Page 11

“Sadly, no,” Hart replied. “I come down there, and I start a goddamn jurisdictional war. Virginia is fucking militant about where the lines get drawn because they’ve had a stick up their asses about federal overreach since the goddamn 1860s.”

I almost asked what happened in the 1860s, then remembered. States’ Rights. The War of Northern Aggression. Not that I actually called it that on purpose anymore, but I’d learned about it that way as a kid.

Elliot let out a growl.

“Trust me, Bucky, I don’t fucking like it either. But unless you want me to piss off the local LEOs”—law enforcement officers—“even more than they already are, I need to stay on my side of the shitty line until something lets me cross it.”

“Elliot, please stop.”

Elliot had stayed surly about that conversation for at least a few more hours, until I couldn’t stand his pacing and ranting any more.

He stopped moving, running one hand over his head, a few of the white strands from the streak in his black hair getting stuck on his fingers, and he tugged irritably at them, pulling one or two out. “I just?—”

“I know,” I interrupted him. “But I can’t?—”

My voice broke, and he was immediately on the bed with me, his arms coming around me. “I’m sorry, baby.”

I sighed into his solid shoulder. “It’s okay.” I wanted to complain. To tell him that I didn’t want to be here anymore. That I just wanted to go home. Because I desperately did.

Part of me really wanted to just suggest that we pack up and go home to Shawano, fuck whatever Momma had left me, fuck the house, even fuck the goats and chickens. Someone would take them in.

And then I thought about Noah, who was still in jail. Noah didn’t have the luxury of even contemplating going home.

I was a terrible brother.

Not a great boyfriend, either, for that matter, since I’d basically yelled at Elliot for wanting to help me.

“Tell me what to do,” he said softly.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I—” I stopped, letting out all the air in my lungs on a sigh.

“Anything,” Elliot murmured.

I swallowed. “I’m a bad brother,” I admitted out loud to him. “I’m letting Noah sit in jail?—”

“What could you do to get him out?” Elliot asked, his voice gentle.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “You’d think I would, because I fucking work in criminal justice—but I just don’t.”

I felt Elliot take a deep breath. “Baby, you’re a crime scene tech and an arson investigator.”

“Almost,” I corrected, more out of habit than anything else. My exam was supposed to be in September, although I was missing classes by being here, so I might have to put it off. Yet another reason I wanted to go home.

“Good enough,” Elliot replied. “But you are not a lawyer, a cop, or an investigator. Why would you know how to get someone out of jail?”

I leaned against him, trying to convince myself that he was right. Because I didn’t know what else I could do. Noah had a lawyer, an expensive one, and I’d also talked to a lawyer. I’d tried begging Hart for help. I’d tried cooperating with the police, for all the good it had done me.

I didn’t know what else I could do.

And I hated it.

I closed my eyes, trying to block out the rest of the world and just listen to the steady rhythms of Elliot’s lungs and heart.

To let myself get lost in the feeling of his body against mine, the warmth and solid strength of him, the reminder that he lived and breathed.

The hand gently rubbing my back, the occasional press of lips against my hair—those reminded me that he loved me. That he thought I deserved his love.

I shifted in his arms, needing more than just closeness.

Tentative, uncertain how he was going to respond, I brought my lips to his.

The kiss was soft, gentle, a yielding tenderness that began as comfort, but slipped into something more desperate as I tried to push everything but Elliot out of my head.

Elliot let out a soft sound of need, but it shifted at the end, and he pressed one palm against my chest.

“Not that I’m complaining, but are you sure?” he asked softly, the hand on my chest sliding up and around the back of my neck, his palm warm and a little rough against my skin.

“I’m sure. I don’t want to think,” I told him. “I don’t want to be able to think.”

Elliot let out a soft humming growl. “I can do that.”

The hand on the back of my neck pulled my lips back to his, and this kiss was anything but soft and gentle.

Lips and tongue and teeth , and I gasped as he bit—gently, because Elliot’s teeth are sharp—my lower lip, pulling it into his mouth as his free hand slid up under the t-shirt I’d put on after my shower.

And then he pushed me back, tugging my shirt away from me before my back hit the mattress, sliding his body between my thighs. He bent to kiss behind my ear, sucking on the skin as his hands roamed my chest.

I tugged slightly on the hem of his shirt, and he stripped it off, exposing the planes of his abs. I reached up and smoothed my hands over his taut belly. He sucked in a breath, and I felt saliva build in my mouth as I watched his shorts get tighter around his rising erection.

