Last Defense, page 3
When Liam had died, the sunny gloss had faded from my existence. So had passion and feeling and the hot lick of attraction for another man. All gone. Until I’d gone and looked into Max van Hellren’s eyes and seen fire and life there.
Bucky whimpered, and I stared at our house while moving past.
“Shit. Next time tell me I drove past our place before I drive past it. Sorry, not your fault. Totally on me.”
Bucky’s tail thumped against the seat. I circled the block, parked in my designated slot in front of the row of townhomes, and unbuckled my dog. He leaped out of the Jeep and trotted to number 20, knowing we’d go check on the old gals before entering our own small house.
My aunts were in the kitchen, at the table, the small kitchen smelling of coffee and rebellion.
“What are we protesting this week?” I asked, giving each of the short women a kiss on a leathery cheek. Both were gray, wrinkled, and as lean as whippets. Neither had ever married, and they had never borne any children.
“Unfair wages,” replied Aunt Carol—the youngest, at seventy-seven—as her brush moved with confidence over the blank top of a picket sign.
“That prick Senator Rudy wants to vote down a raise in the minimum wage. Don’t those rich politicians know that a higher minimum wage will mean poor people can buy more goods, which will help small businesses and lower crime since stealing and robbing folks isn’t needed if you can earn a decent living?” Aunt Glenna—the older at eighty-one—waved a hand at the microwave. “There’s a plate of pork chops and scalloped potatoes for you.”
“Thanks, but I grabbed something at work.” That was a lie—I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. My stomach was too knotted to eat. I stole a look at the clock on the wall. Ten after seven. I had to get a move on or risk being late.
“If you’re free on Saturday, come march with us,” Carol said, tongue between teeth as she painted some sort of slogan on her sign. I began inching toward the back door.
“Yeah, come join us as we stick it to the man,” Glenna chimed in, then stapled some poster board to a slat of wood.
“I’m pretty sure no one says ‘the man’ anymore,” I commented, my eyes darting back to the clock. “And if I go and get arrested, who will bail your backsides out?”
“He makes a good point,” Carol said as she painted.
“You okay, baby? You look off.” Glenna reached out to take my hand.
I gave her a wobbly smile. “Just low blood sugar.”
They both stopped making signs and gave me that look. The one that was stuffed with frustration.
“Benton, baby, have you been running too hard again?” Carol looked at me through paint-smeared bifocals. “You know all that jogging during the summer makes you faint.”
“Once. That happened one time.” I held up a finger, then slid toward the door, Bucky waiting with his nose flat to the screen in the door. “And that was only because I didn’t hydrate properly. I have to run to stay in shape. My job has me behind a desk for…” I sighed. I gave up. We’d been over my need to jog a thousand times. There was no changing some minds.
Both old women gave me surly looks.
“I have to go out tonight. Can you check on Bucky in a couple of hours and let him out? Thanks. Night!”
I ran out, tripped over the dog, and nearly went on my nose.
“Where are you heading to, Benton?”
“Is it a date?”
God above, save me from old women. “Just a meeting. About dog crates.”
I grabbed Bucky’s leash, and we hightailed it next door.
My skinny house was stuffy. Bucky ate dinner, then curled up on the bed to nap while I opened the windows, showered, shaved, and tried to find clothes that said I was maybe interested but not madly in lust.
“So, clothes that lie,” I said to my reflection in the mirror that hung on the back of the closet door. I settled on a short-sleeved cotton shirt, soft blue, one Liam had said was my color. Then jeans, clean but not pressed, and some loafers. Maybe a watch? I yanked open my underwear drawer, and there it was. The small soft square of velvet that I’d wrapped my wedding band in just two months ago.
