Exodus (21 page)

Rivvie knew it wasn’t too much. This wasn’t the first time he’d taken Matt so roughly, and indeed, he’d been rougher before. Just as Matt sometimes drove Rivvie to the limits of pain that he could accept. They knew each other’s tolerances well.

Rivvie started moving the second he was able, pulling back and slamming in with more force every time. His hips would leave bruises on Matt’s ass. It would be beautiful to see.

Matt cried out for him, and grunted. He mewled and keened and writhed. Everything Matt did, every sound and movement, was a perfect counterpoint to Rivvie’s thrusts.

Rivvie slid his hands down and pinched Matt’s nipples. He twisted the little nubs sharply.

“Fuck!” Matt yelped, driving his hips back. Rivvie slapped his flank then did it again before resuming the tit play.

Matt managed to reach his own dick and began jacking off.

Rivvie fucked him harder, jarring them both a couple of times. He was salivating for a proper taste of his mate. After one last pinch to Matt’s nipples, Rivvie covered him, his chest to Matt’s back.

“Yes, please, please,” Matt begged haltingly, his words broken by Rivvie’s thrusts.

Rivvie grabbed a handful of Matt’s hair, and tugged his head aside. He bit deep, blood filling his mouth as he sucked. He was addicted to Matt, to his taste and his everything. There was nothing Rivvie would have changed about him, save the vulnerability to a disease that could destroy him, and Rivvie, because Rivvie wouldn’t live without Matt.

His orgasm tore through him the instant Matt’s ass clamped down and the scent of Matt’s spunk filled the air. Rivvie growled and kept his teeth clamped down as he filled Matt with his cum.

The wetness inside Matt aroused him all over again. Rivvie’s cock remained hard as he kept moving, kept his teeth buried in Matt’s flesh. He needed to keep a part of him inside Matt, needed to protect him and love him even more.

Rivvie felt like he was losing his mind. His thoughts were jumbled, chaotic, and he wasn’t certain what was driving him. He had to keep going, so he fucked Matt for several minutes, mindless, accepting of his instincts.

The second time he came, he released Matt’s flesh from his mouth and roared with the intense pleasure.

And Matt screamed, his body convulsing so hard Rivvie was bucked off him.

The next hour was the longest one of Rivvie’s life as he tried to reach Matt, tried to soothe him and comfort him. Even knowing that Aaron said it didn’t hurt, and that this would save Matt’s life, it was still difficult to watch. Matt looked like he was in agony, and his body shook and contorted, froth spilling from his lips and his eyes rolling wildly. It tore Rivvie up but there was nothing he could do except wait.

“Shit!”

Valen rushed over to his side. Excitement all but poured off him. “It’s happening. It’s happening!”

“I fucking
know
it’s happening,” Rivvie shouted. “Look at him!”

“He’s not hurting,” Aaron said.

Rivvie glared at him. “You don’t know that. Maybe you just went all—” He waved one hand around. “Different. Maybe it will hurt everyone else. Look at him!”

“You look at him,” Valen retorted. “Talk to him. Concentrate on Matt. This couldn’t have happened at a better time.”

Rivvie knew what Valen meant, what with the pack morale sinking. Now there was proof again that humans could be made into shifters, and it involved sex and biting. A lot of both, Rivvie thought.

When Matt finally stopped shaking, he went very still, then he shifted into a pretty brown wolf with cream markings on his ears, paws, and tail, as well as one streak of cream running down his chest. He blinked slowly, then popped onto his feet so suddenly, Rivvie toppled backwards onto his ass.

Matt yipped, and his tail wagged.
Come on. Let’s play! Play! Play!

“Congratulations,” Valen said, squeezing Rivvie’s shoulder. “I’m happy for you.”

And relieved, Rivvie imagined. He was relieved, too, and so in love with Matt. There was nothing left for them to do then but shift and run.

Rivvie howled with joy as he chased after his love. It was possible to change from human to shifter. Rivvie wanted the entire pack to know. There was hope for them still, renewed, beautiful, brilliant hope.

