by Nora Phoenix
Noah kept moving, however, creating obscene slick sounds as he fucked the cum out of Josh's ass till it dripped down his legs. He thrust in deep and stopped. Josh felt him moving. What was he doing? Then the pressure on his ass increased as something else demanded to be let in. Wait, what? Was he…?
He bore down, and Noah slid in the dildo next to his own cock. Josh bit down hard as the burning in his ass was tripled. Aided by his own cum and the slick dildo, Noah buried the thing in Josh’s ass, snug against his own cock. Josh grunted. So full. Oh, fuck. It was even more than the Beast. Harder. Tighter. It stretched and burned until his inner canal finally adjusted.
Then Noah started fucking, his cock and the dildo moving at the same time. Their moans mingled, became one. Josh panted, moaned again, then finally surrendered to his body, the pain and pleasure lifting him higher and higher. Noah impaled him on his monster cock, fucking him over and over till nothing else existed but the pleasure building inside Josh.
His knees gave out, but Noah dragged him up, holding him with a bruising grip as he kept on hammering hard and deep. Every muscle tightened and small electric shocks danced over his skin. He opened up completely, gave up the last bit of fight he had left in him. He was Noah’s, to do with as he pleased. Time stood still as Noah fucked and fucked—finally coming with an inhuman cry of relief.
Josh still hadn’t come, his body and mind waiting for the words that would allow him to let go.
“Dammit, Joshua, come for me.”
17
It had been the longest car ride of Indy’s life. Albany to Buffalo. Change cars. Buffalo to Columbus. Hotel. Change cars. Columbus to St. Louis. Change cars. St. Louis to Kansas City. Hotel. Change cars. Then finally they’d traveled to some bumfuck town—if you could even call it that—smack dab in the middle of nowhere, Kansas. Welcome home.
Home was an old farm, bright red amidst endless fields. Some had been harvested, others stood brown and decaying. It had been wheat, or corn, maybe? Indy knew shit about farming.
The house was so isolated you could spot visitors from far away, which was good, Indy supposed. There was only one road leading to and from the farm. The farm itself consisted of several buildings. The main house had five bedrooms and Indy’s was on the second floor. Then there was a horse barn, minus the horses, another barn that housed all kinds of farming equipment and tools, several sheds and storage barns, and even a huge former chicken coop. Close to the farm was a watertower overlooking a natural pond. It was as idyllic as could be, yet Indy was going absolutely stir-crazy.
He’d barely spoken a word during the ride, too tired to even bother trying to make conversation. Too hurt as well. His heart had been physically aching, knowing every mile was bringing him farther away from Noah and Josh. Besides, why would he try and be polite? They’d already told him these agents weren’t gonna stay anyways. The agents who had traveled with him had left the day after arriving, leaving in place four agents to guard Indy twenty-four seven. Three men, one woman.
Leticia Nunez, the woman, was nice enough. She was spunky and had a great sense of humor. Plus, the woman could cook. In the almost six weeks that Indy had been there, she’d whipped up more than one Mexican dish that had made Indy’s mouth water.
Then there was Jim Crouch, an older guy, who apparently was the lead agent on this operation. Aloof but professional, Crouch tolerated Indy’s presence but made little effort to get to know him.
Robin Fisher was agent number three: a cocky, Ivy League educated asshole that obviously felt a Boston lowlife like Stephan Moreau was way beneath his dignity. Or maybe he objected to the fact that Indy was gay, who the fuck knew. Fact was, Fisher was not happy about this assignment, and it showed. Indy had flat-out refused to answer when Fisher called him Stephan, until the guy had gotten the message.
Even then, Fisher had needed a little persuading from the last agent on the job: Miles Hampton. Indy sighed as he thought of Miles. Tall, fit, and as masculine as they came, he reminded Indy of Noah. Same stubbornness, equal amounts of bossiness and arrogance. Plus, he simply wouldn’t leave Indy alone.
The big difference between Noah and Miles was that Miles was one hundred percent gay. Openly, brazenly gay. Which pissed off Fisher, by the way, but seemed to amuse Nunez and Crouch. He was one of the first openly gay agents, Miles had told Indy, and he was determined not to take any crap for it. Good for him, Indy supposed. It couldn’t be easy in an alpha job like that to put yourself out there.