Suddenly I felt traitorous. I sat on the bed beside Bucky, gently opening the folded swatch. The thin gold band blinked at me in the late day sun. I slid it on, eyes closing, memories rushing over me. The day Liam had proposed right after we’d graduated college, our frantic plans to get up into Canada to get married, and the sheer joy of the day we exchanged bands and vows. Rubbing my finger over the smooth circlet of gold, I could see Liam’s brother Rolf storming into the small venue we’d rented upon coming back to the States. Rolf, the sneering hateful bigot who never could decide what sickened him the most: his brother marrying a fag or his brother marrying, in his words, a black fag. Only he didn’t use the word black, but loved throwing the most offensive terms he could to describe the color of my skin. Never mind Liam was also gay. It was all me. I had led his baby brother astray.
“Man was a flaming jackass,” I told Bucky. My dog rolled onto his back, so I rubbed his belly for a moment, letting the memories fade away just a bit. The dog dozed off, and I glanced at the clock beside the bed.
“Shit.” I rushed from the bedroom, grabbed my wallet and keys from the side table by the front door, and slid out, promising Bucky I’d be home in an hour.
I cruised into Blue’s parking lot on South Cameron Street nearly thirty minutes later. Parking was a hassle, but I finally found a slot around back. I inhaled, exhaled, and let the dulcet tones of The Miracles wash over me.
“Right. Drinks with a sexy man. You got this, Benton.”
The moment I entered the bar I could feel those predatory eyes on me. It felt as if cougars had spotted a newborn lamb bounding across the pasture.
Max watched me walk to him, sipping from a tumbler that held something amber. The tables were full, as were the booths along the wall, where Max held the last one by the jukebox.
“I thought you were going to blow this off,” Max said as I sat down across from him in the wide booth.
“Had to work late.”
He waved at the bartender as he sipped. His tongue darted out to grab a small droplet of liquid, the sight spearing me in the groin, unfurling into hot fingers of lust.
“Whiskey and water,” I told the barkeep. Max looked pleased with my drink choice.
“Glad you came,” he said, his gaze roaming over me as a smile worked along his lips, pulling up the corners then fading. “So, you go and get married since this morning?”
My eyebrows knotted, then I remembered the band on my finger. “Oh, uh, no. I was just trying it on and forgot to take it off.”
“Planning on getting married, then?” His demeanor seemed chilly now.
“No, I was married. He died. I was feeling…” I leaned back to let the bartender place my drink in front of me. I paid, and the barkeep left. “I’m not sure what I was feeling.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” He sounded sincere. I nodded, picked up my drink, and met his gaze. “You sure you’re into this?”
I drained my glass. “I thought we could maybe talk. Get to know each other.”
“If that’s really what you want? I mean, if that’s what you came here for, then I’m happy to shoot the shit, but what I’m feeling simmering between us hasn’t got much to do with talking.”
A shiver of want skittered over my flesh. He was right. He was wrong. He was too damn masculine to be real.
I slid out of the long seat, my gaze locked with his. He followed me out the door, neither of us saying a thing until we stood by my Cherokee. Then I turned to look at him.
“I thought we could maybe talk out here. See, there’s this spark…”
He reached for me, massive hand latching onto the back of my neck. The kiss was rough, hungry, fierce. Kind of like how he played hockey. It stole my breath, and my senses as well it seemed, because somehow, as tongues tangled and teeth scraped, we managed to fall into my car. There was no way we had enough room. We were behind a damn bar. People could walk out and see us. Didn’t stop us. I guess neither of us had much sense.
“Shut the door,” I panted as we broke apart in the mad rush to touch each other. He did, thankfully not on anyone’s leg. Max was under me, his hands now pushing at my shirt, shoving it up to bare my chest. As his mouth settled over my left nipple, I found the lever and the seat slammed back as far as it would go.
“You taste like pure sin,” he murmured, then tugged soundly on my nipple. My spine tightened. I rotated my hips after my legs settled on either side of him. Stiff cock moved over stiff cock. He inhaled, pulling cooler air over my already sensitive nipple. “Turn around.”
“No. What? Oh shit.” He was shoving at me roughly. Our legs were far too long for this shit, but we managed to untangle ourselves. I leaned in to suckle on his mouth before facing forward. He was hot single malt whisky on my tongue. His thick beard scratched my face. Kissing. I’d not done this since Liam had been alive. The hookups? No, no kissing for them. That made things too personal, I guessed. I’d missed the taste and pressure of a man’s mouth on mine.