Also available from Totally Bound Publishing:

Belt Buckles and Cowboy Boots

Bailey Bradford

Excerpt

Chapter One

Colby Vincent whistled as he stocked the shelf at the Valero store where he worked. He liked the late shift, working from midnight until six in the morning. He’d always been a night owl through and through, which had made school difficult more often than not. Maybe if he’d slept better, he’d have had the grades to get into college, but thinking along those lines didn’t do him any good now.

It was generally slow in regards to having customers, which was fine with him. Plastering on a smile and acting cheery was getting harder to do every day. Some people had a problem with him, and it was getting old. He supposed it came with being the only out gay man in town. Even so, he didn’t deserve to experience some of the things he did.

At least at his second job as a cook at Rio’s Mexican Café he didn’t have to worry about greeting customers. Plus, Rio and his nephew Berto were cool. Rio always gave Colby the old copies of
American Cowboy
and
True Cowboy
when the newer ones came in the mail. Maybe he should have been tired of cowboys, considering he lived in a town that had a bunch of them.

But they tended to be old, and not to be the sexy or unbigoted kind. The ones in the magazines were unknowns and he could fantasize about them if he wanted to without feeling disgusted for doing so. He’d be damned if he’d ever get off while thinking about any of the hateful people who’d crossed his path, cowboys or not. Colby did have his pride, after all.

He put the small packages of Oreo cookies in their place after having removed the outdated ones. Colby’s stomach rumbled. He pressed a fist to his belly until the dull ache backed off. When it was time for him to take a break, he’d see what his options were.

A few minutes later, a buzzer sounded and the door opened. Colby glanced over his shoulder, making sure it wasn’t some psycho wielding a weapon. Working at a convenience store, he always worried about becoming a victim of violent crime.

His co-worker, Christy, was working the counter—well, playing on her phone—and didn’t even give the customer a first glance, much less a second one. Colby stood up, having been hunched over to get the Oreos on the shelf just right. He turned and eyed the man who was now walking toward the fountain drinks.

“This coffee fresh?” the man asked loudly.

Christy popped her gum.

Colby rushed out of the aisle and over to the coffee container. “Yes, sir. I just made it about fifteen minutes ago.”

The customer, an older man with darkly tanned skin, smelled of oil and sweat. He had on a familiar one-piece blue coverall uniform that was filthy. The name Olivares was stitched on the right chest pocket. A quick check showed that he’d also tracked mud in all over Colby’s freshly cleaned floors. Colby just barely kept from cursing.

“Better not taste like shit,” the customer muttered. He raked Colby with a look, and Colby knew the instant he suspected Colby wasn’t as straight as he was. A sneer tugged his thin lips into an ugly expression. “
You
made it?”

Colby plastered on one of those bright smiles that felt so unnatural on his face. “I’m sorry, sir. I meant Christy made it. I’ve been stocking the aisles.”

He’d learned that people would believe what they wanted to believe, and if the jerk wanted his coffee bad enough, then said jerk would accept the obvious lie about who made the coffee—especially since he didn’t seem to want to drink any made by a queer boy.

“As long as you didn’t,” Olivares finally said in a hateful tone. “Wouldn’t wanna catch nothing.”

Colby waited until he turned around to roll his eyes. There was no point in correcting the idiot’s grammar, and besides, Colby liked thinking that maybe karma would take over. Let the obnoxious jerk catch something harder to treat than crabs.

While the customer fixed his coffee, Colby slipped over to Christy and managed to get her attention. “He thinks you made the coffee. Don’t tell him different or he’s liable to lose his shit.”

Christy had the same reaction he’d had, rolling her eyes. “One of those fuckheads, huh?” She snapped her gum. “Well, his coffee is gonna cost him.”

Colby didn’t ask. He suspected that Christy overcharged people, and at times kept their change—or some of it at least. There’d been a couple of customers who’d caught on that they hadn’t gotten the right amount of cash back, and Christy had always apologized and put on like she was an airhead who couldn’t count out the money right. Since she was a good actor, pretty and had a great smile, no one had challenged her on that. Colby really didn’t want to know if she was stealing, though. She was one of the few friends he had, and it’d be hard not to judge her if he knew for sure she was doing something illegal like that.

Blinders were good things to have on when it came to friends, at least he thought so. It wasn’t like he was perfect, either. He’d been known to chow down on a burrito that should have been tossed on more than one occasion.

