Trust Goes Both Ways (Third Time Lucky #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter one

Grady

Lake: Do you want me to pick up dinner on my way home?

Grady: Not if your idea of dinner is grease and salt.

Lake: That hurts.

Lake: Fish and chips?

Grady: That’s literally the definition of grease and salt.

Lake: Is that a no?

Grady: Lake

Lake: I love you

I brace myself for the inevitable smell of fish and chips to hit my nose as I push open the front door of the house that I share with my fiancé, Lake.

I don’t like having it half as often as Lake does.

It’s greasy, terrible for arteries, and it stinks the entire house up, taking days to dissipate.

I want to burn every fish-and-chip shop in Sydney to the ground in a coordinated arson attack.

I can smell something. Not the greasy telltale smell, though.

Fuck, whatever it is, it better be edible.

It’s been a long day, I have zero energy, and what I have left I want to spend getting naked with Lake, not finding something to eat that isn’t shit.

There might be some eggs, cheese, and cream in the fridge for some scrambled eggs on sourdough bread.

Anything more complicated than that is getting thrown out the window.

The front one, so even the dog can’t eat it.

We get to suffer together, like a real family.

Hades comes swinging around the corner, and I snap the front door closed so he can’t sneak past me. His tail wags madly, his three legs slipping on the floorboards in his excitement. Hard to be in a foul mood when someone’s this excited to see me.

I spend a long moment giving him attention and getting slobbered on in exchange for my efforts. My next problem isn’t so easily fixed.

Why isn’t Lake here to greet me? Do I want to know? Absolutely not.

“Lake?”

He isn’t in the kitchen. There’s an empty plastic bag that smells vaguely like burgers. An afternoon snack for Lake or dinner?

“Lake?” Did he get himself stuck somewhere again?

“In here!”

The word “help” isn’t accompanying the words; it’s a hopeful sign.

He’s not in the bedroom. Or the laundry room. Or the—I stop short in the bathroom doorway. Fucking hell, what happened to our bathroom? It looks like someone put C-4 in here and went to town.

“What are you doing?” I ask, exasperated.

Lake smiles up at me from where he’s spread out on the floor, one leg under him and the other stretched to the side.

He’s surrounded by tools, a porcelain sink—our porcelain sink that should be on the vanity, not on the floor—and the remains of said wooden vanity.

Tiling that should be on the wall is also around him, like he’s a mosaic art piece.

A stunning one, granted, but I’d prefer if the rest of the artwork didn’t include pieces of our bathroom.

“I saw this thing on Pinterest for renovating a bathroom, and we were talking about upgrading it because let’s face it, it looks like the 70s threw up in here, and I wanted to try it.”

Separately, all those words make sense. Together, they make me want to smack my head into the wall until I forget what our bathroom currently looks like.

“How long have you been home?” I’m sure it’s not that late. A discreet check of the time confirms that no, I actually managed to leave relatively on time today. Since I’ve been with Lake, I try my best because I have something worth coming home to.

“Uh… about thirty minutes?”

Zero surprise that he’s managed this kind of damage in such a relatively short amount of time. It’s a skill, and he’s a master. Our poor bathroom is the victim in this crime. I don’t even need to be a detective to work out the criminal.

Rapping my knuckles on the doorframe, I move into the room, careful not to step on anything and irreparably break it. As it is, everything should fit back together relatively okay. “Can I see it?”

Lake blinks adorably at me, his hazel-brown eyes big and way too innocent, considering the destruction he’s wrought. “See what?”

“Where you got the idea.” I need to see what I’m working with. And whether we restore the bathroom back to its original glory or… continue with this crazy plan and do whatever Lake wants to do. I have a terrible feeling I already know which direction we’re going in, regardless.

“Oh.” He glances around, moves some pieces of wood and a hammer—Christ, where did he even find that?—and then slides his phone out from behind the sink. It has a light layer of white dust. “Here!”

The pictures are nicer than I’d braced myself for.

Elegant without being gaudy. If it had been bright yellow with ducks and a singing dinosaur, I’d just go with it.

This is more pleasant and won’t mean going against my better judgement.