He’d explored every building on the farm, wanting to know exactly where he could hide, in case it became necessary. Call him paranoid, but he didn’t think the Fitzpatricks were done looking for him. If they found out he was gonna testify, he’d become their number one enemy. That contract on his head? It would change to dead or alive. Preferably dead.
So he’d taken his precautions, had done what he could in case disaster ever came knocking. Knowing his luck so far, it would at some point. At least he’d have several escape routes and options.
Today, Indy had found a spot on a dilapidated wooden bench against the back side of the main house, simply enjoying the sunshine and being outside. He hadn’t had much of that in the previous months, too scared of being recognized. It was bright and sunny, if still chilly with the temperature hovering in the high forties, which Indy had found out was normal for mid-March. Apparently, Kansas didn’t get the massive snow dumps he’d become accustomed to in Boston.
He’d never thought he’d miss Boston, but he did. St. Patrick’s Day had come and gone two days ago, and he’d missed the crazy green antics it brought. The parade, most of all, but also the outrageous outfits and the celebrations. Would there ever come a day when it would be safe for him to return home? Home to Noah and Josh, but also home to Boston?
He raised his head to the sun, closing his eyes. It was truly nice out, if you were sheltered from the wind.
“What are you doing?” Miles’ voice interrupted Indy’s thoughts.
“Nothing. Soaking up some sunlight,” Indy said.
Miles sat down next to him and Indy sighed. The agent shot him a grin. “Two seconds and you’re already sighing. Must be a record.”
Indy rolled his eyes. “You could ask, you know, if I wanted company.”
“True. But asking means risking the chance of you saying no. Plus, why would you not want to spend time with me? I’m pretty awesome, you know.”
This, in a nutshell, was the problem with Miles Hampton. As hard as you tried, you could not get angry with him. He had a confidence and a happiness that was pretty damn irresistible. The constant joy he exuded was another huge difference between him and Noah.
“You’re so full of it,” Indy said, but there was no anger behind his words.
“You love me, and you know it,” Miles joked. His arm shot out for a playful bump, but Indy’s body reacted faster than his brain could process it was not an attack. He blocked Miles’ hand, twisted it until the agent had to bend with the move to prevent his arm from being broken. He cried out, probably more in surprise than pain, but it registered with Indy, and he let go immediately.
“Don’t touch me,” Indy said lamely, inwardly cringing.
Miles rubbed his hand and sat up again. “That’s some pretty fast reflexes you’ve got there,” he said. There was no anger in his voice, and Indy let out a breath he’d been holding.
“I don’t like to be touched,” Indy said.
“I know. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
Indy turned his head, looked at him sideways. “You know?”
“Sure. Wasn’t hard to spot. Every time I even come close to you your defenses go up. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
He was so open about it that Indy had no doubt he meant it. “It’s okay.”
“Where’d you learn to move like that?” Miles asked.
Indy shrugged. “Jiujitsu.”
Miles eyebrows went up. “Really? Cool. I practice jiujitsu, too. Are you any good?”
“I’ve been dying for a good grapple. Wanna try if you can take me down?” Indy bit back his laugh. The guy had no idea what he was getting into.
Five minutes later, they were outside on the pathetic excuse for grass, dressed in training pants and T-shirts. Miles had spray-painted a circle on the grass. Even Nunez and Fisher had come outside to watch. Crouch was still asleep, having done the night shift last night.
“I’ll take it easy on you,” Miles said.
Indy sent him a cocky grin. “Don’t.”
It took him less than ten seconds in the first round. Miles was flat on his back before he realized what had happened, Indy’s knee on his throat.
“What the fuck?” the agent sputtered.
Indy rose and extended a hand to pull him up. “Wanna try again?”
Embarrassment colored Miles’ cheeks. “Damn right.” His eyes narrowed. “Fairly decent, huh?”
Indy shrugged. “Let’s go.”
To his credit, Miles went all-in this time, trying much harder than the first round. That was the reason it took Indy almost thirty seconds to pin him.
