Chapter Twenty-Seven
When Archer received a text message from Atticus, asking him if he wanted to grab a beer at Moonshiners, he hadn’t been able to refuse.
It had been one of those days. The kind that consisted of excitement and intrigue but ended in disappointment.
Their trip to Johnson City had revealed a few things, though not enough to do them any good.
It was obvious they were headed in the right direction, but it seemed they might’ve gotten there too late.
Rather than sit in his room at the B and B, Archer figured sharing a beer with his new partner was a far more appealing way to spend his evening, so here he was, occupying a booth near the wall, waiting for Atticus to arrive.
He busied himself by checking his email on his phone, resisting the urge to look at his text messages.
He knew Spencer hadn’t texted or called, but that didn’t stop his stupid, hopeful heart from wanting to look.
You know, just in case. Somehow he managed, skimming emails, not really seeing much of anything.
“Hey, man. Sorry I’m late.”
Looking up, Archer smiled. “No worries.” Based on Atticus’s wet hair, it was apparent he’d taken a shower.
“Let me grab a beer. You want another?”
Archer looked at the bottle, noticing for the first time it was almost empty.
“Uh, yeah. Sure. And grab a coupla shots while you’re at it.”
Atticus flashed a mischievous smile. “I like the way your brain works, Halligan.”
Archer wasn’t sure getting shit-faced was a good idea for either of them, but it seemed better than sitting there, wallowing in the disappointment.
An hour and a half later, they were well on their way to drunk. Okay. Amend that. There was a good chance Atticus was already there. Based on the way he was sitting, with his elbows resting on the table, it was possible he was doing it to keep himself propped upright.
“I’m not kiddin’,” Atticus slurred. “He likes to watch.”
“Sounds kinky.”
“It is.” Atticus took a swig of his beer. “Or it was. He’s moved on.”
“What do you mean moved on?”
Atticus shrugged. “He’s keepin’ his distance. Off doin’ other things.”
“I’m sure it’s all in your head.”
“No. It’s his M.O. In the thick of it one minute, then off and ready for the next adventure. I don’t know why I thought he’d be different with me.”
“And Slade?”
“No idea. If I breathe wrong, he thinks I’m cheatin’.” Atticus sighed. “I know you don’t wanna hear about this. It’s sad and pathetic.”
Archer snorted. “It is not. It’s your life. You’re my partner. I’ll gladly listen if you need to vent.”
“What about you? You need to vent?”
He shrugged. “Maybe.”
“All right, spill. Who’s the lucky guy in your life?”
“There isn’t one.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“There was someone,” he admitted. “But it didn’t work out.”
“Anyone I know?”
Archer stared at Atticus for a moment, considered holding back. It didn’t seem fair, though, since Atticus wasn’t having a problem opening up to him.
“Spencer Elliott.”
Atticus leaned forward, a slow smile forming. “No shit? Slade’s brother.”
“You know him?”
“Met him once. Here, actually. He tried to get me to go home with him.”
Archer tried not to let that bother him.
“I didn’t, but I don’t think he cared one way or the other.”
Sounded like Spencer.
“You two hook up?”
“No. Went out a coupla times. It lasted all of a minute.”
Grinning, Atticus flopped back. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” Archer reached for his beer. “Absolutely nothing.”
Atticus didn’t say anything, but Archer got the feeling the man was studying him.
He wanted to ask what he was thinking, but decided he didn’t really want to know.
Atticus had been in town for a while now; there were likely plenty of stories he’d heard about Spencer.
Based on what Archer knew, they would be fabricated, but that didn’t stop the rumor mill from grinding.
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you, man. Spencer seems like a nice guy.”
He was. But Spencer also seemed to be his own worst enemy. Archer wasn’t sure there’d ever been a chance for them to begin with.
“You boys need anything?” the waitress asked, removing the empty glasses and bottles from the table.
“Two more shots, two more beers,” Atticus said. “Put ’em on my tab.”
“Will do.”
When she was out of earshot, Atticus looked at him and grinned. “I’m startin’ to think serious relationships aren’t in the stars for me.”
“Yeah?”
Atticus spun the beer he was still nursing. “This is the first one for me. Probably the last.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t rule it out yet. How old are you?”
“Twenty-five.”
“Still young. You’ve got plenty of time.”
Atticus stared at him, those green eyes catching the light and glittering with what Archer could only guess was mischief.
“You’re speakin’ from experience, huh? Because what? You’re old and wizened?”
