Blood Brothers (Rocky Mountain Shifters) (4 page)

That must have done the trick. Fin closed the distance and wrapped his arms around Tristen’s shoulders. “I don’t want to push you. But I’ve got needs.”

He bracketed Fin’s face and stared into the most incredible amber eyes. The effect was a direct hit to his chest. His desire soared, and all he could think about was the feel of Fin’s mouth. His tongue. His body. “Kiss me.”

“Make me.”

“Damn. You’re not letting this drop.”

“I can’t.”

“Man oh man. You see the irony. A demand for submission. Shouldn’t you just accept what I’m willing to give you?”

“Suffer in silence? I think I have. It’s a paradox.”

“You’ve played your hand well.” Tristen’s mouth crashed down onto Fin’s. He thrust his tongue into his mouth, tasting his partner’s hunger now laced with steely demands. Fin wound his muscular arms around Tristen’s waist and he opened his mouth wider, letting Tristen own him.

Tristen moved him backward to the bed. Pushing him down, he moved his hands to his lover’s legs and tugged them open. Fin’s hard-on jutted forward, the tip glistening in invitation. Tristen lowered himself, coming to kneel between rock-hard thighs.

“I want you.” Fin groaned, and then spread his hands over Tristen’s face, pushing his finger into his mouth.

Tristen bit the tip, then began sucking on Fin’s finger. Wrapping his hand around Fin’s cock, he stroked down. Fin’s eyes glimmered golden.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Tristen bent down and explored his partner’s crown, alternating between long licks and deep sucks. He pumped Fin’s length with his hand as he sucked hard around his cockhead, eliciting a shudder from his lover. Tristen’s head bobbed to some imaginary rhythm. Both their cocks were engorged pipes. He inhaled Fin’s musk that had him about to jet.

Tristen stopped and stood up. “Slide over and suck me. Consider this a race.” He moved across Fin, inhaling his lover’s wolf scent. His hackles kicked up, and he growled. “God, it’s getting close to the full moon.”

Fin grimaced. “Just finish what you started this morning.”

The force of their lovemaking intensified as they each mouthed, stroked, and sucked the other into oblivion. Fin shuddered. Tristen might not have been able to deliver like a club Dom, but he knew he had the power to suck Fin into a mind-altered state. Fin played dirty and began thrusting his finger into Tristen’s ass, then swallowed him down his throat, holding him inside a channel of warm wetness.

He let go of his will to be the last man with a hard-on and took his mouth off Fin’s cock. “Fuck, you win. Take it like a man. Every drop and I’ll bring you flowers while being nice to your friend. Otherwise I’ll never shine your hide the way you like it. Suck me, Fin. Fucking-A.” He stopped talking as his canines stabbed his lips. He focused on his cock pumping across his lover’s lips and he let go.

“You’re incredible.” Tristen’s hips jerked in pleasure. Moaning through the aftershock of coming, he carefully gave his full attention to Fin’s erection. After last night he was still primed to the gills. Ready this morning to give it hard and rough. Scraping his sharp teeth over and around Fin’s ridge, he moved his tongue down the tight line of reactive tissue pulled taut at the rear of his lover’s cock. Over and over again, he sucked and scraped. He pulled roughly on Fin’s rod, repeated his rough sucking over the crown, amazed to hear his partner whimper, only to repeat the action.

“Shit, Tris, I’m going to come. So close. Please.” Fin grabbed either side of his head, the ultimate sign that he was on the verge. He began to fiercely pump into Tristen’s mouth, the veins on either side of his rod rippling. Fin howled, then sprayed into Tristen’s mouth. He swallowed the semen bursting across his tongue.

Fin contracted and exhaled. “Fuck, you give good head.”

He patted Fin’s ass. “I like you too,
baby
.” He regarded his partner. Fin caressed him, his fingers tracing across his chest while a hint of smile curved his lover’s lips, and Tristen sighed at the change in energy as he lay back. Finally.

Silently appreciating his partner’s incredible cut abs, he let his heartbeat slow down. Fin turned over and moved to sit on the side of the bed. He rolled his shoulders and head, did circles with his chin. Something was up if Fin was employing anti-stress exercises without a word after getting his rocks off. So much for a reprieve.

“You said Shawn’s got you moving early?” Tristen asked.
Mum as ever
. He ran his finger along the space where Fin’s ass cheeks had dented the sheet. “What’s going on?”

