Get Off Easy (Noble House, #1) (21 page)

“Glad you’re back.” Saint leaned in to brush his mouth against Boyce’s.

“So am I.”

It warmed Saint’s heart to know Boyce had finally broken through the barrier that had been restricting his obvious love for photography. “Grae showed up while you were doing the shoot.”

Regret flashed in Boyce’s eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were busy.” Saint smoothed his fingers along Boyce’s jaw, hoping the gentle contact would melt away the annoyance floating in his lover’s eyes. “She didn’t want to interrupt. Besides, she came armed with plans. No way was I going to get in the way of a woman on a mission.”

Boyce’s expression softened. “Do I want to know?”

“Living room has never sparkled so brightly. Sinks in the kitchen are shining.” Saint was surprised she hadn’t figured out how to weasel her way into their bedroom. Although, it was probably for the best that she hadn’t. Once Saint got her in there, he wasn’t going to let her escape. “Right now, she’s working on organizing the closet out in the hallway.”

“Oh, boy.”

That had been Saint’s reaction when he found her there. As much as he would have liked to watch her clean—because, he was male after all, and watching her heart-shaped ass sway while moving the vacuum cleaner had given him a hard-on—he had other pressing responsibilities.

“She...looks right here. In our house. With us. I know you said we need to talk about this more, but—”

“We do what we have to do to keep her. The rest will fall into place.”

Saint waited a few heartbeats before nodding. “I have to go to Noble House for a few hours. Damn system went haywire when I tried uploading an update earlier today. Static all through the pictures. Gotta try to nail down the source or Kochran’s going to have my ass if the feeds aren’t clear for tonight. But I need my hands in the system to see what’s going on or else I would stay here and get my hands on you.”

“I have another hour or so of work anyway. Join you there later? Maybe we can grab Grae and take her to dinner?”

“Only after I fuck you both,” Saint stated succinctly.

Boyce grinned and tilted his head slightly. “Yes, Sir.”

Yeah, it was
really
good to have his partner back.

Boyce was still grinning an hour later when he found Grae sitting cross-legged in the middle of a hallway littered with boxes. Saint was right. She did look at home—messy and mussed and...perfect. The smell of cleaner struck him next, and he realized just how much deep-cleaning they had been neglecting.

Two large trash bags had been placed near the front door. A sign she’d been really, really busy. And they’d let things get far more out of hand than they’d intended in regards to their everyday life. Memories surrounded her in no particular order, muddling the years. He’d forgotten about this storage closet. As though it had become the place memories went to die. Though some memories were better off left smothered by dust and age.

He spotted a fan of pictures spread over the top of one box, the colors of the glossy photographs faded. As a photographer, he knew the proper storage methods that should have been used to prevent such things. For a lot of the memories he guessed were in the closet, he wanted them destroyed.

But he reminded himself, amid those horrible memories, were good times.

A smile played over his lips as he picked up one photograph. Grae in the middle, Saint and Boyce on either side. First day of senior year at the university. They’d been so ready to conquer the world. Ready to change it. Make their marks. They’d split the rent of an apartment off campus. A quaint studio where the living area had been the focal point, and the three bedrooms positioned in an array off it. The place had always been tidy because Grae had been the one to pick up after them.

Her cleaning mode appeared intact.

As he riffled through the pictures, he found one he’d taken of Saint sitting on a bench in the park across the street from their college apartment. Time hadn’t showed on his face then, a young man of distinction seeking his niche in the world. The image reminded Boyce that Saint had gotten even more handsome through the years, aging spectacularly like a fine wine.

In his early twenties, Saint had been attractive and insatiable.

In his mid-thirties, he was downright sinful and still just as ravenous when it came to sex.

Saint loved with all of his heart, regardless of his age. And it showed in the image Boyce cradled.

Boyce had snapped the picture the morning after they’d had a fierce argument with Grae. About what, Boyce couldn’t remember. She hadn’t talked to them for nearly a month afterward. Quite the feat when they all still lived together. But she’d had a boyfriend at the time—a young man who had a passion for numbers—and chose to spend most of her time at his place.

