Finding Refuge

by J. P. Oliver

  “We could make French toast,” he offered.

  I let out a little laugh. “Breakfast for dinner?”

  “Yeah, why not? You’ve got bread, right?”

  “Yes, I have bread.”

  Zach grinned, dimples out. He reached in and took out the eggs and milk. It was stupid and ridiculous, but making dinner together wasn’t as awkward as I thought it’d be. He got to whipping up the batter and I got the bread out. The pan was buttered up and I started dipping and toasting the bread.

  Zach propped himself against the counter, watching.

  “Where’d you wander off to again?” I asked, glancing up from the pan. “See your Uncle Anthony, right?”

  “Yeah. I stopped by and talked to him about this whole mess with Edward Morris and the developers.”

  “Oh?”

  “He said the guy’s working for Winston.”

  I paused, because Jesus, that was a bombshell.

  “Oh.”

  Zach crossed his arms, serious. “My thoughts exactly.”

  “What the hell is he buying land up for? Is he really gonna build a hospital here?” I flipped the bread over, and the butter sizzled noisily. “It’s not like he gives a shit about North Creek.”

  “I’m sure it’s just to compete with my brother. The whole family.” Zach shook his head, clearly bothered. Who wouldn’t be?

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  His head snapped up. “Why?”

  “It’s just a fucked-up situation.”

  Zach hummed. “Not your fault. I just wish there was a way to stop it. Legally, there’s not much to do, and Winston’s company already owns that two-hundred acres. They can build as soon as the zoning goes through with the county. It’s only a matter of time before he pushes the rest of us out.”

  “Mm—here.”

  I gestured for him to grab the plates and fixings—syrup and butter and confectioner’s sugar for a little something-something. Once everything was plated, we went to eat at the coffee table.

  “The town has too much history,” I muttered, stabbing at a piece of toast. “He can’t just come in here and sweep all that shit away. I mean your family was basically formed here, and that was historic, to say the least.”

  “Tell me about it,” Zach said. “Two families become one.”

  Two families become one was practically the tagline to the Savage-Cross family history. It wasn’t always just as simple as the Savage family—Zach and all the other people I cared about only existed because the Savage-Cross family came first, way back in the 1920s, when North Creek was in its criminal heyday. On a very fateful night nearly one hundred years ago, a woman named Martha Cross moseyed into a speakeasy and met a man named John Savage.

  Boy meets girl; a classic love story.

  Except not exactly.

  “Back then, your family ran North Creek more than they do now,” I teased. “Y’all were crazy back then.”

  Zach grinned. “I know. The stories we heard were wild growing up.”

  “And very romanticized.”

  “What?” he asked. “You don’t think being a bootlegger and owning half the mountain during Prohibition times wouldn’t have been a ton of fun?”

  “Yes, I became a doctor because I love to live on the wild side.”

  We shot each other playful, chastising looks.

  That much about the Savage family was true: the Savages back then owned most of the land around North Creek and ran alcohol when it was against the law. Supplied speakeasies, that whole thing. Some rumors even say they had ties to the local gangster family in town, the Crosses, but no historian is very sure on how involved they were.

  Martha was the youngest and only daughter of the Cross children. John was the oldest of the Savages—not unlike Victor, actually, because he ran the distillery, except it was illegal back then. She was spoiled and wealthy. He was protective and rough-and-tumble.

  Eventually, though, she fell in love with him, but that part of the story differed depending on who in the family was telling it.

  One thing was for sure, though: they fell in love, and fell hard, and made a family together.

  “You’re like a little piece of history,” I said. “We should frame you. Put you up in town hall or something.”

  Zach laughed, covering his mouth. I relaxed back against the couch, letting my eyes linger just a bit longer on his smile where I could see it.

  This was uncomfortably comfortable. We were younger then, but slowly, as the conversation flowed and we picked at our breakfast-for-dinner, things felt a little easier. Familiar. Comfortable. Almost like it had been when we were actually together.

  My chest felt warm. All of me was relaxing slowly.