Nunez laughed and applauded. “This is entertaining.”
Indy got up again, smiling in quiet triumph as he pulled Miles to his feet. The guy truly towered over him. He had to be at least two inches taller than Noah was. His smile faded. Fuck, he missed him.
“One faggot kicking another faggot’s ass,” Fisher sneered.
Miles’ eyes narrowed, and Indy caught a flash of anger before he composed himself again. “Yeah, and both of these faggots can kick your ass,” he said.
Indy admired that in him. He had self-control, especially where it concerned Fisher and his nasty homophobic remarks. Indy would’ve smacked him black and blue by now, but Miles kept his temper in check.
“Pff,” Fisher said. “Sure, in a match like this one, where you have to follow the rules of some silly sport. In real life, neither of you would stand a chance.”
Indy put a hand on Miles’ arm, the first time he’d touched him of his own volition. I got this, he signaled. Miles seemed to jolt in surprise at Indy’s touch. Was he averse to being touched as well? Indy shook his head mentally and refocused on Fisher.
“You sure about that?” Indy asked him, the challenge clear. Fuck, he was itching to take this asshole down a peg or two. Preferably all the way down to the bottom, where he belonged.
“Kid, I wouldn’t do that to you. I boxed at Harvard, you know. It wouldn’t be fair.”
“I don’t mind,” Indy said.
“You’re half my size.”
“Don’t worry about me. I can take it.”
“You’re our protectée. It wouldn’t be right to cause any damage.”
“You have my permission. Besides, Nunez can be the ref, call it off when she thinks it’s getting out of hand.”
Nunez hesitated for a second, then nodded.
“No rules, except we stay inside the circle,” Fisher stated.
“No rules,” Indy agreed amicably. This fucker was so going down. “Get changed.”
Fisher walked off, a nasty smile on his face. As soon as he was gone, Miles turned to Indy, concern painting his face. “Are you sure about this? He wasn’t kidding about boxing. Apparently, he was quite good at it.”
Indy smiled. “Boxing is all rules. Even if he excelled at kickboxing, it would still be limited to the moves he learned there. Besides, he’s arrogant as shit, convinced he’ll win. That alone will make him lose.”
“How fairly decent are you at this, exactly?”
“Brown belt. One exam away from black.” Miles whistled through his teeth. “Trust me, Miles. I got this.”
Nunez stepped close. “Indy, one thing. Don’t make the same mistake Fisher is. He’s not only arrogant, he’s also a mean, cheating son of a bitch. He’ll do whatever he has to in order to win.”
Indy nodded. She was right. He shouldn’t be overconfident.
Fisher came back, changed into shorts and a shirt. Indy took his place opposite him in the circle, crouching low, arms in front of his face. As soon as Nunez gave the signal, Fisher’s foot shot out. Indy barely managed to evade it. Kickboxing it was, then.
He pivoted, ducked when Fisher’s foot came at him again. The guy definitely had the advantage of height. And speed. Fuck, he was fast, constantly moving around Indy. Indy spun around and half-blocked the fist coming at him. It still hit his cheek, stunning him for a second. Dammit, that hurt.
Fisher kept coming at him with punches and kicks. Indy blocked, but a few slipped through. He took a kick to his ribs that made him gasp.
Down. He had to take this to the floor, where Fisher couldn’t move.
The next time Fisher kicked, Indy was ready. He caught his foot, twisted it, and dropped himself on top of Fisher with force. The agent went down with a grunt, wildly kicking with arms and legs. But this was what Indy knew, where he was at his best. This was where size and weight didn’t mean shit. Fisher shoved his hand in Indy’s face, but he grabbed it and pinned it down. He clamped the guys’ legs with his own, effectively blocking his moves.
The agent headbutted him, but that was a move Indy saw coming, since his head was the only thing the guy could still move. So he released him suddenly, causing him to lose his balance and topple over. Now he had his back turned toward Indy. Big mistake. Indy was on his back in a flash, clamping him like a little monkey. A monkey who had him in a chokehold.
“You have about five seconds till you lose consciousness,” Indy snapped at him. “Do you call defeat?”
