Road Trip, Volume 2 Read online

  His head was going to explode. Was this man crazy? “I didn’t know that people wanted lit professors dead.”

  “Oh, you’d be amazed. People want all sorts of folks dead. You hungry? I could order a pizza.”

  “I….” He didn’t know. He could scream when Cowboy Joe ordered the pizza, but the damned drivers took so long he’d be dead of old age before he got rescued….

  “No yelling, now.” Man, it was like the guy could read his mind. “You like meat or veggies?”

  “No fish. Untie me. I need to get up.” He was hurting, sore. Scared. He was fucking scared. He was supposed to be…. “What time is it?”

  “’Bout eleven. And I’m sorry, but I can’t untie you. You’d go for my balls again. Or my head.” The hat came off, showing a dark bruise on one temple.

  He didn’t even remember doing that. “I hit you? Is that why I’m here?”

  Those eyes just started to twinkle. “Partly. I mean, I have to admire a man who will fight back.”

  Right.

  Okay.

  Okay. He was tied up in a strange bed with a crazed cowboy.

  Who wanted to order him pizza.

  “My glasses?”

  “Oh. Sure. They fell off, but they’re not broke or nothin’.” The crazy man went and rummaged in a duffel, pulled out his glasses, and came to set them on his nose. “Better?”

  He shook his head, the sudden clarity of vision freaking him right out. He needed up. Out. Something.

  “Now, now. No panicking. Be good and I’ll help you sit up. I might even put your hands in front so you can eat.” The man smelled like… well. Man. No soap, no cologne, no nothing to cover the scent of clean sweat and hot skin.

  “I don’t know that I have a choice but to panic. In fact, I think that is the most logical answer for anyone not an action hero.” He did tend to slip into professor mode when he was scared.

  “You did a good impression of it for a while, man.” The guy eased him up, propping him on pillows. The plastic pinging sounded just before his hands were freed, the tingling as his flesh came back to life maddening.

  He brought his hands around, keeping them at his sides. “I need to hit the john.”

  There might be something in there—something to hit the wall with, maybe, create enough noise that someone would call the police.

  “Sure. Come on.” Jerking his head, the guy stood back from the bed, giving him room to move. And giving the guy room to rush him.

  He slid from the bed, wincing a little at how stiff he was—all of him. Damn it. “I have papers to grade. For tomorrow.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to worry on that. Someone else will take over.” So fucking cheerful. Like this was all in a day’s work.

  “Fuck you. I’m not just fucking replaceable. Someone will notice I’m gone.”

  “No, someone will think you’re dead. I get the rest of my money on that one condition, you see.”

  Paid. The man was getting paid for this? “I…. This is…. This makes no fucking sense.” He hit the bathroom, shutting the door and locking it, leaning against it while he tried to think. This was a sick fucking joke.

  He got just enough time to pee and wash his hands, which he hadn’t done, when the knock sounded. “Come on, Prof. Don’t think I can’t get in there.”

  “Just give me a minute.” His nerves were jangling, the look of his eyes in the mirror completely fucking foreign to him.

  “One minute. Then I’m coming in.” That voice wasn’t light and friendly anymore. It had taken on a hard, harsh note.

  Shit. Shit.

  He gripped the sides of the sink, looking around frantically. No window. No razor. No lighter. Shit, what was he supposed to do?

  He turned the water on and washed his face, trying to help himself think. The room wanted to just fade away a little, and he fought the urge. This is no time to hide away, Duncan. Grow up. Think.

  “Okay, time’s up.” The door popped open like it hadn’t been locked at all, barely making a sound.

  “That’s rude. Just back off.” He slapped the water off, tried to make his fingers work well enough to get his glasses.

  “Rude…. This is not a vacation, Doc. You’re here because I thought you were cute and you fought back.” The guy had blue-collar hands, rough and torn up and… damn. He got an up-close look at the one fisted in his shirt under his chin.

  “No. No, the last vacation I took, I was very happy in P-town, thanks. This isn’t my goddamn style!” His temper flared, and he bashed his forehead against the big asshole’s.