The anger Boyce had felt, the jealousy seeing her snuggled up in that boy’s arms on a bench near their apartment building had been the first time Boyce had known something about Grae was different. That she meant more. Thought that perhaps life had far more reaching plans. Ones that Boyce had been incapable of understanding.

The tension-filled dance Saint and Boyce had been circling each other with had ended that very same afternoon the picture had been taken. When they’d seen Grae cavorting with her boyfriend, something had taken hold of them both. They’d come together in a sweaty mass of frustration and pent-up male sexual energy. They’d ravaged each other. Left long trails of angry red scratches as they’d tangled. Mated. Boyce had even left deep ridges in the back of Saint’s hand when the man had penetrated him for the very first time. A mark Saint had repaid several hours later when Boyce had been the one to take Saint.

A balance the two men would discover, in time, had more meaning than they realized.

They’d chalked that long winter’s night up to tension and experimentation, but Boyce had known, in those stolen, passionate moments, his life had been irrevocably changed. Feelings had surfaced. The energy between the men had shifted. Become tangible and real. If they’d been inseparable before that night as friends, they’d become ardent in their need as lovers.

That need had changed again the night the three of them had fallen into bed together after the graduation ceremony. The last night they’d seen her before she’d reappeared on their door step as a beautiful, graceful woman looking even more gorgeous than they remembered.

“Think I’ll have this framed.” A quiet sniff drifted in the air, and he looked up to find Grae’s shoulders hunched forward. “Grae?”

Her shoulders hitched again.

Alarmed, he tossed aside the picture. The contents of the box she clutched came into view as he squatted beside her. Now his heart beat erratically for a different reason. Unable to stop himself, he reached out and brushed his thumb against a slender square of metal. Over the raised lettering stamped into the metal.

His dogtags.

He was supposed to have surrendered them when his service with the Army ended, but he hadn’t been able to part with them.

Boyce Michael Denali.

Remembering the man he used to be, he pulled out another pair of tags. These were from his closest friend, his constant companion, while he had been stationed overseas. The same one who had died in the raid that had also ended Boyce’s military career.

The night that had been the beginning of the end.

“Diega. Her name,” Boyce added when Grae looked up. He wished he had a picture, some memento of Diega so he could show Grae. Show her who had been his anchor in all the time he’d had to spend away from home. From Saint. But he’d burned those long ago. In a fit of rage that Saint had—yet again—talked him down from. Held Boyce as he’d broken.

As he ran his fingers over the raised surface of the tag, the acrid stench of fire, smoke, and ash seared the inside if his nose. “A German Shepard. Older than most of the other bomb sniffing dogs. But I didn’t care. She’d already done two tours. They were going to retire her, but she wasn’t having any of it. So I said I would take her.”

“You always liked a challenge.” Grae sniffed, tilting her face up to his. “What happened? To you? To her? Unless you don’t want to talk about it...”

“No. It’s all right.” Boyce swallowed, forcing his mind to recall details he’d tried to spend so many years forgetting. He needed to say this. “Ambush. We were camped for the night. Working our way through an area known for attacks. Guards were on duty constantly. Gunfire started around two local time. Missile hits were so frequent I thought the world was ending. One hit nearby, knocked me off my feet and unconscious. When I came to, there was a guy standing over me, rifling through my pockets. Had these in his hand.” Boyce rattled his tags.

“You punched him.”

Her eyes flashed, and Boyce know what she was thinking. “At first. Didn’t seem to faze him though. So I took him down with a knife I kept tucked in my boot. Right in his throat. Wasn’t going to take any chances the asshole was going to get away.”

Thankfully he hadn’t brought a knife to the scene with Saint and Asha that had sparked his flashback. Up until a few years ago, he’d habitually kept one tucked there, even during a scene. No telling when an emergency situation would arise and a submissive would need to be cut out of a binding that was constricting her in some way. If he’d kept up the practice, there was a real possibility that Saint wouldn’t be there with them today. Thankfully, during the confusion in the desert, he hadn’t reached for the pistol stashed in his waistband.