There’s a simplicity to it that doesn’t just involve a boring black-and-white colour scheme.

A standing tub and a long, floating black cupboard with two sinks in the vanity.

The mirror spans both, and I can see two clips in the middle that tells me it opens too.

Our bathroom’s a completely different size, so it won’t work at all the way it looks. We’ll have to sit down and map it out.

“You don’t think we should have talked about this first?”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

Sweet and terrifying all at the same time. “In half an hour?”

“Maybe I didn’t think it through?”

Maybe. Understatement of the year. “Were there instructions for it and a list of materials?” I ask, handing his phone back. I’m hoping for something that suggests there’s some kind of plan here. Winging a bathroom renovation isn’t a good idea.

“Uh… no? I mean, I don’t think so. I didn’t get that far. Let me check.” The tip of his tongue peeks out between his lips as he scrolls, staring intently at the screen. It’s enough of a vision to distract me from my questioning. It’s been too long since I tasted those lips.

“It doesn’t look like it,” Lake says, giving me a lopsided grin.

Of course. Lake saw the picture and instantly started pulling up our bathroom. That tracks, unfortunately. At least the shower is intact, and the toilet is separate. Hopefully, he didn’t start there.

“I’m hungry.” He takes my hand when I offer it, and in seconds, he’s on his feet and in my arms. “Why don’t we eat and then talk about it?”

His gaze sticks to my lips, and he doesn’t answer for a few seconds. “Sure,” he says absently. “I think it’s in the oven.” He tilts his head, silently seeking.

“You think?” I ask, amusement lacing my tone. His hands fist my shirt when I lean down, just a little. Still out of reach, but closer now.

“Pretty sure. To keep warm. I couldn’t remember if you said what time you’d be home.”

Our lips brush, and his sharp inhale goes straight to my dick. “Is that why you thought you’d have time to renovate an entire bathroom before I got home?”

His eyes flutter closed. “Uh. I have the right to remain silent.” He tries to pull me down to complete the kiss, but I don’t let him.

“Do you?” He’s never once exercised that right.

He tilts his head and lifts up on his toes, lips grazing the corner of my mouth. Close; not close enough. “There are other things I can do with my mouth that I think you’ll like better.”

“Yeah?” I’m not a strong-enough man to keep resisting this kind of temptation.

The second his mouth presses to mine properly, I cup his nape and angle his head with my thumb against his jaw.

He moans and gives me exactly what I want, going pliant in my arms even as he twines his around my shoulders and lifts himself up.

It forces me to take hold of his thighs and haul him up so that he can hook his legs over my hips.

Not that I’m complaining about the new position.

Staggering backwards and out of the danger zone, I push him against the wall beside the bathroom door. I’d rather not slip and kill us both, not when my dick is trying to burst out of my pants.

“Are we having sex?” Lake asks, gasping and arching his throat.

It gives me more room to run my lips across it, kissing all the way up to his jaw.

“Or eating? Sexy eating. Food and sex. That’s a thing, right?

You taste like food.” The last word turns into more of a moan when I roll my hips against him.

I can’t taste like anything. I haven’t eaten in hours. Maybe spearmint from the breath mints I keep in the car.

I make sure he’s securely sandwiched between my thighs and the wall before I reach between us and tug at the button and zipper of his jeans.

Too bad he’s not in his camo anymore; I love wrecking him while he’s still in full uniform.

I’ve even convinced him to wear his dog tags a few times.

They spent most of the time in his mouth, his screams muffled.

“You’re a really good burger. Or the last crunchy chip.” Lake’s breath hitches when my hand finally makes contact with his hard cock. This is what I’ve been thinking about all day, and I need to get my lips around it. “A taco,” Lake whispers conspiratorially. “You’re a taco.”

“Only good for Tuesdays?” I’m only half listening, my mind on more important things.

Like pushing Lake’s shirt up so that I can get to his chest. Is he wearing—yes.

Perfect. Hooking the hem of the shirt in Lake’s necklace keeps it in place so I can kiss across Lake’s chest and flick his nipple with my tongue.

