Tasting Notes (12 page)

“I like the sound of that.”

Rush watched the exchange with a look of disbelief. Sebastian was flirting with her. Sebastian never flirted with her. Or anybody for that matter. Something was off.

Cherie sashayed away, looking quite pleased with herself.

“What was that?” Rush demanded.

“What was what?”

“Don’t play dumb. That little exchange I witnessed.”

“I was being nice. Cherie’s a good person. Being friendly is what you do with good people.”

“That seemed a little more than friendly.”

Sebastian shrugged and started on his second pint.

“How’s work?” Rush asked, changing the subject.

“Fine,” Sebastian replied.

Rush stared at him, waiting for him to continue, but he didn’t. Cherie arrived a moment later and took their order. Once she left, an awkward silence settled down on the table and didn’t let up. Rush never had trouble talking to Sebastian before, and even when they had nothing else to say, it hadn’t felt like this.

They ate their meals in silence, and when it came time to say good-bye, the words were terse and the mood uncomfortable. Rush left the pub feeling off-kilter. He and Sebastian had been friends for a long time, and even after they ended their physical relationship, things remained relaxed and easy between them. Rush took for granted that was how it was with them. This new side of Sebastian threw him off balance.

As he climbed into his truck, he tried to shrug it off. Maybe it was a bad mood and things would go back to normal in a day or two. In any case, there wasn’t anything he could do about it now. He drove home, concentrating on everything he needed to get done that week. He had neglected the daily upkeep of Black Mountain in favor of spending time at Lennox Hill. The farm wasn’t entirely self-sufficient, even if it was relatively low maintenance.

Arriving home, he knelt on the floor to give Casper some attention. They’d been together the last few days, but much like his farm, Rush’s attention was elsewhere. He stood, patting his leg to signal Casper to follow, then walked into his living room where he collapsed on his couch. Propping his feet on the coffee table, he settled in with Casper, the dog resting his head happily on his master’s lap.

Rush let his head fall back against the top of the sofa, and he closed his eyes, letting the silence of the room wrap around him. It was nice, just to be for a few minutes. His mind drifted back to dinner, which, if he was being honest with himself, bothered him more than he cared to admit. Something was definitely up with Sebastian, and the divide that mysteriously cropped up during dinner made him uneasy. He resolved to call him later and see if he could get to the bottom of things.

A moment later, his cell phone chirped in his pocket. Moving as little as possible so as not to disturb Casper, he dug the phone out and checked the screen. A text message from West flashed across it. Sliding his thumb across, he was able to read the whole message.

How was your dinner?

Well that was a loaded question, but even more interesting was that West chose to text him in the first place. They weren’t at a place in their friendship where that was what they did. Even the term “friendship” gave Rush pause. They hadn’t known one another for long, and their relationship began on rocky footing. Even now Rush wasn’t entirely certain how he felt about West. There were certain parts of him—parts you didn’t show in polite company—that liked him very much, but Rush still had a difficult time getting past the image he held of West in his mind.

Yeah, he was a bit different than Rush originally thought. West wasn’t nearly as stuck up or douchey as his financial standing led him to believe, but the jury was still out on exactly how Rush felt about him, and until he decided he was going to keep himself at arm’s length.

WEST SAT
at the dining room table, his phone in his hand, waiting for Rush’s reply. He was being ridiculous. All he asked was how Rush’s dinner was. It wasn’t like he was waiting for word that a billion dollar acquisition went through. For some strange reason, though, he felt even more anticipation for the reply.

Minutes passed, and West wasn’t sure if Rush was going to respond. He checked his e-mail, glancing over the report from Scarlet. His associates had everything under control, and West felt confident his company would run smoothly during the rest of his time away. The update wasn’t long enough to detour his mind from Rush, so he set his phone down on the table and tried not to look at it.
Yep.
He was definitely being ridiculous.

The sound of the incoming text message had West’s heart pounding a little faster. He picked up the phone and read the message.

Okay I guess.

Not exactly descriptive, but he hadn’t guessed Rush would be.

