Fearless

by R. G. Alexander

  Sluts like me.

  If Rory’s emotions weren’t so involved, he knew Rig would be his first choice for David. He cooked, he loved his family, he had a solid financial portfolio and an actual house with real furniture. That and his stamina in bed was unsurpassed. Anthony Rigatelli was a damn catch and any man looking for a serious relationship would be lucky to have him.

  David was a serious relationship kind of guy.

  Was that what was really bothering him? The idea of this being more than a one-time thing? The thought of Rig and David falling in love and adopting a slew of nerdy kids and puppies and only seeing their old friend Rory on special occasions?

  It would hurt, but it would be better than David being with someone who didn’t know him. Better than Rig being with a guy who didn’t appreciate how loving and nurturing he could be with the people he cared about.

  Damn it, they were a match made in bisexual heaven.

  No crying.

  “Ignore me. I’m begging here. I’m…not myself right now.”

  He was only heartbroken because in every fantasy he’d ever had since he’d met David Mills, Rory had been the one to introduce him to the dark side. The one to touch and kiss him. The first man to blow his mind while blowing his dick and yes, the man who brought Rig in to introduce him to the joys of ménage. The difference in his dreams was that Rory was the one who’d made that decision. He was the one in charge of their pleasure.

  He was Don-frigging-Quixote and that was his impossible dream. A fantasy he whipped out on special occasions to torture himself. Hell, David was the reason he had a straight guy fetish to begin with.

  Only now the impossible was actually happening and his dream had decided he might really like men as well as women. And if Rig was telling the truth, the Mistletoe Meltdown had been his catalyst. Which fucked with Rory’s head more than he could ever express, since he wasn’t the one David had turned to in the end.

  Now that was irony. Maybe. Hell, Alanis didn’t even know the definition.

  His phone vibrated in his pocket and he slipped it out, his laugh jagged as broken glass when he saw David’s text.

  Multiple-choice question. Which one of these things are you currently experiencing?

  A. Belieber fever

  B. Porcelain worship

  C. Downloading friend-blocker app as we speak to avoid seeing this text.

  …

  You didn’t go home. Rig told me. We should probably talk.

  There was one from Rig too.

  Didn’t mean to start your vacation like that. I’m an asshole. If you don’t call me by noon, I’ll call you. We need to clear a few things up.

  What more could either of them say? Rory didn’t want all the dirty details. His imagination was vivid enough, thank you.

  Jen leaned her head on his shoulder and read both text messages in silence. “I forgot you had this week off. At least you’ll have time to recover from your bender.” She glanced at the men behind her. “I’m making more coffee, guys. This is going to be a long night.”

  Rory rubbed his temples. “What’s the point, Jen? I doubt there’s enough coffee or talking in the world to unfuck this situation. It is what it is. I’ll adapt. I always do.”

  Declan cleared his throat. “Things are rarely what they seem, Rory. Especially in your family. You should know that by now.”

  “For her.” Rory gestured toward his cousin. “For Owen and Stephen, sure. In my case, things are usually exactly what they seem.”

  At least he knew what to expect. His father had certainly never sugarcoated Rory’s existence or left him with any illusions. No matter how many people he tried to help or what he did with his life, he would always be the Finn most likely to disappoint the people around him. The one who didn’t deserve the people he craved the most. Not as much as they deserved each other.

  “Now that sounds like a challenge, pretty boy.” Trick smiled and rubbed his hands together. “Or famous last words you’ll be eating while I watch.”

  Rory went cold and his teeth clenched, the eggs in his stomach starting a riot. “I think that damn Minion-lover was right. I’m going to be sick.”

  He barely made it to the kitchen sink before he did, in fact, hurl.

  Dude.

  Chapter Three

  Rory rolled over on the king-sized bed that didn’t feel anything like his cheap, lumpy futon at home and flexed his ass, pressing his hips down and moaning at the decadent sensation. The sheets were smooth and cool against his erection, the feather-light strokes of sensation making him crave more.