Archer huffed a laugh. “Somethin’ like that. I’ll be thirty next year. Old age isn’t far off.”
Atticus’s grin widened. “I’m thinkin’ you’ve got a few good years left.”
“You think?” Archer teased.
The waitress appeared, setting down the shots and the beers.
“Thanks,” he told her, earning a smile in return.
“Anytime, handsome.”
When she walked off, Atticus leaned forward, lowered his voice. “That happen to you a lot?”
“What?”
“Chics hittin’ on you?”
“From time to time.”
“Whatever.” Atticus laughed. “I think God made you gay to protect you from the ladies.”
Archer grinned, staring back at Atticus.
He wasn’t sure he’d been this relaxed in …
well, quite some time. He used to hang out with Simon and Paige, get drinks at the bar, chat for a while, but they rarely asked him about his personal life.
Simon did it out of respect, although Archer would consider them good friends.
And Paige … well, Paige was too busy talking about herself to really care about other people.
He didn’t fault her for it. It was just the way she was programmed.
“Riddle me this, Batman,” Atticus said, chuckling. “If Spencer called you up right now and invited you over, would you go?”
“Sure,” he said, although he realized he wouldn’t leave Atticus to go to Spencer’s. But that wasn’t what Atticus was asking. “Yeah. I’d go.”
Atticus took a long pull on his beer, and Archer pretended there was a gleam of disappointment in Atticus’s pretty green eyes.
“What about you?” he asked because the silence was getting weird. “If Slade or Carson texted right now and told you to get home ASAP, would you go?”
“After I finished my beer … sure. I would.”
They stared at each other for a moment, the silence settling in again. Archer ignored whatever was going on down south, reminding himself that Atticus was in a relationship. With two people.
Atticus lifted his shot glass, holding it up. Archer reached for his, did the same.
“To new possibilities,” Atticus said.
They tapped glasses before downing the drink. Archer couldn’t keep from staring at Atticus, wondering what would’ve happened if Atticus had been single when they met. For whatever reason, he felt a connection with the man. One he was eager to explore. Not necessarily in a sexual manner.
Big ol’ liar, that annoying inner voice said.
Fine. Would he pass up a chance to fuck the man?
If the tequila had any say in the matter, then no, he wouldn’t pass it up.
And though he didn’t think the attraction was one-sided, he had to remember that Atticus James was off limits for a long list of reasons, the least of which being that he was his partner.
Plus, Archer was likely projecting since Spencer had shunned him. Rejection was a bitch, and Archer had experienced his fair share, despite what Atticus thought.
As he sat there, he ignored the persistent tequila-riddled thoughts and made a silent vow to keep this thing with Atticus professional and friendly. Nothing more.
“I should probably get home,” Atticus said, looking up at him. “I’m sure Slade’s gonna have a few things to say about me havin’ a few drinks with my partner.”
“Well, just tell him we were talkin’ about the case.”
“Wouldn’t matter. I could record our meeting, play it back to prove it was innocent, and he’d still find a way to accuse me of cheating. Someone really did a number on him, and I’m not sure he’ll ever get over it.”
“He will.” Archer stared at his beer. “Give him time.”
“Time’s the one thing I’ve got in spades.” He grinned. “Patience, on the other hand…”
Archer knew the feeling all too well.
Sitting at his desk, Reese looked up when he heard Brantley’s heavy footsteps.
The man appeared in the doorway, looking tired and sexy as hell. “You about ready for bed?”
Reese leaned back in his chair, stretched. “What time is it?”
“Time for you to get naked.”
Chuckling, Reese glanced at the clock. It was after midnight, which meant he’d worked about three hours longer than he intended.
For good reason, of course. He’d been going over photos of the house Brantley and Atticus had visited earlier.
Rather than go there himself, he’d remained with Archer, leading their tails on a wild goose chase for the better part of an hour.
Not that it mattered. The house had been empty. If Kylie had been there, she was long gone now.
“What’s on your mind, Tavoularis?”
Shaking off the thoughts, Reese got to his feet. “Nothin’.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not,” he said sincerely, moving closer to Brantley. When his husband remained in the doorway, Reese walked up to him, put his hands on his hips. “I’d rather put it away for the night and think about it tomorrow.”
“You sure?”
He nodded.
Brantley’s big hand curled around the back of Reese’s neck, urging him closer. “I can think of a few ways to distract you.”
“I’m bankin’ on it.”
When Brantley’s mouth settled on his, Reese leaned into the kiss, relaxing for the first time in hours. He sensed Brantley’s disappointment in the day, and since he mirrored it, a distraction was exactly what they both needed.
