Operation 22 The Road Back Home
Furious
Furi stood in the dark kitchen with the phone still pressed to his ear.
One word replaying in his mind.
Com’ere.
It was an open door, and Furi had never wanted anything in his life the way he wanted to get through it before Syn changed his mind.
His heartbeat so hard it felt violent. Every breath was too sharp and shallow.
The house was quiet but not peaceful. It hadn’t been in weeks. Not with the kitchen missing Syn’s voice, the living room devoid of the heavy sound of him dropping onto the couch with a long groan after a shift.
Not with his side of the bed empty and his pillow still carrying the faintest trace of him because Furi couldn’t bring himself to wash it.
He had to hurry and get some things packed and get on the road, fearing if he took too long, Syn would remember all the reasons he shouldn’t’ve called.
He turned too fast and hit his hip hard on the edge of the counter.
“Ouch, shit.”
He raced around the house, throwing things in his backpack. Converse, comfortable, outdoorsy clothes, toothbrush, deodorant, electric razor, the bodywash Syn loved him to use. His charger and wallet were the last thing he added.
He didn’t plan on being gone long unless Syn let him stay, and God, if Syn let him stay, he’d sleep on the floor at the foot of the bed if that was all Syn could give him.
He shut off the lights, checked the windows, the front and back door, set the alarm, and left through the garage.
His Harley waited on the opposite side of the Mustang he was rebuilding, black and chrome, with smoke and flames on the fuel tank and rear fenders.
He strapped his backpack down, swung one leg over, stuck the key in the ignition and turned her over, the thunderous roar shattering the quiet.
He turned toward the dark houses lining the street. “Sorry,” he whispered to the neighbors.
Furi slid his helmet on and eased out of the garage. He hit the street, closed the garage from the remote, and coasted to the end of the block before giving the engine what it demanded.
The bike surged beneath him, and Atlanta fell away behind him.
The city at one in the morning was stripped down and relaxed, all its daytime attitude and bustle, gone.
There was no traffic boxing him in, horns honking, entitled pedestrians, or double-parked delivery trucks in lanes.
He didn’t have to worry about any of that shit.
It was just a long, unending stretch of wet-looking pavement, and he could concentrate on what he was going to say when he saw Syn.
He’d apologized, promised, and begged enough. He didn’t think Syn had called him for more of that.
So Furi rode and tried to imagine talking while gazing into Syn’s eyes and not his back.
His dark, beautiful, soulful eyes.
Furi had always seen too much of his real feelings in them from the first day they’d met. When he was happy, anxious, mad, confused…aroused.
The highway opened around him, wide and nearly empty, the cool air snapping his jacket against his arms, and easing up under his helmet. He gripped the handlebars until his knuckles ached.
Corbin.
He let the name move through him with the pulsing of the bike.
Corbin. Corbin. Corbin.
By the time he turned onto the long road toward Fox and Bull’s ranch, his heartbeat had shifted into something slower, not calmer.
The dark sky spread wider here. There were fewer lights and more trees. The smell of grass and earth reached him even through the leather and exhaust.
The heavy ranch gate stood open between two cobblestone pillars, with a large wooden sign overhead announcing Walker’s Farm Ranch.
Furi slowed. He crossed the entrance and stopped just inside, cutting the engine before it could carry any further across the sleeping property.
He unclipped his helmet and hooked it over one handlebar, then got off and took the bike by the grips.
The gravel crunched under his boots as he began the long walk up the drive, pushing the Harley beside him. He didn’t want to be rude and wake the house or spook the animals.
The pastures stretched dark on both sides, moonlight silvering the long fence lines. Somewhere far off, animals huffed and wood creaked, maybe from the barns. Crickets chirped and nocturnal creatures called from the tree line.
The big house sat ahead with only a few low lights glowing under the porch and along the walkway. When he reached the side of the house, he parked his bike near the line of vehicles, set the stand, and unfastened his backpack.
As he rounded the front of the house, the minimal porch light caught the shape of a man sitting in one of the big Adirondak chairs.
My love.
Syn sat with his elbows on his knees, hands hanging between them. He was bare-chested, jeans unbuttoned, hair rumpled from sleep or lack of it. The soft lighting over his head touched his shoulders, illuminating the tan of his skin, and hard lines of his torso.
Furi stopped walking as his lungs forgot what they were made to do.
Syn lifted his head, staring at him, and everything Furi had rehearsed on the ride over vanished.