He was forceful but gentle, if that makes sense. Pushing and pulling, wild to get me how he wanted me yet never making me feel caged. “Get these down.”
Hands on my hips, he yanked my pants down, taking my best boxer briefs down with them. God above, it was getting stuffy in this car. His hands roamed over my ass, fondling the tight orbs, his skin calloused and scratchy. Perfect.
“Need a condom.” He lifted himself as if reaching into a back pocket.
I jerked and pulled until I had one leg free, then I leaned up, arms over the dash, ass open and needy. Hearing him rip open a condom packet then spit onto his hand had me whimpering.
“Yes…hell fire, yes,” I mewled, fingers grasping at the dashboard while he eased me back into position. He spat again. My eyes rolled back into my head. Sweat beaded on my brow and upper lip.
“Sit back on me, Ben. Easy. Fuck. Oh fuck, you should see this…”
It took all I had not to faint from the sheer delight of a man’s fat cock breaching me.
“Your ass is perfect. Yeah, good, sit down now. Easy, easy. So hot.” He thrust upward, driving his cock so far into me I yelped, then groaned. “Ride me. Hard. Yeah, good man. Fuck yeah. Good man.”
With his fingers biting into my hips, we fucked like beasts, my chest thumping into the dash when he drove up into me, his knee slapping the door each time I dropped to impale myself. We paused a few times for him to spit on his hand and spread the spittle on his cock, then I was back on him, eager as hell for the stretch and burn.
“You close?”
“Yeah,” I huffed while rolling my ass in circles, his dick deeply embedded in me. Max made this guttural sound every time I did that. I did too.
He slid a sweaty arm around me, hoisting me up. My head slammed into the roof, then I arched back to lie on him, arms locked overhead, hands splayed on the headliner fabric.
“Just sit there and move your hips as you do.” His voice was even grittier now. He fisted my cock. “Fuck but you’re juicy,” he murmured into my skin as he worked precum over the head of my prick. “Come for me now. Sit still. Come for me and let your sweet ass sucking and grabbing me pull me over. Do it. Let go, Ben. Yeah, that’s it, baby. Fuck yeah. Shit. Ah, shit.”
The orgasm came quickly. I shot hot and violently, garbled sounds that were barely human burbling out of me. He held me tight to him with his left hand, his hold slightly painful, which made the release that much better.
His teeth found the nape of my neck, and he latched on as he came. Writhing, slick with sweat and covered with my own cum, I squeezed tightly, grabbing his kicking cock internally, milking him wantonly.
“Ah hell,” I gasped, spent and soaked with sweat and semen, my muscles contracting then loosening over and over.
“Fucking beautiful man,” Max growled beside my ear as the mating frenzy abated.
There I sat—lay, whatever—my back on his chest, his cock so far inside me that drawing deep breaths was hard, eyes closed, blissed out.
“I think I came on the dash,” I finally blurted out. Max chuckled. It was a dirty little laugh that made me smile. Fuck, but that had been fantastic. Messy. Messy. Oh fuck. So messy and sweaty and rough, just as sex should be. “We never talked about our status.”
That kind of cut through the rosy afterglow. Max muttered something against my shoulder, licked a hot path up my sweaty neck, then eased me up off him.
“Sorry, yeah, things kind of got stupid.”
I fell into the driver’s side, my pants dangling off one leg, my ass over the console. I tensed for a second when I felt his fingers slipping down the crack of my ass. He rubbed at my hole with two fat fingers, working them into me. I shuddered and pushed back against those digits, begging for more of him in me. Fingers, dick, tongue—didn’t matter. As long as he got inside me again.
“I’m negative. Always careful,” he said.
“Mm, mmm.” I couldn’t speak while he was fingering me so gently.
“Like that?”
“Yeah, so much. Me too. Negative. Use another finger.”
