Texas and Tarantulas (9 page)

“I’ll stay,” Mahon said. He didn’t want to run or kill. He wouldn’t mind more sex, but thought that wasn’t likely, given he’d admitted to being sent to murder Trent. That had to be a surefire way to douse a libido.

He was shown into the attic by Trent, or rather, he went first, with Trent holding a shotgun behind him. “Are there any tarantulas up here?” Just asking made him want to shiver.

“Nah. They like being outside best, and when they do come in, they don’t go looking for the ladder to the attic.” Trent flipped a switch and a dull light bulb came on.

“The only way out is the way we came down. I’ll be back with blankets and a pillow, some clothes, and food, since your stomach keeps pitching a fit. And water.” Trent pointed. “Vent’s over there.” He backed out of the attic, going down the ladder while keeping his gaze locked with Mahon’s.

When Trent was out of view, Mahon carefully walked over to the vent.

“I’m standing guard down here,” Joe called up.

Mahon ignored him. He was still surprised he hadn’t been killed, in a way. Then again, Trent, Joe and Diego, they all seemed like decent men. His mind raced over the details he’d been told, and his own impressions of the three. Always, he kept going right back to Trent. Would he have been able to kill him, to buy the reason he’d been given, the lie that it was for the safety of all shifters?

He’d let Trent fuck him, let Trent plow into him like he owned Mahon’s ass.

That was instinct, he realized. That had been his gut, his beast, telling him he could give himself to this one human man.

Mahon’s heart beat heavily, his stomach calmed from the growling and aching. He felt peace so deep into his soul that he wanted to slide to the floor and sleep for days.

There was something he wanted more than that.

He wanted Trent.

Mahon knelt on the floor by the vent. Cool air whooshed out of it. The attic itself wasn’t hot, but neither was it cold. A little movement, and he’d be sweating.

He listened for Trent’s return. Mahon went back and forth with himself, but in the end, when Trent came back, Mahon’s mind was made up when he noted the lack of weapon in Trent’s hands.

Trent carried blankets, a pillow, some clothes, and a grocery store bag bulging at the seams. “Midnight snack is here,” Trent teased, and there in his eyes was something that gave Mahon more hope.

Trent handed him the blankets, pillow and clothes. “If you eat like Diego does, then this bag of food might tide you over for a few hours.”

“He eats a lot?” Mahon asked.

Trent’s amusement dimmed. “He was nothing but skin and bones when he got here. He’d been hungry for so long, it was awful. I don’t understand cruelty. I like to joke and tease, but being mean just for the sake of being mean is something I won’t ever understand. Being like that to Diego, who’s got to be the sweetest guy I’ve met? Incomprehensible.”

“You didn’t bring the gun.” Mahon regretted saying it as soon as the words were out.

But Trent merely began removing containers from the sack.

Mahon dropped the bedding and clothes. “Why didn’t you bring it?”

“Consider it a test, maybe,” Trent suggested. “You could have ripped my throat out in my trailer.”

“No, I couldn’t have.” Mahon lowered himself onto the floor to sit.

Trent canted his head to one side and watched him.

Mahon took the food from Trent’s hands. “I never have let another man fuck me. That was true enough, what Diego said about it.”

“You were awake.”

Mahon made a so-so gesture with one hand. “Sort of. I wasn’t fully conscious. I didn’t know who you were when I saw you in town, either.”

“I’d wondered.” Trent began handing him more containers, including a couple of bottles of water.

“I’d never seen you. The ranch had been occupied with the search teams since I arrived. I’m sorry, by the way. People were saying it was your mother they found out here.”

“Thanks. She left us a long time ago, one way or another.” Trent squatted and passed over silverware, a fork and a butter knife. He smirked. “If you’re going to kill me, that butter knife won’t make a difference. Your claws and teeth are sharper when you shift. Pretty terrifying, by the way. And I’m impressed I managed not to piss or shit myself when you were on me.”

Mahon couldn’t help it. He laughed at that. “Which was exactly how I felt about a spider being on me. When we were being trained by our clan leader—when we were just small boys—for a week or so we were kept in den that had spiders in it. All over, it seemed. They would crawl on us when we tried to sleep, bite us. They moved us out when one Mahon ended up covered in pustules from bites. We all had some, but he was—it was bad, for him. Spiders still freak me out, obviously.”

“Look here.” Trent held up his hand. “See those red marks?”

