“Anytime, sunshine.” Nash’s hand continued its trek down my front, palming my thickening cock. “Can I use some of your fancy oil on you?”
“Please.” I reached across to the nightstand to grab the bottle. “I wanna get off just like this.”
“Okay, bossy.” Nash bit my neck then covered it in kisses. “Just like this, huh?”
Taking the bottle from me, he shifted around some, and when he settled back against me, he was naked with a slick dick pressing against the small of my back and a warm hand wrapping around my cock. My groan was louder than the alarm had been.
We’d fucked a number of times, enjoyed some oral, but this was something new, and in a way, it felt way more intimate than if he’d gone straight for the condoms and lube like I’d expected. Not that I was complaining—I loved the sound of his breath in my ear, the slipperiness of his grip, and the firmness of the thrusts against my back.
“Gonna have to be quick,” he whispered. “You up for that?”
“Oh, yeah. Faster.”
“Bossy, bossy, bossy,” he chided, strokes not speeding up one iota.
“You…said…fast,” I panted as he added the twist to his hand that always drove me nuts. “Please, Nash.”
“Ah. There it is.” He licked a tendon in my neck.
“You get off on me begging,” I accused, pushing my body tighter against him. His cock was hard and slick against my back, making my own dick throb with each movement from him.
“That I do.” Nash let out a self-satisfied groan, hips speeding up even as his hand stayed maddeningly slow. “And I should make you wait. Go first then suck you off.”
Much as I loved Nash’s mouth, that wasn’t what I wanted, and I whined my disapproval. “Want to come when you do. Please.”
“Mmmm.” Nash made a noise like he had to think about it.
“Nash. Get me off. Please.”
“You need me?” His free hand came around to flick at my nipple.
“Yes. God, yes. Come on me,” I babbled.
“Want to hear you.” Finally, finally, his grip tightened and quickened.
I rewarded him with a low moan, my breath coming in noisy pants. “Nash. Nash. Gonna get me off.”
“Yeah, I am. That’s it. So good for me. So beautiful.”
His teeth grazed my shoulder, an aggressive kiss that I felt straight to my balls, and that was it for me. “Coming. Oh, God.”
“Me, too.” Warmth hit my back as Nash sucked harder on my shoulder. I was going to have a mark, but I couldn’t give a shit. Coming felt too good. It was different than the normal stratospheric orgasms with Nash—warmer, fuzzier, like being wrapped in my favorite blanket and surrounded by all the best emotions. Emotions that I didn’t want to think too much about right then—I only wanted to drift on the good feelings.
I was only marginally aware of Nash using something to rub at my back and stomach before he whispered, “Okay, I’m out of here. You need me to reset the alarm?”
Already well on my way to sleep, I grunted at him, a noise that probably sounded like no, but I was cursing a few hours later when the sun hit my eyes and I glanced over at the clock. Late. Logan would be pissed that I wasn’t there already for the kitchen prep work.
Sure enough, he was in a mood when I got to the tavern.
“What? Was there another Chamber meeting this morning?” He gestured at my shirt.
I tried hard to hold back a blush. I’d had to go for something with a collar to hide the love bite Nash had left where my neck met my shoulder. “Laundry day,” I mumbled.
“Well, whatever. I’m just glad you’re here to deal with this mess. Adam’s already called the police station, and you’re better than me at calming him down.”
“Wait. What?” My heart galloped. Had they figured out about Nash and me?
“Didn’t you get Adam’s text messages? Some idiot spray-painted the side of the building. The dispatcher said Nash would be over as soon as possible.”
Fuck. I hurried outside where Adam was pacing in front of the far side of the building. “Fag” was painted in a giant scrawl along with some rather graphic drawings. My stomach heaved, and I was glad that I hadn’t had time for even coffee before rushing out, because I was perilously close to hurling. Not again. This was our dream, our safe place for the LGBTQ community, and fucking criminals kept threatening that vision. Business had been so good over the holiday weekend, too—we were so close to turning that corner as far as viability, and now it was threatened anew.
