by Willa Okati
Fitz waited, a shock of coiled tension at Nathan’s side.
“I’ve heard of you,” Chelle finally said.
“I imagine you have.”
“Chelle—” Nathan tried to interject.
“Nathan, stay out of this.” Chelle put her fists on her hips and gave Fitz an up-and-down, like scraping porcupine quills off a hide. Harsh, unforgiving—until she reached the pendant. There, she lingered, the hard line of her mouth softening and her lips parting. “Well.”
Fitz inclined his head to her.
Chelle glanced up, assessing Nathan in some feminine way he didn’t understand and was fairly certain he didn’t want to. She lingered long enough to make him fidget, and to draw Fitz closer with an arm around his waist.
“Hmm,” Chelle vocalised. She nodded. “All right, then.”
Wait. What? Nathan shouldered forward. “That’s it?”
Chelle cocked an eyebrow. “It shouldn’t be?”
“No—I mean, yes—” Nathan stopped. “Seriously. I did expect more. You’re the one who’s been telling me to—”
Chelle sighed. “Yes, I did tell you to get over him. Because you never did. Since that wasn’t going to happen, the next best thing would be his pulling his head out of his ass and getting back where he belongs. Here he is. And now there’s someone else around to knock sense into your head.” She rounded on Fitz. “But just so we’re clear? If you ever leave him again, I’ll run you down.”
“Do not fuck with strong women. Duly noted, and yes, ma’am.” Fitz bowed to her.
Chelle could recognise bait when she saw it. “Don’t call them ma’am either, until they’re June’s age,” she informed him, nibbling at the lure with all of them well aware of her play.
Nathan relaxed, tension once so familiar he hadn’t been aware of flowing away like melt-water. Fitz’s grin cracked the last of the ice. “Oh, I think I like you.”
“Jury’s still out on you,” she said. Though it wasn’t, and Nathan thought they all knew it. “You certainly took your sweet effing time.”
“Just enough time,” Nathan said. “It takes time. Sometimes.”
Chelle rolled her eyes at Fitz, inviting him to join in. “Eloquent, isn’t he?”
Fitz cocked his head, the old and the new overlaying one another. “He has his moments.”
“I’ll bet he does.” Chelle dropped a sheaf of papers, unnoticed before, on Nathan’s newly de-cluttered dining table. “Since I am a good, good person, I stopped by the med supply store as promised to get your weekly order. Prices go up, prices go down, and I had to make some substitutions.” She made a small, pleased sound. “I suppose I won’t have to see to this from now on. Come here, Fitz. I’ll walk you through it and you can start proving yourself by carrying everything inside.”
If there was one thing Fitz could do, it was prove himself.
Nathan knew Fitz knew he thought that, too. Fitz made it all easy. Or made it look easy. It just took practice.
Chelle didn’t miss a beat. Her smile softened, becoming more natural. No doubt she’d give Fitz righteous hell for weeks to come, but Nathan had a good feeling about the outcome.
He liked that. It’d been too long.
“You expect me to clean and to hump boxes?” Fitz raised an eyebrow. “I’ll do it, but I’ll take it out in trade on him.”
“Like he’d complain.” Chelle chuckled. “God, you really did get a wife, didn’t you?”
“Chelle—”
They ignored Nathan. He’d probably have a fair amount of that to deal with, too. It seemed no less fine to him.
“Sticks and stones,” Fitz said. “But you should be aware that I usually top.”
Okay, some things couldn’t be allowed to pass. Nathan dealt him a slap in payback and trade…and affection. “You switching liar.”
Fitz groaned. “In case no one’s ever told you, puns are never funny.”
“Yes, they are.” He silenced Fitz with a kiss that tasted of spearmint and a trace of sleep.
Behind him, Chelle stood shaking her head. “Good Lord.” She raised her paper cup. “To Ilse, wherever she is right now. May she stay there.”
“So say we all.” Fitz stole back his kiss and borrowed a nip into the bargain. “So, we have work to do?” He looked, for a moment, as bright and eager as the boy he might have been instead of the man he was, though Nathan loved the reality then no less than the reality now. Still. He wouldn’t mind seeing more.
