Wait Until Dawn by Bailey Bradford (chrysanthemum read aloud txt) 📗

Laine was stunned enough by this new burst of dominance in Severo that he flopped back on the bed with his mouth agape. Severo’s pale eyes gleamed through the narrow slits of his lids. There was a determination stamped into his expression Laine had never seen before, and damned if it didn’t excite him every bit as much as the finger buried deep in his ass. Severo was his, from the top of his silky hair to the tips of his elegant toes, and now Laine would be his as well. This time, Severo only intended to come on him, but as a second finger worked into his hole, Laine was left with no doubt there would soon be something new added to their lovemaking. He’d never bottomed before, but the way Severo looked at him, the way his fingers were twisting and stretching Laine’s anus, he knew that was going to change.

And while he’d never wanted to let another man have him in such a way before, Laine wanted to give himself to Severo. He was just a bit surprised Severo wanted to fuck him, as Sev had always professed to be a strict bottom.

“I want all of you,” Sev whispered as he pumped his cock. Laine wasn’t surprised his lover picked up on his thoughts. Sev knew how to read Laine like no one else ever would.

Laine opened his mouth to reply but his words turned into a long moan as Sev caressed his gland. Laine fisted his hands in the sheets as he ground his ass against Sev’s hand, trying to get more—more fingers, more pressure on his prostate, just more.

Sev’s wicked, sexy laughter along with a third finger being pressed into Laine’s opening had Laine teetering right on the brink of his second climax. The burn and stretch of his ring around Sev’s fingers brought a fiery pain that mingled with a promise of intense pleasure. Laine heard a whimper and was shocked to realize it was his own.

“That’s right, honey,” Sev rasped. “You look so fucking hot with three fingers stretching your ass. I’m not gonna last much longer. Grab your dick and jerk yourself off, come with me.”

Laine let go of the sheet and brought one hand to fist his cock and the other up to pinch his nipple. Sev began thrusting his fingers in hard and fast, brushing over Laine’s gland with each stroke, and Laine barely got one slide up and down his dick, one twist of his nipple, before Sev tapped his fingers firmly and shoved Laine right over the edge. Laine cried out with each jet of seed that splattered him, Sev’s mixing with his until his chest and belly were striped with cum.

“God, look at that.”

Laine cracked open eyes he wasn’t aware he’d closed and watched Sev rub their mixed juices all over his torso. It’d be a sticky, flaky mess, but damn, Sev looked turned on all over again, and Laine loved feeling like a marked man. Sev twisted one of Laine’s nipples, sending a zing of pleasure-pain straight to Laine’s balls. “Fuck, I’m getting hard again already,” Sev said.

Laine found enough energy to arch an eyebrow at his younger lover. “Twice in a row is about it for me, but if you—”

The phone beside the bed rang, and Laine snarled at the interruption. He started to grab the phone, but Sev stopped him with a shake of his dark, sexy head. “Got cum all over our hands,” Sev pointed out. He wiped his hands on Laine’s thighs, grinning evilly as he did so, then he crawled up and over Laine and answered the phone.

“Hello?”

Laine saw the change in his lover’s body immediately, the loose, relaxed muscles tensing even as Laine heard a deep male voice demanding, loudly, to speak to him. Sev turned back to him, worry etched into his features, and held out the phone.

“It’s Diego Montoya, Rich’s dad, and he sounds like he wants to kick your ass.”

Laine nodded and reached for the phone. He couldn’t blame Mr. Montoya—Laine wanted to kick his own ass for ever letting Rich get hurt in the first place. He deserved whatever anger Rich’s dad wanted, or needed, to toss at him. Laine took the phone and pressed it to his ear.

“This is Laine Stenley, Mr. Montoya.” Instead of the cursing and anger Laine expected—or, to be accurate, along with those things—Laine discovered just how horribly he’d fucked up by letting Rich take part in bringing down James McAlister, the man who’d stalked Laine years ago and who’d killed Laine’s former lover. Mr. Montoya told Laine, although he might have phrased it differently, exactly how Laine had ruined Rich’s life.

* * * *

“What the hell happened while I was out of it?”

Rich’s cheeks burned with humiliation when his father gave him an arch look.

“You mean, what happened while you were going through involuntary detox for the past three days?”

Rich wanted to bury his head back under the pillow, but he forced himself to remain sitting up, his back against the headboard and his gaze locked with his father’s. The need for a drink, a few shots of Jack or a couple of pain pills, made him twitchy and his mood sour. He hadn’t wanted to detox, that was true enough. Without the pills or the booze, the images the invader speared into his brain could be overpowering. And the next time it happened, Rich would need those crutches to deal with it. No one had the right to deny him what comfort he could find, not even his father.

Who was in the middle of throwing Rich’s clothes into a suitcase. What the hell was going on? Rich’s stomach dipped. He used drugs and alcohol to cope, but his father didn’t know the why of it. Rich hadn’t told anyone about the awful things that had been shoved into his head, the visions and memories of a sociopath who, even in death, was finding a way to get