Chapter 34
Chapter thirty-four
In the Rain, Atlanta
Just a few hours earlier, from the window of the plane, he'd watched the sun setting, casting pink and purple streaks through orange clouds.
It had taken him a long time to get from the plane to pick up his luggage, just one large suitcase.
Then he had to wait for a cab, the old fashioned kind.
His parents didn't trust Uber and he’d promised them that much.
As he stood in the hotel parking lot, the dark sky loomed overhead, vast without a single star, making him feel insignificant.
Lightning flashed and Bryce jumped. The rain threatened.
He could smell the charged ozone like grapefruit and cut grass.
He shifted his weight from foot to foot, unsure of what to do.
His suitcase sat on the curb beside him looking gray and hard and final.
He wasn't sure if he could ever go back to his parents after the fight they’d had.
It had started out as opinions and discussions and just when he had thought they were coming around to his way of thinking, it turned from bad to worse and both sides said things they couldn't take back.
The worst, was what they'd said about Tate.
How could they? Tate and Pilot both had been there for him through everything.
Tate understood what it meant and what it felt like to be unable to race.
His parents didn't get that. Not in a million years would they understand.
They thought he was just acting like some horny teenager.
He was neither of those things, but they couldn't see that.
No, Bryce's interest in Tate went deeper than his cock. Hell, they hadn’t even had sex yet.
Bryce groaned thinking about cock, his and theirs, and wondered what it would really be like.
Could he really have both Tate and Pilot?
Did he want that? A part of him, besides his dick, wanted that very much.
Two loving caring men that wanted him, cherished him.
That was how they'd made him feel. Yet, he still hesitated. Afraid.
Lightning flashed again, followed by a boom of thunder, so close together that the storm had to be near.
He waited in the calm night air, feeling the charge of the ozone against his face and in his chest. Then the sky ripped open and poured down cold water, soaking through Bryce’s clothes, through his jacket and t-shirt in seconds.
His hair flopped in his face, wet and cold and plastered to his forehead.
Now he was really a mess. He started to cry.
Not sobbing, just tears trickling down his cheeks, joining the rain.
He nudged them off his cheeks with his shoulder and took a deep breath.
He couldn't stand out in the rain forever.
Hoisting up his suitcase, he trudged across the parking lot and under the awning of the second floor.
His injured knee ached from the trip. He’d probably pushed too hard, but he didn’t know how to go slower.
He wasn’t made that way; he took everything head on, at full speed.
He took a deep breath, preparing to jump in, and then pulled out his phone, hoping it had stayed dry in the pocket of his jeans.
He flipped to his messages and shot a quick text to Tate, asking what room he was in.
216
It would be on the second floor. Figures.
Bryce practically dragged his suitcase up the stairs and down the walkway. There was no awning over the second floor and rain beat down on him harder. Lightning lit the sky along with another round of rolling thunder that made Bryce jump and drop his suitcase. He swore under his breath.
Up ahead, a door opened and Tate's blond head peeked out. “Bryce!”
He couldn't move. He tried to pick up his suitcase, but suddenly it had doubled in weight along with his feet. Tate looked like an angel, hanging out the door. Did he still want Bryce? He didn't know what to say or do, frozen there in the rain.
In a second, hands were on him, on his luggage, hauling him into the room.
“You're gonna get sick standing in the rain like this. What're you thinking?” Tate asked.
Bryce shrugged and let Tate pull off his jacket and yank his wet t-shirt over his head.
“Get out of those wet jeans,” Pilot commanded him, but softly.
Bryce obeyed, yanking the denim down his legs.
He toed off his sneakers and dropped his jeans, leaving him standing there in wet socks and underwear.
Tate put a towel over his head and scrubbed to dry his soaking wet hair.
Pilot rubbed another towel over Bryce's body. They worked together, drying him, and then gently pushed him down on the bed and peeled off his socks. Tate knelt on the floor in front of him. He looked into Tate’s sea-green eyes. A storm swirled with unasked questions.
“I don't want to push you, Bryce. Whatever you want is okay. But you need to get your boxers off and get under the blankets.”
Bryce nodded, but instead of reaching for his undies, he reached for Tate, needing to hold him.
Tate leaned into him, pushed his still damp hair out of his eyes.
