Chapter 27
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
Dirk
Iinhale the stale scent of “deep fryer” and beer as I glide across the wood floors—home sweet home. Couldn’t text Trav at all while I was camping with Hunt, and it was the longest four days of my life. I came straight here.
Looks like the lunch rush is dying down. I’ve already checked the schedule for today, Dash’ll be here soon to take over the bar, which means Stacey’ll be here soon, too. But there’s enough time to surprise Trav with an “I’m home from bushwhacking” blowjob.
That’s my intent anyway, but … what’s Rhett doing here without Logan?
No, shit. That’s not Rhett, it’s fucking Mayor Elkington.
He’s got to have some kinda special access to the Fountain of Youth because he sure looks like Rhett.
They could be twins. What’s he doing at the bar by himself?
I don’t think an Elkington should ever be left unattended.
Even Logan will admit that. What’s Trav thinking, leaving him out here just drinking whatever expensive fucking shit he made Trav open for him?
His dark blue eyes catch mine. “Boulder. Sit. Have a drink with me. Bartender,” he calls.
What is happening right now?
My gaze drops to the empty place beside Maxwell. The amber liquid over ice isn’t telling on its own, it’s the olive that gives it away. I’d bet my entire bank account that if I had a sip, I’d taste the olive juice with that whiskey.
Trav.
As if he can hear me thinking, he appears from the back, sees me, and mutters an, “Oh, shit.”
I cross my arms. “Not happy to see me, Travis?”
Okay, so maybe I do call him Travis when he’s in fucking trouble, because I have words.
The Wicklow door swings open again, gusting in Edward Arovini. Yeah, the guy whose family owns the Vancouver Orcas. He’s also way overdressed for The Wicklow.
Maxwell’s standing up, and I’m forgotten. “Another time, Boulder. C’mere, precious.”
Eddie blushes head-to-fucking-toe. “Maxwell.”
Is his “Maxwell” like my “Travis”? It sounds like it is. But Eddie’s on his way over to him, giving “rabbit happily on his way to being eaten”, and they disappear into the broom closet.
Trav’s more worn than usual, as if the past he’s always running from has caught up to him.
The smile he saves for me has vanished from existence.
No softness, only hard edges, dark eyes, clenched jaw.
He’s stiff, too, but not the same way marble is, with a predator’s readiness, waiting to strike, waiting to tear into danger.
It’s only been four days, what the fuck happened?
“C’mon,” his rough voice scrapes out, and I follow behind him to his office, where I shut the door behind us.
I catch a whiff of nicotine that says he’s smoked a lot more than the two cigarettes I left him.
“You reek, Trav.”
He combs the long pieces of his hair back with his fingers and watches me as if he doesn’t know whether I’m friend or foe, but only for a moment. He exhales away some of the animosity he’s carrying.
“How was your camping trip?” he says.
I know he’s deflecting, but maybe that’s a good idea. My Travis isn’t here. Or maybe it’s more accurate to say “the Travis I’m used to” isn’t in the room right now. I’ve already decided the many shades of Travis are him. But I need his softer side back. I won’t get far with this one.
Though … it’s super fucking hot. Just sayin’. This one can toss me over his shoulder, abduct me, take me to a little cabin in the woods, tie me to the bed, and have his evil way with me.
An oddly specific fantasy, I know. I’ve pictured it more than once.
“Had its ups and downs. Mom was harassing Hunt again, which triggered the need for the last-minute camping trip. We drank beer, cooked eggs and beans over a fire, and Hunt laid out all his hopes and dreams for me.”
Should I touch him? Would that help, or will I lose some fingers? Let’s find out. I reach for his hand, clasping it, praying that whatever magic exists between us reaches him, too. That love is the greatest power on earth, and it can release him from whatever’s gripped him.
His hot palm collides with mine, and he stares, watching me interlace our fingers as if he’s witnessing something precious.
“You’re not giving up hockey for college,” he says.
Oooookay. Didn’t expect that. I laugh, but he’s not laughing. “Oh, you’re serious.”
“Yeah, I am. You can tell Hunter it’s not happening.”
“Last I checked, I’m my own fucking person, Travis.”
“Could have fooled me. The Dirk I know wouldn’t give up his dream to make his brother happy.”
“I already told you—”
“I know what you told me, and what you told me is bullshit. Anyway, it’s not happening.”
“Because you said so?” I check, and I hope the sarcasm in my voice reaches whatever dark place he’s in.
“Because I fucking said so.” He sneers.
