Page 36 of Missing Pieces (Brantley Walker: Off the Books #12)

“Mornin’.”

Nope. Not morning. Had to be a joke.

Atticus tugged his pillow from under his head and smashed it against his face. “No way is it morning yet.”

“What did you say?”

He lifted the pillow enough to let his words become clear as he repeated the sentiment with an additional curse word, but then smashed it down again.

Slade’s warm body moved up close to him. “I’m sorry, but it is.”

“What time is it?” he asked, lifting the pillow enough to be understood.

“Six thirty.”

Atticus sighed and yanked the pillow away from his face. “That’s only morning in your world. The one where overachievers live. In my world, I’ve still got two hours of night left.”

He was already running on far too little sleep. It was what? Only two days ago that they’d spent the entire night at the hospital?

Maybe once he’d slept for eighteen hours straight, he’d feel like himself again.

Unfortunately, Atticus didn’t have the discipline to go to bed at a decent hour.

If he had, he wouldn’t be so damn tired.

Last night, rather than coming home and face-planting to catch up on the sleep he’d missed, Atticus had spent far too much time outlining the missing statue case.

He felt kind of stupid treating it as they would a missing person’s case, but since this was technically his first case with the task force, he wanted to show Brantley and Reese that he was serious. Regardless of what he was looking for.

The next thing he knew, it was midnight, and he was once again shorting himself on sleep. Especially since Slade felt it was necessary to get up at the ass-crack of day.

“You talk to Carson?” Atticus asked.

“I texted him last night. He was still at his parents’ house. It was their anniversary. All the kids got together to throw them a party.”

“I guess that’s a good enough reason to back out on dinner,” Atticus mumbled.

He’d been looking forward to spending the evening with Slade and Carson.

Especially since that was the plan. Then Carson came by, but only to tell them he needed a raincheck on dinner.

Unfortunately, that raincheck had extended to sex as well because Atticus ended up going to bed alone.

“How many people were there?” he asked, though he didn’t expect Slade to have the answer.

Slade rested his head on the pillow. “I guess if you count his brothers, Wade and Jaxson, and his sisters, Piper, Renee, and Cara, that would be six. Then there’s Piper’s son, and if any of them have significant others.”

“Do they?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

“He’s got a big family, too, huh?”

“He does. And they’re close.”

For whatever reason, Atticus liked that Carson was close to his family.

He knew the same couldn’t be said for Slade.

While he seemed to have a good relationship with his mother, a decent one with his father, Atticus had heard stories about Slade’s relationship with his brothers.

Although he understood Slade’s reason for hating Spencer—the guy screwed his wife—he didn’t know the full story behind his animosity toward the others.

“Shouldn’t surprise you.” Slade rolled to his back. “Carson’s a damn good son. Even a good friend. He’s just a really shitty boyfriend.”

Atticus wasn’t in the mood to listen to Slade dis Carson this morning. “I should get ready to head in.”

He tried to sit up but was flung back when Slade grabbed his arm.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Slade said quickly. “He’s tryin’ now. I’ll give him that.”

Too tired to fight, Atticus relaxed against the pillow.

What he needed to do was get his tired ass out of bed and into the shower.

Since Reese had texted about a potential new case for the entire team, Atticus wanted to get an answer for the missing statue as soon as possible.

He hated the case already, and he’d only been working it for one day.

But he would be damned if he was going to give up or skirt his responsibilities.

It might’ve been a shitty assignment, but Brantley and Reese wouldn’t have given it to him if they didn’t trust him to get it resolved.

That or they hated him.

“What’s the plan for today?” Slade asked, his hand wandering beneath the blanket, shifting over Atticus’s stomach.

“I was plannin’ on taking a … oh, fuck,” he hissed when Slade’s fingers curled around his cock, soft and gentle.

“I’ll take one with you.”

“Take one what?” he asked, his train of thought completely obliterated by the pleasure of Slade’s hand.

Slade chuckled, his voice pitched low. “A shower.”

Shower. Right. Fuck that feels good.

He gritted his teeth when Slade’s fingers firmed around his shaft, stroking leisurely. The man knew exactly how to touch him to make his head spin.

“We’ll save water and time,” Slade whispered, the heat of his gaze searing him.

Atticus rolled his hips, fucking Slade’s fist. “I’ve been in the shower with you before. We damn sure don’t save water.”

