Chapter 19
NINETEEN
TREY
Hours later, after a nap and round two—I woke him up by sucking his dick and he reciprocated by playing my ass like a maestro and making me come hands-free—we took a second shower, where I tried and failed to tempt him into unleashing the beast a third time.
I almost had him, but then my stomach growled, and that was that.
“Do you like fajitas?” he asked, facing the open fridge, his head turned to look at me over his shoulder.
My face twisted, and my brows lifted. “Of course. Doesn’t everyone? I mean, is it even possible to not like fajitas? Or Mexican food in general?”
“Not sure. I don’t know everyone.”
I rolled my eyes. “That sounds like an impossibility. Has to be a lie.”
“There’s a lot of fucking people in the world, kid.”
“Not that. People not liking Mexican food or fajitas. It’s like the best food. I love it when the peppers and onions get a little char on them. Fuck. Now, my mouth’s watering.”
“So, you like Mexican food. Got it.”
“Like I said, it’s very unlikely there are people who don’t. I mean, unless it’s one of those assholes who enjoy being difficult by saying they don’t like something they stuffed in their face a week prior while raving about it.”
Slone’s head cocked as he turned from the now shut fridge door, holding an enormous slab of meat with several bell peppers—a red, green, orange, and yellow balanced on top.
He set the ingredients on the island, bracketing them with his palms pressed against the counter.
“Not sure I know anyone like that. Do you?” he asked.
“Oh, yeah. My mother. Whenever she wants to really piss off my father, she turns very passive aggressive. It’s one of her go-to tricks. He falls for it every time. She always tells him to get her regular, but it’s never right.”
He shook his head and turned toward the counter next to the fridge, setting down a cutting board and a knife, then grabbing several onions and a couple of tomatoes and something that looked like a small, white, round, flat-bottomed ball.
I had no clue what the ball was, but no one ever described me as a picky eater.
I had a hard enough time keeping weight on during the season.
I ate anything that didn’t eat me first, hoping to keep weight on during the season.
He turned back to the island with the rest of the ingredients and set to work chopping and slicing. The man even butchered the slab of meat.
“You’re a butcher, too?”
“I can field dress just about anything, but the Corps doesn’t really give a shit if you can do anything other than roast a kill on a spit.”
“What the… They make you kill your own food?” I exclaimed.
Knife sounds ceased as he stopped to stare at me. “Boy, I don’t know if I should laugh at the joke or explain.”
“Explain, because I wasn’t joking.”
He laughed softly. The knife started moving again. “Yes, occasionally we were required to kill our own food. It was a training exercise in case we were ever stranded or stuck out in a remote location on a recon mission.”
“Oh, okay, that makes sense.” I fought back the urge to smack myself for being so damn stupid.
Added to that, I kept showing this man, whom I was really fucking into, just how dumb I could be, which only made the fight that much more difficult.
“I’m sorry I’m such an idiot,” I said, staring down at the honed surface of the black countertops while I drew designs on the surface.
The knife stopped again, dropping from his hand to clatter on the island. He washed and dried his hands, then came around the island, palm outstretched. I took it and slid off the barstool I was sitting on. He walked me to the fridge and pointed at the list of rules.
Fuck. I screwed up. My eyes closed as a deep breath filled my lungs.
“Read it.” Gone was the laughing, jovial man from a few moments ago. His voice had dropped at least an octave, maybe more. The words were rough, low, and left no doubt he meant business.
“All of it?”
“Yes. All of it.”
I took another deep breath. “Slone will text Trey good morning since he wakes up at the crack of dawn. Trey will reply when he finally crawls out of bed in the morning. Check-in texts and photos throughout the day are welcomed and encouraged. Slone worries. Trey wouldn’t mind getting photos of the sexy beast he’s exclusively fucking.
Slone or the team’s social media gurus must approve all social media posts before going live.
Drinking is limited to two beers or one mixed drink in a two-hour period unless Slone is present and Trey doesn’t have access to his phone.
Slone is Trey’s first call no matter what: good news or bad, happy or panicked.
But especially when Trey spirals. When Trey spirals, Trey will find a quiet place and call Slone.
If Slone doesn’t answer immediately, Trey will text Slone 911,” I paused.