  His body was begging for relief after a night filled with frustrating visions that left him with more than morning wood. He rocked into the mattress experimentally. Ignoring his needs because this wasn’t his bed would be too masochistic, even for him. Miss Manners could suck it.

  Rory had dreamed he was kissing David again. Dragging him upstairs and away from the crowded reception this time and finally touching him the way he’d wanted to since they’d met. Since the first time he’d seen him naked, and every time after.

  Even at seventeen, David’s body had been a thing of beauty, and it had only gotten better with age. Mr. Mills was a muscular, big-boned behemoth—God love those Oregon lumberjack genes—and David had inherited his father’s height, broad-shoulders and easygoing personality, but his days at the track kept his waist narrow, his legs sculpted and his firm round ass…

  Fuck me, Rory thought, his hand slipping between his body and the bed to grip the base of his cock. David’s ass always screamed, “Fuck me.” And damned if Rory didn’t want to give in to the temptation it offered more than he wanted to breathe.

  He was that kind of wholesome-handsome that made Rory yearn to rough him up. To lick and bite and suck and worship until he was ruined for anyone else. The fact that he didn’t have a clue how irresistible he was only made him hotter.

  He was a god in geek clothing. And out of it.

  Especially out of it.

  Rory knew every inch of David’s body from years of observation. In the showers at school. Skinny-dipping in the lake on weekends. Changing in the gym locker room. He’d become a professional side-eye stalker, keeping his arousal concealed while getting his fill of his oblivious, wet dream of a friend…and his masterpiece of a cock.

  Even rumors of the well-hung Jeremy Porter couldn’t rival what Rory had seen David packing with his own lustful eyes. Cut and slightly curved. Obscenely thick even at rest and nearly as long as his own. For years Rory had plotted out a dozen sneaky, admittedly crazy ways he could replicate the damn thing and keep it by his bedside for situations just like this one.

  Wrong? Deeply. But that didn’t make it any less true. He’d long since come to terms with his obsessions.

  He let himself imagine David’s long fingers tracing every vein and ridge of that erection as he watched Rory jerk off in bed. Yes. He wanted those golden-brown eyes focused on him. Wanted David to see him. To want him. He was desperate to know what that monster felt like filling his mouth.

  The sudden image of Rig kneeling at David’s feet made Rory shudder with arousal instead of disappointment. Rig’s mouth. Rory’s other obsession. Rig and David were chocolate and fucking peanut butter together. The perfect combination.

  His throat tightened in sympathy when Rig choked and he moaned in gratitude as the mouthwatering girth disappeared between equally succulent lips.

  Fuck, why was that still so hot?

  But he knew why. If Rory’s not-so-secret fetish was defiling heterosexuals, Rig’s was more oral in nature. The gorgeous Italian had a fixation. Rig loved oral more than sex. He loved it more than he liked watching the Food Network on his phone when he was supposed to be working. He loved it more than anything and was so good at it he could suck a man’s will directly out of his cock along with his brain.

  Rory knew it, and now David did too. But in this fantasy, David wasn’t choosing one of them over the other. He wanted both.

 
Rory’s fist tightened, his thrusts picking up speed as the scenario played out in his mind. Rig was tireless, his jaw practically unhinging as David fucked himself down his throat. Yes. Like that. The large hands Rory loved held Rig’s head still as he took what he wanted, and warm eyes stared into Rory’s, as if daring him to take his turn.

  I can’t. Oh God, I can’t.

  His cock was leaking over his knuckles and onto the soft sheets beneath him as he held off, hesitating. Even in his fantasy he hesitated. Giving in meant no going back. Giving in would make him too vulnerable. What he wanted from David wasn’t something he usually admitted, even to himself.

  Before he could stop his traitorous thoughts, he let himself feel David behind him, pinning him down and biting his neck while Rory buried his face in the pillow, gasping and desperately fisting his aching cock. He needed to come. He licked two fingers then pressed them between the cheeks of his ass, imagining they were David’s instead. “Fuck me.”

  “You don’t want to be the teacher, don’t want to be in control at all, do you? Not with me. You want to be mine.”

