Chapter Twenty
By the time Brantley and Reese made it home, it was just after eight.
They’d filled the time with conversation, rehashing what they knew, and tossed around a few hypotheticals.
But that was all they were. They had very few facts that would get them the answers they were seeking.
But Brantley wasn’t giving up hope. Not yet.
They’d gotten this far, and though progress was slow-going, they were inching forward.
Needless to say, he was glad to be home.
Once inside, Brantley dumped their bags in the front room, intending to deal with them tomorrow. Reese made sure Tesha had fresh water, then prepared her dinner.
“When you’re done, come join me in the shower,” he told Reese before making his way to the bathroom.
Brantley didn’t wait, figuring his husband would show up when he was ready.
He stripped and stood beneath the hot water, shoving all thought from his mind.
He needed the mental break, a little reprieve from everything bouncing through his gray matter.
He didn’t want to think about Kylie or her mother or some corrupt government officials. Not right now.
Closing his eyes, he focused on breathing. In, out. Slow and steady, while the hot water beat down on his tired muscles. He forced himself to relax, to clear the jumbled mess of information rattling around in his head. He wasn’t big on meditation, but he could see the appeal.
When he heard Reese, he lifted his head and opened his eyes, watching as the man he loved discarded his clothing. Funny how he never doubted that Reese would show up for him. The man seemed to know what he needed, and he was always there.
Goddamn, he was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.
When Reese stepped into the shower, Brantley reached for him, pulling him closer. He wasn’t in a rush, wasn’t inundated with chaos. He simply wanted to savor this time with his husband and to block out all the rest for a little while.
“Thirty minutes,” he told Reese. “No work, no worries. Only us.”
Reese’s honey-gold eyes glittered. “I like that idea.”
Brantley cupped Reese’s face, enjoying the way the stubble on his jaw scraped his palm.
He leaned in, sealing their lips. The kiss started slow, sensual, then took on the heated edge it always did when they were together.
Still, they maintained a leisurely pace, one fueled by passion that never seemed to burn out.
For long minutes, they teased and fondled, hands roaming, tongues and lips searching.
Feeding his need to touch, Brantley proceeded to wash Reese, ensuring he got every smooth surface, every crevice.
When Reese returned the favor, Brantley sighed and moaned, giving himself over to the man he loved.
By the time they were finished, their thirty minutes were up, but Brantley wasn’t even close to being finished.
He turned off the water, grabbed two towels, and passed one to Reese.
He gave his body a good rub with the cotton, then dumped the towel on the floor and took Reese’s hand, leading him to the bedroom.
Within seconds, he was plunging into the heated depths of his husband’s body, pleasure accosting him as Reese stared up at him with heat and love burning in that golden gaze.
“I love you,” Brantley whispered, pushing in deep, sliding out slowly. “So fucking much.”
Reese’s eyes remained locked with his as Brantley drove them both to that inevitable place where they would linger until they soared. And when he came, it was with Reese’s name on his lips.
“Feel better?” Reese asked as they lay in a heap on the bed.
“For now.”
“Me, too.”
“Mmm.” Brantley wanted to remain like that forever, just the two of them, skin to skin.
“Do you have a headache?” Reese whispered after several minutes.
“It’s not too bad,” he admitted.
Brantley thought he’d hidden it better. Thankfully, it hadn’t exploded into full migraine territory, but it was gradually increasing. Oddly enough, sex derailed it momentarily, something about endorphins or whatnot. At the same time, it usually came on full force afterward.
“You stay here,” Reese said. “I’ll get you a pill and make sure everything’s locked up.”
“You sure?”
Reese responded with a kiss on his lips, causing Brantley to smile.
“I love you,” he told Reese.
“I know. Now be quiet and get some rest.”
Because his husband was insistent, Brantley did exactly as he instructed.
If he’d had anywhere else to go, Atticus would’ve gladly gone there. He had dropped Archer at the B and B, and only half wished he had a room there for the night.
Instead, he found himself pulling into Slade’s driveway a little after eight, tense from the thought of arguing with the man.
Ever since Slade shut down his request for help, Atticus had given considerable thought to where they were in their relationship.
More accurately, he’d been trying to figure out how it had gone so horribly wrong so quickly.
One minute, the three of them were fucking like rabbits, agreeing to keep things casual between them; the next, Slade was on a tear, accusing Atticus of cheating.
And Carson hadn’t seemed all that worried about anything. Not Slade’s constant accusation, not Atticus’s concern over it. No, if he didn’t know better, he would say Carson had already checked out. But why? He was the one who had pushed for this.
Right?
Or had that been him? Had he gone and fucked it all up by wanting more than he should have?
He wished he understood what had prompted Slade to become so defensive. And what had made Atticus think they could somehow make this off-balance threesome work. It wasn’t working. Not for any of them.
He parked his truck beside Slade’s and killed the engine. He got out, considered leaving his bag, but figured he needed to do laundry at the first opportunity.
By the time he made it to the door, he was grinding his teeth, hating that he was dreading this.
The door was unlocked, making it easy to let himself in. He noticed the house was dark and quiet. Since he hadn’t let Slade know he was on the way, he wasn’t sure who Slade was expecting. Maybe Carson?
Oddly, he found he didn’t care. Without making a sound, he made a detour to the bathroom to take care of business. He decided he would wait to shower until morning. In order to be up at the ass-crack of dawn, he would need the cold wake-me-up.
Once in his room, he closed the door, again making no sound. He stripped down to his boxers, plugged his phone up to charge, then fell into bed. He stared up at the dark ceiling, hoping sleep came quickly.
It sucked that things had gotten to this point.
That he was hiding out from Slade, while at the same time wishing the man would come to him.
And Carson … it felt like just yesterday that Atticus had been blown away by the man.
He’d been taken aback by Carson, intrigued.
He came along at a time when Atticus’s entire world was changing for the better, and he had mistakenly believed that it would go somewhere.
That was the first time he’d ever thought long-term about anyone.
Then Slade had disrupted that little picket-fence dream when Atticus had stumbled upon the guy jacking off and calling out Atticus’s name.
From that point forward, he’d been confused.
Well, confused and excited by the prospects.
Especially when he learned that Carson and Slade had history.
Unfortunately, it was more like bad blood than days gone by.
Yet Atticus had pushed to see where things went because he’d been selfish, not wanting to give up either of them.
And here he was, sneaking into the house while Slade was likely sitting in his bedroom, watching TV or playing on his phone.
It was sad when he thought about it.
Sad, but, at the same time, it felt inevitable.