Page 25 of Casual Felonies (Wildlings #1)

TRUETT

Rami’s asleep, curled up on his side in my bed, sunlight setting his pretty dark hair aflame.

I spoon him, letting my hand drift down his ribs to his hip, admiring his trim build and soft skin, like maybe he goes to the gym but also uses high-end lotion and doesn’t think too much about being ripped.

The dark hair on his chest looks gorgeous against his light-tan skin, and my fingers keep going back to the little fan of hair sticking out above his ass crack.

He can definitely afford to get waxed or lasered, so this isn’t a matter of finances or even scheduling.

Having only spent a few moments with his fathers, there’s something natural about the way they are with each other.

They’re beautiful men, both pushing sixty, even though they look like they’re in their forties.

As a barber who stares at men’s faces all day long, I can’t spot a single drop of Botox or filler on either of them.

Nothing wrong with Botox. It’s just not their style. I bet they raised Rami with similar sensibilities.

Letting my hand drift down from his hip to cup the soft perfection of his ass, I imagine what it would’ve been like for Rami to grow up in the Hill Country.

I’d bet my last dollar that a shy cowboy took his virginity, that he probably has a pair of worn-in cowboy boots of his own.

He’s always struck me as comfortable in his wealth, but maybe some of that has to do with simply being comfortable in himself.

He doesn’t need to perform for the hyper-primped culture in Austin.

People sometimes confuse his comfort for arrogance—I certainly had—but spending extended naked time with a person will give you a pretty good view into their personality.

One thing I know for certain: Rami is not arrogant.

Privileged, of course, confident in himself, certainly, but not at the expense of or in comparison to others.

And a born bottom to boot. Sure, his dating apps all say vers, but that speaks more to his generosity as a lover and less about his natural inclinations. Not one to deny myself pleasure or force myself into any one box, I make a note to heavily top from the bottom should the occasion ever arise.

Humming, I pull aside his cheek again, admiring how the recovery lube left his furry hole so pretty. Remembering what he confessed last night, I reach across him for the bottle.

I slick myself, then press against his relaxed hole, achingly careful as I push into his warm, helpless body before pulling his back against my chest. He warned me he slept hard, and he hadn’t been lying.

Laying love bites on the fleshy part of his shoulder, I gently thrust into him, hugging and fucking him, hooked on every detail. In the realm of bad ideas, boning Rami Bash raw and completely at my mercy is king.

But he’s a drug I can’t put down. More to the point, I don’t want to.

He says he likes the mix of pleasure and pain, but I don’t think he understands how much I held back last night. Or how much doing that means I want him again and again, to push his limits, to make him beg for it .

Having a cock this big is often a liability, and more than one man has requested the side menu, which I happily oblige. But Rami has yet to back down from a challenge, and that stroked my ego hardcore.

I press my palm against his lower belly to feel my invasion of his body and can’t help the filthy smile on my face. So soft, so sleepy, so perfect. I run my nose up his neck, pushing deeper inside him.

“Mm.”

I go deeper.

“Wha—”

Rami shifts, stretching, pushing his ass against me. “You remembered,” he whines.

“Is it too much after everything we did last night?”

“Nhnn. Told you that lube is the good stuff.”

I chuckle, then palm his cock as I bottom out. Staying buried, I hug him closer, making subtle scooping and side-to-side motions with my hips, drawing out gasps and sighs from his perfect, petulant mouth. I flick a nipple, and he moans.

I’ve never agreed with the notion that one-night stands can’t be meaningful.

Rather, I assume that spending only one night with a person allows for a little extra honesty.

At no point have those arrangements ever felt less than, yet here, in my brightly lit alcove, I know this is different.

Rami’s vulnerability, his willingness to give over his body, is more than I’ve ever had.

Last night, as we shared our secret sexual fantasies with one another, the daring hope in his eyes sprouted a network of roots that are still anchoring deep inside my chest this morning.