Slade’s voice lowered. “But it’s worth it, right?”

“So worth it,” Atticus whispered, closing his eyes as the pleasure of Slade’s touch moved through his entire body.

Slade tugged the blanket, pulling it down. Atticus peered down, watching his cock tunnel in and out of Slade’s fist.

“I love watchin’ you like this,” Slade groaned, his thumb gliding through the pre-cum pooling on the tip of Atticus’s dick.

Yeah, well, Atticus liked when Slade watched.

And touched. Sometimes, he wondered whether Slade had taken a class on exactly how to touch a man to make him lose his mind.

No one had ever touched him the way Slade did.

No one had ever made him feel like he was burning up from the inside out.

Not even Carson and that man knew how to fuck.

But there was no denying Slade was extremely attentive in the bedroom.

Or on the couch.

In the kitchen.

In the truck.

“Slade … oh, fuck,” Atticus moaned softly, reaching up, running his fingers through Slade’s hair, pumping his hips, fucking Slade’s fist. “Put … your … mouth … on … me.”

The bed shifted beside him, causing Atticus to open his eyes. Slade propped himself on one elbow before scooting down the bed. Atticus stared down his body, watching as Slade once again began his smooth, rhythmic stroke. He dared a glance at Slade’s face, saw the man watching him with a smile.

Feeling self-conscious, Atticus said, “What?”

“Nothin’. I like watchin’ you, is all.”

He knew that was true because Slade was always watching him.

Atticus’s breath hitched when Slade leaned forward, his mouth hovering dangerously close to the sensitive head of his dick. He felt warm breath seconds before the soft rasp of Slade’s tongue nearly sent him into hyperspace.

And then Slade was sucking him, drawing him in deep, teasing with his lips and tongue. It was all Atticus could do to hang on, letting the pleasure carry him to new heights.

Clearly Slade knew what he was doing because he never sent Atticus careening over the edge despite his eagerness to do so. He wanted to come, but every time he thought he would, Slade would pull back just enough to move that cliff a little further away.

His hand found its way into Slade’s hair, his fingers twining in the silky, dark strands.

He didn’t dominate, didn’t urge Slade’s head down, he merely touched him because he could.

He enjoyed being grounded in the moment, reminded of who he was with and where they were.

Being with Slade differed from being with the men from his past. Slade and Carson were the first men in his life who’d made him feel like something more than a nameless indulgence.

“Slade … more … I need more.”

To his regret, Slade didn’t give him more. Instead, he pulled off, shifting so that he was blanketing Atticus’s body, his knees cradling Atticus’s hips.

“Let’s shower,” Slade whispered, trailing his lips along Atticus’s jaw.

Atticus was nearly boneless from the pleasure, but he managed a nod. He got to his feet and stumbled along after Slade.

When Slade bypassed his bathroom, Atticus said, “Give me a sec. I’ll join you.”

He took the opportunity to brush his teeth, running through multiplication tables in an effort to get his aching dick to settle long enough for him to take a piss.

Once he was done, he wandered naked through the house toward Slade’s bedroom.

He found Slade in the shower, his naked body on display through the glass that was steaming up.

The man was devastatingly gorgeous. With all that muscle and sinew, he would’ve made one hell of a cover for Muscle & Fitness magazine. Slade was actually the one who had inspired Atticus to want to get into shape when he went to training a few weeks ago.

Slade tipped his head back, closing his eyes and letting the water pour down on his head. Atticus took the opportunity to join him, admiring the way the water glazed all that smooth, bronzed skin.

As he stood there, staring like it was his job, Atticus realized he had new reasons to get up in the morning. Reasons that didn’t include a job or trying to make a living. Reasons that made him believe he was actually living instead of trudging through day by day.

He grinned, realizing something else, too. Having the opportunity to see Slade Elliott in all his bare glory meant somewhere along the way, he’d won the fucking lottery.

Slade felt cool air waft over him when Atticus stepped into the shower. The heated caress of the man’s eyes raking across his skin caused warmth to churn through his veins. He liked the approval he saw in Atticus’s gaze, the lust.

“You wanna touch?” Slade taunted.

Atticus’s eyes slowly lifted. “Hmm?”

“Touch me, Atticus. Now.”