Fin stopped moving his head and stilled, completely silent.

Tristen rubbed his hand over Fin’s broad shoulder, muscle tensing under his touch.

Fin sighed before he scratched the side of his head, as though weighing his answer. “Nothing to speak of other than what I’ve already told you. It’s not going away. We’ve got to sort this out. Not just say we will and then don’t.”

Tristen studied his friend’s profile. “Damn. I get that. What I don’t get is why you’re suddenly pushing for it. Something had to happen. You don’t wake up one day and board the train toward Kinkville, next stop whips and chains.”

“It’s inside me. I don’t know why. Do you know why you’ve had nightmares? Rough sex…the pain and edge are what I want. I think.”

“You see? You honestly don’t know. But you’re willing to take a huge-ass risk. Those club bangers are into all sorts of shit. Drugs. What if someone crosses the line? You won’t even speak up. Forget a safe word. You’d never fucking use it! I don’t like that you won’t consider safeguards.”

“That’s rich. Aren’t you the one who travels around with a loaded weapon, acting like you can lay down the law? I’ve asked you to cut back on work and get help. What are you doing about lessening your own stress levels? Fucking me is your best plan. Well, I want to fuck you, too. What’s so different?” Fin snapped his fingers. “That’s right. You get to call the shots. Well buddy, you’re beta. So the hell am I.”

“Are you saying you’d rather be with an alpha?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Well damn me, but if you don’t talk, I can’t guess. I have nightmares from war. Why do you need to be tortured? Didn’t you get enough overseas?”

“It’s not that simple.”

Tristen wanted to punch the wall. He took in Fin’s closed expression and saw the time on the clock. “Jesus Christ, I’m late. I won’t push. Fin, I’m here. One day you’d better open up. If not to me, then to someone. You’re as good as on a timer.”

“Tick-tock.” Fin coolly regarded him.

He rolled his eyes. “Let’s table this until later.”

Fin nodded. “Gotta go myself. I’m showering, then I’m out of here. Connect later. Dinner?”

“I’ve got a meeting at the club. How about dinner there. I’ll reserve a room.”

“I’m bringing Santo.” Fin’s voice dropped a couple of octaves at least.

Tristen’s senses pricked and he inhaled. “I’m not there to do more than dinner. I’m working.”

“I don’t expect anything except a meet and greet. He’s…. Christ, Tristen, you’ll appreciate his style.”

His style
. Should he be jealous? “Fine. Whatever.” He held up his hands. “I’ve got to get dressed.” Tristen headed into his closet, taking out the first dark suit his line of sight fell upon. Thoughts tumbled around his mind. Fin hadn’t started with the crap about pain and sex for months. Now here it was again, out of the blue along with a
friend
. One who Fin had skirted on the details about when pressed. Naw, this wasn’t coincidence. He’d meet this son of a bitch and set him straight. Special or not.

Reeling, he shifted his attention to his shirts. Baby blues and whites, button downs, all freshly dry cleaned, light starch, oxford collars. Clothing should be easy. There were too many other things in life that required thought. Like a boyfriend who suddenly had an exotic new friend. He sucked in his serrated breath.

Tristen was suited up before Fin had finished showering. He pulled out a handgun from the safe, checked, and holstered it. He stuck his hand inside the bathroom, letting out a cloud of billowing steam. “I’m off. So, we’re on for dinner?”

“Yeah. Make it about eight and we’ll meet up. Call me if something changes.”

“Will do. Have a good day…take it easy.” He waited but nothing came. “Right.” He clamped his jaws together before he said something stupid. Shutting the door, he held onto the knob for a second, and then shook his head, exhaling. He’d get to the bottom of this nonsense tonight.

He headed for the kitchen and stopped at the counter to pour a cup of coffee to go. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a crimson and gold box. Matches? With his cup of coffee in hand, he walked over and picked up the matchbox.

“Shit,” hissed out his lips. The box featured the Howl insignia. His stomach twisted. There was only one way this box arrived here. He sure as fuck didn’t go frolicking at Howl.

Tristen gripped the counter. No. He’d not retreat back to the bedroom and demand to know why on earth matches from that basement BDSM club were on the counter. This was well beyond the techno dance clubs he agreed to visit with Fin. Apparently, someone was already investigating playing the edge. Alone. Or not. Maybe that someone had a special friend. Tristen slammed his hand on the counter.

