Harry took Angelo’s crutches and set them aside while I fitted a special harness to Bonnie that would allow Angelo to lead her while she took most of his weight. It was a work in progress, but Angelo persisted as Harry and I looked on.
“We’ll be here all day if that’s how long it takes him to walk in a straight line,” Harry said softly. “Angelo’s a machine, even when he’s relapsed.”
“You’ll have to explain that to me one day,” I said. “I’d forgotten there was anything wrong with him.”
Harry hummed. “That’s why it’s so cruel. Look at Bonnie go, though. She’s so chilled.”
“Or too lazy to misbehave.” Not that it mattered. After three months training with a specialist equine therapist, Bonnie and Clyde had more than earned their place in Harry’s grand adventures.
When Angelo had done a round with Clyde too, I took the horses back to the stables and gave them a rub down. After settling them with extra feed, I went inside and found Emma at the kitchen table with travel brochures spread out in front of her.
“Going somewhere?”
“Fuck off,” she snapped.
Fair enough. I swiped a slice of Sal’s fruitcake from the tin and retreated to the living room. The french doors were open and one of the pygmy goats wandered in with some socks it had stolen from the washing line. I was still trying to get them back when Emma appeared a little while later.
“Sorry,” she said.
“What for?”
“The usual. Add it to my tab.”
I grinned. “Only if you tell what you’re up to.”
“I want to go on a teaching course.”
“Teaching what? Riding?”
“Yeah. My qualifications are old and out of date, so if I want to help Harry, I’ll need some new ones.”
“Okay. Why do you need to look at mountain resorts in Norway for that?”
“Because I think the only reason I’d get on a plane would be for something I’m passionate about, and I really, really want to do this, Joe.”
“So do it.”
“Right. Like it’s that simple.”
Of course it wasn’t simple. Nothing for Emma ever was, but surely the last year on the farm had shown her that anything was possible?
She wandered off before I figured out if she did, and Harry showed up not long after.
I let the goat have the socks and stood to greet him. “Angelo gone?”
“Yup. Put him in a taxi back to his hotel. He’s driving home tomorrow.”
“Will he be okay on his own?”
Harry shrugged. “It’s up to him to say if he’s not. I gave him a cat for Dylan’s dad, though, if it’s any consolation.”
It was. Thanks to Harry, the farm now had more cats that a Greek holiday resort, and the more of them he gave away, the better. “It wasn’t Macky, was it?”
“Of course not. I know you can’t sleep without him. Hey, are we going surfing tomorrow?”
I ignored the question—we went surfing every morning we could these days—and got up in his face. “Dude, you’re the only fella I can’t be without.”
Harry smiled and wrapped his strong arms around me. “Can’t see you ever having to be, so I guess we’re both happy, eh?”
And then some. In his quiet way, Harry had turned my world upside down. I had a life now, a future, and heart fit to burst every time I looked at him. Happy didn’t even come close.
Harry
The retreat opened almost a year to the day since I’d first set foot on Whisper Farm. Angelo and Dylan came down from London, Rhys too, but thankfully they’d somehow just missed each other.
“Shame,” Joe said when Rhys’s flying visit had come to an end, and Angelo and Dylan had just arrived. “I was looking forward to some mad drama and make-up orgies.”
I rolled my eyes. “Angelo’s a bad influence on you. Are you sure you don’t want to try the club again?”
Joe shuddered, and I laughed, because for all his brass, Joe was a private soul. Fucking in public . . . sharing me with someone else would never be his bag, so as fun as it had been to catch a glimpse of the world my brother and our shared friends called home, we wouldn’t be going back.
Didn’t stop him beckoning me to the bedroom window later that night, though, and pointing across the farm to the retreat’s chalet site. After a day of introductory outpatient clinics, Angelo and Dylan were the only guests staying over, and they were fucking with the lights on, blinds up, and the windows wide open.
Joe nuzzled my neck. “Do they know we can see them?”
