Bailey Bradford - Southwestern Shifters 06 - Reverence

by Bailey Bradford

  Nathan growled and punished the little hot spikes of flesh, driving Marcus back with

  his own weight until Marcus slammed against the door. Nathan left off his tits, jerking out of

  Marcus’ hold and grabbing at his jeans. “Off,” Nathan panted, need raging through him. He

  tore at the fastening then just barely managed to think to shove a hand down first before he

  unzipped Marcus’ pants. He wasn’t wearing underwear and Nathan would have hated to

  catch his parts in the zipper.

  “Thanks,” Marcus somehow got out. Nathan didn’t know how, because his brain was

  shutting down and his body taking over. He grunted and took a second to enjoy the feel of

  Marcus’ hot dick against his hand before he shoved the damn jeans down to Marcus’ thighs. It was times like these it really irked Nathan to be so much shorter than Marcus. If he

  could, he’d spin Marcus around and fuck him hard and dry right there, but Marcus was too

  damn tall or he was too damn short and it just wouldn’t work. Nathan snarled, his wolf

  rising in him and demanding he claim his mate. He palmed Marcus’ wet-tipped cock and

  tugged. “Down.”

  Marcus grabbed his nape and slammed his mouth over Nathan’s for a kiss that left

  them both with a split lip. Nathan clawed at Marcus, marking his arms with thin red trails

  that made them both quiver with need. He caught at Marcus’ shoulders and pulled as he

  turned his head enough to break the kiss. “Get. Down.”

  “Yes,” Marcus hissed, dropping as Nathan leapt back. Sometimes their matings were

  like this, hot and hard and leaving them both marked, but sometimes they weren’t, and those

  were amazing times, too. But right now Nathan knew Marcus didn’t need or want a gentle

  touch any more than he wanted or needed to give one. He moved behind Marcus, marvelling

  at the swell of his buttocks, the slight covering of white-blond hair on his cheeks, the darker

  golden hairs lining his ass crack. With the pants around his thighs, Marcus couldn’t spread

  his legs, and that was going to be a problem unless Nathan fixed it.

  Nathan did, grabbing the material and jerking it. Marcus went down on the floor, his

  body slapping the tile. Nathan knew Marcus was quick enough to catch himself, and had not

  let himself be hurt. The mental mate bond between them was flowing wide open, and he

  knew Marcus’ needs as well as his own. Nathan got the jeans off one leg, and that was all he

  bothered with. He knelt and freed his dick, then he shuffled up and pushed Marcus’ right leg

  up. He hooked his arm under it, catching Marcus’ leg at the knee, then lifted, opening his ass

  up nicely.

  “Look at this,” he murmured as he traced the wrinkled skin of Marcus’ hole. “Just

  waiting for me, aren’t you?” The skin was so warm, and Marcus clenched beneath his touch,

  making that little hole even tighter. Nathan brought his finger to his mouth and licked it

  thoroughly, locking his gaze with Marcus’ as he did so. Then he put his finger to Marcus’

  pucker and pushed in fully, finding Marcus’ gland unerringly.

  Marcus’ eyes glazed and he began to pant. His nipples swelled even more, the sight of

  the red flesh making Nathan’s mouth water. He shoved a second finger in, knowing the dry

  burn was feeding Marcus’ desires. Marcus arched and rutted on his fingers, grunts and

  groans falling from him every time Nathan drove his digits in deep.

  “Two’s all you’re getting.” Nathan took his fingers out but kept his grip on Marcus’ leg

  as the man squirmed. “Gonna fuck you now.”

  “Fuck me,” Marcus said, over and over, as if he’d locked on to the only two words he

  could manage just then. Nathan spat on his palm and rubbed the saliva on his dick. It wasn’t

  enough, but Marcus could take it. Needed to, in the mood he was in.

  Nathan lined his cock up and grabbed Marcus’ hip. He lifted Marcus’ leg higher then

  thrust hard, fast, the tight dry squeeze of Marcus’ asshole driving a shout from him. “Agh!”