“Work? You haven’t seen work yet.” He took Fitz’s hand and led him towards the table where Chelle had spread out lists and invoices. “Welcome to the country life. No rest for the wicked. Did I forget to mention?”
Fitz nudged him companionably. “You did, but don’t worry. I’ve got no problem with that, and I’ll remember what you need.”
Yes. He would. “Good.” Nathan drew in a clean breath of fine morning air. The weather had turned clear and cool, with neither rain nor ill winds on the way. A good day for smooth travels, with Fitz by his side. “Now. Starting Monday, we’ll take a route opposite the one we drove on Friday…”
Also available from Total-E-Bound Publishing:
Kingsoak
Willa Okati
Excerpt
Chapter One
“Hello there, handsome. What’s a nice guy like you doing in a place like this?”
Matthew looked up from his intricate work buckling the multiple small latches of the complicated weave of his leather bracelets. He ran his fingers over the inscribed designs, the leather dark against his fair skin, contrasting with the sprays of freckles on his slim arm . The bedroom light shone warm and golden as it fell across the doorway and illuminated his lover Gale, who leaned on his forearm against the door frame, his hip cocked. Edible, and he knows it, too.
Matthew’s cock twitched, interested. Of course, Gale had always had that effect on him. He knew what Gale was up to, employing his charms now, of course. He and Gale were meant to meet up with some pals, Horatio among others, sink a few bottles of beer and laze about in good company. Matthew knew Gale had no objections of a good time on the town, but would love nothing better than to walk in half an hour late with a love bite darkening into a bruise on his neck and his hair still mussed from sex, fucked to within an inch of his life and displaying the proof like peacock feathers.
Point required point. Matthew arched an eyebrow at Gale and returned his attention to his bracelet, hiding a smile. After a suitable span of time spent making Gale wait for it, Matthew cleared his throat. “So a nun, a wrestler and a flamer walk into a bar —”
“Oh, you think you’re funny, do you?” Gale pushed away from the doorway and pounced on Matthew at the end of his nimble stretch, wrapping Matthew up in his arms and nuzzling at his throat. Gale had magnificent arms, strong and flexible, and once they latched on they’d never let go until their owner had had his way.
Matthew decided he didn’t mind a bit. He surrendered with a small, happy moan, letting Gale push him against the dresser. Gale knocked Matthew’s legs further apart with his knee, and inserted one taut thigh between both of Matthew’s. He leaned his weight forward and, not incidentally, discovered how much Matthew didn’t mind. “Happy to see me, sailor?” Gale inquired wickedly, rocking his thigh up and across the firmness of Matthew’s rising erection. “Want to buy me a drink?”
Matthew twined his arms around Gale’s neck and carded his fingers through Gale’s hair, tugging at the short spikes. “I’d planned on it. Someone said something about going out for beer with the guys tonight.”
“The guys,” Gale informed him, reaching for the hem of Matthew’s light sweater, “can damn well wait, and they will, too, if they know what’s good for them.”
“When your cock speaks, everyone listens, hmm?”
“Don’t try to be poetic, love, it doesn’t suit you.” Gale pushed his hand beneath the sweater and splayed his cool fingers out over Matthew’s stomach, which contracted from the chill. Matthew hissed, p
ushing up into the touch, wanting more. His swelling cock bumped firmly into Gale’s. His head fell back, exposing his throat.
Gale immediately seized upon the vulnerable spot. “Mmm, you smell good,” he murmured, delicately licking a path up the line of Matthew’s neck and biting the shell of his ear. “Wonder if you taste as good?” he queried upon reaching Matthew’s mouth. He took a brief taste, tongue flickering over Matthew’s lips, and hummed in satisfaction. “I see you do.”
Matthew’s breath had already grown ragged with arousal, but he had presence of mind enough to grab Gale’s hand and move it away from his chest, then to draw it slowly and inexorably down to rest over his groin, moulding Gale’s fingers around his swollen cock.
Gale tilted his head, the very devil’s gleam in his eye, and massaged the hardness filling his palm. “Someone’s horny.”
