Treasure Trail

by Morgan Brice

  Erik’s rapid breaths made Ben wonder just how much his date enjoyed being pinned by his weight. He took hold of both of Erik’s hands, lacing their fingers together and pressing them against the wall as he bent to capture Erik’s mouth again. Erik tasted of honey and black coffee, and Ben felt a buzz from their kisses that had nothing to do with whiskey.

  “Shirts,” Erik panted. “Off. Please.”

  Ben let go of Erik’s hands but did the honors of unbuttoning Erik’s shirt, moving slowly and deliberately, keeping eye contact the whole time. When he had it open, he pushed the fabric off Erik’s shoulders and took a moment to enjoy the view.

  “So sexy,” he breathed. A groomed smattering of blond hair grew darker as it tapered beneath the waistband of Erik’s jeans. Ben leaned forward to lick one pink nipple, and Erik caught his breath. Ben didn’t miss the way Erik trembled at his touch, and it was sexy as fuck.

  He took his time, going back and forth between the nubs, licking, sucking, and teasing them with his teeth until Erik was grinding against Ben’s thigh. Part of Ben wanted to lift Erik up, let the other man wrap his legs around Ben’s waist, and fuck him against the wall. But more of him wanted to savor this first, because he could see from the fire in his partner’s eyes that Erik intended to give as good as he got.

  Erik reached out and helped Ben pull his shirt up and over his head.

  “I’m kinda scratched up, from going through the window seat yesterday. Got a few bruises from it, too,” Ben confessed.

  “That’s okay.”

  Ben caught his breath, because there was no hiding the bullet scars. He hadn’t taken a real lover since Caleb left, since the bust. Just a few one-night stands, and he’d always made sure to keep his shirt on. But with Erik, he hadn’t even hesitated.

  Erik’s gaze softened. He stretched out a hand toward Ben’s chest, then stopped, with his palm hovering just above the round, pink marks. “May I?”

  Ben just nodded, unable to find words. Erik’s fingers ghosted over the scars gently, almost reverently. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  “Not your fault. Shit happens.”

  Erik leaned forward and pressed his lips first to one scar, and then the other. The touch wasn’t sexual, although it felt to Ben like every inch of skin tingled. No tongue, just a brush of lips, and the heat of his breath, and Ben thought he might cream his jeans.

  He had touched those scars hundreds of time in the shower, and he could have sworn the damaged flesh didn’t feel anything. Ben had assumed the nerves were severed. He’d just been glad to be alive. Now, under Erik’s lips, the scars became an erogenous zone.

  Erik looked up at him, his blue eyes luminous. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  Ben reached down and lifted Erik, and Erik wrapped his legs around Ben’s waist. Ben kissed him again, like a starving man. He’d always thought verbs like “plundering” or “devouring” were cheesy to describe kisses, but maybe that was because he’d never had a kiss like this one. Now, they were the only words that came close to matching the intensity, the hunger.

  He wasn’t sure where to go. The bedroom seemed presumptuous. He wasn’t sure he could get them to the couch—Erik was solid and heavier than he looked. Ben improvised, pivoting and setting Erik on the edge of the kitchen table.

  In a heartbeat, everything changed.

  Erik went rigid in his arms, face pale, eyes wide. He scrambled away from Ben like he’d been scalded, and for an instant, Ben saw utter panic in his face.

  “No!” Erik’s voice was a dry croak.

  Ben stilled, hands raised. “I’m sorry. What—”

  Erik huddled in the corner by the fridge, shaking, and now his head hung down. He looked so vulnerable, and all Ben wanted to do was take him in his arms and protect him, but he didn’t dare move.

  “Please, Erik. I’m so sorry. You don’t have to tell me. I didn’t know. I’d never hurt you.”

  Years of being a cop gave Ben far too many scenarios to choose from that might have prompted a reaction like that, all of them ugly, some worse than others. He was blindsided by the protectiveness that burned through him, something he’d never felt for a lover before. Someone hurt Erik, broke something in him, and in that moment, Ben wanted to take that son of a bitch apart, piece by piece.

  “I…should go.”

  Ben’s heart sank. “I wish you wouldn’t. I promise I won’t touch you again. Just please, stay. I don’t think you should be alone.”