  He pulled Marcus to him as he thrust again, his cock sinking into Marcus’ heated insides, the

  soft walls constricting and dragging against Nathan’s length. His balls slapped Marcus’ ass,

  and Nathan’s eyes crossed, pleasure and pain melding in him, flowing from him to Marcus

  and back again.

  Marcus gasped and clawed at the floor, his arm, anything he could reach, it seemed.

  Nathan threw his head back and withdrew a few inches, then shoved back in. He set a brutal

  pace, jarring them both with each thrust, moving Marcus along on the floor until finally

  Marcus slapped a hand out and caught the side of the tub. He stiffened his arm and got some

  leverage, enough to ram back into Nathan’s thrust, then it was over in a flash. Nathan screamed, a wordless sound that tore at his throat as he battered into Marcus’

  ass. Marcus bucked and rammed back, his inner muscles clenched so tightly Nathan’s cock

  was suddenly trapped in Marcus’ body. The rippling walls pulled his climax from him,

  Nathan going blind for a few moments with the intensity of his pleasure as he came inside

  Marcus. The tang of Marcus’ cum in the air only fuelled Nathan’s release, making him shiver

  and spurt more spunk than he possibly ever had before.

  Minutes later, when he could breathe without wheezing like an old geezer, Nathan

  blinked and focused his eyes on Marcus, who was grinning and watching him back. “That

  was pretty much the hottest thing ever,” Marcus said, his voice rough and raw-sounding.

  He’d screamed a time or two when he came, Nathan thought.

  “It was,” Nathan agreed, not having much more vocal skills than Marcus. He cleared

  his throat and glanced down as he pulled his cock from Marcus’ ass. Cum leaked from his

  hole and Nathan thumbed some of it away. He sniffed at it then licked the spunk, watching

  Marcus’ expression darken with lust again. The salty taste on his tongue wasn’t unpleasant,

  and Nathan sucked the tip into his mouth for a second before popping it out and winking at

  Marcus. “Too bad we have to go. Gabe and Mika need to borrow our jet to get to Amsterdam

  and try to find those guys, Jameson and Luuk.”

  Marcus glowered teasingly then began pushing himself up off the floor. Nathan

  scrambled back and rose as well. “Yeah. We should all be paying more attention to the shifter

  politics everywhere. I’d heard there was a coup over there but it wasn’t really my business.

  Maybe it should have been all of our business.”

  Nathan knew Marcus meant all the Alpha Anaxes, and he agreed. “Yep. Like the

  United Shifters Nations or something. What happens if there’s an emergency, shifters are

  found out or something? There really should be more…form to the shifter government, or

  more communication, I mean.”

  “Agreed.” Marcus put a hand on his lower back and popped it with a sexy stretch. His

  ass was so round and perfect, his cock bobbing, the arch of his back showing off muscles and

  abs and pecs and—“Too bad we have to meet Gabe and Mika now.” Marcus smirked at him

  then danced away when Nathan swatted at his plump butt.

  “You’re mean, teasing me like that,” Nathan told him, but he was trying not to laugh.

  He loved being able to joke with Marcus, loved just being alive, considering that they’d

  survived an attack on their lives only weeks ago.

  “And you love m
e madly.” Marcus sauntered up to him and Nathan nodded. He did,

  indeed.

  Chapter Three

  The drive only took a few hours, and Harley was barely less of a mess when he pulled into the apartment parking lot. Somehow, and he hadn’t bothered to ask for details on it, Nathan had managed to keep his apartment and, according to Nathan, had it restored and the wooden door replaced with a sturdy steel one. Harley hoped that was true, all of it. He hadn’t paid rent on time, but that was something else Nathan said had been handled. It irked Harley in a way, but hell, it wasn’t like his gas station job was going to be there. He’d been gone for a month or so, had just vanished. What little money he had in the bank wasn’t going to last long at all. Holy fuck, what had he done? He was going to be homeless and starving, and his brother Ryder wouldn’t know where to find him—if Ryder was still alive. Harley never knew where Ryder was or how he was doing unless Ryder popped in for a surprise visit. Harley didn’t even have an address or phone number for Ryder, and for all he knew, Ryder was homeless or a criminal. With eleven years between them, they’d never been super close, but they were the only family the other had.