  It was never going to happen.

  He couldn’t stop himself from forcing one finger inside and groaning at the sting and stretch but it wasn’t enough. His plug at home wasn’t enough. It never had been. There was only one thing that worked when he was like this.

  David spinning him around to bend him over while Rig took Rory into his perfect, willing mouth. A hand on his back to keep him still as David filled him with one hard stroke, forcing Rory to take every impossible inch… “Jesu—fuck. Yes, fuck.”

  It was too much. He came in his hand, soaking the sheets beneath him, his body on fire and trembling. The rush of blood and adrenaline made his head pound, reminding him of how much he’d had to drink last night and why.

  Rory wiped his damp palm on the sheets and grimaced. He’d made a mess of his cousin’s fancy guest bed. His only consolation was the sheer size of the ménage mansion. There were so many beds they wouldn’t notice that this one had been deflowered before he had a chance to change the sheets.

  He could probably move in and they wouldn’t know about it for a month.

  The idea was strangely appealing.

  “Am I interrupting?”

  Rory tensed at the sound of Rig’s voice. He hadn’t heard the door open. He took a moment to brace himself before looking over his shoulder. The sheet covered him and he was still on his stomach, but Rig’s carnal expression made it clear he knew what he’d walked in on. Why Rory was still panting as if he’d run a marathon. And that he regretted missing the show as much as Rory would have if their situations were reversed.

  It took a dirty bastard to know one. And they definitely knew each other well.

  It didn’t matter how upset he’d been with him last night, the sight of Rig’s bulging muscles and devilish grin was always appreciated. His skin—olive toasted brown by the sun—was stretched tight across a face that was a sculptor’s dream. His nose had been broken during his first fight, but it didn’t diminish the rest of his features. Sharp cheekbones, strong jaw, and plump, silky lips that were usually smiling. His eyelashes were so thick and dark they looked painted on and his eyes were so dark brown they were nearly black.

  Even his thick hair was dark and—Rory knew—sinfully soft to the touch.

  They were perfect opposites, appearance wise, and Rig loved the reactions they got when they went out together. Slender Rory, with his too-pretty face, bright blue eyes and light blond hair and dark, dangerous Rig, who’d occasionally even dress in black, just for the effect. Two sides of the same kinky coin. Angel and devil, and no one knew which was which…until they joined the duo in the bedroom.

  Everything about Rig demanded attention and reeked of sex. Sex the dirty bastard had no problem doling out to anyone he found remotely attractive. Men, women… David.

  Damn it.

  “What are you doing here?” Rory finally rasped, scowling as his words rattled around painfully in his pounding skull.

  “I knocked.” Rig’s smile wavered. “I told you I’d call at noon. When you didn’t answer, I came over and Jen fed me. She sent me up after to make sure you were still alive.”

  Was it after noon already? “I’ll live. You won’t if you ever use that app to get me a driver again.”

  “That’s what David told me you’d say.”

  Rory pressed his fingers to his temple. “Did he? Maybe he’s psychic now, too.” Because sudden onset bisexuality wasn’t enough for the overachiever.

  “You can ask him when he gets here.”

  He must have heard wrong. “Excuse me?”

  Rig looked away to hide his guilty expression. “He’s having lunch with Essie, but he said he’d be here later.”

  Panic tightened in his gut. “That isn’t the best idea. As much as I wish it was, Rig, this isn’t my place. You can’t just show up here. Either of you.”

  “It was my idea,” Jen said cheerfully from behind the protection of Rig’s shoulders. “By definition, that makes it the best. And we’re leaving in a few minutes in case you were thinking about trying to talk me out of it. Which reminds me, I need you to doggy-sit for us and Declan thinks our babies would be more comfortable in their own home.” She sent Rory an overly innocent blink over Rig’s flexing biceps. “He really spoils them rotten.”

  “That’s not the only thing he spoils rotten,” Rory muttered, swiping a shaky hand over his face. It was still slightly damp. Shit. This was her idea? “Need to stock up on more hot sauce and lube for your bookends? Fine. What time are you coming back?”

