Off Course, page 5
Relaxing took effort because he was so worked up, adrenaline flooding his veins. Reese took deep breaths, welcoming Brantley inside him. He loved this. He’d come to crave this intimacy. Being with Brantley had changed him in so many ways. No longer was he nervous about their encounters. He looked forward to them.
Once the head of his cock had breached the tight ring, Brantley grabbed Reese’s ankle, holding him still as he began sliding in. An inch or two in. Back out. In. Out. Deeper each time.
Reese took deep breaths in, slowly exhaling as the pleasure pulsed through him. He watched Brantley in the mirror, admiring every beautiful plane and angle of the man’s big body as he fucked him. The man could go for hours just like this, his stamina incredible. However, Reese wasn’t quite as disciplined. He longed for Brantley to fuck him hard and deep until he was lost in the sensations.
Reese looked up at Brantley’s face, saw the sheen of sweat forming on his brow. Brantley made it look easy, but he knew resisting was as difficult for Brantley as it was for him. He tormented them both with his restraint, watching as his cock disappeared inside Reese one inch at a time.
“Fuck, you feel good.” Brantley’s hold on Reese’s ankle tightened. “I wanna bend you in half and ram my dick inside you.”
“Do it,” Reese pleaded. At this point, he didn’t fucking care. He was hovering on an edge made of razor wire. Any second, he was going to split apart.
“Oh, God, yes. You’re so fuckin’ tight.” Brantley shivered as he pulled out, then drove in again, more forcefully this time.
Reese pressed his elbows into the mattress and held his legs, trying to keep himself in place, needing Brantley to fuck him.
“More, Brantley.”
Brantley met his gaze. “I’ll give you more. But don’t you come until I tell you to,” Brantley warned, pumping his hips faster as he leaned against Reese’s legs.
“Not makin’ any promises,” he grunted, using the muscles in his legs to support Brantley’s weight.
Brantley planted one knee on the bed, angling his cock down, driving in deep and hard. Reese was a goner. He could barely hold on as the pleasure singed every fiber of his being, drawing every muscle in his body taut as he let it consume him.
When Brantley put his other knee on the bed, Reese was bent like a pretzel, but he didn’t fucking care. Brantley was untethered, and watching him was all Reese needed. Their eyes met and locked as Brantley impaled him, driving them both to that space where time split between reality and ecstasy. Reese was there, lingering as Brantley’s hips slammed against his legs. The discomfort only intensified the sensation until pain morphed with pleasure, and Reese was soaring on the high that preceded orgasm.
More of Brantley’s weight pressed against him when Brantley reached for Reese’s cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts.
At that point, the unraveling began, the intensity igniting the electrical current that sparked at the base of his spine and radiated outward.
“Fuck … Reese … Fuck, baby, I’m gonna come,” Brantley growled roughly. “Come with me, Reese. Oh, fuck … come with me.”
Reese gritted his teeth and let go while Brantley’s cock swelled and pulsed inside him. A thunderous roar echoed through the room. Might’ve been Brantley. Could’ve been Reese. He didn’t know because, as was the case whenever they came together, Reese splintered into shards.
It would take long minutes before he would pull himself back together.
Chapter Five
The first time Slade mentioned Moonshiners, Atticus thought the guy was joking. Being that he was from Dallas, Atticus didn’t think small-town bars like this existed. Even the small towns outside Dallas were big or expanding, drowning out anything that might’ve once resembled Coyote Ridge.
Moonshiners was proof that there was life in a small town.
It didn’t matter which day of the week he came in here, it was always the same. A handful of people at the bar, a group congregating near the pool table, a few more scattered in chairs at the dozen or so round tables or the booths along the back wall. Everyone knew everyone. The only difference between Wednesday and Saturday was that there were more people. Not many, but more. And yes, they all knew each other, it seemed.