“I heard the dogs barking. There was so much going on. It felt like it took me forever to make it there.” He’d been convinced someone was playing a trick on him. Moving the area away as he struggled to get closer.

Strange what a mind on the precipice of shattering conjurers in the heat of the moment.

Grae set her hand on his arm when he paused, emotion choking him. He hadn’t even spoken to Saint about events in the desert. About the fear and panic that had settled deep in his bones in the blink of an eye. But Saint had never pushed. At least not in that area. As though he’d known Boyce would talk about it when the time was right. Grae wasn’t pushing either, but Boyce felt it was long since time he rid himself of the burden.

“I turned the corner just as a group of enemies opened fire on the dogs.”

He could still hear the high whines of pain sometimes. Had spent a long time wondering if he would ever truly forget. In some way, he never wanted to because it made him feel as though he was dishonoring Diega’s memory in some way.

“I’m so sorry.”

“So were the insurgents.” Boyce remembered barreling over the crowd, uncaring how or what happened to him. Revenge had been the driving force. Blinding him with untempered rage. But it didn’t matter.

Nothing would bring them back.

Nothing would change that moment.

The screams would be forever etched in his mind. The barks, whines, and whistles...the men calling for help that couldn’t get there fast enough. All horrific reminders of an event that had left Boyce scarred and unfit for duty.

“They shipped me out the next morning. Honorable discharge a few months later after I finished rehabilitation.”

Like one huge
so long and fuck you for your service to your country
.

He’d thought he’d stopped being bitter a long time ago, but tearing open the old wounds had brought ragged emotions to the surface. Seemed as though he still had a few more things to deal with. But he had a feeling it would be easier now.

“That’s my story. Diega’s story. My salvation, and my hell.”

She touched his cheek. “You both did a very brave thing.”

“Doesn’t feel that way. But it gets easier. Or so I’m told.”

Emotions close to the surface enhanced the sensations swirling through Boyce. He finally noticed his dick was rock hard. Saint’s proclamation in the darkroom had pumped up his already revved system. The photo session with Enver and his sub hadn’t helped matters.

Boyce was usually able to keep himself distant from the sexually charged atmosphere during his photo shoots in order to ensure he captured the perfect image. No need to muddy the waters. But he’d peeled back the layers and exposed a lot during the session. With Saint in the darkroom. And Grae had uncovered even more by spilling his past all over the front hallway.

Caught up on the tidal wave of emotion, he leaned over and captured Grae’s mouth. She groaned, opening to his probing tongue to accept him. She tasted of sweat and hard work. Dusty memories and love. She slid toward him, letting herself be pulled into his strong, welcoming embrace. He cradled her close, reassuring himself that he could let her go when the time came in a few minutes, even though he knew he didn’t want to.

Boyce slid the kiss deeper, trapping her head between his wide hands so he could maneuver her face where he wanted. She angled back, letting him guide her to the floor amid the sea of boxes. He tangled his fingers in her soft cotton sweatpants, letting his fingers follow the curve of each ass cheek. A triumphant shout echoed through his head when she wrapped her thighs around his narrow waist.

Pressed together with her, mouths to pubic bones, he realized her breasts were pressed flat against his chest, her nipples hard, jutting points against his skin as an indication she wasn’t wearing a bra. He fit perfectly between the vee of her thighs, pushing his hard cock against her, feeling the wetness of her pussy through the cotton of her sweatpants.

Reveling in the way she came alive under him.

Wanting more.

“It seems as though I’ve made you wet.” She nodded, her throat working as she swallowed, then flicked her tongue out over her kiss-swollen lips. “I think I could probably set you off just by touching you with a single finger pressed ever so gently against your swollen clit right now.” Grae hissed out a sharp breath when he canted his hips to underscore his threat. “Do you know Saint is the reason I get up in the morning? I love thinking you’re the reason I want to get in bed at night. And sleep is not what I’m craving.” Boyce nuzzled her neck, wondering if she knew how vulnerable he was with his emotions riding this high to the surface. If she realized how much of a lifeline she was for him right now. “Do you realize, since the day you showed up, there’s been a spring in Saint’s steps? As though his feet don’t touch the ground because his head is so far into the clouds.”