“Someone is,” Matthew replied, brazen, bucking into Gale’s hand. “Are you going to do anything about it?”
Gale looked first impressed, then proud. He kissed Matthew fast and hard, breaking away to approve of him in his low, sexual purr. “Every inch of you a proper man,” he murmured, “And every inch of that is mine, yeah?”
“Yeah.” Matthew tugged at Gale’s hair. “All yours.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” Gale rewarded Matthew by snapping open the button fly of Matthew’s jeans. He tickled underneath each button as he opened it, his pace irritatingly slow. He loved to make Matthew break and beg for it, and he was extremely skilled at driving Matthew to that breaking point every single time. Maddening, amazing man.
“What do you want, love?” Gale asked, biting the shell of Matthew’s ear. “You have to say it.”
Matthew rolled his hips. “What do you think?”
“Ah-ah-ah.” Gale dragged the rough callus of his thumb over the slickness at the head of Matthew’s cock. Matthew drew together enough self-awareness to look down, greedy for the sight of his engorged purple flesh slipping through Gale’s hand, Gale jacking him slowly, teasing him with not enough but the promise of more. “God, that’s hot,” he hissed.
“If you want more…” Gale goaded.
“I want more.” Matthew gave in without a qualm, not in the mood to wait or spin out the game. He wrapped his hand around Gale’s, lacing their fingers together as he groaned, infatuated with the doubled pressure and the roughness of Gale’s skin compared to his.
He reached for Gale next, burning with the urge to get Gale’s cock in his own hand. To weigh the heaviness in his palm and measure the length with his fingers. Or to taste. His mouth watered, anticipating the flavour. “How about I suck you off?” Matthew suggested, his eyelids too heavy to keep fully open and his lips parted after the words rolled away from them.
Gale chuckled, proud of himself, and rightly so. “Not worrying about being late anymore?”
“Not at all.” Matthew jerked open Gale’s jeans and pushed his hand inside. “What do I want? I want you to fuck me.”
Gale stopped abruptly, breathless for a moment. “You never stop surprising me,” he said, awed. “All right, then, love.” He squeezed, then slapped Matthew’s ass. “Assume the position.”
“Ever the romantic.”
“You’ve no reason to complain in that department. Hush now, and do as I say.” Gale lowered his face to Matthew’s shoulder, bit the rounded cap, then withdrew his hands and seized Matthew, turning him around.
Matthew gladly let himself be manhandled and slapped his hands down on the dresser. “Like this?” he asked, struggling for words.
Cool air hit Matthew’s ass as Gale dragged his jeans down. “Exactly like that,” Gale approved. “This is the way lovers ought to be.”
And to think, Matthew reminded himself, hissing with the pleasure of Gale’s forefinger circling his nether opening, I almost threw it all away…
* * * *
One Year Earlier
Nine times out of ten, Matthew would openly admit he didn’t know anything about cars. He’d missed the auto mechanic gene somewhere along the way. He didn’t mind being ignorant if it meant he had to take his car to Tony’s, where he could read a newspaper on a hard plastic chair and chat with the guys in the engine bays, entertaining fantasies about hard-muscled backs and taut asses flexing under coveralls, or hands smeared with grease and rough from hard work gliding over his naked body.
The same nine times out of ten, Matthew didn’t mind his car ignorance. Right now, he couldn’t deny that the rattle-rattle-clunk-clank-wheeze his engine emitted didn’t sound good, and for once in his life he gritted his teeth and wished for both a monkey wrench and the knowledge of how to use it.
Half a mile out of Kingsoak was nowhere anyone sane wanted to break down, and after a day like the one Matthew had had, he didn’t feel any too sane, full stop. Zero times out of ten would Matthew want to be stuck there.
Kingsoak was dangerous, so far on the wrong side of the tracks it almost went off the map. Matthew had heard dark stories about what went on there, enough to keep him warily on guard. ’Not a good place to go after dark’ didn’t cover the half of it…although, now that he thought about it, no one ever really went on to finish that thought, did they? Too horrible to think about, or did no one know the truth?
Matthew didn’t think he was up to braving finding out for himself.