For Atticus, the increase in volume was a plus. He’d been in here enough times to know that the pickings around these parts were slim, so his chances of finding someone who might scratch the itch for a night increased immensely with more people. Unfortunately, most who came in for a drink were happily settled down with a significant other and a handful of kids. On the off chance they were single, they tended to be of the female persuasion, and Atticus didn’t swing that way.
He was hoping that would change tonight. Not the direction of his swing, of course. That was set in stone at this point in his life. No, he was hoping to find a handsome stranger he could create some sparks with.
So far, no dice.
As he sipped his beer, he listened to the conversations taking place around him.
“Anyone know the new guy stayin’ at the B and B?”
“I heard he’s some big-shot writer.”
“Why’s he here?”
“I saw him talkin’ to Rafe the other night.”
“He was with Bailey at the concert in the park last night.”
Atticus could hardly keep track of the people he encountered. He damn sure couldn’t be expected to keep tabs on those who were keeping the gossip mill running. But that was what these people did. If they weren’t talking about their kids or their jobs or the fact that the general store started selling boxed wine a few weeks ago, they were chatting about what people were doing.
He figured he had been the topic of many conversations recently, but these people were too nice to say whatever they were thinking when there was a chance that person might hear it. And since Atticus had become a regular of Moonshiners, he was comfortable knowing they wouldn’t be debating where he was staying, who he was doing, or where he came from. At least not in his presence.
As for the second one, the answer was a big fat no one. At the moment, Atticus’s sex life was on the fritz. Not for lack of trying on his part, mind you. Of course, he hadn’t put any real effort into it. Certainly not when Slade or Evan were around, and it seemed he was rarely anywhere without one or both of them.
Tonight, he didn’t have to endure those confused glances from Evan since he was at home having a birthday party for his daughter. But Slade was keeping an eye on him. Every so often, Atticus would feel his gaze burning holes in his flesh, but he had no idea what the guy was expecting him to do. He’d been on his best behavior lately.
Unfortunately, good behavior makes Atticus a dull boy.
It seemed the only thing he had time for these days was work. For the past couple of months, Atticus had been trying to find his footing with the task force. The people were great. Becs, Holly, and Elana welcomed him with open arms, offering to help him to get acclimated. Luca wasn’t quite as friendly, but he wasn’t hostile. Not the way he seemed to be with Becs. Atticus hadn’t spent much time with Charlie or Jay because they’d been focused on a particular case that had taken them out of town quite a bit. Brantley and Reese were cool, and they were helping him to get his footing. He appreciated the assistance since this was new for him. And then there was Darius. They called him NostraDarius for a reason. The guy was stupid-smart, and he kept his nose to the grindstone, not welcoming too much personal interaction because he was always learning everything he could learn about everything. Atticus no longer attempted small talk with the man.
That left Baz and JJ. As a team, they were pretty unstoppable. Separately … well, Atticus liked Baz. He seemed like a stand-up guy. The only one he was hesitant about was JJ. She scared him. But he liked her. As long as she was smiling, he didn’t fear she was going to beat him over the head with the closest blunt object.
Then again, most people reacted to Atticus with the desire to club him in the head. He’d been told he had that effect on people, but whatever. He happened to like who he was, and he made no excuses for it. When people couldn’t handle him, they generally told him so. At that point, he went on his merry little way. He’d been on his own since he was seventeen, and he’d done all right for himself without relying on anyone else, so why on earth would he start giving a shit now?
For the next few minutes, Atticus sat silently by and listened while Slade and one of his many cousins shot the shit. By the time his ears were on the verge of bleeding, he’d gotten the lowdown on everything going on in Happy Married Man’s world. He’d been so bored he’d honestly forgotten the guy’s name.
As soon as he noticed two more hot married men coming their way, Atticus knew it was time for him to make his escape. So, while Beau and Ethan Walker took seats at the table, Atticus hopped up.
“I’ll be back,” he told Slade, although he didn’t know whether it was true. He was hoping to find something interesting to distract him from the sameness of this place.
