The Eagle and the Fox (A Snowy Range Mystery, #1) (24 page)

He could have chosen to resent that reminder of Marcus’ former lover, but instead it felt comfortable and homey—like Becca and him tucking in the girls and singing the ditty they’d learned from their mother and her mother, passed down through the Foxglove generations.

They walked hand-in-hand to the bathroom. It was barely big enough for one but somehow they managed to fit, brushing their teeth, scrubbing at chin whiskers and wincing at each other in the mirror.

Marcus chuckled and said, “Hope you’re partial to a little chafing.”

“Why? You planning on playing rough?”

In answer, Marcus ordered, “Take off your boots.”

Josh complied as the blood pumped harder through his veins. Without the two-inch heels, Marcus’ chin came to the indentation below his Adam’s apple, a notch that the man’s teeth and mouth sucked and nipped and rubbed until the burn set his skin on fire. The assault had been subtle, with no hands or torso to interfere with the awareness that Marcus controlled his pleasure—controlled what he felt, when he felt it.

Squirming, longing to grip Marcus by the waist, lift him up and slam him against the nearest wall and run his tongue and teeth roughshod over every inch of flesh was met with
no, wait, not yet
.

Marcus whispered, “Do I vex you, cowboy... because I want to. I want to make you weep before you come. I want you to beg me to stop because it’s too perfect, too miraculous for mere mortals...”

Fucking hell, where was that coming from?

Josh gasped, “God damn it, Marcus, what part of desperate didn’t you get?”

Stepping away, Marcus chuckled. “Maybe I should let up on the gay porn sites, whadya think, cowboy?”

“I think... how about letting
me
write your lines instead. Is that a deal?” Apparently it wasn’t, because Marcus rocked on his heels, hooked his thumbs in his pockets, and gave Josh a hooded glance.

Shifting uncomfortably under the new, intensely focused scrutiny offered at least one benefit—it made for a miniscule adjustment in jeans that had suddenly gotten two sizes too small.

Marcus nodded, murmuring, “Nice, very nice. But I think we should get those pants off before I need to take a set of tree nippers to them. You look like you’re about to explode.”

About to explode wasn’t putting too fine a point to it. The corollary, “about to reveal”...
that
promised to be the game changer, something he’d rather deal with in the relative safety of the bed where the light was less harsh and he had a sheet or a blanket he could pull across the webbing of scars and raised flesh, the moguls in his thigh, and the disparity in muscle definition between left and right leg.

Marcus might not notice one leg was shorter than another, but what he couldn’t help seeing were the remnants of violence and the fickle hand of fate, the stark evidence of him being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was a reminder of war and all its ugliness that belonged elsewhere, not in a man’s home.

Or in his bed...

Josh whispered, “Maybe we should wait. Maybe this isn’t a good idea.”

Marcus’ eyes softened, his frame relaxed. Understanding blossomed. His voice was soft, radiating kindness. He asked, “If we wait, will anything change?” and extended his right hand, gently tracing a fingertip from Josh’s hip to his knee. Even through the rough denim, Josh felt the electrical charge of desire fire his synapses. Marcus persisted. “Tell me, will it?”

“N-no.”

With steady hands, Marcus unbuttoned his shirt and let it drop to the floor. His skin was fair and sprinkled with a graying light brown mat of hair. Nose wrinkling as if in distaste, Marcus rubbed his belly and sighed. Josh could guess why. Age was the great leveler, it carved its mark in a man’s face and his hands, deepening lines and creating new ones. It invited gravity to join the party, pulling down the edges of the mouth, softening the lines and rounding the profile. It added girth without necessarily adding weight.

A man could work himself half to death trying to create the illusion of eternal youth. For some it worked, for others not so much, and in the end age won out. Josh swept his eyes over a man who’d done right by others, who wore his life in the soft contours of his compact frame, whose eyes reflected the goodness of a soul Josh had come to admire.

There was much about Marcus Colton to love. And the only way he’d ever discover all those details was if he could set aside his own fears and self-loathing. Trouble was, it was easier said than done.

Marcus unzipped his own slacks and stepped out of them. He was a boxer man and that made Josh smile. As he traced the treasure trail with his eyes to where it disappeared under the elastic, Marcus spoke, so softly Josh didn’t quite register the words. But when they did sink in, he stilled his breath and listened carefully.