Mahon’s stomach immediately turned sour. “Please don’t.” He looked away.

Trent startled him badly with a simple touch to Mahon’s knee.

Mahon jerked his head around so fast his neck popped.

“I wasn’t trying to gross you out, man. I was just showing you, no swelling, nothing like that.” Trent moved his hand off Mahon’s knee. “Eat up. You’re not killing any of us.”

Mahon opened up a square container and his mouth started watering when he saw the piece of steak in it. “You’re right. It comes down to trusting my instincts. They led me to you before I knew you were my target.”

“And you want me.”

That wasn’t a question. Trent said it easily, like it was a known fact.

Mahon supposed it was.

“Yes.” He took a bite of the steak.

Trent stood up and pulled his shirt off over his head. “Well, when you’re done eating, then.”

Mahon’s hunger went from a physical form to a sexual one in the space of one heartbeat.

But Trent waggled a finger at him. “Eat first. You’ll need the energy.”

Strangely enough, Mahon felt compelled to talk around his bites of food. “You said you’d name me Finn. It doesn’t fit. When I didn’t know who you were, I called you Chet, in my head.”

Trent wrinkled his nose at that. “Chet? Dude, why?”

Mahon had to wait until he swallowed. “Because it’s always been a cowboy name to me. Trent is better.”

“I’ve never known a cowboy named Chet,” Trent said, looking amused and sexy. “Even Trent isn’t a common cowboy name.”

The name thing was bothering Mahon. He’d made a decision, one he hadn’t dared to speak out loud yet, though it seemed Trent knew it. Mahon wanted to be
him
, not part of a nightmare used to spread fear and obedience.

He ate in silence, nervous but trying to hide it.
I should be scared. This man is a killer. And he probably thinks the same of me, which is true enough.
He’d killed too, under orders, when his judgment called for it. Like Trent had done, Mahon had taken the lives of other shifters, supposedly because they were threats to the species.

How could he judge Trent for doing what he had to in order to defend his life, and his loved ones? This was a man who felt bad about killing a spider after it had bit him.

All Trent wanted was to keep his family safe and to protect Diego. To help Diego have what he wanted. Mahon couldn’t fault him for that. He’d spent years defending his species.

Maybe he didn’t have to do so when it came to the three men here.

“You look like you’re thinking awfully hard. Gonna hurt yourself.”

Mahon glanced up to find Trent watching him. The smile on the man’s face was teasing and kind, and it touched Mahon in a place he hadn’t known existed anymore. He’d thought his heart had turned to stone with his first kill.

Chapter Eight

Whatever was happening between them was powerful, scary and irresistible. Trent knew deep down that Mahon wasn’t going to hurt him. If he’d ever seen another lost soul, like Diego, it was in the man sitting across from him.

It was late, and the past twenty-four hours had been bizarre and frightening. He should go down to his room and sleep, put some distance between him and Mahon. Give them both time to think.

But when Trent stood, Mahon turned those brown eyes on him, and there was a plea in them that Trent couldn’t refuse. He unfastened his shorts and gave them a shove. His shoes were easily toed off then he stepped out of the clothing.

Mahon watched him hungrily, his cock stiff and ready.

“Stand up. I want to see you.” Trent waited until Mahon complied, then he took his time studying Mahon’s body. “Jesus, you’re a big guy.”

Mahon ducked his head and his shoulders curved as if he were trying to make himself smaller. A blush ran down from his face to his chest.

“I wasn’t complaining,” Trent offered, in case Mahon had misunderstood. “I like big men. They just don’t usually like the idea of being topped by someone my size. Dick notwithstanding. This sucker is big enough for anyone.”

His boasting was more in jest than not. Trent thought of himself as confident, cocky at times, but not God’s gift to gay men everywhere.

And Mahon’s was bigger anyway. It suited his build.

“Are all bear shifters hairy—or just you?”

Mahon looked at him through a fringe of thick lashes. “All of us. Even our females are hairier than most human females.”

“Bet they couldn’t beat my Aunt Terry in the fur department. She was half-sister to Chewbacca, no matter what she said. Had one of those mustaches you could twirl.” Trent pantomimed doing just that.

Mahon’s shoulders shook then a snorted laugh escaped him.

Trent felt like he’d scored the winning shot in a Spurs playoff game.