  He could almost see Erik pull himself together. The trembling stopped. Erik had wrapped his arms around himself tightly, and he only now seemed aware of it, letting them drop. Ben sensed that Erik relaxed by an act of will, shaking out his shoulders, slowing his breathing. Finally, he raised his head, and Ben saw so much pain and vulnerability in those tear-filled blue eyes that it broke his heart.

  “I…overreacted.”

  “No apologies necessary,” Ben said quietly. “But if you’d like a stiff belt for what ails you, the whiskey’s already poured.” He inclined his head toward the two glasses on the counter.

  That got a bleary half-smile. Ben moved slowly, taking the glass with the Jack and Coke, then extending his arm to put it in reach. Erik took the glass and raised his chin, defying whatever memories had triggered him. To Ben’s surprise, Erik knocked it back in one shot and held the glass out for more. Ben poured, straight whiskey this time.

  He’d already decided that Erik shouldn’t be alone tonight. Whether he agreed to sleep here, or Ben walked him home and sat up keeping vigil, or they stayed up all night talking, Ben had seen that kind of PTSD response in veteran cops, and he knew that once triggered, old ghosts took a while to re-bury.

  “I’d like to sit down.”

  Ben nodded. “The couch is more comfortable. I’ll keep my distance.”

  Erik’s pained smile didn’t reach his eyes. He moved stiffly, as if the motion hurt, squaring his shoulders and gathering his tattered dignity. Ben counted it as a win that Erik hadn’t already fled. He stepped aside so Erik could go around him, into the living room, without touching, although Ben ached to comfort him.

  Erik sat on the couch. Ben hesitated, trying to decide whether to sit facing him in a chair or next to him, with some distance between them. Erik patted the seat next to him. Ben tried not to read too much into the gesture, knowing that if Erik meant to talk, it would be easier not to have to make eye contact.

  They sat in silence for a while. It didn’t feel awkward; the only thing Ben cared about was helping Erik get through whatever it was that had triggered him.

  “You didn’t throw me out. That’s…a good start.”

  Ben’s head snapped up. “Why would I—”

  “Nobody wants damaged goods.” Erik’s tone held a note of self-loathing that made Ben’s throat tighten.

  “I don’t see you like that,” Ben replied. “And…I’ve got my scars, too.”

  Erik seemed to come to a decision. He didn’t look at Ben, kept his gaze focused across the room at the empty fireplace, and his voice was low when he started to speak.

  “My last case was a Fabergé music box egg, owned by the Tsarina Alexandra, said to be cursed. It was the unicorn of the antiquities world—everyone had heard the story, but no one had seen it since the revolution. The Bolsheviks claimed to have destroyed it. But there were always whispers…”

  Erik’s tone stayed flat, objective. Ben recognized that defense from the voices he’d heard of countless witnesses, who needed to distance themselves from whatever horror they had seen, pack the pain away, so they could function.

  “Interpol got word that the egg had surfaced in Antwerp. A private collector who seemed legit, but actually dealt in items with shady provenance. We knew the guy was dirty, but we couldn’t get him dead to rights. Blood diamonds, arms deals, drugs, stolen cultural items—the people who trade in them have money and connections. This guy could have been the lynchpin to take down a whole network. All I needed to do was authenticate the musical egg.�
�

  Ben stayed still and quiet, not wanting to spook Erik further. When Erik had told him that he’d been involved stopping fraud and forgeries, Ben had pictured him telling people that their grandmother’s “priceless” figurines were cheap fakes. Apparently, the truth was closer to James Bond than Antiques Roadshow.

  “The buyer was a honcho with the Russian Mob. The collector was nervous. There’d been another offer, from one of the oligarchs, for even more money. Both of the Russians showed up with their guards. They were going to fight over the egg. We didn’t expect that. I didn’t get out before the shit went down, and our backup had to wait for more firepower.”

  When Ben first met Erik, he’d been taken by the man’s good looks—his high cheekbones, full lips, and startlingly blue eyes. But as he watched Erik tell his story, pain written in every line of his features, Ben saw something else. A force of character and will that made the other man even more attractive.

  “What happened?’ Ben whispered when he feared Erik wouldn’t continue.