Marcus gripped the soft cotton boxers, kneading the material with his fists, as he said, “We all carry scars, cowboy. Yours are there for everyone to see. Others carry their wounds inside, where no one knows to look, and even if they do... If they find those wounds, they might look away. Some might even run. Others will offer sympathy. There’s nothing wrong with that, but the ones who stay and become a part of you, they understand that the thing that makes you
you
is the thing that hasn’t changed.”

His heart in his throat, Josh slowly unbuckled his belt and drew the leather through the loops, the soft shush echoing in his ears. He kept his head lowered, avoiding Marcus’ gaze, but when he’d finally peeled the jeans and his briefs off his hips and shimmied out of them, he raised his head to meet Marcus’ open-mouthed stare.

Josh didn’t know what to think, how to act... how to
be
. He’d heard those words of wisdom so many times he could recite the mantra by heart, but the words simply refused to take root where he could grow them into something that made sense. Something that wasn’t just a shield or an excuse.

The words, the stare, the silence yawning into infinity invited him to choose his escape hatch, to embrace the darkness. As if he had a choice...

Marcus murmured, “Holy crap. Are you sure you got a large enough size, stud muffin, ’cause if you’re planning on riding this cowboy...” He swallowed and locked eyes with Josh. “I just need to know one thing, Josiah.”

“What’s that?”

“Are you still desperate?”

They both stared at Josh’s erection. For once, since he’d been shocked into his new reality, he’d had a choice of how to face his fears. A choice that Marcus made possible.

Josh grinned, his face nearly cracking apart from relief and joy.

“Am I still desperate? Oh hell yeah.”

“Good answer. Now let’s get this fuck fest underway.” Marcus graced Josh with an impish smirk. “I ain’t getting any younger, cowboy.”

––––––––

T
hey said it was like a riding a bicycle, that you never forgot how. Oh yeah, you’d waver and wobble, the seat would hit in all the wrong spots, the handlebars could take on a life of their own as the pedals twisted and twirled out of control. But in spite of all that, you got the crazy machine to move. Side-to-side, doing lazy loops from one curb to the next, the narrow tires bouncing on gravel or rough patches until it occurred you might be better off on a less challenging surface. For a while you forgot to look up because the only thing that mattered was moving forward, finding the balance between confidence and fear of falling, fear of failing.

Marcus grinned, because balance had been the first thing to go and he’d fallen, fallen so hard and so fast his body still vibrated from the shock wave hours later.

Josh huffed in his ear, “You still awake?”

“Yeah.”

“Me too.”

Marcus turned over to face his lover. “What are you thinking about?”

“You.” Josh paused, then chuckled. “And the lube.”

Snorting with laughter, Marcus shook his head in agreement. “God damn, that stuff’s harsh.”

“Yeah, well, maybe we could have used less of it, whadya think? Less is more?”

“Fuck no, with that shit, less is less.” Marcus kicked the covers off and scooted to the edge of the bed. “Come on, let’s brush our teeth and get cleaned up.”

Marcus stood and offered a hand to Josh who grunted, “Thanks,” and gingerly tested his weight on his game leg. “Ortho said I might not be able to kneel, what with one thing or another. Glad I was able to prove him wrong.” He made a face. “Sort of.”

“Shit, man, you should have said something.”

“I couldn’t.”

Exasperated, Marcus sputtered, “Why the hell not?”

“Because it’s not polite to speak with your mouth full.” Josh ducked away when Marcus took a playful swing at his ass. “Now, now. Let’s save that for round two.”

“Be careful what you wish for, cowboy.” He leered at Josh whose eyes had suddenly gone stormy dark. Marcus felt the first tingle of anticipation, the promise of a next step, maybe one after that. Somehow the air in the loft had gotten thicker, denser, heavier. Filled with tension.

Josh took his hand and led him to the bathroom, pushing aside the privacy curtain and gathering Marcus’ body to nest against his side. They stood together, the mirror that had earlier reflected two men on the cusp of taking that first step, now revealed a new truth and a different reality. They were still two men, Josh—tall, rugged, damaged and beautiful—and himself, not so tall, definitely not rugged, and trapped in a memory—but somehow they’d become more in just the space of a few hours.