The last rule stared me down like a goalie on a breakaway.
“Finish it.”
“Trey isn’t to talk bad himself. EVER.”
“Do you know why I made you read them?”
I nodded.
“Words, Trey.”
“I called myself an idiot.”
“Yes, you did. I won’t stand by and let you belittle yourself. You are mine. You’re my boy. You are a reflection of me, and vice versa. If you’re an idiot, then I am too. Do you think I’m an idiot?”
“No.” Why did I sound so small?
“No, what?”
“No, sir.”
He pulled me into his arms, and I melted against him.
We were of similar heights and builds, but somehow it felt like he enveloped me.
His lips pressed against my temple as he rocked us from side to side.
I should be stark raving mad. I should pull away, but I couldn’t bring myself to do so.
This felt nice, being cared for and valued.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know you are, baby boy. I know you are.” He pulled away and cupped my face, his eyes roaming my features while his thumbs brushed my cheeks.
“You’ve spent your life competing, being told you weren’t doing things right or that they could be done better.
I get it. The military isn’t much different, but boy, you are not stupid.
You are not an idiot. You are bright, sensitive, and caring. ”
“You don’t know…”
“I know you well enough to know those three things, and I hope to get to know you even better.”
“I hope I get to know you better, too.”
He smiled. “Then we’ll make sure of it. Now, go sit down so I can cook for us. Then what do you say we sack out on the couch and watch some television?”
I smiled and nodded, scurrying back to what was fast becoming my spot at the island, if sitting on the same barstool twice in a single day counted toward making it mine, that is.
He picked the knife up, his focus turning back to the food, but before he made a single cut, he pointed the knife at me and said, “FYI, first offense treatment is hugs and kisses. Do it again, and your ass will pay the check your mouth wrote. And I’m not watching Ridiculous or Jackass or anything where a bunch of idiots do stupid shit. ”
I laughed so hard I snorted at the description of shows the boys loved to watch. Me, not so much, and I told him so. “Agreed. Not a fan. I have a huge TBW, though. I don’t get a lot of time to watch television. The guys are big gamers, and when we’re on roadies, I usually read.”
He smiled, turning back to the food. “Okay. Two questions: what’s on the watch list and what book are you reading right now?”
“The team loves the Uncharted games and The Last of Us, but I’ve not watched either the movie or the TV series, and I really want to.
Game of Thrones—I loved the books. George R.
R. Martin is amazing. House of the Dragon is on there, too.
As for what I’m reading, right now it’s all school shit.
But, other than Martin, I like thrillers and murder mysteries. ”
“Have you read any of Jack Hunt’s books?” Slone asked.
A wide grin turned up the corners of my mouth. “I love his stuff.”
“Me too. Frieda McFadden and Tess Gerritsen are good too, but I’m reading Chad Robichaux right now.”
“What does he write?”
“Military—both fiction and non-fiction. He served in the Corps as a Recon Marine, same as my buddies you met and me.”
Conversation died away as he continued prepping food, though not in any way that made things awkward.
Occasionally, he popped a pepper in his mouth before offering a slice to me, refusing to let me take it and feed myself.
Despite the bit of shyness that weaseled its way in as I leaned over to take the food from his hand with my mouth, I was actually more comfortable around another human being than I can ever remember being.
He wanted me. Just Trey. Unless he had a very hidden agenda, he seemed to have zero interest in the name, the legacy, or the prestige surrounding my family. Just me. And that scared me shitless.
Slone—I just realized I didn’t even know his full name—held a worldly quality.
He’d been a United States Marine. A Recon Marine, whatever that meant.
Something else about him to drop me into a rabbit hole searching for clues about what made him tick.
What I couldn’t wrap my head around was why me?
The man had to have guys falling at his feet, and if that didn’t work, stripping naked and offering their asses.
Tall, gorgeous, friendly, funny, with a hint of danger and mystery, and a cock made to make a bottom boy bend over and beg.
All of which brought me back to—why me?
Then add in the caretaker vibe he gave off.
The knife he wielded chopped through veggies and garlic—that’s what the white, papery, covered ball was—like a professional culinary school-trained, Michelin-star chef.
No hesitation. Just quick rat-a-tat-tat sounds that stayed perfectly on beat once he started until he finished.