  “They talk about the ‘fog of war.’ I guess it was like that. Everyone shooting, deafening noise, and air that smelled like gunpowder. The collector got caught in the crossfire, riddled with bullets. Someone picked me up and threw me out of the way to get to the guy behind me. I slammed my head pretty hard. A bullet grazed my shoulder.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Pretty sure he wasn’t there that night,” Erik replied. “The mobster won the fight, and he was going to leave with the egg. He told his boys to take care of anyone who was left. I thought I was going to die.”

  Ben knew that since Erik was sitting right next to him, he’d made it out somehow. That didn’t ease the tension in his chest or the grip he had on the couch cushion.

  “All of a sudden, the lights went out. Except for one security bulb. And then the killing started again. Something found us in that warehouse. Something that wasn’t human. Couldn’t have been. It moved too fast, just a blur. Ripped the heads off half a dozen of the Russian Mob’s best enforcers, or tore their throats out, and they never had the chance to react.”

  He paused again. “A man I’d never seen before picked me up and carried me out of there. Then the warehouse exploded.”

  Ben had a million questions, but he didn’t dare ask. He waited for Erik to go on.

  “I was in the hospital for a few days. That’s when I decided I wanted out. So when I flew home, I was going to talk to my boyfriend about making a fresh start. But instead, I found him banging my personal assistant on our dining room table.”

  Oh. Dining room table. That’s what triggered it. Erik’s story had been so riveting that Ben had forgotten to listen for a connection to what happened in the kitchen. Betrayal on the heels of a near-death experience would do that.

  “And the Fabergé musical egg?”

  “It’s never been seen again.”

  Ben wasn’t sure what to say. The silence grew heavy.

  “Anyhow, I’m sorry I freaked on you,” Erik said as if he hadn’t just told an epic tale. “And I totally understand not wanting to see me again.”

  Wait, what? Ben reached out without thinking and took Erik’s hand. “I never said that.”

  “You don’t have to. I’m too messed up to do this. I should have known that. You can do better.”

  “You know, there are plenty of places to have sex that don’t involve tables, and if it was me picking you up… Well, we can work around that too.”

  Erik finally looked at Ben, with a stare that defied Ben to put his money where his mouth was. “Why would you still want to? I’m broken.”

  Ben held Erik’s palm over the bullet scars on his chest. “So am I. Although mine was more Serpico than Scarface.” Erik didn’t move, so Ben took a chance. He leaned closer, and when Erik didn’t pull away, he pressed a gentle kiss against his mouth. Erik moaned softly, and Ben deepened the kiss, bringing his other hand to cup Erik’s neck, drawing him in.

  By the end of the kiss, Ben was holding Erik in his arms. “Stay,” Ben whispered. “We can be just like this. No expectations. Just please stay.”

  Erik nodded, and Ben felt relieved. Now that the story was over, he decided he needed a slug of that whiskey himself. He’d known Erik had spirit, but he’d never figured him for a badass. The tale Erik had told highlighted just how different their worlds were. Ben knew he couldn’t fit into that world, not over the long run. But maybe he could be what Erik needed for the summer, even if that was all it ever was. Because Ben already knew he wanted more than a fling.

  “Come on,” Ben coaxed, helping Erik to his feet without actually lifting him. “I’ve got some sweats you can borrow. The bedroom’s this way.” He paused. “Unless you’d rather sleep on the couch…”

  Erik shook his head. He looked up at Ben, and his gaze was open and vulnerable. “No. Please. I don’t want to sleep alone tonight.”

  Ben’s arm tightened around Erik’s waist. “I’m here. Let’s go to bed.”

  Nine

  Erik

  Erik woke, disoriented, in a bed that wasn’t his own. Seconds later, memories from the night before trickled back. Making out with Ben in the kitchen. Being totally onboard with seeing how far they wanted to go. And then, that stupid table and the flashbacks to Josh’s betrayal and to when a stranger had grabbed him in the midst of all the gunfire. His reaction, which made Erik’s face flush with shame.

  But Ben hadn’t run. He hadn’t told Erik to leave or gotten angry that the date was ruined.