  Trick joined the crowd in his doorway, pushing his way into the room and leaning against the wall with a judgmental smirk. “Is this a private party?”

  Speaking of dicks… “It was. But I’m cool if you want to invite the whole family in to witness my morning after. Full disclosure? I’m naked and I just shot a load all over your expensively high thread count so… FYI.”

  Jen blushed while Trick glared at him and grumbled, “Five days.”

  Wait. What? He dragged his sheet with him as he sat up. “You’ll be gone for five days? When did this happen?” How long had he been sleeping?

  Jen perched on the edge of Rory’s bed, clearly deciding to ignore the admission of his emissions. “Bellamy has a place in St. Barts and we…well, we’ve been planning on going for a while now but we kept putting it off.”

  She shared a tender smile with Trick and the tough guy seemed to melt on the spot. “Seamus says he owes us one, and we need to collect before any new family emergencies or pain-in-the-ass Irish cousins pop up. We were going to leave Duck and Goose with them, but now I think you staying here is the perfect solution for everyone. You’re on vacation too and, I don’t know if you’re aware of this or not, but your apartment is tiny and sad.”

  Rory snorted. “Money has changed you, cuz.” But she wasn’t lying about his apartment.

  “And we’re not inviting you along so don’t even ask.”

  “Really feeling the love, Trickster.” He took a breath. “So, dog sitting in exchange for…?”

  Trick held up his hand. “Enjoying the mansion of the mighty Kelley. To a point. No giant sex parties. No strippers or football teams. Absolutely no sex or unidentifiable stains on our bed or in the library. Other than that, the place is yours for the duration.”

  Rory narrowed his bloodshot eyes suspiciously. Unidentifiable stains aside, that sounded nice. Trick was never nice to him. “Why not the library? And is this a serious offer, or did you three decide to prank me after I passed out?”

  Jen clutched his arm. “This is a serious request. I know it’s last minute, so I’d consider it a huge personal favor. And of course Rig and David are welcome to hang out here. All week if they want, we definitely have enough room. Rig says the three of you always spend your vacations together.”

  She was smart but she wasn’t subtle. And he was never drinking again. “We used to, but we didn’t plan
anything out this time. I’m sure they have better things to do.”

  “Don’t count on it. My family’s invaded my place for a cook-off with Nonna Gina. More Rigatellis than you Finns could shake a shillelagh at.” Rig’s words were lighthearted but his tone was anything but.

  Rory avoided his gaze and stared up at his cousin instead. “I’m not about to turn down this bed or playing with your professor’s epic entertainment system. The pups and I will just relax here while you get sand up your crack on an island with questionable Wi-Fi. You’ve twisted my arm. You wouldn’t happen to have a masseuse on retainer, would you? Hot, good stamina, lover of happy endings? Someone who steps in when your old bookends throw their backs out?”

  Trick growled in disgust and Rory hid his smile. “I’m kidding, of course.” He winked at Jen. “I already know a guy.”

  He heard Declan telling them to get a move on from another room and then Jen was hugging Rory and whispering in his ear. “Open up and take a chance, Rory. It’s more fun than your hand and you’ll always wonder if you don’t.”

  Get out of my head, Spice. “Have fun with the rich and famous. Oh, and your kinky geezers.”

  Jen shook her head, chuckling and letting Trick drag her away. “I left info sheets on the dogs and the numbers for our vet in the kitchen. Oh, and the pantry is stocked and Rig drove your truck here while you were sleeping, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

  Rory waved her off. “How can I miss you if you never leave?”

  Trick practically picked her up in the hallway but Rory still heard her shout, “Don’t glue anything to my dogs. And if Penny comes over to play with them, I told her she’s not allowed to paint their nails. Rig? Make sure he eats something, he’s too skinny. And don’t let him kick you out until you’re ready.”

  Rig met Rory’s gaze and shifted, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’s bossier than she used to be.”

  Rory smirked. “I noticed that too. Bookends are clearly working for her.”