  What if Ryder had come looking for him while he’d been gone? Harley shoved the thought aside. Ryder usually came by every few months at the most. Harley didn’t know what he’d do if Ryder vanished for good, but thinking about it right now wasn’t helping him at all. He was stalling, plain and simple, and Harley slapped his cheek hard enough to sting. “Stop it. Be a fucking man and deal with it all.”

  All. So much has happened… Harley shook his head. He couldn’t start down that road. He needed to concentrate on right now, on parking and getting out and going to talk to the manager. God, he hated Mr Rutlidge. The guy was a first-rate creep, always eyeing Harley as if he was a tasty but cheap dessert. Thinking about him pissed Harley off, and that helped him for some reason. He pulled into his old parking slot. His car had been a rattling death trap, but it’d been paid for. Joshua Dobson had taken that, too, and crashed it just to be a dickwad. Just to take it from Harley.

  “Stop it.” He shoved that aside and put the vehicle in park. The duffle bag had fallen to the passenger side floor so Harley had to lean over and wriggle to pick it up. That was when it dawned on him he hadn’t buckled his seatbelt, and he was damned lucky to be alive and not to have got ticketed. He had to get his head out of his ass, like now. He hefted the bag up and got out. The property manager’s office should be open, he thought. It was early afternoon, and Mr Rutlidge liked his tackily decorated office that no doubt made him feel like a big man instead of a weasel. Harley knew he was being harsh, but Rutlidge had brushed up against him too many times for it to have been anything but groping. The ass was married and sleazy and Harley flat-out didn’t like him.

  The office looked the same. Harley didn’t know why he had expected everything to be different just because he was different now, on the inside at least. He hadn’t realised he’d been expecting it, either, but seeing Rutlidge in a shiny silver suit and a scuzzy excuse for a beard slammed him back to reality. Some things would never change, he guessed.

  Rutlidge’s eyes narrowed and he leered as Harley knocked on the open door frame. “Well, well, look who’s back. Did your sugar daddy get tired of you already?”

  Harley frowned. “What the fuck are you talking about?” Jesus, what had the shifters told Rutlidge?

  “Oh, please,” Rutlidge said smugly as he ran a hand over the lapel of his jacket. “You go away for weeks without telling anyone. While you’re gone, someone manages to actually buy your apartment and the one beside it from the company I work for, then redoes the whole place. As soon as it’s ready, here you come, looking like you’ve been rode rough for weeks,” and there was that disgusting leer again, “and you have a nice, new place all decked out and all bills paid. The title is even in your name, and I’d really like to know who you blew to get the company I work for to sell those units—”

  “Fuck you.” Harley had to process everything, but one thing he caught on to, he didn’t have to put up with Rutlidge. “I’m not anyone’s whore, not anyone’s boy toy, so just—fuck you.” His snarky comebacks needed work, Harley thought as he turned and strode out, shoulders stiff and head high. It wasn’t until he stepped into the sunlight again that he remembered he didn’t have keys to his place—or the title, or anything. Only Rutlidge’s word about it being his.

  Harley pulled the duffle down and squatted as he unzipped it. He plopped the bag on the ground and separated the fabric, then blinked and scrubbed at one eye as he looked inside. “What the fuck?” he squeaked, then bit his lip to keep from babbling. He saw keys, a hand-written note, some other papers, a cell phone—and money. Stacks of money. The top one had what looked to be a note tucked beneath the wrapper. Harley grabbed the keys out and tried not to sway under the anger that pressed down on him. He zipped the bag and as soon as he was upright, took off running.

  Harley skipped the elevator, taking the stairs instead. His mind spun as he thought of the bag’s contents. All that money, was that the same as him being a whore after all? Harley stopped in the stairwell and opened the bag enough to take the note out. Was he being paid off, or what? Would he keep the money? God, if he wasn’t so fucking poor he’d shred it all, or give it to the homeless shelter and tell the shifters to fuck the hell off.

  The note was short, the writing neat and easy to decipher, not like Harley’s own illegible scrawl. Harley read it, then read it again, fighting the urge to cry. His emotions were all over the place, his head totally fucked up. Maybe he was going crazy.