“This. This is a hate crime,” Adam sputtered. “And Flint better take this one seriously.”
“He will,” I soothed, hoping I wasn’t wrong. And for once, I agreed with Adam. This sure as fuck felt like hate, like dark nastiness dripping down on all our hopes and goals for this place.
Right as I was searching for better words to calm Adam, not to mention myself, Nash’s Jeep came barreling into the parking lot, pulling up parallel to where we stood.
“Morning,” Nash called as he strode over. Flint. Flint. Flint. Not Nash, not the guy who had breathed his passion in my ear, not the guy who’d snuggled up beside me most of the night, not the exhausted man I’d been so moved to help feel better. Flint. The police chief. Nothing more. Time to keep it professional.
“Why can’t you catch these vandals?” Adam demanded before I could return Flint’s greeting.
“We’re a three-person department, and there’s around a hundred teenagers on break from school right now, along with all the older kids already out of school. We’re working as fast as we can.” Even after last night, Flint still looked weary, and it was hard, wanting to rub his back again, wanting to reassure him that he was doing all he could. But I couldn’t do those things.
“Similar crime happened to Dolly’s Donuts the other week,” he continued. “You can call Leroy Atkins for help removing it after I get my pictures, or I’ve got a power washer in the garage you boys can borrow and do the work yourselves.”
The boys part rankled. I didn’t feel that much younger than Nash, not when we were alone together, and I didn’t like him using the word for distance now. But I couldn’t call him on it, not with Adam right there, glowering like he’d be only too happy to light into Nash. “That’d be helpful. Thanks.”
“Not a problem.” Nash took pictures and asked questions of Adam and Logan about the state of the parking lot and tavern when they’d arrived that morning. It was all very professional, which brought back my weird feelings—it was strange as hell to be maintaining this secret arrangement with Nash. In Portland, everyone I’d dated had been out. I’d met family members, partied with friends, and known co-workers, even for short-lived relationships. This piece-on-the-side business was harder than I’d thought, and when I’d told him that this could be some down-low summer fun, I hadn’t really realized how difficult managing the two sides of our relationship—private and public—would be.
What was worse was how I’d thought fucking a few times with Nash would get him out of my system, but instead, he kept burrowing deeper under my skin, making me crave more and more, making me want impossible things.
“Well, that should do it.” Nash pocketed his camera. His eyes drifted over me, landing on my neck. He had to be remembering, too. His eyes flared—a quick flicker that stole some of that weariness. No, he wasn’t immune. The heat we’d shared earlier was still burning for him, too. My roiling gut settled a bit. “I’ll be back in a bit to drop off the power washer and some stripper. You be sure to call if there’s further trouble.”
I nodded along with the others, but my brain was spinning. I was still trying to deal with the realization that some asshole had it in for my business, was threatening my friends and customers, and jeopardizing our dreams. The powerlessness of knowing I couldn’t protect them made me need to lean against the building, draw strength from its old timbers. And that wasn’t the only worry. My heart trembled every bit as much as my jangly nerves. Yeah, there was trouble all right,
trouble with my head and my heart and all my conflicting emotions about this confounding man and my confusing life in this place that had never felt less like home.
Sixteen
Nash
“Your order.” Mason’s smile didn’t reach his eyes as he slid my plate in front of me. As was my habit by now, I’d come for a late lunch to a deserted tavern. However, any pleasure at seeing Mason was countered by how down he seemed. He’d been acting off ever since the latest vandalism at the tavern. We’d had a few more cooking lessons and another late-night massage date, but there was a melancholy about him all the sex didn’t seem able to shake loose.
“Sit,” I commanded. Ringer was off somewhere, and the cook was in the back. I enjoyed these moments when Mason could join me more than just about any other part of my day. Maybe if I said the right thing or made him laugh, I could turn his smile real again.
But Mason shook his head. “Can’t. I’ve got to run some food out to my dad’s before I need to be back for the dinner shift.”
