen to the door. She pulled it open.
There was a tall, built man standing there, holding his hat, while two more men—currently nothing more than two pair of shoes and a shadow—stood behind him.
“Del Billings, what are you doing here?” Beth’s smile was wide.
“Mrs. Garcia. I’m afraid we’re not here to make a social call. May we come in?”
“Of course…” She was as confused as we were, but stepped out of the way.
The three of them walked into the foyer, and the sheriff’s eyes shot to me and Chase on the stairs. “Mister Romano?”
I nodded.
He held up a blue-backed piece of paper, and my legs went out from under me, landing me hard on my ass on the stairs.
I had seen too many of those pieces of paper in my life.
“Marcus?” Chase’s voice sounded miles away from me, and it slogged through the buzzing in my head. “Marcus!” His hand slid into mine and his palm was against my cheek.
Glancing back at the sheriff I could see the remorse in his eyes as he handed the paper over to Tony to inspect, then turned back to me. “Mister Romano, we have a warrant for your arrest from the State of New York, Kings County, with an extradition agreement for the State of Illinois.”
“W-what—” I choked on the words. I didn’t want to know.
“What charges?” Chase asked.
“As stated by the District Attorney in Kings County,” the sheriff said, “Rape in the First Degree, Criminal Sexual Act in the First Degree, and Predatory Sexual Assault.”
I managed to stumble up the steps into the bathroom and heaved everything out of my stomach at once. I was choking on my own vomit when Chase slammed to his knees next to me and ran a careful hand over my back.
“Breathe, Marcus, please.”
My head hung low, and the world spun and twisted around. I couldn’t believe this was happening again.
Beth reached over me and flushed, and a moment later she was holding out a paper cup of mouthwash. “Rinse, Marcus. It will help you get your bearings.”
I obeyed, swishing, and spitting back into the bowl.
“Do you have a lawyer in New York?” she asked.
“N-no,” I managed between horrid and ragged breaths.
“You will by the time you get there,” Chase said.
“Call my mom, please,” I managed. “Please.”
“I will,” Beth said.
Barely managing to get my feet under me, I stood and walked to the door. Chase and Beth had me by the arms, and helped me down the stairs. The sheriff was at the bottom and he was holding out handcuffs.
“No!” I gasped, backing up. “Please, no, sir. No. I will come with you without trouble. Please don’t put those on me.”
He must have seen how I was trembling, and nodded, hooking them back on his belt.
Chase grabbed the warrant. “Do you need this back?”
“’Fraid so,” he said.
“Can you wait just two minutes while I make a copy for his lawyer?”
I sobbed, “Chase, I don’t—”
He leaned up and kissed me. “You totally have a lawyer. Don’t say anything to anyone, babe. Not one word. Got it?”
Nodding, I watched him sprint into the office at the back of the house, and came back less than a minute later with his copy and the original.
The sheriff took my elbow and led me down the stairs.
I was reliving my worst fucking nightmare, and I didn’t know how to wake up.
CHASE
THE PATROL CAR HADN’T EVEN TURNED around with Marcus in the back before I had the phone to my ear. I knew exactly who to call.
“Vincent Bartrand.”
“Vin, it’s Chase. I need to put you on professional retainer, right now, and for you to meet my boyfriend at central booking when they get there.”
“Excuse me? Your boyfriend? Aren’t you in Illinois?”
“Yes, I am. At my parents’ place. The sheriff just carted away Marcus on an arrest warrant for New York.” I knew I was talking fast even for New York, but Vincent was a lawyer and if he couldn’t keep up, he needed to
quit. “I have a copy of the arrest warrant here. Do you want me to send it to you? I already told him not to talk to anyone. I’m going to pack my shit in a few minutes and get on the road home, but I need—”
“Stop,” Vincent’s voice snapped down the line. “Take a goddamn breath.”
I did, and I was shocked that I was panting from my tirade. My hands were shaking, and my mother grabbed the copies of the warrant out of my hand so I didn’t crush or destroy them in any other way.
“Okay. Your boyfriend is being extradited to Kings County for what?”