Slade chuckled, then moaned when Atticus’s hands moved over his stomach, then inched higher.

He rubbed him from chest to hip, teasing him with the smoothness of his palm.

For long minutes, Slade continued to wash, and Atticus continued to tease.

It didn’t take much for Slade’s dick to return to the iron-hard state it had been in when he’d been sucking Atticus’s cock a short time ago.

When the water was rinsing the soap away, Slade grabbed Atticus, jerking him against him so he could band his arms around the man. He kissed him, losing himself in the determined thrash of Atticus’s tongue against his own. He could’ve kissed him for days and never tired of it.

Unfortunately, they had things to take care of, which meant keeping to the agenda.

Slade managed to pull back, staring down at Atticus as he reached for the bottle of body wash.

They did the little dance that allowed Atticus to switch places, moving beneath the water while Slade stepped out of the stream.

Without a word being spoken, Slade took the liberty of soaping Atticus from neck to toes, working the lather into every crook and crevice.

He did some teasing of his own, using his soapy hand to stroke Atticus until his cock was pulsing in his fist.

“You wanna come?”

Atticus grunted and groaned.

“I’ll let you, but before we get out of this shower, I’m gonna bend you over and slide my dick in your ass. Your choice. You wanna come before, during, or after?”

“Oh, fuck.” Atticus snapped his hand around Slade’s wrist, stopping him from sending him over the edge. “Fuck me.”

Before Slade could stand tall, Atticus had turned away, spreading his feet wide and pushing his ass out.

Slade would’ve used the water as a lubricant, but it wasn’t quite enough for his liking, so he grabbed the small bottle of lube he kept on the shelf.

He greased his cock and stroked as he stepped up behind Atticus.

Some shifting ensued, but then Slade’s cock was tunneling deep inside Atticus while his arm banded across his middle, keeping him in place.

“Yes,” Atticus sighed, tipping his head back as Slade pushed in to the hilt.

“You are so fucking tight.” Slade retreated slowly, pushed in again, one hand planted on the wall to keep him from falling over.

He fucked Atticus like that, slow and deep, the heat of the water causing steam to billow around them. His pace naturally progressed, faster and harder. And when Atticus began jerking his dick, Slade began pounding into him, chasing his own release.

“Oh, fuck, baby,” he growled near Atticus’s ear. “I can’t stop. I … oh, fuck … I’m gonna come.”

He did, groaning low in his throat as his cock pulsed inside the heat of Atticus’s body. He had enough presence of mind to reach around, taking over for Atticus, stroking his cock hard and fast until Atticus’s asshole locked down on him as he came with a breathless groan.

Twenty minutes later, Slade found Atticus in the kitchen, pouring Cheerios into a bowl.

“Want some?”

Slade chuckled. “Nah. Thanks, though.”

“Let me guess, two hard-boiled eggs and orange juice.”

“It’ll tide me over for a couple of hours,” Slade told him as he opened the refrigerator.

“I got the names of some tow services last night,” Atticus said, slipping the milk carton into the refrigerator. “Thought we’d go by each one, see if they know anything that might help.”

Slade closed the door. “Okay.”

“Since we’ve got a meeting this afternoon, I thought we’d split up the list. You take half. I’ll take the other.”

“Uh … okay.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No.”

Atticus frowned. “What is it?”

Slade shook off the thoughts flooding his brain, refusing to give in to the insecurity eating away at him.

“It’s nothing. I’ll take half, you take half. We’ll meet at HQ when we’re done.”

“You sure?”

“Yup. It’s a good place to start.”

“I thought so.” Atticus nodded toward his phone.

“I sent Becs a list and asked her to identify any kids whose parents either own or work at a place that would have the equipment to move a statue of that size. Or access to one. Figured we’d talk to them, see if one of their trucks disappeared for a little while. ”

“Good idea.” Slade took a sip of juice. “Maybe we could grab lunch before we head into HQ for the meeting?”

“I’m actually meeting Carson for lunch. You wanna join us?”

As though he were an afterthought? No, thank you. “I’m good. Y’all enjoy.”

Forgetting breakfast, Slade spun on his heel and left the kitchen.

“Slade!”

“Shoot me the list. I’ll do my part.”

With that, Slade walked out of the house, hating himself for letting his insecurity ruin what started as a damn fine morning.