Even more than the tavern, that family of Mason’s was going to run him ragged. Last time I’d been in for lunch, he’d had Lilac here again. I knew better than to say anything to him about it, though. By unspoken agreement, his family was completely off limits as a conversational topic, despite all the time we’d spent together. I picked up on enough—Francine was still gone, Jimmy was barely holding it together for the kid, and Mason was stretched thin, both financially and emotionally. I wished there was something I could do for him.
I lacked his skill at massage, cooking for him was out of the question—even if I’d moved past burning everything in sight, it would still be like doing a painting as a present for Picasso—and earth-shattering sex didn’t seem to be working to take the gloom out of his moods. Still, there had to be something I could do.
What about my own favorite way of resetting? There was a good chance he’d think it was stupid, but before I could talk myself out of it, I found myself asking, “What’s your next morning off?”
“We’re still rotating time off. Thursday I don’t have to be in until around three, but I could probably switch with Adam for a different day. Why?”
I smiled at him. “I’m working the whole weekend myself because it’s Holmes’s anniversary. Just so happens that Thursday’s my day off, too. I’ll pick you up at four thirty.”
“Wait. You’ll what? Four as in a.m., the middle of the night?” He gaped at me, and I laughed. This was going to be fun.
“It’ll be worth it.” I hope. “You’ll see. Wear old clothes you don’t mind getting muddy.”
“Muddy. We’re going outdoors? Together?” Mason’s head cocked to one side, giving him a puppy dog cuteness that my insides couldn’t help but warm to. When he was adorable like this, my arms literally ached from wanting to hold him and keep him near me, keep that cuteness all for myself.
“Yup.”
“You better be bringing the coffee.” He opened his mouth as if to say more then closed it when the cook stuck his head out from the kitchen.
“Mason? The meat delivery’s here.”
“Coming.” Mason’s voice was as weary as I’d ever heard it. Man, between the tavern and his family, the guy was in sore need of a break. I just hoped my little plan worked and didn’t make anything worse.
Mason
It was a sign of how far gone I was over Nash that I set my alarm for four-freaking-a.m. And for something outdoorsy, no less. Crawling out of bed, I pulled on old jeans and sneakers. I didn’t have hiking boots or anything like that. Adam was the outdoorsy one, not me, a holdover from my childhood allergies and asthma. Speaking of, I took an allergy pill and pocketed my inhaler just to be safe—didn’t need to start wheezing on Nash.
Despite it being July, the morning air had a definite bite to it, and I threw a flannel shirt over my grungy tee. There. I at least looked ready for whatever Nash had planned. Precisely at four thirty Nash’s old truck rolled up, and I hurried out to meet him.
“Your coffee, Sunshine.” He passed me a large thermos as I got in. “I doctored it up best I could for you—I know you like it sweet.”
“I do.” The street was deserted and still dark, so I risked a fast kiss. It wasn’t just the coffee that was sweet. Nash Flint was a far nicer person than most people gave him credit for. “So where are we headed?”
“If you’re still sleepy, you might hold off on the coffee. We’re driving about an hour to catch the Rogue River—little offshoot on an old school friend’s property. My favorite fishing spot in the world.”
“In the world, huh?” I smiled at him, despite myself. “You’re taking me to your secret place?”
“Guess you could say that.” Nash looked away. “Haven’t had a fishing buddy since…a long time.”
“I’ve never been fishing,” I admitted, trying to figure out a way to tell him how pleased I was that he was letting me in on this part of himself. Maybe this was a sign there were a few cracks forming in the hardened “chief of police” wall he’d built around his personal life.
“Not once?” Nash’s eyebrows went up as he turned onto the highway out of town. “Well, I brought spare waders and a pole for you. Did some lures for you last night, too.”
“You make your own lures?” I laughed. I was going to be such a disappointment for him.
“It’s relaxing.” His skin stayed pink, and I had a feeling that few people knew about this hobby.
“Oh. Like baking is for me.” I reached for the bag I’d grabbed on my way out of the house. “Speaking of, I brought some brioche buns and honey butter we had left over.”