“I’ve never gone without a condom,” was my admission. “I want to, don’t know what holds me back.”

“I like giving up control,” he’d whispered, as though it were shameful, as though I hadn’t already read it all over his face.

“My favorite porn is size difference. ”

He’d flushed, gesturing at the fact that he was a bit taller. “Sorry. Probably not what you meant.”

“That’s my favorite porn, Rahm. Not what I like in real life.”

“Oh.”

His blush had deepened, and I’d had to ask, “Does that mean your favorite porn is also something you’d like in real life?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

God, it’d taken him forever to admit, and I’d known it would be good.

“I… Do you know what somnophilia is?” he finally asked, the tops of his cheeks an endearing pink.

“Yes.”

“The porn isn’t usually that good—you can always tell the actor is really awake. But I sleep like the dead and have always wanted to wake up with someone inside me. Mid-fuck.”

“Like consensual non-consent?” I asked, sucking on his earlobe.

He shuddered. “Full-on CNC is a little too much for me, but also…kinda? It feels weird to admit, but I’ve been go, go, go for months, and in charge of all the decisions, and I just want to…not choose.” He ducked his head. “Does that make me a loser?”

“No. Now, shhh, sweetheart. Lie on your back and hold your knees for me like a good boy.”

When he shyly suggested the tests after that round, I suddenly couldn’t think of anything else.

It meant something that neither of us could wait to give the other what they secretly desired. It made me want to delve deeper. What other secret desires did Rami hold back from others? Would he share them with me? Would he let me explore them with him?

What does the man who has everything need from someone like me?

I tilt my hips, and he sucks in a sharp breath, shivering .

“I’ve never felt like this before,” he whispers, grabbing my arm and dragging it across his chest, melting against me.

“Me either,” I confess.

With a subtle tilt of his head, his eyes, those magical, brilliant eyes, meet mine as if searching for the truth. I lay soft kisses on his jaw, his cheeks, his temple, his eyebrow, his nose, anything I can reach.

I go deeper and deeper still, softly stroking his cock as his body violently strangles mine.

“Fuck,” I spit out, my voice a mess. “ Coming .”

We are so comfortable, so wrapped up in each other. I don’t understand the power Rami has over me. He comes as I come, and it is too much and so perfect all at once.

It’s almost painful how tight he’s squeezing me, and now I understand what he meant last night. The pleasure and pain are the perfect mix. I stay inside him as long as I can, thrusting through my hot cum while smearing his cum over his belly, marking him inside and out.

Mine.

We eventually return to the shower, making out like lovers, like we’ve been doing this for years, staring into each other’s eyes, neither of us willing to say what’s happening between us.

As the water turns cold, sadness dims the Caribbean blue of his eyes. I turn off the faucet and grab a towel, holding him to me as I dry him.

“What’s this look?” I finally ask, unable to stand it for a second longer. “Why so sad?”

He shakes his head and presses his face into my neck, and we stand there in my tiny bathroom, hugging each other.

“Rami?”

“You’ll think I’m so stupid.”

“I’ve seen your IQ and your SAT scores. I can assure you, I know you are not stupid. ”

“Street stupid,” he murmurs, deprecating himself with my words. “Heart stupid.”

I inhale sharply, wondering if he understands how brave he really is. Certainly braver than I am.

“Would it help you to know that, with everything I’ve learned about your family, this night I spent with you is still the thing blowing my mind the most?”

He pulls away, his eyes a little red around the edges. “You don’t have to say that.”

“I know.” I cup his jaw and place a soft kiss on his lips. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

“But…my fathers.”

“They don’t get a say in this, do they?”

He straightens his shoulders, that half-smirk appearing. “No, I guess they don’t.”

We’re still being coy with our words, but…this is different.

I hold him and kiss him for minutes or hours, I don’t know. We could’ve continued kissing, but a notification goes off on Rami’s phone. He ignores it at first, but after the third ding, he reluctantly pulls away. “I just need to make sure everyone’s okay.”