“Rape charges.”
There was silence. It was too long of a silence, and I finally called through the phone. “Still there, Vincent?”
“I am…you know I don’t handle…”
“Fuck,” I snapped at him. “He didn’t rape anyone! He didn’t hurt anyone! He ripped open the wall of my living room to rescue kittens! He’s not a rapist.”
“Okay, all right, calm down. I’ll call someone to help me. He’s not cheap…”
“I don’t care about money. Get my boyfriend out of jail and these charges dropped. Vincent, please, for me.”
“Yes, of course,” he said. “Email the copies you have and I’ll get on it. How long until you’re back?”
“It’s a thirteen hour drive, so if I get going now, I’ll have to crash overnight. Even if I could walk out the door right now I won’t be there before noon tomorrow.”
“Crash somewhere, man,” Vincent said. “Do not go thirteen hours yourself. We’ve got it on this end. Isn’t his mother here?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Good. Call her and she’ll be ready for him and me.”
“Thank you, Vin. Seriously.”
“Chase, I’m not kidding about that bill from this guy.”
“And I’m not kidding about not giving a shit,” I answered.
“All right. I’ll see you tomorrow, mid-afternoon.”
“Done.”
We closed the connections and I looked at my mother and father standing there.
My father cleared his throat. “Chase—”
“He didn’t rape anyone,” I snapped.
“That isn’t what I was going to say,” Dad answered. “I was going to ask if you wanted to get a plane ticket and we’d get the car back to you.”
“Oh.” I blinked a few times. “Thank you. It’s not even Marcus’ car. It’s his mother’s and I think I should probably drive it back.”
Mom pulled her apron off and tossed it on the railing as she walked up the stairs. “Come on. Let’s get everything packed and get you back on the road. He’s going to need your help.”
Between the two of us, we managed to get my stuff and his bag packed in under half an hour. I hauled them out to the car, and dropped them into the backseat and trotted into the house.
Abuelita was sitting at the table with my father, and they were both drinking coffee quietly. They looked up and my father nodded at me. “Would you like anyone to go with you, Son?”
“No, Dad, you all stay. I’ll have Dawn there to help me. If I need back up I’ll call.”
“You’ll call anyway?” Abuelita asked.
“I will come back for the pumpkins if I can.” I smiled. Now that shit had cleared up here with them, I wanted to bring Marcus back and show him the glory of the Garcia Pumpkin Patch in October.
But I needed to get back to the city. Giving Abuelita and my dad a quick kiss and hug in that order, I headed to the front door to get in the car and get going.
My mother walked with me to the door and out onto the porch, just to find Rider walking up with his wife behind him. He looked surprised I was heading out the door, but I took a hard right to go down the second set of stairs to the left of the house.
“Where’s your butt buddy?” Rider laughed.
“Rider, please,” Mom begged. “Your brother doesn’t need that right now. He just wants to leave.”
“I am leaving,” I said, stepping on to the first stair.
“Ooh, did they arrest him already?”
I froze.
“Rider, what have you done?” Mom whispered.
“I was at the station and I saw the fugitive warrant come up.” He shrugged. “When I saw the name and suspected location, I brought it over to Chief Prader. He sent the information to the sheriff.”
I turned slowly and stepped back up on to the porch.
“You did what?”
“Just being a good citizen,” he smirked. “Fugitive warrants are no joke. I mean, what did you really expect from a freak of nature? All homosexuals are perverts and just grooming kids to be the same kind of sick they are.”
I didn’t have a chance to punch him in the face. My mother walked up to him and I was sure her smack across his face dislocated his jaw.
Rider’s mouth hung open, staring at her. He tried to say something, anything, and just as he got his voice back, she smack him again. Harder.
“Get off my porch.”
I had never, ever heard that tone in my mother’s voice before. It was terrifying.
“Mom, I—”
“I said, get off my fucking porch!”
Dad and Abuelita were in the door by now. Even they stepped back when those words flew out of her mouth. Hell, Rider took a step back.