Breaking the spell, Marcus reached for his toothbrush, feeling slightly foolish for his fanciful thoughts. A mind-bending blow job, coupled with a playful dance on his prostate, did not a future make. But it was a damn good start.

When they’d finished cleaning up, Josh once more took his hand, but this time he headed toward the couch. Marcus asked, “You want something to drink?”

“No, I’m good.”

“How about something to eat? You hungry?”

Josh loomed over him, murmuring, “Not for food.”

Heat flooded Marcus’ groin, his cock filling at Mach speed. Throat tight, he asked, “What can I offer you then?”

“Just you.”

Lowering his head, Josh covered Marcus’ mouth in a punishing kiss, driving him against the back of the sofa and bending him over until he hung suspended in a delicate balance. The weight, the sheer bulk of the man took his breath away. For the first time in his life, Marcus wanted nothing more than to be possessed completely, to have Josh fill him up and take him to the edge of time and space and hold him there, screaming until he forgot his own name.

Hands braced on the couch, cradling each side of Marcus’ head, Josh husked, “I know we should be taking this easy, going slow, but dammit, Marcus... I need to be inside you so bad it hurts.”

Hitching his hips, Josh ground their cocks together. The sensation was exquisitely erotic, sending sparks of pleasure radiating in every direction. If he thought he’d been hard before, that had been nothing compared to now, with his cock so wantonly displayed, so vulnerable to the lust holding him in thrall.

Clasping his hands over his eyes, Marcus groaned, “Then fuck me,” and spread his legs wide in defiance of gravity. His head touched down on the cushion, the action exposing his throat as he arched back, bracing himself. All he heard or felt was his own blood pounding in his veins. Light-headed, disoriented, he waited as Josh moved away, the vacuum his release created raising to attention every hair on his body.

Disembodied, Josh’s voice drifted in and out of his consciousness. “Keep your eyes closed. That’s it... Relax.”

Relax, relax...
Easier said than done, not with his skin and muscles stretched to the breaking point. Besides, relaxed was the last thing he wanted. Marcus needed tension, he craved reckless, his ass begged for Josh’s thick cock to ream him hard and fast—the deeper, the more violent the better.

A finger caressed his throat, pressuring the Adam’s apple ever so slightly, then floated over his skin, circling nipples gone hard as nails, so stiff they popped and threatened to escape the clutches of his pecs. Marcus tried squinting through fingers that cracked open a window yielding only a view of the upended crate and the chair beyond.

Disappointed, Marcus muttered, “Fuck,” and thrilled to Josh hissing, “Stop cheating,” as he pinched and twisted the right nipple hard enough that Marcus buckled forward, swearing.

A finger became a warm palm holding him in place. Heat suffused his skin, chill teased his nipples and his cock—three points of contact, three points of wanton display. He felt dirty and slutty and so turned on he had no idea how to handle it.

Marcus sucked air and then sucked in his gut as Josh’s palm traveled the softer rise of belly. He might have imagined the quiet chuckle. He didn’t imagine the slick flick of lube, the drag of a finger nail, taint to hole and back, dancing a waltz in four-four time. Tugs on his sacs distracted him momentarily as the finger that had teased now delivered, punching through the opening before stopping to let Marcus adjust.

Bearing down, Marcus grunted, “I’m no fucking virgin. Just do it.” It worked. The finger slid to the base, then out, and in—first one, then two, then three, stretching and massaging until shafts of pleasure sent his hips into a bucking frenzy. Babbling nonsense, Marcus thrust his arms out, fingers scrabbling at the cushions for purchase to hold himself in place.

Before Marcus had a chance to react, Josh’s thick cock had replaced his fingers, nudging carefully at the entrance, warm hand to Marcus’ hip, the bubble of
Stop me if it’s too much
hanging above them.

Bearing down, Marcus gasped, “Can’t wait,” and allowed himself, for the first time in years, to take instead of receive, thrusting his hips up to seat Josh’s cock to the root.

Josh hissed, “Jesus, you’re so tight,” and tried to keep still to allow Marcus time to adjust.

Bracing his heels against the back of the couch, Marcus took control, moving and twisting until Josh groaned and grabbed Marcus’ hips, finding the rhythm and the cadence that sent lightning bolts to sear the flesh from Marcus’ bones.