Page 44 of The Fighter

A sound in the receiver. Nik was smoking. “Yep.”

“And you know the drill. She can’t know.”

“Yep.”

“There’s a connection to Devlin, you find that out, and I’ll buy you a fucking yacht.”

Nik chuckled in that husky way he had. “Don’t need a fucking yacht.”

“What do you want then?”

A pause. “What I want isn’t yours to give.” And then he hung up the phone.

“Cryptic fuck,” I muttered.

In the bedroom, Tav was still sleeping. I slipped under the covers, sitting with my back against the headboard. I picked up my paperback. Work could wait. Without waking, Tav curled into me, snuffling in his sleep, his head against my hip. He slung an arm around my legs, his hand on the opposite thigh.

I touched the scars on his knuckles, now that I was aware what they were capable of. That woman at the fight had said he was undefeated, hadn’t lost a fight. Dead in the eyes. I’d seen it for myself, who Tav turned into when he had to be Husk. And I hated it. How he’d managed to survive and still to be able to save a bit of himself, enough to sit in this bed with me and joke about a movie, was a miracle.

Everything he did proved to me he was the strongest man I knew. Much stronger than me, and I considered myself a hard man.

I had been reading for about an hour or so when the hand on my thigh flexed. There was movement at my hip, a hot breath through the thin material of my pants. Tav’s body rolled, falling between my legs in the same position I’d held him in months ago when I’d brought him home from Collar. He looked up atme with those two-toned eyes still a little blurry from sleep and mouthed the outline of my quickly hardening shaft. He was asking without any words for what he wanted, those lips dampening the fabric, those eyes pleading.

I held his chin with one hand and lowered my pants with the other, tucking the waistband under my balls. Tav opened his mouth and inched forward but I gripped his chin, digging my fingers into the flesh of his jaw, and held him there. His eyes darted up, questioning me.

“What’s your full name?” With one phone call to Nik, I’d know. But I didn’t want Tav’s name from Nik’s lips.

Tav jerked in my hand, and his arms flexed around my thighs. He swallowed, then said in that low breathy voice. “Tavin.”

I loosened my grip, held my cock out, and fed it to him. He opened his mouth, his eyes falling closed as he sucked on the tip. His tongue swirled underneath the head, into the slit, and he moaned.

He angled his head to take me deeper, down his throat, when I pulled the tip out of his mouth and held his head again with that strong grip on his chin.

He stared up at me, eyes glazed, lips red and wet already.

“What’s your last name?”

He bowed his head, and I let him. “Please just let me…” His whispered voice trailed off.

I rubbed his lower lip with my thumb. “Tell me your last name, Tavin.”

“Ridley.” The name sounded like he’d walked over hot coals barefoot to deliver it to me.

“Tavin Ridley.”

He nodded, head still bowed.

I let go of his chin, and I ran my fingers through his hair. Gripping slightly, I pulled his head up and slipped my cock between his lips again.

He descended on it like he was starving. This wasn’t gentle, not like the first night he sucked me. This was deep and hard, Tav putting his all into this.

I ran my hands over his face, into his hair, over his shoulders and down his back, everywhere I could reach. The heat of his mouth around my cock melted my spine, and I sank into the mattress as my balls boiled with the need to come. I thought maybe if I died like this it would be worth it, the sight of Tav’s powerful body between my legs, my cock fucking into that mouth as he took me into his throat, swallowing around the head.

I came with a low groan, muscles loose and floppy as Tav drank my release, moaning as he did. My hand shook where it rested in his hair.

I let my head fall back against the headboard with a thunk as Tav’s tongue went to work, never stopping, cleaning my shaft and my balls and lapping around my groin. He pressed a kiss to my inner thigh and then rested his head on my leg, looking at me, his hands clenching and unclenching on my thighs, almost like he was a cat, kneading my skin.

When I looked at him, those two-toned eyes were half-closed. “Thank you,” he murmured.