“Probably not, though I reckon Angelo gets a kick out of making you blush.”
“He does not make me blush.”
“Liar.”
“Valid.” Joe shrugged. “Sorry. You know I love you.”
“I do. And I don’t blame you for gawping at Angelo. I’ve told you before that those two used to turn me inside out just looking at me until I found out they knew Rhys.”
“They don’t—uh—play together anymore,” Joe said. “Rhys told me in the pub that he’s trying to quit the sex club, and smoking too.”
“Interesting. Maybe I’ll never have to confess after all. Did he say why he’s quitting? The sex club, I mean. Not the fags—that won’t happen.”
“Oh, ye of little faith. But nope. And I didn’t ask about either. I was enjoying my own smoke too much, and I wasn’t drunk enough to talk about the sex club. He said something about helicopter training later on, but that might’ve been about something else.”
“Awesome.” I rolled my eyes, then let my gaze wander back to the window. Angelo was hauling Dylan onto his back and curving his body around him, slamming into him hard enough to make my eyes water. The physio in me was proud of how strong he was, given how tough the last few months had been for him, but the rest of me was torn between mildly mortified and horny as hell.
Joe was apparently happily settled in the horny camp. He dragged me away from the window and sat on the edge of the bed, lining his face up with my crotch. The man had a blow-job fetish, I swear, and my dick was in his mouth before I could blink. He swallowed me whole. My hips thrust forwards of their own accord, and my groan rang out in the thankfully empty house.
I didn’t let Joe have his own way for long, though. He’d got the better of me a few times in recent days, and I was game for some revenge. I reclaimed my dick and pulled him to his feet while I stripped his clothes.
Then I shoved him face first on the bed and climbed over him, rubbing my lube-slick cock between his thighs, pressing against him. We’d stopped using condoms months ago, and it was in moments like these that I was grateful for it. When I felt his smooth skin against my dick, and then the tight, wet heat of him clamping around me as I slid home.
I fucked him slowly, revelling in his deep moans, my hands leaving imprints on his flawless back. His injured stomach was finally completely healed and I no longer had to be careful with him. Grabbing his hair and tilting his head back for a crazed kiss. Sinking my teeth into his shoulder. It was rough, primal, and so fucking dirty it was never going to last long.
Joe began to unravel. His entire body quaked and trembled, and his frantic warning poured petrol on the fire in me. I picked up the pace and fucked him harder, faster, deeper, and the answering bolts of pleasure made me lose my mind.
I came with a high pitched, breathless cry. Beneath me, Joe convulsed. He fisted the sheets and hunched his shoulders, his guttural shout muffled by the mattress. Blood roared in my ears, but I somehow found the equilibrium to rub his back and whisper in his ear. “I got you.”
For long minutes, I lay on top of him, absorbing his laboured breaths like they were my own, but eventually, I rolled off him, and we sprawled out with our legs tangled together. Joe was shaking—with laughter.
I scowled at him. “What’s so funny?”
He pointed at the window. “You do realise they can see us too?”
It hadn’t even occurred to me, but when I tried
to care, I realised that I didn’t. How could I when nothing on earth mattered to me more than having Joe in my arms? Especially when he was naked, laughing, and staring at me from behind his sex-tousled hair.
I pushed the damp strands out of his eyes. “Thank you.”
“What for?”
“For today, for yesterday . . . for tomorrow. I wouldn’t be who I am now without you.”
“Works both ways,” Joe said. “I’d probably be doing time with my old man if it wasn’t for you.”
I shuddered at the thought. Jonah had been sentenced to six years in prison for possession of the firearm found in Shadow’s stable, and the only blessing from that had been his extended sobriety. Joe had yet to visit him, but I took Emma every fortnight.
“Don’t go to sleep on me just yet.” Joe knocked his knuckles on the side of my head. “I want to ask you something.”
I forced my heavy eyes open. “What is it?”