  The money, the apartment, all of it was a gift, including the damn truck. Titles were in the bag, and even the utilities had been paid several months in advance. All of them, gifts from Nathan—and Marcus, Nathan had written, but Harley doubted that surly bastard would have given him anything but a glare. If nothing else, he was to consider it compensation, like he’d sued the shifters for the hardships he’d suffered.

  “Oh fucking hell.” Harley didn’t know what to think about that. He couldn’t figure the shifters out. Why hadn’t they just killed him? Why let him go? What the hell were they? Bad? Good? Evil? Freaks?

  People, like him?

  “No. Not that.” Harley stuffed the note in his back pocket then resumed his trek up the stairs. He thought he’d be relieved when he saw his door, but the terror almost brought him to his knees. Harley sank down against the wall opposite from his place and stared blankly, seeing nothing. He was afraid, more afraid than he’d ever been, just about. Memories of the night he was taken from his apartment were trying to invade his head, and he didn’t want to go there, ever again. He wanted to forget the time he was Joshua Dobson’s prisoner, forget the taunts and fists and things that had been done to him.

  There were blank spaces, he knew that, and he was fine with it. Harley was pretty sure he didn’t want to know what he was blocking. Nothing good could come from it. The past was the past, and he hadn’t had to struggle with his memories quite so much while he’d been holed up in the shifter den, maybe because he’d been too busy worrying about whether or not they’d kill him.

  It wasn’t because he’d felt safe, safe enough, even, to strike out. The sheer idiocy of that thought made Harley laugh out loud, a high-pitched nervous giggle that scared him all over again. Jesus fucking Christ, he was losing his mind.

  “Well, why not? Fuckers took everything else I had, might as well give them that, too.” The titles in the bag were just papers. The important things—his pride, his security, his belief in reality and ignorance of the supernatural, those things were fucking gone. Now he had, what? Just what they gave him, what they let him have, his life included.

  All the convoluted thinking was making Harley’s head hurt. Even though he tried to tell himself it was true, that he hadn’t felt some measure of safety around at least Nathan, and even though he hated to admit it, Marcus, a little, the untruthfulness of that rang in his ears like an air h
orn.

  Then there was that bizarre feeling in his gut. Maybe it was guilt. Harley suspected it was, but he couldn’t fathom why he felt it. He knew it was centred around that lone, damaged man he’d seen for all of a few minutes when he’d sneaked out of his rooms. But that made no sense. He shouldn’t feel guilty—hell, he didn’t even know that guy’s name.

  “Fuck it, fuck it all!” Harley shoved aside everything battling around in his brain and stood up. He walked over to his door, sweat breaking out all over his body with each step he took. Like monsters from the worst nightmares, dark images pulled at his mind. Harley refused to examine them, or the fear swamping him, making it hard to drag air into his lungs. He stopped inches from the steel door and shoved the key in the first lock. There was a series of three, he noted dimly after the first tumbler was turned. It took a second to realise the keys were labelled, ‘top’, ‘mid’ and ‘bot’, the last Harley figured was for bottom. By whatever stroke of luck, he’d got the first one right.

  Once he undid the other two, Harley had to wipe his brow with his forearm. He wasn’t hot, yet he was soaking with sweat, his nerves pinging like crazy. He turned the doorknob and after a moment, gaped like a total fool, swaying slightly. He hadn’t been certain he could do it, could come back and step into the apartment, when his last memories of it were— unthinkable.

  But someone had possibly thought of that, because the whole of what he saw looked nothing like his former apartment. It was larger, too, which he should have expected as Rutlidge did mention two units being purchased. Harley stepped inside and shut the door. He only set one lock, because what if someone else was in there? He might stand a chance of escaping if he didn’t have to fight three locks.

  Harley’s eyes had to be bugging, they were aching he was staring so hard, but the place was… “Wow. Just, I don’t—” Talking to himself might mean he was off his rocker to some people, but while he might wonder about his sanity, the solo conversation had nothing to do with that worry. Harley had been doing it since he’d learned to talk. He’d been lonely for a long time, and the sound of his own voice had helped alleviate that somewhat.