Not gonna lie, something about his toxically dominant tone is appealing, and not just because it’s hot, because I want someone to stop me.
I might actually fucking need an intervention at this point.
Even the lure of joining the UBC men’s varsity hockey team wasn’t enough to appease the ache that’s not a permanent resident in my chest. The AHL isn’t the NHL, but it’s still pro hockey.
“The nineteen fifties called, Trav, they want their domineering, patriarchal bullshit back.”
His lip curls, my verbal jab having done little more than the equivalent of spraying a bear with bear spray. “Watch it, pretty boy.”
“Oh, yeah? What are you gonna do about it, Trav?”
“Whatever I have to. You’re not giving up hockey for your brother or anyone.” He shrugs, walking away from me like his word is final.
How is it that his talking like that has me hating him with more fury than I’ve ever felt, and my dick hardening at the same time? Makes no fucking sense.
Do not get hard. Do not like this.
My blood boils. “That how we do things now, Trav?”
“It’s how we should have done things in the first place.”
“Or maybe you’re just saying that because you’ve decided to team up with Elkington to get rid of your Robin problem, and you don’t want to feel guilty about it. Well, fuck you. If I can’t do what I want, then you don’t get to either. No plotting Robin’s demise.”
His eyes darken, growing ever more feral. I’m yanked forward until I collide with his body, his hand fists into my shirt. It becomes a shouting match.
“You don’t have a kid. You don’t understand.”
“I understand plenty. It’s your ego, Trav.”
“Dash is scared. He doesn’t feel safe. I want to make him safe.”
“Listen to yourself. You think plotting murder’s the only way to be a good dad. He wants you here. He wants you to help him raise grandbabies for fucksake.”
“I don’t need advice from you on being a good dad.”
“And I don’t need you telling me what to do with my life.”
“Right, guess that’s your brother’s job, eh?”
“Maybe it is,” I say just to piss him off more. “And since you’re not my brother, you can fuck right off.”
My feet trip over themselves as he shoves me against the wall, crowding over me, pinning me with his stare. He slams his hand beside my head, and the sound reverberates through the wall and my bones at the same time.
His mouth gets close, right beside my ear. “Nuh-uh. He doesn’t own you—I do.”
Trav’s iron-hard body grinds against me, hot breath whispers over my cheek.
God. I hate him right now—really fucking hate him—but raw and reckless Travis is my kryptonite. It’s not the first time he’s been in a state like this, and I doubt this’ll be the last time he gets here, but it’s rare. I should take advantage, right? Because fuuuuuck do I want him.
My chest does a bit of a glide, pushing into him as my back arcs, and I exhale a shaky breath.
“That’s it, pretty boy. I see you. You can’t hide wanting me.”
“I hate you,” I snap, opening my throat for him.
“Good,” he snarls, feasting on my neck as he pleases. “Hate me all you want, as long as you know you’re mine. As long as you don’t forget who you’re about to spread your pretty little ass for.”
My body trembles with need. “Travis,” I whisper.
Don’t think that “Travis” had the tone behind it he feels chastised by.
That one was all lust. I stop thinking and grab for his belt, fumbling to get it undone, desperate to get to his cock.
He lets me, sucking on my pulse point, rasping when I get my hand around his large shaft.
“You,” he says with barely enough breath. “You make me fucking crazy.”
“Good.”
I stroke his cock as he nips and bites my neck.
His hips move, thrusting into my hand until he seems to remember he could be doing something so much better with it.
He bats my hand away and drags me to the floor—that’s new.
We’ve done it all over this office, against the walls, the door, over the desk, but shockingly, never the floor.
He sits up on his knees, hard cock bobbing from his open pants, and yanks my sweats and boxers off in one go, tossing them way out of my reach.
“Open,” he demands, and my legs do his bidding, like I don’t even control them anymore. I’m way too fucking horny at this point. I’d bark like a dog if he told me to. “See? You think you’ve got a choice? But even your body knows it belongs to me.”
“You fucking asshole.”
“I’m about to tongue fuck that look off your face.” He’s such a smug bastard when he says it, too, because he knows he can.
Trav slides an arm under my thigh, hiking it higher, and settling between my legs. He spits into my hole and licks upward, taking the time to push inside.
I arch my back, hating how much I enjoy that biting tongue of his, my damn cock betraying me, but denying that I wish his mouth were on my cock would be a lie.
“Trav, please.” I push my cock toward him.
“Not a fucking chance, pretty boy. You take what I give you. You’re not coming just yet, anyway. Not till my cock’s demolishing your insides.”