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He passed the flute to a nearby roadie, swapping it out for a beat-up guitar. Then he approached with an easy smile, stopping by Saint, his grin trained on my kid. “You brought me a jamming buddy?” Saint shrugged and waved Willow forward. “She’s good.” “Works for me, brother.” The singer had a deep voice and a faint Belfast accent. Everything and nothing reminded me of Saint, and as he claimed Willow’s guitar and led her to a reserved firepit, I wondered what I was missing.
Another band started playing, raucous and wild. And it began to rain again, light drops that caught in my hair and trickled into my eyes. None of it mattered. I cupped his face in my big, rough hands and kissed him, and I didn’t give a single shit who saw.
But as it dawned on me that Nash might’ve felt differently, his arms circled my waist and he tugged me closer, deepening a kiss that suddenly had no fuckin’ right to be seen in public. His tongue was hot and slick. It was mine, and I pushed him against a nearby van, letting the rain pelt us, until there was a very real chance I’d tear his fuckin’ clothes off before I remembered where we were. I drew back, heart pounding. Nash sucked in a shaky breath. “How can something I like so much make me feel like I’m gonna die?” I tucked a stray curl behind his ear. “Is it a good death?” “Death by Locke
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“I love you.” Nash blinked, and for a hot second, an innocence flared in his bright eyes, the kind that had no place in the gaze of a seasoned gangster. Then that smile came back and he pressed his forehead to mine. “I—” An empty beer cup hit the side of my face. Before I could react, Rubi loomed around the front of the van. “Oi. None of that. We’ve already got half our brethren banned for indecent behaviour.”
In the low light of the fire, Locke’s gaze had turned hooded and lazy, heavy with tranquillity he deserved. I had so much to fucking say to him, but the quiet of this moment felt too sacred to break. I don’t want this night to end.
His fingers grazed my neck. I shivered and a hot grin warmed his face as he considered me. “We don’t have to fuck,” he said eventually. “I’d feel the same for you if it never happened.” I believed that as much as I’d believed him when he’d told me he loved me. But he was wrong about one thing. We did have to fuck. Before I burst into goddamn flames. And that’s what he was really saying. What he was asking. How are we going to fuck?
I fought to keep my hips still. Fuckin’ shaking with the effort. Nash chuckled against my lips. “You like that?” I kissed him harder. “I like everything.” The meaning wasn’t lost on him. His grip tightened, slickness from my leaking cock urging him on as I fucked his hand. “I wanna blow you.” I expelled a harsh breath. “I’d never say no.” Another hot laugh escaped him, tongue snaking out to wet his lips. Nerves? I was too jacked up to tell. My hand found its way to the top of his head, and I pushed him down.
My dick still throbbed from the workout his mouth had given me, my blood still whooshing in my ears. I wanted to make him feel like that so I could drown in it. In him. Goddamn, I wanted to suffocate in every fibre of Locke fucking Halliwell.
Could I come like this? No. And that was the point—it was so nearly there that I drove my fist into the mattress, throttling my lungs. Locke heard me and pulled back, leaving his teeth marks behind. He slid inside me again, strong and sure, yanking me upright, my spine to his chest, his arm a solid anchor around my waist. His lips hot at my ear. “We fit together.” That was it. His only words before he set a new rhythm that fucking blindsided me. Hard. Fast. Not fucking gentle. I fell forward again, one hand clinging to his hip, the other flying to my dick. I gritted my teeth again, but then
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“Do you know that I love you? I didn’t say it back earlier, and then other shit got in the way.” Locke claimed my mouth, stealing my breath with a bruising kiss. “Brother, you’re not a soul who needs words.” I knew other men like that. But I wasn’t Saint. Not even close. And I wanted to hold Locke’s face and tell him, again, that I loved him. I wanted to go outside and scream it at the sea.
Decoy, though . . . he didn’t need to cover for Nash. If my love hadn’t gone out, got shitfaced, and taken Locke somewhere to bang his brains out, I was going to be disappointed. My hardworking boys deserved some fun.