  The brooding hesitation he had when we first met at his little family reunion was gone now. He didn’t look like he was about to pop a blood vessel. In fact, Zach actually looked like he was having fun.

  Those walls of his were lowering slowly.

  “That’d be something to see,” he agreed. “I’m sure Beth’d show up and tap the glass every fucking day just to annoy me.”

  “Well, you’re easy to annoy,” I said. “And too fun to not pick on.”

  “Excuse you,” he said, nudging my leg with his foot. “I always knew you were a little more sadistic than you let on.”

  I shot him a look. “That’s why I became a doctor. Inflict pain on all my patients.”

  “You’re sick,” he laughed.

  “I know, I know.” With a grin, I joked, “Maybe I’ll be responsible for the first big murder here since your great-grandpa, huh?”

  Zach snorted. “Maybe.”

  That was the most well-known piece of Savage-Cross family history. Or maybe it would be better to call it a drama. John’s father, John, Sr., was as hard and mean as they came back then. He’d even gone so far as killing a man and stuffing his body in the family distillery. Or, so the story goes.

  “Hey, that’s pretty historic, right?” I said, half-serious. “Maybe even big enough to make the town a historical landmark. For people who are into gangster shit, at least.”

  “That’s—”

  I looked up at Zach as he paused, setting his plate down. “What?”

  “That’s actually kind of brilliant.”

  My brows knit together. “Huh?”

  “We could use my family’s ties to the town to research,” he said, spitballing. “I mean, that murder was historic, in a way, right? I’m sure there are answers here in town.”

  I hummed, cheek resting against the back of the couch. “That’s true. A lot of the buildings around here are older than your great-grandparents. I mean, The Speakeasy’s practically been the same for the past, like, hundred years.”

  “And,” Zach added, “Speakeasy and the hotel are both on the sections of land Winston wants.”

  I could see the wheels turning in his head, the gears spinning, all of it telling him that stopping his brother might actually not be as hopeless an endeavor as it seemed.

  “I should talk to my parents,” he said, “and my uncles. Maybe it’s enough. To make North Creek a historical town, and—”

  “Make sure it’s untouchable to any outsiders,” I finished, sitting up to match the quiet beam of motivation in his expression. “I’ll help however I can.”

  He exhaled, smiling sweetly.

  My eyes flickered to it, to his dimples. Did he still taste the same?

  “Thank you,” they formed, before they were pressing in against mine.

  I froze. He froze.

  Our lips broke apart with a gentle noise, eyes wide as we looked at one another. I didn’t move away—I couldn’t move away. It felt so… natural. Like we were still together, like there wasn’t a ten-year gap between this kiss and our last.

  I swallowed audibly, taking in a breath to say something—

  Before I pressed in, hand on the back of his neck, and kissed him again.

  I braced for him to push away, but he didn’t; Zach t
ouched my waist and angled his head to deepen the kiss, the appreciative peck melting into something more sensual. I felt his lips part underneath mine, the wetness of his mouth opening, and I flicked my tongue experimentally into it.

  When Zach sighed, I could hear it as much as I felt it. The sensation, so simple, had me shivering in my button-up. Our foreheads pressed together as I turned my body inwards. Facing him. His hand traveled over my stomach, up my chest, smoothing; remembering.

  “Zach,” I said, just because—because.

  He sighed again, a sweet exhalation, and kissed me deep and slow.

  I forgot just how good a kisser he was. How could I let myself forget the slow pull of his lips, suctioning gently, the pull of them, the taste of him? It was so good and it was just a simple kiss. I’d fucked other men since him, so why did I suddenly feel that exciting, first-time flush in my body?

  My fingers threaded into his hair, pulling him closer. I was angling to get him on top of me, to pull him down on top of me on the sofa, but he had other ideas. With a strong hand, he gripped my hip and turned his body, maneuvering me. I wasn’t small, but, hey, I guess the SEALs liked to keep their guys jacked.

  In a few seconds flat, Zach had me straddling his thighs.