Luckily for Atticus, there were enough people at this small town watering hole that he could find plenty of trouble to get into.
As he was heading to the bar to get another beer, the front door opened. Several people shouted a greeting, making the guy flash a grin that had Atticus doing a double take.
Now that was some serious man candy. Dark brown hair, whiskey-brown eyes, and a body built for sin. Exactly what Atticus was on the hunt for. Now he just needed to answer the pressing question: which way did he swing?
“Hey, Rafe. Can I get a beer?” the handsome stranger drawled.
“Sure.” Rafe looked at Atticus, popped an eyebrow.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll take another.”
Rafe nodded and turned away.
“You come here often?” Atticus asked Tall Dark and Do Me, purposely using the cheesy line. After all, he wasn’t looking to hitch himself a husband. One night was about all he was good for.
“You use that line a lot?”
“Whenever I can.” Atticus gestured toward everyone else in the bar. “But don’t feel special. I’ve asked everyone here. It’s a survey. I’m compiling the responses for a book.”
That earned him a laugh, and his dick got with the program.
He held out his hand to the stranger. “I’m Atticus James.”
“Spencer Elliott,” the guy responded, shaking his hand.
“Elliott, huh?” Atticus glanced Slade’s way. “Any relation to that one?”
Spencer followed his gaze and grinned. “My brother.”
Oh, now this was getting interesting. He’d known Slade for two months, and not once had he heard the man mention his brother.
“You know him?” Spencer inquired, leaning on the bar and giving Atticus his full attention.
“You could say we work together.”
“That task force thing?”
“Yeah. You have any more brothers?”
Spencer turned his attention back to the bar, still grinning. “I’m the youngest of six.”
“Only brothers?”
“Seems to run in the family.”
Holy fuck. Atticus wasn’t sure what was in the water in this town, but whatever it was, he made a vow not to drink it because, yes, even the gay ones had kids. Every damn person he met seemed to have half a dozen siblings and almost as many offspring. And to think he’d been surprised when he’d learned that Brantley had three brothers and three sisters.
Atticus waited until Spencer looked his way. “Any of ’em gay?”
That was always a risky question, but Atticus usually learned the answer before words were ever spoken. Like now, as Spencer’s gaze trailed over him from head to toe. That wasn’t revulsion in those golden eyes.
“And single?” he tacked on because seriously. Atticus had no problem bending the rules, but he wasn’t a damn home wrecker.
Spencer’s attention shifted to the bar when Rafe set two bottles in front of them.
“Put his on my tab,” Spencer told the bartender.
Nope. Definitely not revulsion.
***
“And how’re the kids?” Slade asked Ethan and Beau.
Both men beamed at the mere mention of Aiden, John Michael (a.k.a. Jack), and Kiera—their three-year-old triplets.
“They’re fantastic,” Beau said with a grin.
Slade noticed the man never used simple words like “good” or “fine” when he referred to his children. They were always “fantastic” or “awesome”. For whatever reason, Slade liked that.
“And Kiera? Is she still insistin’ on wearin’ their clothes?”
Ethan chuckled. “She’s a tomboy through and through.”
The first time they’d mentioned their daughter wanting to wear boy’s clothes, Slade had asked if they were worried. He quickly learned the error of a question of that nature when Beau and Ethan informed him she was her own person and could dress however she wanted. Slade had asked if they’d feel the same if Jack or Aiden wore girl’s clothes. Beau’s answer had been simple: “They’re kids. Let ’em wear what they want. If that’s the least of our worries, I’ll be a happy dad.”
Slade found he liked the simplicity.
“What’s goin’ on with the task force?” Ethan prompted.
The question had Slade glancing around to find Atticus, realizing the man hadn’t returned from the bar. The moment he saw him, his jaw tensed, and his back straightened.
“Problem?” Beau asked, clearly picking up on Slade’s sudden mood shift.
“Oh, hell no,” Slade bellowed, shoving his chair back from the table when he saw Spencer talking to Atticus.