“You know how you made me keep back some of the land around the old stud? So the retreat is in both of our names?”
“Um . . . yeah?” I’d done that so the farm benefitted from the retreat as much as I did. The boost from the land sale and regular income from the rent had allowed Joe to take some much-needed time off—to ride Mani on the beach and ride the waves like he’d been born on a surfboard and not in a saddle. “You’re not going to try and give it to me again, are you?”
“No, I’m going to give you my house.”
“What?”
Joe sat up and reached over me to the bedside table. In the drawer was an envelope, which he tossed to me while chewing on his lip. “Don’t get all huffy. It’s only fair.”
“What is?”
“That we share everything. You put half your business in my name, so I want to share mine with you—the farm, the house . . . everything.”
“You can’t give me the farm, Joe.”
“I’m not giving it, I’m sharing it. Listen, will you?”
There was humour in his kaleidoscope gaze, but fire too. I took the envelope and scanned the documents inside. Everything was as he said—the house, the farm was mine as much as it was his if I signed on the dotted line.
“Please, Harry,” Joe whispered. “I need this—I need everything we have to be ours.”
I couldn’t refuse him. I signed the papers and as I thrust them back at him, the final piece of our puzzle slotted into place. I’d had a life before Joe—before the farm and the new life we’d built together, but I’d never belonged anywhere like I did here with Joe. Over the past few months, I’d turned down a second book deal and gone back to blogging, and a weight that had dragged behind me since childhood had faded away.
His, mine, ours, it didn’t matter. “Joe?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
THE END
PATREON
Not ready to let go of Harry and Joe? Or looking for sneak peeks at future books in the series? Alternative POVs, outtakes, and missing moments from all Garrett’s books can be found on her Patreon site. Misfits, Slide, Strays…the works. Because you know what? Garrett wasn’t ready to let her boys go either.
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DREAM — a SHORT excerpt
Angelo and Dylan
Dream
“Angel! Long time, no see.”
Angelo Giordano slid onto a bar stool and nodded at Carl, an old friend of sorts, though they’d never seen each other outside of the club. “It hasn’t been that long.”
“No? Seems like forever since I last saw your pretty face.”
“Piss off and get me some water.”
“You don’t want a Peroni?”
“Nah. Fuck that.” Angelo had drunk his fill of crappy Italian beer at his father’s wake, and his empty stomach was still protesting. “Water’s fine, mate. Honest.”
“Suit yourself.”
Carl slunk away to the fridges on the other side of the bar. Angelo watched him go, admiring his perfect porn-star backside. Carl was good fun and they’d played together many times in the past, but as Angelo ran his gaze over his broad shoulders and thickset thighs, he felt nothing. He wasn’t here for familiar; he’d come for the unknown.
A bottle of water appeared in front of him. Carl squeezed Angelo’s wrist and moved on, because that was the other good thing about him: he knew when to leave people alone.
And Christ, Angelo wanted to be alone, but he had one last thing to do before he locked himself away for the rest of the week; a last itch to scratch before he gave himself over to the black cloud that had followed him all the way home from New York. Was still following him, two months later.
He spun around on his stool and surveyed his surroundings. The bar was situated in the middle of the club, equidistant from most of the play areas. At this time of night, things were starting to heat up and spill over from the more popular rooms. Angelo’s first cursory glance picked up an acquainted couple screwing over a table, a snake pit of women on the floor, and a dude clearly getting the blowjob of his life from the bear of a man on his knees at his feet.
Heat pooled in Angelo’s groin. He thought about joining the couple on the table, of claiming his space behind the man and fucking him while he banged his wife, or shoving his dick in the bear’s mouth and hitching a ride on what looked like some damn fine head. But he didn’t move because both options were dances he’d danced before, and he wasn’t in the mood for another waltz.