  “Fuck!” That hand moved up, clasping his throat, pushing his windpipe closed. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  He joined his hands, jerked his fists up, dislodging the hand from his throat. Which would have been a good thing, barring the way said hand caught him in the chin and nose, the shock and pain making his knees buckle.

  Grunting, the guy took him right down to the floor, covering him, making it impossible to move all of a sudden. “You take self-defense or something?”

  “Huh?” Oh. Gross. Blood. He. Man. Shit.

  “Okay. Okay, just breathe, man. Duncan, right? Just breathe. No passing out.” Easing off, the guy pulled him up and out of the bathroom, propped him on the bed, and went to get him some tissues.

  This was the weirdest fucking evening ever. Even weirder than when Jonah took him to a bathhouse in Dallas. Wait. Did he say that out loud?

  “Who’s Jonah?” Looked like it. Damn. Cowboy sat down on the edge of the bed, another cup of water in his hand. “Better?”

  “Ex. I mean, a coworker.” Right. Real world. Not academia. Queer was bad.

  “He any good?” Oh, those weird gray eyes were back to twinkling. He’d gone down the rabbit hole big-time.

  “He thought so.” Shut up, Duncan.

  “Not so great, huh? Bet that’s why he’s an ex. You’re too hot to waste on anyone that can’t take you to heaven, honey.”

  Wait. No. No flirting with the psycho cowboy killer man.

  “I haven’t found anyone making good on that promise.” Sex was a fabulous stress relief and a grand pastime, but earth-shattering? Shit. He wasn’t a teenager.

  Wait.

  He was bleeding and in a bed.

  This was not the appropriate time to think about sex.

  “Oh, I could rock your world, honey.” That slow drawl was enough to make him think about it hard, though. He’d lost his mind.

  “I don’t….” Jesus fucking Christ. He looked down at his cock, the stupid fucking thing just trying to get attention.

  “Uh-huh. You do.” One of those scarred hands settled right over his fly, squeezing. Pushing.

  “This isn’t…. I…. Fuck.” This wasn’t happening. It wasn’t. He was fucking drunk somewhere.

  “You could use the stress relief, honey.” Ziiiiiiiiiip. There went his zipper, and he’d never felt calluses like that on his cock. Not until now. Stress re…. Oh. Oh, he. Goddamn. What the hell was up with him?

  Aside from his dick, which was very up, he had no idea. The guy stroked him, hand cupping him firmly, rubbing up and down. Maybe it was the danger giving him an adrenaline rush, but it felt amazing.

  “This is. Goddamn. So fucked.” His shoulders rolled up off the mattress, hands landing on the cowboy’s shoulders, just holding on tight.

  “So pretty.” Those eyes weren’t looking into his anymore. They were watching where hand met cock, hot as a brand. Goddamn.

  He was going to shoot. He was. It was…. “Fuck.”

  His hips started pumping, eyes rolling back in his head.

  “That’s it, honey. That’s it. Just like that.” The man kept on pulling until he’d gone soft, until one more touch was gonna make him scream.

  “You…. You just…. I can’t.” He shook with it, his head and heart pounding, throbbing.

  “Shhh. Hush, now.” So soothing. It was enough to make him crazy. Maybe he already was.

  His eyes closed without him eve
n giving them leave to. “I don’t know what to do next.”

  Besides shut the fuck up.

  “You just sit back and relax. I got something I need to take care of.” That sound. Well, there it was again. A zipper and the sound of flesh on flesh.

  He’d fallen down the rabbit hole.

  That was the only real answer.

  Duncan squeezed his eyes tighter, the world swimming. If some asshole offered him tea, he was going to have a psychotic break.

  Chapter Seven

  PADDY WAVED to the little group of teenagers as he walked back from the village, bread and cheese and grapes and a glass bottle of milk in his bags. This whole “going to the market” thing was incredibly fun. He hadn’t expected it to be, but it was. There were different breads every day, weird and fun pie dealies, wine.

  Lord, the wine.

  Neil was incredibly, fabulously, passionately adorable drunk.

  He whistled, caught for a minute at the sight of the sun on the water. Oh. Pretty.

  Speaking of Neil, just as Paddy turned the corner to their little seaside cottage, the man in question wobbled into view, riding a really decrepit bicycle across the sand down by the beach.