He felt Ethan’s and Beau’s eyes on him as he stormed across the crowded bar toward the two men who were standing too fucking close for Slade’s liking.
“What the fuck is this?” Slade asked, glaring at his brother.
“What’s it look like?” Spencer’s countenance was as sweet and innocent as ever. “Just two guys gettin’ to know each other. You have a problem with that?”
Slade didn’t miss the slight edge to his brother’s tone when he asked the question.
“Fuckin’ right, I do,” he countered hotly.
Spencer grinned. “Is this a new development, big brother? Last I knew, you were straight as an arrow.”
“Fuck you. This ain’t about me, and you fuckin’ know it.”
“I think I’ll give you two a minute.” Atticus’s green eyes shifted between them.
“No,” Spencer said firmly, his eyes narrowed. “We don’t need a minute.” Spencer looked at Atticus and smirked. “I was thinkin’ maybe we could get outta here. It just got a little too crowded for my taste.”
Slade never looked away from Spencer when he said, “He’s gonna fuck you over, Atticus. It’s what he does. Just ask my ex-wife.”
Spencer’s lip curled. “He’s a grown man. He don’t need you to fight his battles.”
“Perhaps you should tell him your interests shift based on who’s available. For the record, Jennifer wasn’t when you fucked her.”
A vicious laugh escaped his brother. “Man, I was just tryin’ to prove a point.”
“What? That you could fuck her? Or that you could fuck me over? ’Cause you did both, little brother.”
A careless shrug preceded Spencer’s, “It wasn’t intentional. She was hittin’ on me.”
“So it was innocent. You just took what was bein’ offered?”
“Damn right, I did. I needed to know just how far she would go to fuck my brother over. Look on the bright side. It all worked out. She left you for an old man anyway.”
Yeah, Jennifer had left him for a guy nearly twice Slade’s age, but that didn’t change the fact that his own brother had fucked her while Slade had been married to her. He hadn’t learned about it until Jennifer decided she was leaving. At that point, she had no problem cutting Slade off at the knees. Telling him all about the night she spent with Spencer had done the trick.
Truth was, Slade had expected Jennifer was cheating more than once during the three years they were married. He’d even suspected she’d done so when they were dating. But Slade had let it slide because he’d loved her. Or at least he thought he had. He was starting to think it was nothing more than an obsession since he seemed prone to those.
No, what shocked the shit out of him was that his own brother could do that to him. Slade would forgive Jennifer long before he would ever forgive Spencer. And it would be a cold day in hell before he accepted an apology from Jennifer.
“You really do need to get over yourself, Slade. That was nearly ten fuckin’ years ago.”
Yeah, but the blade from that betrayal was still lodged to the hilt in Slade’s back.
“Now, where were—” Spencer looked around.
It was then Slade realized Atticus had disappeared.
He couldn’t help it. He laughed. Served Spencer right.
Chapter Six
“Somethin’ tells me that might not end well.”
“What’s that?” Reese followed Brantley’s gaze toward the bar.
He saw Slade and his brother Spencer standing toe to toe, Slade’s finger stabbed into the younger man’s chest.
“I’m surprised Grady’s not here tryin’ to play referee.”
Reese only knew what he’d heard via the grapevine about the rift between the youngest Elliott brothers. And he’d only heard that much because Grady, the third oldest of the brothers, had been bitching about it one night at the diner after a nasty argument between Spencer and Slade in which Grady had ended up taking a fist to the jaw.
“I’m sure Grady’s fed up with their bullshit by now,” Reese told Brantley. “You know what started it?”
“You mean tonight?”
Reese nodded. He knew the major rift had to do with Spencer having an affair with Slade’s wife nearly a decade ago. To be fair, Reese wasn’t sure he would ever get over that either. Reese wasn’t usually one to take sides, but he was fully in Slade’s corner on this one. Family didn’t screw family over the way Spencer had. And sleeping with Slade’s wife had been the ultimate betrayal.