“I packed some sandwiches, but I have a feeling your stuff is going to be more tasty.”
“You made me food?” My chest went all warm. He’d brewed my coffee the way I liked it, crafted me custom lures, and even thought to feed me. God, I hoped my clumsiness didn’t ruin the morning for Nash.
“Doesn’t take a degree to put ham and mustard on bread.” Nash gave my knee a fast pat. “It’s okay if you want to doze until we get there. I know I rolled you out way earlier than you’re used to. There’s my old stadium blanket down at your feet if you need it.”
Wow. He really had thought of everything. I wrapped the wool blanket around me, but it was Nash’s consideration that warmed me, made me feel safer and more secure than I had in weeks. Nash turned on a classic country station, volume low, and I drifted off to crooning about some man Patsy Cline couldn’t have.
“Okay, Mase, ready to walk?” Nash’s hand on my shoulder was gentle. I stretched and took in the canopy of trees surrounding the truck as Nash pulled to a stop. We were truly in the middle of nowhere. I’d been vaguely aware of us leaving the main road, bouncing down a gravel path to this small clearing. All around us, hills full of green trees welcomed the first tendrils of dawn.
I listened to Nash’s instructions for putting on the hip waders, which were more like rubber overalls only without much bib, and helped him cart the tackle boxes, poles, and food down a short path to the creek bank. The Rogue River proper was wide and deep, carving a path throughout southern Oregon. It was known for its rapids and whitewater, but this little offshoot was shallower and calmer, curving around an inlet of land lined with scrubby trees and bushes on both sides.
We set the tackle and food on a rocky outcropping along the bank. Nash had already picked the right rod and reel for me, and he proceeded to fiddle around with it, talking about tippets and leaders.
“Is this how it feels when I talk sautéing and chiffonade cuts?” I laughed, probably too heartily. I was never going to remember all the pointers he was giving me.
“Yup.” Nash didn’t seem to notice my worries about making a fool of myself, continuing to set up the rods. “Now, you always want your flies to match the hatch—you want ones that look like the bugs or baitfish around here. I’ve been coming to this spot for years, so I’ve got a good feel for what works. I like a nice streamer like this.” He indicated the teeny tin
y thing bobbing at the end of the line. I had no idea how his vision and hand-eye coordination were talented enough to craft that.
“I like streamers, too.” I waggled my eyebrows at him.
“Behave,” Nash said sternly. Evidently, he took his fishing very seriously. “We’re going to practice a basic cast here on the land before we get you into the water.”
“How’s the city’s health insurance?” I figured the chances of me accidentally beaning him with the rod were rather high.
“Worst that can happen is you get all tangled up. Lord knows I did as a kid. Now, watch me a few times.”
I stepped back to give him plenty of room.
“Your dad taught you how to fish?” “Granddad actually. Dad was never one for taking days off. But Granddad had a few spots outside town he loved, and he’d take me and Easton with him. Easton never had the patience for fish, but me, I really took to it.”
“I can tell. So the whole idea is to flick the line over the water?”
Nash gave me an arch look. “Bit more complicated than that, but yeah, that’s the gist of dry fly fishing. I also nymph—go in deep to get them where they feed.”
“There’s a joke there…”
“Should have known you’d like me going in deep.” He winked at me, and this whole enterprise got infinitely more fun with him teasing me as he demonstrated the basic cast over and over. It was weird, but I felt some of the tension of the last few weeks bleeding away—the vandalism, my family, worries about where this thing with Nash was headed. None of it mattered out here. The soft light of the dawn and the rustle of the trees, us the only humans for miles, the vast openness of the land, all chased those worries away. And other than eating at the tavern, this was the first real time we’d spent together where the prospect of sex wasn’t hovering over us. I liked it far more than I would have expected.
“Okay, your turn. Take it nice and slow, but confident.” He passed me my rod.
Trust with a Chaser (Rainbow Cove Book 1) Page 13