I got that raunchy chuckle again, then, sadly, he pulled out and gave my ass a loving little pat.
“Let’s go somewhere private. With some air.”
“I can do air.” I wiggled into the seat, rolled this way and that until I had my pants up over my ass and was sitting up facing the wheel. Max leaned over the console and kissed me, his hand falling to my cock still out in the air. “Need keys.”
“My place is close. I have stuff. Lube. Condoms. Toys. I’m easy. I just need more of you.”
“Where are my keys?!” I dug into my front pockets. My phone slid to the floor and started ringing. “Oh man, no…” I groaned as the familiar ringtone of a friend of mine—a fine member of the Harrisburg Police Department—filled the car. “I have to take that.’
“Okay, take it.” He flopped back into his seat, his hand still cradling my cock.
I placed the phone to my ear. “Dwayne, if my aunts are in lockup tell them I’ll be there in an hour.”
“Make it three,” Max said, hand still stroking my cock back to life.
“Three hours. Tell them I’ll be there in three—”
“Ben, it’s not your aunts. It’s the shelter. It’s been vandalized. The glass in the front door is busted in. Someone passing by saw it and called it in the same time the alarm from the security system rang through. We need you down here to tell us if anything has been stolen.”
“Dammit!” I threw a look at Max, who decided things weren’t going as we would have liked, so he dropped my cock. “Okay, I’ll be there in thirty. Thanks, Dwayne.”
“Any time, man.”
I hung up on the cop who’d adopted two of my older dogs for his kids.
“Trouble?”
Keys now in hand, I cranked the Jeep over, eager for the rush of stale but cool air.
“Shelter issues. Vandals. I have to go.” I looked to the right, sure he’d be pissed, but he seemed cool. Sweaty, and still with his big soft dick out, but cool.
“You want to do this again?” he asked.
“Can we make it to a bed next time?”
“Yeah, we can do that.”
We tucked and zipped, and then I reached for him. My mouth took his, and he responded with passion. When we parted, his gaze was smoldering again.
“Give me your phone.”
I didn’t argue and watched as he typed in some numbers, took a selfie as the contact picture, sent himself a message, and handed it back to me.
“Now we have each other’s numbers. I’ll call when we’re back from Philly, beautiful man.” He patted my face, softly, then left the Jeep, closing the door and disappearing.
“Sweet baby Jesus,” I whispered, taking just a moment to try to work on a face that wouldn’t show the cops I’d just been fucked senseless in a parking lot. I needed more AC. Stat.
Chapter Four
Max
Coach Benton wasn’t moving. He didn’t walk up and down the locker room like my last head coach. He didn’t curse at us like the one I had before that, even. After twelve years in the league and seven different teams, I’d seen coaches pace, scream, throw things, and even cry. But Coach Benton was a whole new ballgame.
“So, we lost,” he summarized, quietly, controlled, his hands loose at his sides.
Yep. Too right we fucking lost.
All tied at three goals each, then the Flyers had got one past us twenty-three seconds into overtime. I’d been on the damn ice. It was me they’d got a goal past.
Now Coach would lose it, and I glanced at Mads, the defensive coach, who stood, arms crossed over his chest, just watching the room. I couldn’t get a fix on him either. I’d have thought he’d be consoling Ten, who was slumped in his stall looking as if someone had stolen all his toys and burned them in front of him.
“This is game one,” Coach continued. "We’re here again in two days, and we can win. We played a good game tonight; I saw a lot of smart moves out there.”
And then he left, and Mads followed him, as did the other assistants, and Julio the equipment guy, who exchanged looks with me as he went out.
I’d spent time on the plane yesterday talking to Julio. After all this time in the NHL, with my experience on varied teams, I knew the first person you made friends with was the guy in charge of the equipment. Leave coffees, Danishes, gifts, and leave them at the skate-sharpening altar, and they will respect that you respect them.
Julio was retiring this year; he’d seen as much as I had, but he was in his mid-sixties, and gray. I was only thirty, yet retirement was only the remainder of the season away.