The man left hours ago, and all West had managed to do was shower and change clothes. The trip into his room to shower offered him a glimpse of the bed where they had sex earlier that day. The tangled sheets and discarded condom wrapper on the floor made West’s cheeks heat with the memory of it. It was less than twelve hours, and already West was craving Rush again.

He stood and walked to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. The cool liquid slid down his throat as he drank but did nothing to cool his heated skin. There was no denying it. He wanted Rush again. He still didn’t know exactly what was happening between them, but he did know he wanted more.

He shook his head and reminded himself who he was. Joseph Alexander Weston. The man who hunted ruthlessly and fought mercilessly for what he believed was owed to him. Never had he backed down from getting what he wanted, and he wasn’t about to start now.

“WHAT ARE
you doing here?” Rush asked once he opened the door. It was reminiscent of the last time West was there, but this time there was less heat in Rush’s voice and more in his eyes.

West didn’t think there was any reason to answer. He stepped forward and curled his fingers against Rush’s shirt, bunching it and pulling him forward. Rush had no time to react before West slammed their mouths together, consuming him in the kiss. He could taste the whiskey Rush had been drinking, and he thought that nothing ever tasted as good as Rush’s tongue.

Heat built between them, the temperature in the house rising steadily as they ground against one another, seeking the slick friction of skin on skin but getting no relief behind the tight confines of their clothing.

Rush took over, gripping the back of West’s neck as he kissed him, his fingers bruising, his movements desperate. He pulled West toward him as he took a step back and then another, until they were stumbling into the house. West was vaguely aware of the door slamming behind him as Rush guided them toward his bedroom.

West felt the back of his knees hit the mattress, but all he could see was Rush. His body was solid, powerful, and West was so tempted to touch. Without breaking their kiss, he angled his body away, giving himself room to work on Rush’s belt. His fingers were fumbling, made clumsy with adrenaline and need. He felt Rush push his hands away, tackling his belt himself.

He shoved the leather through the buckle, then pushed his pants to the floor. Breaking their kiss, he tore his shirt over his head and tossed it across the room before giving West’s the same treatment. Within seconds the warm air from the room was rushing over his feverish skin, and the look Rush was giving him made his skin tingle and his cock ache.

“Get on the bed. Hands and knees.”

The way Rush’s voice cut through the stillness of the night made West tremble. He was authoritative, in charge, and his tone brooked no argument. Not that West would have given one.

He did as he was told, crawling into position on all fours in the center of the bed. He closed his eyes and waited, the quiet in the room surrounding him like a thick fog. And then he felt the mattress dip. He could feel Rush behind him even though he had yet to touch him.

He waited, his breath held, until he felt Rush slide his hand along West’s spine. With more force than needed, he pushed West forward, pressing his chest against the softness of the duvet, leaving his hips high and his legs spread just enough. Before he could realize what was happening, he felt Rush manipulating him, positioning him, and then his mouth was there, his tongue hot and slick as he licked and teased him open.

West gasped and held on to the covers, the fabric bunched in his fingers as he fought to keep from screaming. Thankful he couldn’t see what Rush was doing, he concentrated on the sensation of it, knowing the image of Rush with his tongue buried in West’s ass would be enough to send him right over. Rush swirled his tongue, softening the muscle and coaxing West into a state of blind euphoria. It was too much and not enough, and West thought he might come from that alone. He was so close. He needed a little more. He lifted one hand, reaching backward.

Rush pulled away. “Don’t fucking move,” he commanded. West froze and lowered his hand, keeping perfectly still as Rush picked up where he left off.

“Close,” West muttered, too far gone to worry about how breathless he sounded. He suppressed a whimper when Rush stopped once more, and West felt the bed shift as Rush reached over to the bedside table. He didn’t need to hear the tearing of the wrapper or the snick of the cap from the bottle of lube to know what was coming next. The coolness of the slick seeped into him as Rush drizzled a generous amount.

And then the coolness was gone, replaced by a sharp burn as Rush took him in one swift movement. West cried out, then bit down on his bottom lip, waiting for the inevitable transformation from pain to pleasure as his body adjusted to Rush being inside.

A long moment passed. “You good?” Rush asked, his voice rough.

West lifted his head enough to nod once.