As usual, Brantley became the aggressor, his hands firm as he turned Reese so that his back was to the wall. His mouth was urgent, yet sweet, his tongue insistent as it explored.
Reese had never been with anyone who could own him the way Brantley did. Then again, Reese hadn’t realized it was exactly what he needed to be happy. To have someone who wouldn’t hide their hunger, their need.
He thought back to what Archer had said earlier: I happen to believe we’re pre-programmed for a deep, emotional connection rather than sexual orientation.
Reese had never thought about it that way, but as soon as Archer said it, the words resonated with him.
It was true. Something inside him had connected with Brantley on an emotional level, and it had bloomed from there.
The physical attraction had been scary at first, but nothing had ever felt as right before.
Now, Reese couldn’t imagine wanting anyone as much as he wanted Brantley.
Brantley’s mouth traveled down his jaw to his neck. Reese tilted his head, giving him better access, letting the sensations wash over him.
“I want you naked,” Brantley groaned, nipping at his collarbone. “Let me get you naked, baby.”
Fueled by Brantley’s need, Reese slid his hands beneath Brantley’s shirt, soaking up the heat of him, feeling the strength in his hard body.
With frenzied hands, they started stripping away clothing, dropping it to the floor as Brantley maneuvered them into his office. Reese knew where he was going, knew what his intentions were, and he wasn’t about to put up a fight. Not tonight.
No, tonight, he wanted to give himself over to this man, to revel in the pleasure that generated when they were together.
Brantley’s mouth was wicked hot as he trailed his lips down Reese’s chest, his stomach. It was all Reese could do to remain standing when Brantley went to his knees, working to free Reese’s cock from his jeans.
“Jeezus,” Reese hissed, palming Brantley’s head when he enveloped his dick in the heated cavern of his mouth. “Fuck.”
He helped Brantley remove his jeans as best he could while enduring the intensity of that blistering hot mouth on his cock. It wasn’t easy, but he figured that was his husband’s plan. Nothing with Brantley was ever easy, but damn if it wasn’t worth it.
Once Reese was stripped of his clothes, he helped Brantley get rid of his while returning the favor: fingers fondling, mouth wandering, palms gliding over smooth, hot skin.
When they were both naked, Reese found himself on his back, Brantley’s big, hard body lying over him. Skin to skin, mouth to mouth. The kiss was fiercely brutal and intensely gentle, all at the same time. It caused his brain to swim as lust bubbled in his bloodstream, making his skin prickle.
“Please,” he whispered, wanting to feel more of Brantley. All of him.
“Anything, baby,” Brantley moaned, shifting and manhandling Reese into position.
Hooking one foot over the back of the couch and planting the other on the floor, Reese made room for Brantley between his legs. Using his saliva as a lubricant, Brantley stroked himself. Then his husband shifted, aligning their bodies before slowly pushing inside him.
Reese hissed as pain-soaked pleasure assaulted him.
“Relax, baby.”
He did, rocking his hips to change the angle, allowing him to take more of Brantley. Reese grabbed Brantley’s ass, jerking him forward.
“Oh, fuck, yeah. Take me, Reese. Let me in.”
Then the world stopped spinning as Brantley’s mouth fused to his once more. Their tongues danced as Brantley fucked him, sliding in slowly, retreating. They remained like that for long minutes, the original discomfort morphing into exquisite ecstasy.
“You were made for me, Reese,” Brantley mumbled against his mouth. “Just for me.”
He believed that because nothing in his life had ever felt as perfect as this. As though every piece had clicked into place when Brantley Walker came into his life.
“Hold onto me,” Brantley instructed.
Reese slid his hands up Brantley’s back, holding him as Brantley began fucking him. Harder, deeper, faster. The couch groaned beneath their weight, but their cries of pleasure drowned out the sound as they chased that euphoria-driven release.
“Wait, Reese,” Brantley said through gritted teeth. “I want you to come in my mouth.”
Reese shook his head. “Can’t. Wait.”
He was close. Too close.
“Yes, you can. Oh, fuck … Reese!”
Brantley slammed his hips forward, his cock pulsing inside him. Reese fought the overwhelming need that surged into him. He gritted his teeth, the need overwhelming him.
“Your turn,” Brantley said, moving off him.
A second later, Reese’s cock was buried in Brantley’s throat, and he was coming with a cry so violent, he wondered if he would even have a voice left.
Oddly, he didn’t care.