“I just got my son back after twelve years of that exact goddamn attitude! He’s gay, Rider! He’s not a murderer, he’s not a pedophile. He’s gay! He happens to like other men instead of women. Marcus had no intention of coming onto you! He had no intention of touching you or making a pass or actually sucking your—” She cut herself off. “Now, instead of dealing with this in New York, where he might have been able to avoid an arrest, you’ve brought the law down on his head. You’ve managed to get my son’s boyfriend arrested. I hope to God they can clear that!”
She stared at him, and then looked over at his wife and then back to him.
I didn’t even know my brother’s wife’s name.
“He’s an abomination before God,” Rider said the words, but the conviction was wavering.
“Get off my porch,” Elizabeth Maria Cortez Garcia growled at her son. “And don’t show your face here again until you realize that someone who loves someone is never a sinner! Go!”
Rider turned, jumped, and ran from the porch. He jumped into the car and a minute later, peeled down the driveway.
The woman who was my brother’s wife hung her head and I saw tears in her eyes. So did Abuelita, who rushed over to her and wrapped her in her arms. “Rachel, sweetie…”
She looked up. “We were coming to tell you…I’m pregnant and we’re getting a divorce.”
My mother and father gasped, and I think my grandmother and I did as well.
“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry,” Abuelita said, hugging her tight.
“I don’t want to cut you out of the baby’s life...”
My mother held up a finger. “Chase, go help your man. I’ll talk to you about Rachel and Rider later. You need to get on the road, now.”
Nodding, I gave her and my grandmother a quick peck on the cheek. Dad got a hug, and Rachel, my now soon to be ex-sister-in-law, got a sympathetic shoulder squeeze. I ran off the porch, and slid in to the car.
I promised myself that Marcus and I would be back for the Pumpkin Patch, and drove away from the farm, not for the last time.
MARCUS
I REALLY HATED HANDCUFFS.
The sheriff had been nice enough to understand and trust me not to do anything. Since I wasn’t planning anything, that was agreeable.
The detective that came to get me from the city was a different story all together. For some reason he wanted me in chains. Hands and ankles. It was only when I puked on his new shoes that he got the idea he was either going to keep me out of them, or he was going to have to figure out how to move a very heavy, very unconscious human.
We flew back from Cincinnati. He insisted on the cuffs the whole way. I tried to explain I wasn’t
going to run because I wasn’t guilty. I didn’t want to incriminate myself by trying to get away from him. And on a plane? What was I going to do? Unplug the smoke detector in the bathroom?
Once we landed at JFK, there were two uniformed officers there to take me to central booking, and central booking in a city like New York was its own experience. Loud, crowded, people were milling around everywhere. This was where the criminals of the petty and grand sort met and had pissing contests.
I sat quietly in a holding cell.
I couldn’t believe I was here again.
I thought I had left all this bullshit behind. I had barely made it out of the Conservatory with my degree, last time. I had no reputation, and the few friends I had left had hidden me in dorms and apartments as I just tried to get through the last semester. I was going home every weekend, and had worked my schedule so I could leave campus at two on Thursday.
The whole fucking reason I was a book narrator was because I could do it from home, I didn’t need an employer or a recommendation, or to even talk to anyone from my school to do the job, to get the paycheck.
“Romano!” someone screamed from the end of the row, and a jingle of keys walked down the hall where I couldn’t see.
I stood from the bench and walked to the front of the cell. The corrections officer pulled the ring of keys off and unlocked the cell.
“Marcus Romano?”
I nodded.
“Your lawyer is here with your mother.”
Shit. Shit shit shit. This all over again. So they could be embarrassed and humiliated. I stepped out into the hallway and he locked the door behind me. He held out the cuff, and I whimpered.
“Can you not put those on me? I puked on shoes from them before.”
“Oh, you’re the puker. Okay, yeah, fine. They told me you were basically compliant anyway.” He motioned me down the cell-line hall and to the door that lead out of the area into the private conference rooms.
My mother was off her feet and pulling me into a huge hug before I was all the way into the room. The correction officer pushed us the rest of the way in and closed the door.
“Marcus—”