  And unless Erik was badly mistaken, the inked, muscular arm flung across his chest belonged to Ben, as did the morning wood poking Erik’s ass through the fabric of his sweats.

  “Good morning.” Ben’s voice was a sexy rumble. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

  Erik wasn’t sure about being “okay” because what happened the night before left him shaken. As for “safe”—there was nothing “safe” about risking a relationship again after how badly the last one had ended. But he had actually slept soundly, when he had expected his dreams to be dark. And waking up like this, on sheets that smelled like Ben, so close to him, was definitely better than “okay.”

  He shifted, pressing his back against Ben’s chest. Ben tightened his arm over Erik, holding them together. Erik wondered if Ben would make a move on him and debated whether he wanted him to. Was he ready? Ben’s hard cock dug against Erik’s ass, and his own erection tented his briefs. But Ben just held him, close enough to reassure, loosely enough to let him know he wasn’t restrained.

  “How did you sleep?” Ben’s mouth was right next to Erik’s ear, and the whisper of his breath made Erik’s cock twitch.

  “Better than I expected. Thank you.” Oh, fuck. I’m not sure if I care if I’m ready. This is nice.

  “Any time.”

  They lay there together for a few minutes before Erik worked up the nerve to speak again. “About last night…”

  “It’s okay.”

  Erik shook his head. “No. It isn’t. I didn’t know I’d trigger like that. I…haven’t been with anyone since Josh and I broke up.” He didn’t mention that it was less than six months ago—which probably made his reaction even stronger—or that his nightmares often combined it with the shooting.

  “I meant what I said. Plenty of other options to explore. If you’re still interested.”

  Erik heard the edge of nervousness in Ben’s voice and felt bad that he had put it there. He turned to face Ben, tangling their legs together, lying face to face just far apart enough to see each other. “I’m still interested.” He guided Ben’s hand between them to feel his own rock-hard prick.

  “I need you to show me what’s okay and what isn’t,” Ben said. “I don’t know where you are on…all this.” Erik guessed Ben meant their fledgling relationship.

  “I’m right here,” Erik replied. He pushed down the sweats and his briefs, letting his cock spring free, and hesitated with his fingers at the waistband of Ben’s. “This okay?”

&n
bsp; “Definitely.”

  They were both hard and leaking. Erik ran his fingers up Ben’s bulge and felt the pre-come soaking through the fabric. He pushed the cloth out of the way and took them both in hand. He couldn’t get a good look at Ben’s cock from this angle, but it was heavy in his hand, a bit thicker than his own. The feel of them together made him bite back a moan.

  “There’s no better way to say ‘good morning,’” Ben said, closing his hand around Erik’s. Together they set up a rhythm, letting the pre-come slick their palms, thrusting into the circle of their joined hands. It didn’t take long. Erik came with a cry, and Ben followed seconds later. Their mingled spend coated their hands and spattered the sheet between them.

  When Erik caught his breath, he realized Ben was watching him. “I think I could get addicted to watching you come,” Ben murmured. “So sexy.” He leaned in and kissed Erik, and Erik kissed him back.

  “You look pretty amazing yourself,” Erik replied.

  Ben wiped them up with a corner of the sheet. “Shower with me?”

  Maybe it should have felt awkward, waking up in the bed of a man he’d barely met, but it didn’t. There was something about Ben that just felt right, felt comfortable. The room smelled of sex and Ben’s aftershave, and Erik knew the two would be forever entwined in his memory.

  Last night, all he’d had time to register about Ben’s body was the bullet wounds, before everything had gone to hell. But now, in the early morning light, Erik could study the beautiful man lying next to him. Ben’s chest and shoulders were as muscular as Erik’s fantasies had supposed, based on the fit of his shirts, the way the cloth clung to his body. Defined abs led down to a sexy “V” and a beautiful cut cock. Powerful thighs and toned calves finished up a perfect package. Ben was a couple of inches taller and probably thirty pounds heavier than Erik, a difference that just added to the attraction.

  An artfully laid-out assortment of symbols was inked across Ben’s shoulders and upper arms, as well as one forearm. He knew enough folklore to recognize them as protective sigils, mainly Celtic. Just above the scatter of pink scars from the bullets was the Latin phrase “Non tiembo mala.” I will fear no evil.