“I’ve got a fairly good idea,” Reese said on a long, strangled moan when Brantley closed his fist around his hardening cock. “Fuck yes.”
“Not enough,” Brantley mumbled. “I’m not gettin’ nearly enough of you.”
“How much more, oh, God, yes”—Reese thrust his hips, driving his cock into Brantley’s fist—“do you want?”
Brantley paused his stroking long enough to yank his own shorts down his legs, kicking them aside. “Ideally? Three, four times a day.”
Reese’s eyes widened.
“A minimum of two,” he conceded before crushing his mouth to Reese’s.
Air was scarce, which made talking impossible as they maneuvered into the shower. Somehow Reese got him up against the wall. When Brantley attempted to flip their positions, Reese held firm.
“My turn.”
Brantley moaned when Reese nipped his lower lip, his big hand cupping his throat, pinning him in place. He liked this side of Reese, the aggressive man who knew what he wanted and had no qualms taking it.
More moans and groans followed as Reese manhandled him into position, turning him around, planting his hands flat on the wall, forcing him to bend forward. Brantley did so without argument or complaint, his body desperate for Reese. Didn’t matter who was the top, he just needed this man. And that was something he’d never experienced with his prior sexual partners. Brantley had bottomed a time or two, but he’d never cared much for it. And it had nothing to do with the act, more so with the submission that went along with it. With Reese … he found he craved it.
Reese’s hands glided over his back.
“Reese? Baby? Fuck me.”
“Don’t wanna hurt you,” Reese rasped, his fingers beginning to dig into Brantley’s muscles, a sign he was holding back.
“You won’t,” he assured him. “Just. Fuck. Me.”
When Reese impaled him a second later, Brantley grunted, keeping his palms flat as he rocked back against the intrusion. Reese filled him completely, his long fingers gripping his hips.
“Hold on,” Reese said, the words sounding like a warning.
Evidently that was how they were meant, because the next thing Brantley knew, Reese was fucking him with so much fervor he feared they would end up through the shower wall and into the bedroom.
“Fuck… so … fucking … tight…”
Brantley shifted his feet wider in an attempt to accept the punishing thrusts while he dropped one hand to his pulsing cock. No way would he last like this. He loved the times Reese lost himself, forgetting all about gentle and fucking him like nothing else in the world mattered.
He jerked himself roughly, using the momentum of his body to drive himself into his fist while Reese continued to fuck him like a man starved for him.
“Brantley… Oh, fuck…”
“Come for me,” Brantley bit out, the tingling that signaled his release too powerful to stave off any longer. “Fucking come for me, baby.”
Reese drove into him one final time, his fingertips digging into his hips as they both let themselves get catapulted up and over into that glorious abyss.Forty-five minutes later, Brantley was behind his desk in the barn, listening to JJ clack on her keyboard as though it had offended her. She’d also been mumbling to herself since he walked in the door, and the conversation sounded as angry as the typing.
“Not enough coffee this mornin’?”
Her head lifted slowly, eyes coming to rest on him. The expression on her face was one of embarrassment, as though she hadn’t realized he was there.
“When did you get here?” It was a curious inquiry, telling him she hadn’t.
“Long enough to know you’re havin’ a crappy mornin’.”
Her gaze cut to Baz’s desk.
“Problem with the new guy?”
JJ shot him a glare, then turned away.
Smiling to himself, Brantley shifted his focus back to his computer, recalled the conversation he was supposed to have with Reese about Trey. He knew better than to take JJ’s suggestion to hire Cyrus as a potential opportunity. He wasn’t willing to put Reese in that predicament. He knew there was some animosity on Reese’s part thanks in no small part to Brantley’s history with the guy.
Turning in his chair, he glanced up at the enormous whiteboard, noticed it had been cleaned recently, the glass front glimmering in the overhead lights.
Cases.
There should be cases on that board.
His attention shifted to the rest of the blank wall.
“I want more whiteboards in here,” he decided.
JJ looked up again. “For?”
“I want them used to outline the cases we’re workin’ on.”
“Right now, we’re not workin’ on any,” she answered. “Except what Baz is diggin’ into.”
“That’s the problem. There should be at least three active cold cases runnin’ at all times.”
“Three?” JJ looked at him like he’d lost his damn mind. “How are we supposed to handle three with only four of us workin’? Even if you hire two more, at best, we might be able to handle two, although not if you want us to actually resolve the damn things.”