  We were both breathing hard.

  My skin felt like it was alive, thrumming, vibrating.

  “You taste like maple syrup,” he murmured.

  My lips split into a grin as he kissed me. Playfully, hotly, I let my tongue skim along his in his mouth, sucking gently on his bottom lip as I drew away. He groaned, my nerves buzzing at the sound. God, he sounded so fucking good. Sexy as hell. This wasn’t the idiot I’d fooled around with all those times in high school. Zach was a man now—we both were.

  I reached down between our bodies, tugging his shirt out of his jeans at the front. When it was completely untucked, I looked up at him and saw the heat that made up his eyes, boiling blue.

  Wordlessly, I tugged his shirt over his head, letting my hands appraise the stretch of skin and muscle. He was warm under his shirt, all smooth and hard.

  I dipped my head, pressing slow, open kisses to his neck, suckling gently.

  One of his hands wove up into my brown curls while the other mirrored what I’d done, pulling my shirt from my work pants. Once enough was freed, he slid his hand inside, firm digits fingering the notches of my spine.

  I huffed, soft and audible.

  It was almost a whine; I knew he could make me whine, if he really wanted to. Already, I was half-hard for him. I’m sure whatever he wanted to do with me, I’d enjoy.

  “They take care of you in Virginia, don’t they?” I murmured, head dipping to mouth over his pecs.

  Zach leaned back against the cushion, making a noise of approval as I kissed down his torso, just shy of his nipple—I wanted to let my tongue swirl around it, but the angle….

  “I take care of myself,” he murmured back.

  I looked up at him. “I haven’t done this in a while.”

  His lips played at a smile. Slowly, he leaned in for another kiss and he began to unbutton my shirt.

  There was nothing quite like the thrill of being naked in front of someone. Even though we both still had our pants on, I felt the cool air on my bare chest, and the slid of skin-on-skin as our chests pressed together, the rush indescribable. It was vulnerable and sexy, to know who I was letting undo me, strip me; to know it was Zach I was putting my trust in

  The shock of realizing it was a bittersweet admission. I did trust Zach, as much as I knew I shouldn’t, I still did.

  There was an imperceptible shift as we made out, where just making out became a bridge to something else. This wasn’t high school. This wasn’t even young adulthood anymore. We were both men with desires—that was becoming very obvious, the long outline of his cock present against the back of my thigh—and there was no shame in acting on it. We both felt it simultaneously: the need for it.

  “Zach,” I said again.

  I could have said it a hundred times, just because I was suddenly allowed to.

  “Curtis,” he answered back.

  I felt on fire. I felt good. I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time: sexy.

  With a tilt of my head, I slid lower on his thighs, spreading my legs to give myself the space to dip my head down and press another kiss to his chest. This time, I let my mouth wander to his nipple, and—

  Zach hissed, eyes shutting as I flicked one with my tongue.

  Yup. Still sensitive.

  “You haven’t changed,” I chuckled.

  Zach grinned. “Shut up.”

  I sucked his nipple into my mouth, tongue swirling around it before repeating it on the other, except this time with teeth. His hand crushed in my hair at the sharp tug I gave him, a hot breath escaping him in what was so close to a moan.

  “Your voice is better, though,” I told him.

  Those baby blues cracked open, peering down at me, heady.

  I was drunk off of him. I wanted to be wasted.

  “Come up here,” he said.

  And I did.

  We collided as he pulled me in for a rougher, needier kiss.

  What was once slow-moving and sensual was kicking up, like a train out of control, smoothing through the station and then bursting down the tracks. His hands wandered down my bare back, feeling, kneading down over the curve of my ass. Through the fabric, his touch was steady. I wanted to be stripped. To feel it on my naked skin.

  Zach maneuvered me down onto my back with a graceless flop. I didn’t care. I flung my arms around his neck and pulled him down to kiss him again. Blindly, I felt my button pop open; the slide of the zipper and his hand palming over my cock for the first time in earnest, strong fingers drawing shivers in their wake.