Syn stood slowly, but it hit Furi like a kick to his stomach. His knees almost buckled with relief, but he forced himself forward instead, taking the porch steps one at a time, careful and controlled.
He stopped a few feet in front of Syn. Close enough to smell him.
Syn’s gaze moved over him, intense, hungry, and wounded all at once.
Furi felt it everywhere. He slipped the backpack from his shoulder and let it drop to the porch. Neither of them spoke, and Syn took a step closer. Furi swallowed and took one too. Their foreheads met.
That was all.
No hands at first. Just the barest contact of skin to skin. His body shook, and he hated it, but he couldn’t stop it either.
Syn clutched the lapels of his bike jacket, fisting the light fabric in both hands, his brows drawn tight, face twisted as if something inside him hurt too much to hold on to by himself and this was the only place his hands knew to put it.
Furi’s own hands trembled as he lifted them to Syn’s bare chest. His placed his palms against the warm skin and solid muscle, sliding them upwards slowly, to his collarbones, then his neck. Syn smelled like soap and fresh air. Like sundried sheets and wind.
Furi kept his mouth close to Syn’s, close enough to feel every breath, wanting so badly to take, but he didn’t.
He rubbed his thumbs along Syn’s throat, feeling the pulse there, pounding fast and strong. He turned his face and nuzzled into Syn’s jaw, dragging his nose along the rough line of stubble.
“Love,” he whispered.
Syn sucked in a breath and released it with a low groan. The sound was muted and broken around the edges.
Furi closed his eyes tighter. He moved to Syn’s ear, lips barely grazing it. “I miss you so much.”
Syn’s fists loosened in his jacket and for half a second, he thought he was going to step back.
Instead, Syn wrapped both arms around his waist and dragged him in so hard Furi grunted into his shoulder, the force of it nearly lifting him onto his toes. He locked his arms around Syn’s neck and held on.
Fuck.
Syn’s arms were crushing and unforgiving around him, but he’d let him break every bone in his body if that was what it took.
He buried his face in Syn’s throat, sliding one hand into the short hair at the back of his head, the other pressed flat between his shoulder blades.
Syn held him as though he was angry at the space that’d existed between them for weeks, and Furi held him as if his actions could apologize better than his words.
Syn wove his hand into his hair, making him shudder at the familiar grasp. It wasn’t demanding or punishing, just claiming a place that had always belonged to him.
Syn began to pull back, causing a needy, desperate moan to leave escape before Furi could check it. He opened his eyes to find Syn staring at his mouth.
The air shifted between them and Furi felt the urge of the kiss like hunger moving under his skin. But he waited, needing Syn to choose. Syn tightened the hold on his hair. “Furious.”
Furi’s eyes burned, but he kept his voice steady. “Yes.”
Syn looked at him for another long second before he closed the last few inches between them, his mouth coming down on Furi’s in a way that said he still had a lot of hurt and anger inside.
Furi took it with a rough inhale, clamping onto Syn’s shoulders as the kiss rocked through him.
Their mouths moved possessively, then slower, then hard again when Furi made a sound that made Syn drag him closer. The kiss deepened by degrees of brokenness, reunion, relief, and surrender.
Syn pulled back enough for them to breathe, and Furi chased him half an inch before he stopped himself.
Syn’s jaw worked as the kiss deepened, slower now, aching with everything neither of them had strength to say.
It felt so damn good that Furi melted into him, his body answering before pride or fear could intervene.
When Syn finally broke away to inhale, they stayed locked together, both panting, hips pressed close, the heat between them impossible to ignore.
Syn rested his brow against Furi’s and slid his hand through his hair with such careful tenderness it nearly ruined him.
“Come inside.”
Furi nodded, unable to speak. Syn reached down and took his hand. He stared at their joined fingers before Syn tugged him toward the door.
The house was dark and silent when they stepped inside. Furi moved carefully behind him, backpack in his other hand, boots sounding too loud no matter how softly he tried to step.
The air smelled like oak, leather, and whatever savory meal had been cooked earlier.
Syn led him through the downstairs without turning on lights, before they climbed a set of stairs together.
Furi watched the flex of Syn’s back, the broad line of his shoulders, the way his bare feet landed on the steps.
He’d followed Syn into rooms a thousand times, but this felt different. More important, and a little dangerous.
Syn opened a door and waited for him to walk inside.