I’m already nodding, stopping only to kiss his nose, then wrap the towel around him and smack his ass as he leaves the bathroom. Grabbing another towel, I finish drying myself off. By the time I walk back into my living room, towel wrapped around my waist, Rami is shaking his head.

“Bad news?”

“I don’t know.” His jaw strained, he continues, “Brantley was released this morning. His lawyer contacted me, said Brantley’s release is conditional. He’s asking me to provide them with an amicus brief. He wants me to say he’s a stand-up guy who can be trusted to cooperate with the government.”

I figured Brantley would run the second he got out, so a request like this is unexpected. Given the amount of jail time he’s facing, I suppose turning on whoever he committed fraud with was inevitable. I keep that to myself. Instead, I say, “You don’t seem very excited about the prospect.”

Rami sets the phone down and rubs his forehead. “The best and worst thing about me is that I am loyal to my friends. I’ll ride into the battle for any one of them, anytime, even if it means getting into trouble.”

He tells me how he and his cousin-friends got the Wildling nickname. I’d known the basics from the news reports, but when he talks about what it meant to have his cousins go all-in together, it’s endearing as hell.

“But…” I say, wanting to know where he is with all of this.

“Silas thinks Brantley’s guilty, and he’s never steered me wrong.”

I press my lips into a line. And he notices.

“What do you think, True?”

“I think if I tell you my opinion, you may never wanna see me again, and I would hate that.”

That’s as close to an admission as I can manage.

His smile is soft. “I promise, I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t wanna know.”

I rough up my drying hair, trying to figure out how much I should say.

Finally, I go with, “I’m pretty certain he’s in with some really bad dudes.

I don’t think he started off as a bad guy.

I don’t think he’s anything like his dad, but he got himself into trouble, and what they’ve got on him will put him away for a long time.

He’s smart to cooperate with the government, to ask you to provide the court with a statement of his stand-up qualities.

” I blow out a breath. “But I think it’s dangerous for you to involve yourself with this case. ”

Yeah, there’s no way Brantley’s guilt-tripping Rami into helping him. Brantley’s legal problems are his alone, and since he’s out of jail, I think a visit and a friendly warning should suffice.

“I don’t know how to tell him I can’t do this for him,” Rami says, bringing me back to the present.

“You don’t have to tell him now. Give it a few days, talk it over with your family, and I know y’all will come up with the right thing to say.”

“What would you tell him?”

Ugh, this worry line between his brows is fucking killing me. I grab him and kiss it until it melts.

“I’d be real subtle. Something along the lines of, ‘Fuck you for ruining my gala, and lose my number.’”

He snorts, snuggles in a little closer, then tilts his face, wordlessly asking for a kiss. I give it to him, and we kiss until he pulls away again.

“I’ve got to take care of this,” he says, the sadness returning to his eyes again as he steps back. “I need to call my lawyer and talk to my dads.”

I hate the distance, even if it can only be measured in inches.

“I’ll be in the shop all day. Call me if you need anything.”

He kisses me again, pulls on his clothes, and leaves.

After standing in my towel for a beat too long, I shake myself out of my stupor and get dressed, making plans to pay Brantley a little visit after my appointments today. He needs to know he can’t fuck with my—with Rami’s peace like that. He needs to step way the fuck back.

My mind goes down the rabbit hole of logistics, access, and timing as I pull on my socks and lace up my old-school Doc Martins. It’s only when I check my reflection in the mirror, haphazardly running styling paste through my hair, that I realize something’s changed.

In all the years I’ve been quietly approaching shelters, women’s groups, and trauma organizations to see if anyone is actively being menaced, I’ve never once contemplated doing so for a lover. I’ve never known a lover well enough to be aware of their problems, let alone provide solutions.

The thought of letting Rami handle this on his own makes my stomach cramp. Though…it’s not like he’s actually alone in the world. It’s not like he needs me . But I can’t fathom trusting anyone else to do my job.

What the fuck has he done to me?