  “Take it out,” I huffed.

  Zach answered with a soft groan, yanking my pants and my boxers down to my knees. I kicked them the rest of the way off, missing his lips on my own as they trailed down my chest in a heedless trail.

  He pushed my legs apart with steady hands. Kissed and thumbed the juncture of my hip and torso, getting closer, closer, closer. He hummed against my skin and I felt the vibrations just shy of where I needed them to be.

  “Zach—”

  “God, hearing you say it,” he panted, hand wrapping around my cock in earnest. My hips twitched off the sofa as he pursed his lips above the tip, letting spit drip languidly over it.

  The ache in my abdomen was growing tenser, relieved only when he began to work me over, slick and sliding from his own saliva. I whimpered, hand covering my mouth.

  “No.”

  I looked up at Zach, who was watching me intently. He squeezed his hand tighter, watching as I screwed my eyes shut.

  “I want to hear you,” he said. “Don’t make me wait to hear you longer than I already have, Curtis.”

  My hand lifted and I choked out a small gasp as he bowed his head and sucked the tip teasingly. He never took me in fully—I suspected that he was teasing me, drawing it out as long as he could—but Zach had gotten even better with his tongue since we were last together. It took every inch of will I had not to cant up into his mouth and fuck myself to completion.

  I couldn’t spoil it so soon—not when I wanted him to do the fucking.

  I gasped suddenly, sitting upright.

  “Shit—”

  “What?” Zach’s mouth popped off of me, eyes wide, alert.

  I laughed at the expression—like someone just told him the house was on fire. I calmed him with a kiss, groaning against the mixed taste of his mouth: something distinctly him and something distinctly me. We made a good match; we tasted good.

  “I left the stove on.”

  “Leave it,” he said, hand returning to my cock.

  God, it felt good to be touched by him—but I nudged his hand away gently with apologetic eyes. “I’ll be right back.”

  Zach sighed but let me go, watching as I went quickly to the stove in the kitchen and shu
t off the burner; that could have been a close call. I felt weird, standing in the middle of my kitchen, ass-naked and cock erect.

  You’re going to have sex with Zach Savage.

  It was a stark reminder. My already racing heart beat just a little faster knowing that this was happening. This was happening again, and I wasn’t sure how to deal with it. All I knew was that I wanted it. Wanted him still.

  I didn’t know how serious he was about me, but that was something for later. Right now, I was hard. Right now—I lingered at the threshold of the living room, watching as Zach stepped out of his jeans and boxers—Zach was also hard, just from making out.

  My eyes stuck themselves to his cock. It was big. Not unbearably thick, but enough that I’d definitely feel full up with him inside. The thought was exciting. I liked the feeling.

  “You just gonna stand there?” he asked. “Or are you gonna let me kiss you again?”

  My eyes snapped up to his. He smiled. Those dimples.

  He had me in his arms the next minute, and for that minute, we just stood there, consumed in one another, kissing. It was simple. Almost innocent. Nothing to be ashamed of. But the lust was seeping back in again, like water sinking a boat.

  “I want you,” I whispered between heated presses of our mouths.

  He hummed and broke the kiss. “Do you have anything?”

  Lube. Right. Duh.

  I nodded. “Upstairs.”

  I took his hand and brought him to my bedroom. The queen bed was big enough for two, and I was excited to make use of the space for once. Maybe, my soaring heart wondered, he would even stay the night.

  “This all right?” I asked, hoping it wasn’t too vanilla—how did he even like it anymore? We were both so different now….

  “Yeah,” he hummed. “I prefer it like this. Easier on my leg.”

  From the depths of my nightstand, I tossed him the lube. He caught it effortlessly and crawled onto the bed with me, angling his head to get a look at the drawer.

  “What else you got in there?” he asked.

  I flushed, pulling him over me. “Nothing you need to be concerned about.”

  “Oh?” he asked, grinning. “That means there’s definitely something bad in there….”

  “Maybe. Go ahead and look.”