Well, only once with the burrito. The after effects of that particular culinary adventure had not been good. But the fried chicken wasn’t bad when it was time to replace it, and neither were the potato wedges. The burgers were okay, too, unless they’d reached hockey puck levels of hardness.

He didn’t steal money from people, though, just the food that was being tossed anyway. If he hadn’t been so hungry, Colby wouldn’t have done that, either. At first his conscience had pricked at him. Now it didn’t, so who knew? Maybe he’d be fine with Christy robbing people blind.

Colby kept himself busy stocking the rest of his shift, and no more asshole customers came in, so that was good. He also managed to wolf down a piece of chicken and some cold potato wedges before leaving for his second job.

Rio’s was another six hour shift, and he got a hot meal at the end of it. Colby’s back ached like a mother when he was finally able to sit down to eat his beef chimichanga. He’d made it himself, filling the tortilla with beef, cheese and beans, then rolling the tortilla over the ingredients before deep-frying the whole thing. Topped with sour cream, lettuce, guacamole and the best hot sauce in the world, the chimichanga was an artery-clogging feast that he didn’t allow himself to have often.

Colby was in heaven as he slowly ate. He licked his fingers clean, uncaring of anyone who might be watching him. Hunger was something Colby hated but lived with far too often, so he savored every good meal he had.

The sweet tea cooled his burning tongue and throat. Colby felt someone watching him but ignored the sensation. People looked, gossiped—whatever—and he did his best to ignore them. They didn’t know him, and he wouldn’t ever let them.

But this time his skin prickled with goosebumps. He wasn’t sure if he should be creeped out or not. With the oil boom in the area thanks to the discovery of EFS, or Eagle Ford Shale, there were a lot of people in the area that Colby didn’t know. Most of them were like the grumpy asshole customer from the gas station earlier. They sneered at him and made rude comments, but so far none had actually tried to hurt him—physically. He’d been wounded the first time one of those same jerks who looked at him like he was dog shit had offered to let Colby suck him off. Like he’d be doing Colby a favor.

Colby wasn’t dumb. He hadn’t just fallen off the turnip truck, as his grandma used to say. He knew exactly who’d be getting the favor out of such a deal, and he also knew it’d make him a target even more than refusing to hide in the closet had.

So for all he knew, it was just some creeper thinking maybe Colby was so gay he couldn’t say no to any dick. People’s ignorance never failed to surprise him. Some day he might be cynical enough that it no longer did. He didn’t know if he looked forward to that day or dreaded it.

Colby ate his chimichanga with that feeling of being watched on him almost constantly. He refused to turn around and see if someone was staring at him. If they were, it was nothing to him. If they weren’t, then he saved himself from looking stupid.

He finished up his meal and wiped his face with the napkin. He stacked his silverware on the plate, then took it and his glass to the back.

When he did so, he couldn’t quite stop himself from using his peripheral vision to see if he was being ogled. What he got a view of was a broad back in one of those blue coveralls, and that was enough to make sure he didn’t look again. All the oil field guys were to be avoided, as far as he was concerned.

“You need a ride?” Berto asked when Colby had cleaned his dishes.

Colby almost wept with gratitude. “That’d be great, Berto.” He was worn out and just wanted a few hours’ sleep before getting up and working again.

Berto was one of the few guys who didn’t seem to think the gay was catching. He’d been a grade ahead of Colby, and while they hadn’t been friends—and still weren’t, exactly—Berto had never been an asshole to him.

“I brought the bike today—and an extra helmet.” Berto flashed a white grin. He took off his dirty apron and tossed it in the pile of wash that Larry, who cleaned the restaurant up once it was closed, would deal with.

Colby didn’t have to fake a smile for Berto. “The bike? Oh man. Can you take the long way home?”

Berto chuckled at that. “You know it. Like there’s much of a long way anywhere in this shithole of a town.”

Colby wondered what dreams Berto might have had. He’d never been the best football player or the smartest kid in class, so maybe Berto hadn’t been able to get into the college he wanted, either.

Or maybe he was just happy working at his uncle’s café, despite his diss to the town of Ballotsville. Colby got that. It was easy to stay somewhere because it was comfortable.