Lake moans and buries his fingers in my hair, twisting the strands to an almost painful degree. “Crunchy on the outside,” he says huskily. “Gooey in the middle, and messy. And you’re spicy. And if I spill the insides, I can make a second one with them.”

That one makes me pause. What the hell is he talking about?

Never mind. I don’t care enough to ask; I have better things to do.

In one swift move, I lower him to his feet and get to my knees.

It puts me at the perfect height to press my forehead against his stomach.

His arms twine further around my head, keeping me in place.

“Can we have tacos on Tuesday?”

“Sure.” I have no idea what he just asked.

It doesn’t matter; whatever he wants, he can have it.

Pulling his jeans and briefs down to the floor, Lake barely kicks them away before I get my mouth on his dick.

His heaviness glides across my tongue, his musky scent invading.

A shudder runs through me, and my own cock throbs in my pants, demanding attention. Not yet. I’m not finished here.

Lake’s fingers tighten in my hair, and he pushes his hips forward. “This is better than tacos,” he moans. He squirms and hooks his leg over my shoulder in a move that should have been awkward, but he makes it look natural.

If this isn’t better than tacos, I’m doing something wrong. I’m not even a fan of the food; my sexual skills don’t come second place to them. Lake can at least pick a good food if he’s gonna put it above me. One that’ll fill a person up, not leave them wanting.

I never leave him wanting.

Pre-cum leaks out when I suckle on the head, and I flick my tongue over the slit, lapping up all of the bitter sweetness. Lake’s heel digs into my upper back, pulling me closer, his babbling devolving into nothing but loud noises and begging. Exactly where I like him.

“Please. Yes. I need—I need—” Lake whimpers and rotates his hips, trying to fuck into my mouth. A hand on his hip stops that nonsense. He’ll take what I give him, and he’ll fucking love it.

His groan is pure frustration when I pull off. “Why’d you stop?”

“Do you need something, baby?”

“I need your—I need you in me.”

Smirking, I mouth the side of Lake’s length and shift my arm under his thigh.

The leg over my shoulder makes it easier for me to get to his ass.

His hole is tight and firm under my finger, fighting against me when I try to push in.

The angle is a bit of a struggle, but I push up his thigh enough to get my mouth there, licking enough to wet him so I can slide right in.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck. That. There.”

“Like this?” A second finger is a bit tighter, but Lake doesn’t seem to mind.

“Yeah, just like that,” Lake breathes out. “More.”

As if I can say no to a demand like that. I swallow down his cock again, fingering him slowly while he squirms on me, like he can’t decide if he wants to push forward or back.

When I find the perfect nub inside him, he cries out, tensing and relaxing all at the same time, cradling me to him until it feels like there’s nothing separating us, like we’re melding into each other. “Rightthererighttherepleasepleaseplease.”

He’s close, I can hear it, I can taste it. All it takes is me swallowing around his head. He screams, hips arching, his cock pushing further into my mouth as it’s filled with his cum.

The way Lake enjoys everything we do together is heady, like he’s hungry all the time, and I’m the only one that can satiate him.

No one else has ever made me feel like that.

He strokes my head as he comes down from his tremors, his leg lowering.

His skin is smooth under my touch, my thumbs circling gently over his hips.

“Is it my turn?”

He doesn’t give me a chance to answer, shoving me to my back and expertly undoing my belt and slacks. In seconds, he has my cock out and his lips wrap around me.

I might be embarrassed about how quickly I come after that. Except that he’s moaning desperately around my dick, just as eager for it as I am. He swallows all of it and laps up the rest, his tongue mapping my dick. Christ. It’s too sensitive, but I don’t ask him to stop. I’d never ask him to stop.

“We should do this every Tuesday in lieu of tacos,” Lake murmurs as he crawls up my body to reach my lips.

“Whatever you want,” is all I can get out, dragging him down to kiss him, sharing our taste between us. There’s nothing in the world better.

“Dinner should still be hot. Or warm-ish,” Lake says, burying his face in the crook of my neck. “I’m starving.”

I could eat.

Neither of us makes a move to get up. He’s warm against me, his breathing evening out as I trail the pads of my fingers up and down his back.

Food can probably wait a few more minutes.