3. BAR BACK
Nash held me with both hands. One knotted in my hair, gently pulling, while the other cupped my jaw. They steadied me as he pumped into my mouth, his cock slick with the drool that strung from my lips.
He moaned. “God, you feel good.”
The back-and-forth rock of his hips lulled me into subspace. Thoughts wicked away as I let my body go limp and opened my throat.
I knelt on the floor in the upstairs hallway of the Bitters’ End, boxed in by the folding doors that flanked the washer and dryer. My laundry was finishing up, which left me with time to kill. I spent it well, tracking down the burly alchemist and luring him up here for a quickie. He was an easy sell—easier now than he used to be. Six months ago, I would have been groveling to get his dick in me. Now I only had to say please.
“Use your tongue, baby,” Nash said from above me, his voice a growl .
I grabbed his waist and dug my fingers in. When he thrust into me again, I feathered my tongue across the head of his cock.
“Just like that,” he said between ragged breaths. “You’re doing so good. Such a good boy.”
Laughter bubbled up from my chest. I pulled off his cock and swallowed. “‘Good boy’ is what you say to your dog, and I’m not licking peanut butter off your dick, even if you ask.”
One of Nash’s hands lingered under my chin while the other swept the hair off my brow. He tipped my head up to meet his eyes.
“You think that’s bad?” He smirked. “Next, I’m gonna tell you how pretty you are. Especially from this angle.”
My grumble of complaint went silent as he stepped around my shoulder and pressed his leg against my back. Then, he guided my willing mouth to his cock.
He plunged down my throat so deeply it slowed the flow of oxygen. I gulped against him, prompting another groan.
He lingered, pinned against me while pressure swelled in my skull. I tried to pull away, but his leg and firm hands pressed in. If I wanted to escape, it would take only a thought, but the struggle was part of the pleasure. Feeling trapped and breathless and full of desire while all I could do was take what I was given.
“Just hang on a little longer, beautiful,” Nash cooed.
Too choked to complain, I raked my teeth against his dick instead.
He pulled out enough for me to gasp a wet breath .
“That was not good boy behavior,” he said, but not gruff enough to mean it.
Leveraging both hands on my head, he drew me back in. Rapid thrusts rattled my brain as I clung to him. When he yanked hard on my hair, I knew he was close. Seconds later, his cock pulsed against my tongue, spurting hot jizz that I gulped greedily down.
Nash sagged against me, grinding my face into his groin as he emptied. Finally, he stepped back, buttoning his jeans while I filled my starved lungs.
I sat back on my heels and wiped my arm across my mouth. “On second thought,” I said, cumdrunk and grinning, “I might lick peanut butter off your dick. But only if you said please.”
He drew me to standing, then looped his fingers through my belt loops to pull me forward. I staggered into his chest, immediately caught up with him tugging on my waist.
“You know, you’re pretty cute when you smile,” he said.
I struck a pose, knowing full well I was on the sloppy side of average today in a white A-shirt and ratty jeans. My blond mop was due for a trim unless I wanted to become one of those manbun-wearing hipsters. I was almost desperate enough to try a topknot to keep it out of my eyes.
“I’m pretty cute all the time,” I replied.
Nash chuckled. “Cute and modest. What a catch.” He folded his arms and leaned against the washing machine. He was pretty cute, too, with humor alight in his golden-brown eyes and his cheeks dimpled, but he didn’t need me to tell him that.
Beside us, the dryer chimed the end of its cycle. Grabbing the trash bag I’d brought from the kitchen, I shook it into shape, then flung the dryer door open. Heat wafted out as I crouched and began stuffing fresh, hot clothes into the sack.
“Is that really all you came for?” he asked. “I could have brought it over. Would’ve given me an excuse to see your new place.”
The dryer door closed with a clang, and I stood, knotting off the bag full of laundry. The size and heft of the thing reminded me of Santa’s Christmas sack, which made me the bearer of the least exciting presents in history. Clean clothes and underwear mingled with shirts and a suit jacket that claimed to be dry clean only, but we would see about that.
“It’s all the way across town,” I replied. “Last I checked, you don’t go farther than your front door.” Not to mention that Donovan’s reaction to the houseboat hadn’t made me eager to show it off to anyone else. At least not until after I’d cleaned it up a bit.
“Exceptions can be made,” Nash said, shrugging.
I hummed a skeptical sound.
Shouldering the laundry bag, I started down the hall with Nash in tow. We made our way to his bedroom, where the rest of my things were stored. There wasn’t much, considering I’d left everything at Lazy Daze and hadn’t looked back.
Two weeks crashing at the Bitters’ End had made me comfortable. There was a sense of ease here that I’d never felt around the gang. At the motel, I’d learned to sleep light and keep a chair against the door, neither of which felt necessary with Nash pressed in beside me every night.
Rounding the doorframe into his room, a sense of loss panged in my chest. I stopped in place and dropped the heavy sack while my eyes swept over the dark room. Earthy shades of brown and green covered the walls and furniture, antique wood pieces that may have been original to the house. Nash was only a decade older than me, and his sister Pippa was in her fifties, so I wondered who owned the large colonial before it took on its new life as an alchemy bar.
Nash mentioned his parents occasionally. They were fellow alchemists who fled the city years ago, before the Capitol ruled that the gate should only open one way. Humans could come and spend a weekend sightseeing our habitat of a home, but we witches could never leave. Now Mr. and Mrs. Nash lived as expatriates in Canada, and their children were trapped here.