Matthew's car made the choice for him. The engine chose that moment to deliver a pitiful grinding whine, sputter, and cut out completely. Grey smoke wafted in wisps from under the hood, seeping out the sides.
Matthew drummed a light, frustrated, slightly panicked rhythm on the steering wheel. Okay, he told himself. Gotta keep my cool. Getting stuck isn’t the best thing that could happen to a guy, but it could easily be a lot worse. I’ve got a cell phone, I’ve got triple-A, and I’ve got cash.
He dug his wallet out and flipped open the worn-shiny tri-fold leather.
He stared at the empty interior. In a cartoon, butterflies would have fluttered out in silent mockery. I had over two hundred dollars in there. What…?
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Matthew muttered, checking the floorboard, under the gas petals, and under the driver’s seat. He found sixty-three cents in assorted loose change, one pristine condom packet, and three milkshake parlour drive-through napkins. “You’re not kidding me.”
Matthew ran a hand through his hair and exhaled heavily, thinking. What are my options? One, get out of the car, walk around, and see if I can find an ATM.
Two…okay, there isn’t a two.
Buck up. What’s the worst that could happen?
A heavy thump on the roof of Matthew’s car startled him into dropping his wallet. So sunk in his own quandary, he hadn’t heard anyone approaching. Ohh, that was stupid, he thought, his heart in his throat.
Looking out the window, Matthew was just in time to see a second man lean heavily on the hood of his car, thick arms crossed and stocking cap pulled low, smirking at him.
“Car trouble, pretty boy?” the second tough taunted. “Why’nt you get out of the car and let us give you a hand, huh?”
No way in heaven or in hell. Matthew fumbled for his cell and held it up, hand shaking. “I have a phone, and I’ll call the cops.”
“That a fact? You don’t need to call anyone. We got you. Put the phone down.” The thug leered at Matthew.
Matthew tried the horn, which produced only the most pitiable, wheezing squeak he’d ever heard.
The thugs laughed. “You’re out of your territory, pretty boy. No one around here cares. Now how about you get out of the car and let us take care of you?”
I am not going to die here. Matthew’s mind whirred, coming up with a plan that sounded suicidal, but…maybe, maybe…
He pretended to start to roll down his window, thankful for the manual crank, then hurled himself at the passenger side door. The door opened with a mighty creak. Matthew scrambled out, running as fast as he could.
Before the toughs recovered from their shock
and got it together enough to come after him—Matthew hoped—he hurled his empty wallet in their direction to distract them, and without waiting to see if it had worked, took off on foot in the opposite direction.
Matthew ran until his chest hurt, not stopping though he knew right away he’d chosen the worst possible direction to head in, and was diving deep into the inner labyrinth of Kingsoak with no phone, no money, no car, and no one to turn to. It couldn’t get worse than this.
Despairing, Matthew wondered what on earth he’d done to turn Murphy’s Law so viciously on his head. He was a good man, or tried to be. A good employee with exemplary records, scholarly papers, and an impressive resume in his job as junior curator at the modern art museum. He mentored college students in search of their undergraduate degrees in the fine arts BFA’s, paid his taxes, gave to charity, treated his boyfriends with respect and courtesy, turned the other cheek, and would have helped little old ladies across the street if he’d ever had a chance.
Tonight, though, he’d gotten a brown envelope from the IRS, an email inbox full of spam requests for assistance, and his boyfriend had not showed at the bar for their anniversary, leaving Matthew with an empty apartment and no food in the cupboard because he’d been so busy working overtime that he rarely remembered to go grocery shopping.
Rebellion burned bright within Matthew, pushing him dangerously close to an edge he hadn’t known he treaded. I’ve broken my back to be a good, upright, decent, law-abiding kind of guy, and this is where it gets me. Kingsoak.
Fine. You know what? I quit. Just for one night, I want to see if it’s true that bad boys do have more fun. After this, what’s the worst that could happen? They can’t steal my wallet.
Kingsoak. I want to see what it’s all about. If I make it until tomorrow, if I get out alive, then I’ll have at least one good memory to look back on in my life.