  “Neil!” Look at him go! Paddy laughed, heading for his lover, Neil’s short blond hair and pretty green eyes hidden by a huge floppy hat.

  Neil glanced up and waved wildly, the bike taking an ominous turn toward the water, Neil’s legs starting to flail a little. Paddy heard an “Oh dear!” before Neil fell into a sandbank.

  “Oops.” He hurried a little faster, feet sliding on the sand.

  Neil sat up about the time he reached the edge of the dune, popping up like a jack-in-the-box. Laughing right out loud, Neil shook sand out of his hair. “Well, that didn’t work well.”

  “Nope. I have milk and cheese and bread!” He grabbed Neil’s hand, tugging.

  “A veritable feast!” Standing, Neil kissed him, smiling and pretty much unharmed, it looked like. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to check. He ran his hand over Neil’s back, down over Neil’s ass. “Hello, sweet. Did you see? I was doing rather well for someone who’s not been on a cycle in years.” Hugging him with one arm, Neil poked at the bag he held with the other hand. “Did you get me tea?”

  “I did. And some lemons. Oh, and some little cookies that smelled like Christmas.” He did like daily shopping.

  “Lovely. Cinnamon and spice, then?” His Neil was all about the little goodies he brought too, encouraging him to get cream puffs and little things with candied fruit and stuff.

  “Yeah.” He righted the bike, put one of the bags in the basket. “Let’s take the milk home, and I’ll show you your surprise.”

  That he wasn’t thinking about.

  At all.

  La la la.

  Not thinking. Look at the ocean. Pretty, pretty.

  “Oh, I do love surprises. Unless you mean suddenly you’ve decided to set my trousers on fire surprises.” He got a wink; Neil loved to make fun of his own thoughts on surprises and cleverness.

  “No fires.” He hadn’t started a fire for at least a week, possibly ten days, and that one was in a grill for chicken, and the one before that was only the littlest experiment about beach glass….

  “Not unless they involve sausage.” They wandered willy-nilly up the path to the cabin, the bike kind of dragging a little. Leaving it outside the front door, they headed for the tiny kitchen, Neil bright-eyed and bushy-tailed next to him.

  He put the milk away, the cheese. Then the bakery stuff. The tea. At the bottom of the bag was a little brown-wrapped parcel. Two of the murder-mystery novels Neil loved so much.

  Neil peered over his shoulder. “Well, what could that be, love?”

  “It could be a lot of things, but it is something for you.” He handed them over, bouncing a bit.

  The books came out of the wrapper easily, and Neil gasped with pleasure. “Oh, love! Look at that. In English, no less.”

  He’d found out that Neil read French, but sometimes the mysteries didn’t translate so well.

  Neil gave him a hug, the books clunking against his back.

  “Yep. All for you.” Oh, cool. He thought he’d done good.

  “You’re awfully good to me, sweet. Would you like some tea? I could murder a cup after my misadventure.” Kissing his cheek, Neil leaned a minute before taking the books and putting them carefully on the “to be read” shelf.

  “I’ll start the fire. Kettle.” He did enjoy their tiny little gas stove. “Did you see I got the flames to six inches the other day?”

  Whoosh.

  “I saw the soot on the ceiling.” That warm chuckle slid over his neck like sunshine on the water.

  “Nothing burned.” Down.

  “Indeed. Lemon, love?” Look at that. Before he could even blink, Neil had cups and saucers and tea and stuff laid out. The cups had come from Paris, where they’d stopped on the train.

  “Yes, please. No milk, though.” It curdled.

  “No, no. Either or.” The water started to steam, well on its way to boiling, and Neil started to hum, sounding so happy.

  “I like the lemon.” He leaned against Neil’s back, lips sliding up along the lean shoulder.

  “Yes. I like the way it makes your lips pucker up.” Neil liked all the parts. He knew that for sure, could hear it loud and clear every day.

  “I like a lot.” He loved it here, if for no other reason than it made Neil so happy to be here in the sunshine.

  Neil turned, arms sliding around Paddy’s waist so they could dance away from the almost ready, steamy water. Neil danced well. It always kind of surprised him, which it shouldn’t, because Neil was graceful when he wasn’t riding a bike. He’d learned to follow, learned that, if he relaxed, Neil would move him around the floor. They had a little dance until the kettle whistled, and Neil dipped him gently with a flourish, singing, “Ta-da!”