I was mired in contemplation when Nash bumped me with his elbow. “You don’t have to leave, you know.”
His touch was enough to propel me into the room. I walked to the bedside table I’d claimed, tugging open the drawer to fish out my phone charger and an extra pack of smokes.
“We put you out long enough.” I wound the power cable around my fingers, then stuffed it in my pocket. “We need our own space. Plus, Donnie wasn’t crazy about sleeping on your couch.” My smile was meant to be reassuring, but Nash remained dubious.
“You told me the boat only has one bed,” he said from his post in the doorway. “So, who’s on the couch now?”
I raised my hand sheepishly.
Nash laughed. “Pushover.”
There wasn’t much to grab, so I found myself stalling again. I almost went to the balcony on the far wall. It overlooked the bluff, so I could stare out across the ocean. But I was about to have all the ocean I wanted and then some.
“Here’s a thought.” Nash picked at the folded sleeve of his button down. “Why doesn’t Donovan stay at the houseboat, and you come back here? That way I don’t have to miss you.”
I rubbed my hand down my bare arm. “I can’t leave him alone, Nash. Especially not now.”
Moving away from the bed, I returned to the doorway where Nash embraced me again. I leaned into him, inhaling the crisp, herbal scent of his cologne. It was something Pippa made, no doubt. Her field of alchemy specialized in smells—perfuming—so I could blame her for making her brother smell like an actual breath of fresh air.
“I just want to know you’re safe,” he said softly.
I sniggered. “Are you gonna protect me, Daddy?”
He drew back and met my eyes with his narrow ones. “Don’t tease. This is serious.”
I pulled free and retrieved the laundry bag from where I’d dropped it.
“But I have something that might help,” he said.
I’d turned away and almost missed him producing a shiny bauble from his pocket. It glinted in the light, calling my attention. A small glass marble hung from a length of leather cord. The fluid inside swirled mercurial and familiar.
“Sorry for the delay in replacing your other one,” Nash said. “Donovan told me it had a hell of a kick, so I dialed back a few things. Should be a more pleasant experience this time.”
It was a recall potion like the one he’d given me before my arrest. The thing I’d used to ensure Donovan’s safety while sacrificing mine. It was a choice I would make again, which Nash must have predicted judging from his added statement.
“I gave Donnie one of his own, so this is all yours. You remember the drill? Break it or drink it, and it brings you here. Out of harm’s way, where you seem to insist on being.”
Taking the potion and cord, I found it to be knotted in a necklace. Another upgrade from letting it tumble around with my car keys and loose change. I dropped it over my head, then tucked the marble end under my shirt. The glass felt cool against my skin.
“Thanks,” I told Nash. “Here’s hoping I don’t need it.”
Shouldering the laundry bag, I made my way down the hall.
“Speaking of harm’s way, keeping the Capitol job may not be your wisest move.” Nash’s voice chased me as he followed. “That’s Grimm’s turf now.”
“Yeah, well I know he’s not really Maximus,” I replied. “So, I have the trump card.”
I arrived at the top of the spiral staircase and looked down at the lower floor. After a moment’s contemplation, I heaved the bulging sack over the railing. It dropped like a stone onto the floor of the entry hall, where it landed with a resounding thud. I glanced back at Nash, who stood across from me with his lips pressed into a thin line.
“A trump card does you no good if you die holding it,” he said.
“Jesus, Nash,” I sputtered. “Why so dark?”
“Been thinking, that’s all. Lots of time for that with the lack of customers lately.” His gaze angled toward the lower-level bar area.
Despite the plague being eradicated and the city gradually reopening, people had been slow to resume business as usual. I couldn’t help but think Nash’s problem had more to do with his stand against Grimm. None of the gang members had darkened the doors of the Bitters’ End in almost three weeks. Nash had claimed he didn’t need anything the Bloody Hex had to offer but, unless his pockets were deeper than I knew, he was bound to be feeling the pinch.
Nash cleared his throat. “Speaking of Maximus—”
Grabbing the metal handrail, I descended the stairs at a trot. “ Not speaking of Maximus.” I shook my head. “Who spoke of Maximus?”
Nash stopped halfway down the steps to reply, “You did. But, even if you hadn’t, we need to discuss it.”
I’d wanted to linger here, but that desire had been borne of a desire to hide from reality—a reality Nash was now driving to the forefront of my mind.
“Can it wait?” I shouldered the laundry sack and gave it a pat. “Big moving day and all.”
He scrutinized the single trash bag that contained the entirety of mine and Donovan’s worldly possessions. “Fine,” he said. “Moving day gets you a pass.”
My smile returned. “Now who’s the pushover?”
He groaned.
Conflict Avoidance 101 would suggest I give my brother time to warm up to the idea of the houseboat and Nash the same time to forget about Maximus Lyle. Or to miss me enough that he was willing to put larger problems on the backburner. I could pacify Donovan with creature comforts like donuts and chocolate milk, which made my grocery run top priority. Bonus that none of the checkers would bombard me with questions about how the founder of our government had been replaced by a criminal gang leader.
Opening the front door, I hung from it long enough to blow Nash a kiss. That would have to be enough to get him started on missing me or remembering how obnoxious I could be. Maybe he found me endearing. Either way, I laughed as he stood, shaking his head, then I was off.