Fisher clawed at his face, but Indy ducked, pinned one of his arms down with his free arm.
“Three more seconds.”
He jerked and attempted to move his legs, but they were pinned by Indy’s legs.
“Defeat.” Fisher’s voice was barely audible.
Indy released the pressure on his throat but waited to let go of the man’s arms and legs until he was completely still. When he felt Fisher’s body relax, he let go.
He inched back as Fisher turned on his back, panting. Indy’s eyes never left the man, remembering Nunez’s warning. He felt more than he saw Fisher tighten again, whipping out a foot that would have broken his jaw, had he not been ready. He caught it in a blinding fast move, shot out his own foot and connected with Fisher’s groin.
The man wailed in pain, immediately curling up into a ball.
“Fucker,” Indy mumbled. He touched his throbbing lip, coming away with blood on his fingers. “Shoulda choked him when I had the chance.”
A hand reached out, and he almost kicked it away but realized in time it was Miles, offering to help him up. He grabbed it, wincing as he put pressure on his ribs. Fisher had gotten a good kick in there.
“You okay?” Nunez asked, concern dripping from her voice.
“Yeah. You were right. He is a cheating son of a bitch.”
“Well, he got what was coming to him,” Nunez said. “I’ll get some ice for your face.”
“I’ll do it,” Miles said. “You’d better stay with Fisher. If you leave me here, he’s bound to get another kick in his nuts. Or his ribs. Fucking asshole. Come on, Indy.”
Indy followed him inside. Miles went into his own room, and Indy hesitated. “Come on in,” Miles called out. “I’ve got a first aid kit here, including an ice pack.”
Indy stepped inside the room, which looked like a bomb had gone off recently. Clothes were thrown everywhere, mixed in with empty chip bags, candy wrappers, and whatnot.
“Yeah. Sorry. I’m a slob,” Miles said, wincing slightly. He swiped a heap of clothes off his bed, ruthlessly sending them to the floor. “Here, sit down.”
Indy lowered himself to the bed, grimacing as another stab of pain radiated from his ribs. It wasn’t nearly as bad as when he’d taken down Josh during the robbery, but it would be tender for a few days, that much was certain. Miles walked into the bathroom and came back with a we
t wash cloth.
He reached out to Indy, then stopped. “Can I touch you?”
The similarities to Noah were eerie. Indy nodded. Miles cleaned his lip, the washcloth turning red with blood. He broke a cooling gel pack, making it freeze instantly. “Here, put that on your lip.”
Indy obeyed dutifully, sighing as the cold pack took away some of the throbbing.
“Can I check your ribs?” Miles asked.
“You a doctor?” Indy asked, half-joking.
“My degree is in psychology, but I’m a certified EMT. Worked as an EMT all through college and grad school.”
Hot damn. Now Indy really had no reason to refuse, did he? Other than that it made him highly uncomfortable, it was way too intimate, and he fucking wanted Noah. Noah should be here to check him out and take care of him. He closed his eyes, fighting back the sadness.
“Indy?”
“Yeah. Whatever. Don’t touch me, though.”
He pulled up his shirt, making sure Miles could only see the front. There was no way he was showing him the scars on his back. “There’s a visible red spot where he kicked you. I’d need to touch you to feel if it’s broken.”
“It’s not,” Indy said. “And your hands aren’t getting anywhere near me.” He pulled down his shirt again.
“How would you know? You a doctor?” Miles mocked him.
Indy’s eyes rose to meet his. “No, but my boyfriend is. Now, fuck off. I’m fine.”
He got up, wavered as a spell of dizziness hit him. Miles shot to his side, keeping him from toppling over. Indy froze as he was pressed against a hard body.
Hard. It registered immediately. Miles was sporting a fucking boner.
Indy pushed him away, stumbling and almost falling again. “What the hell?”
Miles winced. “It’s not what you think.”
Indy’s eyes flashed. “Are you fucking hard?” He pointed to Miles’ crotch. “Then it’s exactly what I think.”
Miles stepped back, his face flushed. “I’m sorry. But I swear, not for the reason you think.”