Angelo drained his water bottle and slid from his stool. Instinct drew him to the stairs that led to the basement rooms—his favoured place to play when his mood was this dark—and he joined the short queue of others who fancied a mystery tour. At the front, he found Seamus, a beast of a man who watched over the basement rooms like every participant was his own child.
He tipped Angelo a wink. “Looking fly, brother. Do I need to go through the checklist with you?”
“Probably not, but I know you want to.”
Seamus chuckled and went through his safety list before stamping Angelo’s hand, branding him as the only player who’d walk into whatever followed with his eyes wide open. “Bunker five,” he said. “I gotta feeling you’re going to like what you find.”
Angelo rolled his eyes. Seamus was a terminal optimist, and his script never changed, regardless of what Angelo found on the other side of the thick steampunk door. “Whatever. Cheers, mate.”
He left his shoes with Seamus and padded barefoot down the industrial-styled corridor, the metal floor cold against the soles of his feet. The play bunkers were soundproofed, what went on behind the heavy doors audible only to Seamus and the pay-by-the-hour observation galleries, but Angelo sensed the heat emanating from each room he passed and let it seep into him and merge with the building anticipation roiling in his gut.
Bunker five was at the end of the corridor. Angelo paused with his hand on the door and psyched himself up for what he might find. In the past, he’d screwed all kinds of people, but dear God, he wanted to fuck a man tonight—needed it. Craved it. Pansexual be damned, some days, only a man’s touch could take the pain away.
Angelo opened the door. Blinked a few times. And then a rush of relief hit him so hard he had to steady himself on the doorframe.
Whoa. Jackpot.
He sucked in a breath, and the smouldering desire in his gut did a happy dance. It had been a while, but the thrill of opening the door never got old, and this time he’d struck gold—literally. The slender young man waiting for him on the bed had a halo of fair hair and pale skin that would look awesome with Angelo’s handprints welded into it. And beyond that, he was ready. Blindfolded and splayed out on his hands and knees, the man had left condoms and lube beside him—his message clear. He wanted to be fucked, and Angelo was over the damn moon to oblige.
Dropping his clothes as he went, he stalked around the raised mattress, his dick already hard. His plan was basic, already spelled o
ut by his mysterious companion, but he paused by the man’s head, intrigued by his lips. Pillowy and full, the temptation to slide his cock between them was strong, but the metal floor biting into his bare feet stopped him. People didn’t come to the basement rooms for that—they came for the anonymous oblivion that Angelo craved.
Angelo returned to where the man clearly wanted him most. He reached for the condoms, and the man shivered as Angelo tore the foil wrapper open and then tossed it aside. Angelo rolled the condom on, jacking himself a couple of times before he turned his attention to his partner in crime and his willing hole. The lube was the stretchy kind that was fashioned on real come. It dripped out of the bottle in long wet strings and onto the man’s cleft, sliding down his thighs. The man shuddered again, but Angelo made no move to comfort him. Nah. The basement rooms weren’t about getting up close and personal; they were about getting down and dirty, and Angelo was more than ready.
He pushed lube into the man’s hole with his thumb, absorbing the delicious answering moan. Words were rarely exchanged in encounters like this, but there were a few that Angelo was obliged to utter. He eased his thumb further inside the man and leaned over him, his nipples brushing the man’s smooth back. “Safe word is fox. Don’t be shy about using it.”
The man gasped out a laugh. “I won’t.”
His voice was deeper than Angelo expected, and the gravelly words went straight to his dick. He withdrew his thumb, lined up with the man’s hole, and pressed inside with as much care as he could muster with his blood roaring a symphony in his ears. The man was tight and hot and slick with lube. And more than that, he wanted Angelo’s cock and widened his stance to take all of him in one slow slide.
“Fuck yeah.” Angelo stopped for a moment, reeling from being balls-deep inside a man. He took a breath, and then a strange sensation washed over him, and he lurched forward before he caught himself, hands flailing as he fought the urge to run his hands all over the man’s smooth back. What the hell?
Whisper (Skins Book 2) Page 20