Bryce couldn't take it anymore. The look of concern and love pushed him over that metaphorical edge.
He pounced, throwing his arms around Tate's neck and rubbing his cold face into his chest.
Tate pushed Bryce's head back with warm hands and looked at him again. “Is this what you want?”
Bryce nodded and bit his bottom lip.
Pilot's low baritone broke the mood from beside them. “You need to say it, baby.”
“Yes,” Bryce gasped, the word and its forcefulness surprising himself. Then, just the corner of his mouth flinched up in a smile he couldn't contain. “Yes,” he said again. “Please. Pilot, Tate.”
“I've got you,” Tate whispered, pulling Bryce in closer.
Hands touched the waistband and pulled his underwear down and he let them.
Tate kissed his face, cheeks, forehead, nose, and finally his mouth.
Bryce wanted more and opened up, jutting his tongue out for Tate to slide his own against, like rubbing velvet the wrong way.
Pilot leaned between them, and Bryce held his breath.
For a second, he thought Pilot was going to be jealous and push them apart, but he didn't. He just leaned in to get his own kiss.
The first was a tentative peck, then Bryce turned his head and Pilot owned the kiss, owned him.
His tongue and lips were on Bryce, demanding, pushing in, as if he'd waited a lifetime for the kiss.
Pilot had been holding back after all, but that time was over.
He picked Bryce up, pulling him into the strongest arms that had ever held him.
His feet left the floor, so he wrapped them around Pilot's waist and hips.
His naked cock rubbed against the soft sweatpants Pilot wore.
Tate pushed against him from behind. At some point, Tate had pulled his own shirt off, but Bryce couldn't remember it happening. He only knew that he’d been sandwiched between two hard chests, skin to skin to skin.
“Bed,” Tate said, and Pilot slid them all down on the king sized bed that dominated the hotel room.
The comforter had been pulled back, and cool sheets met Bryce’s shoulder and hips.
He slid his legs down, only to have Tate's legs wrap around them.
Pilot's hand slid down his arm, his ribs, to his hip, where it stopped, resting there like it held the warmth of the sun.
Tate's nose nestled under his ear, in his hair. He could hear Tate’s hard breathing. “What do you want Bryce?” he whispered, and the feel of it had his cock twitching.
“You. Tate. Pilot. You both. Can I?”
“Please...” The word rolled off Pilot’s tongue like a request for air.
Bryce needed to show them that he was in—all in.
He leaned into Pilot, begging for more kisses with his tongue across thick lips.
He ground his ass backwards into Tate's crotch.
Both men moaned around him. Their hands on him seared, insistent and demanding.
Tate mouthed along his neck and licked his collarbone.
Pilot kissed his lips. They leaned in and kissed each other over him, and the sight of these two together had his cock dripping.
“More,” he groaned out and stuck his tongue between their lips in a wet three-way caress.
Tate chuckled and pushed Bryce onto his back.
He got out of the bed, but only long enough to pull his fancy, designer track pants off.
He was naked underneath and his cock popped out, cut and pink and perfect, as he pushed them off.
While he watched Tate crawling back into the bed, Pilot shuffled on the other side, to pull his off own sweats.
Bryce glanced between them both. How had he ended up here, between two naked men that he wanted so desperately?
“Bryce?” Pilot asked. “Have you ever? What do you want?” His dark eyes roamed over Bryce's body like sweet caresses.
“No,” Bryce could feel the blush creeping over his face. “I've never done anything but kiss.”
“Okay. Slow then.” Pilot's smile was like an old friend, comforting and inviting. “It's okay. Just tell us what you want. When to stop.”
“I want it all.”
Pilot looked over at Tate. “What does all mean, exactly?” he asked.
Bryce tugged at his arm, wanting them both closer, as close as he could get them. “It means everything. This isn't just sex for me. It never was. I want that, but I want you more. Both of you. Like you said. I want to try a relationship.”
Tate exhaled loudly, as if he'd been holding his breath the whole time.
Maybe he had, but he didn't give Bryce time to think about it.
His mouth was on Bryce, nibbling his chin, and licking down to his chest. He flicked his tongue across Bryce's nipple. Pilot joined him, his hands rubbing his thigh and hip. The room lit up accompanied by a boom of thunder, punctuating Bryce’s need.