I moved my hands from his stomach to the fly of his shorts, undoing the button and then the zipper as he rose up on his knees to make space for me to unzip them.

I didn’t bother letting him remove them entirely—I reached in and pulled out his cock, half-sitting up so that I could take him into my mouth.

“ Fuck ,” Elliot gasped out, one hand sliding into my hair and making a fist, gripping the strands hard.

I moaned around the musky taste of him, running my tongue around his girth, suckling, pulling his hips toward me, wanting him to fuck my mouth.

He pulled my head away with the fist in my hair. “Baby, I fucking love your mouth, but you gotta be careful.” It was a risk to let him come in my mouth—some people with alpha-gal also developed semen allergies. Part of me was sorely tempted to find out, but I let him pull away.

“Then give me something else to do,” I told him.

He slid off the bed, dropping his shorts and the underwear he’d worn beneath them, then grabbed my ankles, grunting a little as he pulled me toward him. “Shorts off,” he ordered.

I squirmed my way out of them, and he grabbed and threw them to the floor, then climbed back onto the bed between my legs. He pressed our bodies together, once again capturing my mouth with his, his tongue branding mine, his teeth scraping against my lower lip.

One rough hand gripped my erection, squeezing, tugging, pulling a soft moan from me that he immediately captured with his mouth, still covering mine.

He let go of my cock, his fingers creeping lower to tease at the sac below, his lips moving to the side of my neck, then my collar bone, then down across my chest until he could suck one nipple into his mouth, the wet and heat of it making me gasp.

Then he nipped at it, and I let out a little yelp.

“Too much?” he asked, looking up at me through thick lashes.

I shook my head, lower lip caught between my teeth.

He licked it again, then pulled away. “I’ll be back,” he murmured against my skin, then went over to his bag, rifling through it until he came back with a small bottle of lube and a condom.

I swallowed, watching him, trying to keep the invasive thoughts that threatened to take over my mind at bay. All I wanted to think about was Elliot. The feel of his hands and mouth, the taste of his skin, the brush of his breath?—

I sucked in one of my own as he returned his attention to my nipple, flicking his tongue over it, then breathing softly so that the contrasting chill raised goosebumps along my skin. He rubbed one finger slowly against the base of my balls, massaging, teasing.

He moved, shifting down on the bed, pushing my legs wider with his shoulders.

And then his mouth closed over me, hot and wet, sucking, pulling, as his finger gently teased around the ring of sensitive muscle.

I gasped, feeling my body driving itself towards the inevitable, yet not wanting it to be over too soon.

Elliot showed me no mercy, swirling his tongue, running his teeth ever so gently along my length, then pulling me fully back inside his mouth.

I made a half-strangled sound, unable to tell him how close I was, how desperately I wanted him inside me. How much I needed to feel him fill me.

But he was relentless, suckling my aching cock until my balls drew up tight, then giving a long, low growl.

I let out a sharp cry as he plunged a finger deep into me, the smoothness of the motion telling me he’d managed to use lube even though I hadn’t heard the bottle open. “El—” I gasped.

Another growl mingled with a low moan, and he began fucking me with his finger, driving in and out, deliberately pushing his fingertip against my prostate so that I practically saw stars in my desperation not to fall over the edge too soon.

And then I lost control, crying out as I came down his throat, his satisfied growl sending shudders through me as my body pulsed out its pleasure.

But he wasn’t done with me.

As I lay there, panting, Elliot’s soft kisses crossing my belly, he continued the motion of his hand, slow and sensual.

I whimpered.

“Let me,” he whispered. “Let me help you forget.”

By the time he snarled out his own release, buried deep inside me as I came a second time, I could barely remember my own name, much less anything else that was happening in the world.

But when he wrapped me in his arms, I buried my face in his strong shoulder and burst into tears. He held me, gently stroking my hair again, his lips resting against my forehead, occasionally pressing a soft kiss to the heated skin.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked softly, his tone worried.

I shook my head.

“I need to hear it, baby.”

“N-no.” I swallowed.

The kiss was longer this time. “You know I love you,” he whispered.

“Y-yeah.” I sniffled, an ugly, wet sound. “I love you,” I managed back. “So m-much.”

Elliot stroked my hair, nuzzling against me. “We’ll get through this,” he said softly. “You, me, Noah, and Lulu. Okay?”

“’Kay.”

I wasn’t sure I believed him, but I really, really wanted to.