His phone chimed and he battled to keep himself from crushing it in his grasp. It was Shawn, and he reeled in his anger. “What’s up?”

“You were right about Mike. Confirmed he’s stealing.”

Tristen’s head pounded. “Computers don’t lie. Crap, and now his short-lived career is over. So much for being a manager. No one will touch him if you press charges.”

“I’ve no intention. I’d never get heard. You know as shifters we’ll get shafted by the humans. There’s no justice except through the council.”

Shawn was right. Shifters had no standing in the human legal system. If Shawn tried to bring a claim, he’d first have to deal with the local police who didn’t respond to shifter calls. No detective would find time to follow through. Forget the district attorney. Shifter justice meant shifter’s dealt with shifter issues. And Shawn, as head of the Southwest Council, meant this wasn’t going away.

“What are you saying?”

“Figure out what’s going down. Deal with it. Head on over there and see what’s going on. He doesn’t know we’re onto to him. I don’t know if it’s just simple stealing. I got a strange report about late night coming and going.”

“What are you thinking?”

“He’s moving something illegal.”

“I’m on my way. I think I can get him to return what’s missing.”

“I don’t want him beaten.”

Tristen scratched the side of his face. “That’s not my nature.”

“Keep me informed.”

He slipped the phone into his pocket and downed the black coffee, swallowing the burning liquid until the cup was dry. He walked to the kitchen door and glanced back down the hall, the sound of Latin dance music coming from the bedroom.

“Fuck! That’s new too.” Tearing into the garage, he clicked the door opener. Fin needed the SUV if he had Shawn to deal with so Tristen opted for the sports car. Fine. He could use some speed to burn away this sharp ache.

Damn, he needed to simmer down. He fought the blinding anger that could easily light a fuse and leave him a roaring maniac all day. He opened the car door and slipped on a pair of sunglasses, ready to tear someone a new asshole. Apparently it would be Mike. Stupid SOB. Shawn had given the manager an opportunity, and now he was Tristen’s problem.

War was hell. So were taxes and restaurant managers and lovers who had a kinky itch to scratch. Tristen tightened his hands around the steering wheel, slamming his head back against the neck rest. He didn’t have time for this shit with Fin. Today, with what was about to go down, he had to get his head on. Straightaway.

Backing out onto the gravel driveway, Tristen idled until the convertible top unfurled overhead and came down. He spun his finger over the iPod controller until he came to
Low Rider
.

Outside, the morning was heating up to be a scorcher. Not even seven-thirty and he wanted to lose the tie and jacket. The drive into the city would take forty-five minutes. He adjusted his Bluetooth so he could converse while driving and shifted into gear.

Mondays usually meant a complete check-in with every Denver-based business of Shawn’s. He had a list, and none of the managers knew who he’d start the week off visiting. He took care of Shawn’s issues whether they were minor or a full-fledged investigation into the management of a business, like this morning. It was his job to maintain order and he did so with a Glock 30 Gen 4. A standard .45 caliber that he kept holstered. On days like today, he brought his go-to backup out of the glove compartment: another Glock with an extra clip, giving him ten rounds of sit-up-and-listen authority.

The chaos inside his head made it all the more necessary for external structure. When he’d returned from his tour of duty in the Marines, he’d attempted to return to his old life, but nothing fit. Being a neuropsychologist in the last month of his residency had no longer made sense. Surrounded by veterans plagued by PTSD, he abhorred the diagnoses he handed out and worse, the lack of support provided by the hospital and community at large. What he and Fin had…. Christ. This condition was not going away anytime soon. If there was any easy answer, he’d have found it, personally employed it. Not come to work at the hospital wondering when he’d have an anxiety break. By the time his nightmares had increased to the point that he never slept for more than a few hours at a time, he knew his life had changed. Forever. Then all hell broke loose. The anxiety attacks got worse. Happened wherever and whenever. He’d seen it in other vets. Same thing with him. Either he quit or he’d be dismissed, or worse, put on disability.

Tristen downshifted coming off the highway. He floored the gas when the green light change to yellow at the intersection up ahead. The restaurant was just across the street, and he had no intention of giving any idiot staring out the front window a heads-up trouble was on the way.