  “Tea time!” He stole a kiss, laughing.

  “Such a lovely thing, tea. A grand restorative.” The way Neil poured tea made Paddy happy inside. It was like when they’d first met and Neil had made such a little ritual out of water fired in a beaker.

  “I love it. Are there still cookies? Biscuits?” Little round lemon sweet things?

  “There are. I saved back the raspberry thumbprints and the lemon crèmes.”

  Score. Someone knew him well.

  NEIL FLIPPED like an omelet, the sun beating down on his once-pale skin, making him feel like a toasted almond. Goodness, but he loved the coast, loved his little cottage and Paddy. He felt like an utter sap on occasion, but it worked for him. He reached for the sunscreen, knowing it would be time for Paddy to oil up again. That particular pale skin never seemed to do more than freckle.

  “Do you need some more oil, love?”

  Paddy was dozing, imagining him sliding into Paddy’s body, lips sliding over Paddy’s shoulders. Oh, his Paddy did have the most delightful imaginings.

  Neil smiled, sliding off his towel to move over and squirt a little lotion on Paddy’s shoulders, then rub it in well with the tips of his fingers.

  “Mmm. Hey. Feels good.” Paddy hummed happily, arched back toward him.

  “Yes, it does.” Paddy’s skin fascinated him. Every so often he thought about suggesting that they get matching tattoos, but he thought better of it whenever he was faced with the lovely, freckled expanse.

  “I could get it on my belly.” Paddy heard him so well.

  “You could. I like that.” Laughing, Neil bent and kissed Paddy’s neck. “I like it any way I can get it with you, sweet.”

  “I know. I’m glad. It would suck if you didn’t by now.”

  “Indeed.” Perhaps he would be better served leaving Paddy on his back. He simply needed to remember not to lick where he’d put the sunscreen.

  Paddy laughed, those thoughts bouncing and light, filled with pure sunshine. Neil gave up on the pretense of oiling Paddy and knelt up, letting his body cover Paddy’s, rubbing all along. Oh, t
hat felt marvelous.

  “Neil.” Paddy rocked, sliding against him, humming for him.

  “Yes, sweet. Warm.” So warm. So good against him. What a love Paddy was. Slow and easy, the heat built up between them, slicked them up. Neil quite forgot himself, kissing Paddy everywhere, the sunscreen stinging his wind-chapped lips. It did not matter a bit.

  Want you. He heard that, clear as day.

  “Want you too, love.” They could do this, outside, at the beach…. Life was definitely the way it should be. Neil pulled down Paddy’s shorts and rubbed that lovely cock a bit.

  Lean thighs spread for him, let him touch as much as he’d like. So giving, so hungry, his Paddy. Sweet man. Neil touched, his fingers and thumb making a circle, rubbing up and down. He loved the feel of that hot skin, the smell. Paddy groaned, moving with him, cock sliding in his touch, the tip swollen and damp where it bumped against him.

  “You’re wet, love. Ready. How would you like me?” He thought of all the ways, letting Paddy see him riding, or him fucking Paddy. It all worked for him. Images flooded him—him pushing into Paddy’s ass, Paddy pulling him down onto that hard cock, Paddy’s mouth on him while he returned the favor.

  “Oh….” Neil moaned, fumbling with his own swim trunks, trying to find the way out of them, trying to get to Paddy with all of him.

  Paddy reached back, flailing a little, trying to help. They got completely tangled, both of them laughing, both of them rolling until they were on the floor of their little patio, the chaise not helping a bit.

  Paddy’s fingers slid over his sides, smile tickling his shoulder.

  “This is better, hmm?” He got them pressed together again, got Paddy on his back so he could straddle the sturdy hips. He was determined to ride.

  “Uh-huh.” Paddy’s fingers stroked his stomach, teased him. “Much better.”

  “Be careful, sweet. You’ll get me going far too fast.”

  Those clever fingers circled his balls and tugged, just hard enough. “We can’t have that.”

  “No. No, we can’t. I…. Oh.” He arched, spread, let Paddy have whatever he wanted.