“You think I’m exaggerating, but she had armpit hair she could braid, too.” Trent took a step toward Mahon as the man laughed again. “Raise your head.” Even though Mahon was taller than Trent, the way Mahon was slouching, his chin on his chest, was prohibitive of what Trent wanted to do to the man. “I want to kiss you this time.”

Mahon stopped laughing. He also quit hunching like he was expecting an insult or an attack. He seemed to be completely shocked by Trent’s declaration. Almost as shocked as Trent was for having made it.

Another step, and he was close enough to touch Mahon.

Which he did, placing one hand on Mahon’s chest, the other along his jaw. Even if Trent went up on his toes, he wasn’t going to be tall enough to kiss Mahon comfortably. Trent ran his hand up from Mahon’s chest to the back of his neck.

A tug, and Mahon was bending to meet him for that kiss.

Trent used his grip on Mahon to tip Mahon’s head to the left. He pressed his lips up to Mahon’s, flicking his tongue over the seam of Mahon’s mouth.

Mahon’s arms came around him, cradling Trent as if he were breakable.

Or as if Mahon thought he were something, someone, precious.

Trent slipped his tongue into Mahon’s mouth and tasted him, lost himself in the kiss as Mahon moaned and held him tighter. Trent wanted to devour Mahon, to know every inch of his body. He needed to, and with every beat of his heart, that need increased.

The way Mahon stroked his back, never dipping down to his butt, turned Trent on more and more. He squirmed closer, feeling the hot brand of Mahon’s dick against his stomach.

Trent wanted to climb him and claim him. He hitched a leg up and Mahon got the hint, cupping the back of Trent’s thigh. A little hop, and Trent had his legs around Mahon’s waist. He did a slow grind there, giving both their cocks some good, hard attention.

Mahon gasped, moving his hips roughly, trying to rut faster.

Trent nipped his bottom lip then suckled the spot as Mahon trembled.

When Mahon finally dared to cup his ass, Trent rewarded him with more urgent thrusts. If he wasn’t careful, he’d be blowing his load in no time at all. Trent turned his face, kissing a path from Mahon’s mouth to his ear. “Lay down so I can suck you.”

“Trent,” Mahon breathed, gripping Trent’s ass. “Please.” He knelt, and it was a testament to his strength that he didn’t have to put Trent down first. Mahon went to his knees then with minimal jostling, he lay back on the plywood floor.

Trent had unwound his legs, and he stretched to reach for the blankets and pillow. “You’ll get splinters in your ass.”

“It’d be worth it,” Mahon said.

“Are you still sore? You must be.” Trent had ridden Mahon harder than a virgin should have been.

Mahon stared at him then raised his knees to his chest. “Look.” He cupped his balls and held them out of the way.

The provocative move stole Trent’s ability to think as he did just that—looked at the tiny, furled opening. He situated himself by Mahon’s ass so he could bend down and see better. The hair around Mahon’s pucker was soft when Trent pushed it aside. He massaged Mahon there, bringing his gaze up to check Mahon’s reaction.

Mahon released his nuts, gripped his knees, moaning and wiggling his bottom.

Trent lifted Mahon’s sac so he had an unobstructed view of that tempting hole once more. The skin was hot and pink, not brightly so. Trent dipped his head and licked from beneath Mahon’s balls to his opening.

“Trent,” Mahon growled.

Trent liked the way Mahon sounded. He liked the taste of the man, too. Trent dragged his tongue over that sweet spot repeatedly until it was soaked with spit. He kissed and gently sucked on it before pressing the tip of his tongue against it.

When his tongue slipped inside, Trent’s heart thudded and he had to pinch his own dick to keep from losing it. The sound Mahon made, full of want, wasn’t even close to being a word, yet it told Trent how lost Mahon was in simply feeling.

Trent pushed his tongue in deeper and began rolling Mahon’s balls at the same time. He rimmed Mahon until his thumb went in easily beside his tongue. Mahon’s ring gripped both tightly, and Trent craved another go at it.

His morals weren’t so skewed that he’d do such a thing. Mahon had to be sore, and he wouldn’t let his pride go down long enough to say so. A finger or two, his tongue, neither of those would be rough on the tender inner walls Trent had pounded away in earlier.

So he kept at what he was doing, driving those delicious sounds from Mahon. Trent switched his tongue and thumb for two saliva-wetted fingers. He took care inserting them, but once inside Mahon’s ass, Trent went right for his gland.