“Good,” Rush said as he pulled back. His grip on West’s hip was binding, holding him in place as he slammed forward. West held his breath, anticipating each forceful thrust. Rush picked up speed, driving their bodies together and pushing West right to the edge of almost too much.

It was perfect and what he needed, and Rush didn’t stop. West rocked against him, his movement restricted by Rush’s hands on him. He could hear Rush behind him, a flurry of curses falling from his mouth as his hips snapped forward. The bed creaked beneath them, but Rush didn’t slow. He changed angles, pushing deeper and hitting that spot that sent West soaring. He gasped, his body taut with need. Rush had him poised right on the edge.

Sliding his hand from hip to cock, Rush gripped him. Three strokes was all it took. Pain and pleasure blurred together as West’s back arched and he spilled come across Rush’s fist, and still, Rush fucked him harder, his cock sliding in and out as West rode out his orgasm. West was peripherally aware of Rush gripping his hips just a little tighter as he heard Rush swear, and with one last thrust he buried himself as deeply in West’s body as he could.

For several long moments, the only thing West was aware of was the deep-seated radiating pleasure that still threatened to pull him under. His eyes were heavy, his body boneless. Rush held him steady as he slid his arm around West’s belly, pulling his back against his stomach. He rolled them carefully until they were lying together, skin to skin, Rush’s cock still inside.

He carefully pulled out, but he didn’t move. Sweat and come cooled on their skin, but West didn’t care. He could have stayed there forever, riding the aftershocks of bliss as Rush placed a soft kiss against the back of West’s neck.

The movement was gentle, tender, and in such stark contrast to what they’d just done.

West took a deep breath and let it out slowly, willing his heart to return to a normal pace. He’d never experienced anything like it. He’d never been owned like that before. He knew he was quickly becoming addicted to Rush, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

SOMETIME LATER
the need to get up became impossible to avoid any longer. Rush rolled from the bed and padded to the bathroom, returning a few minutes later with a warm cloth. They cleaned themselves up, and then Rush tossed the towel into the corner and climbed back into bed.

West expected Rush to subtly—or not so subtly—urge him out the door, but to his surprise, Rush slid his arms around him and pulled him closer.

West took a moment to bask in the warmth of Rush’s body. “What were you like when you were a kid?” Normally West wasn’t into chatting after sex. Normally West didn’t stick around after sex. But now he felt sleepy, and sated, and a little curious.

Rush chuckled. “That’s random. I make you come, and then you want to know what I was like as a kid.”

West rolled over and slid his hand across Rush’s belly. “I’m wondering. You’re this gruff, serious guy, and I guess I’m curious what you were like before. You couldn’t have been like this when you were… say… sixteen.”

Rush laughed again. “Nope. I was young and idealistic. I wanted to change the world, and I wanted to fly.”

“Helicopters, right?”

Rush looked surprised.

“Rosie told me the other night,” West admitted.

“So you were talking about me?”

“You might have come up, you know, in passing. She told me you were an ex-Marine.”

“Once a Marine, always a Marine,” Rush corrected, nuzzling against West’s temple.

He was surprisingly affectionate. West hadn’t expected to be allowed to stay, let alone cuddled, but he was finding out there was a lot more softness hidden beneath Rush’s surface than he ever would have thought possible.

“Sorry. Do you miss it, though? The action, adventure, excitement?”

“It’s not like it is in the movies. Some days are boring as fuck, and some days are horrific. I miss some of the guys that became like brothers, but I don’t miss the combat. As for flying, yeah, I miss it.”

“You didn’t want to do something related to flying rather than Christmas tree farming? It seems like they would be worlds apart.”

“They definitely are. When I retired, I thought about continuing to fly—to start up a helicopter tour company or something—but I couldn’t handle it. Flying signifies freedom to me, and there’s nothing freeing about flying around in a circle, pointing out pinpoint-sized landmarks to tourists. I chose to start Black Mountain because it was simple. At the time it seemed perfect for me. There had been so much that happened… I wanted a quiet life. Every few months I travel down to San Diego, and I work as an instructor for the newbie pilots there. I feel like I’m giving back, and I get a taste of flying again, even if it’s just for a week or two.”