#Rev (GearShark #2) (9 page)

His hand tightened around mine. “Like I said, the only thing I’m truly scared of is anything you won’t be around for.”

“I’ll always be here for you.” I promised.

“You and me against the world?” he asked, his tone lightening again.

I smiled. “I like our odds.”

“And for the record.” He began as he covered my package with his hand. “That was literally the best sex of my life. Good luck keeping me off you now.”

Warmth spread through my limbs. It felt a lot like genuine happiness.

So when the voice in the back of my head began to whisper about all the things Drew and I had yet to face, I ignored it.

The sun wouldn’t come up until tomorrow.

Drew

Morning came too fast. If I could have, I would’ve stayed in bed half the day. It was no secret I wasn’t a morning person, but getting to wake up with T beside me made it even worse.

For the first time since our first weekend together, he didn’t have to sneak out. I got to feel his body close by even as the sun’s rays began peeking through the blinds.

Because of his injuries, I resisted the urge to wrap myself around him, and I knew he was used to doing the same. Instead, I settled for pushing along his side as tight as I dared so we were pressed together as much as possible without me jarring his body.

“Downstairs in thirty!” Romeo called through the bedroom door as he lightly pounded on the wood.

The only reason I heard was because it seriously disturbed my comfortable state.

When no one answered, Romeo knocked again.

“Okay,” Trent called out, sleep thick in his tone.

Romeo stopped knocking and moved off down the hall. I groaned pathetically and rolled so I could face T. I kept my eyes closed, wanting to hold on to as much of the morning as I could before our family meeting so rudely interrupted.

Trent’s laugh was deep as his palm settled over my jaw and rubbed at my stubble.

He wasn’t kidding when he said he liked it. I’d never been one to keep the scruff very long, usually shaving for work, but not anymore. Anything tempted him to touch me was going to stay.

“I like not sneaking out at the crack of dawn,” he murmured, still rubbing across my jaw.

“I like waking up to you,” I told him, still reveling in his touch.

His lips replaced his hand. Softly they fluttered over my cheek and at the corner of my mouth. When he started to pull back, I grabbed his neck and kept him there, slipping my tongue into his mouth and kissing him deeply.

“Better than coffee.” My voice was gruff when I let go.

“Something tells me you’re still gonna need it,” he mused, pushing back some hair that had fallen over my forehead. He touched me like I was cherished. Like he loved me so deeply I could feel it in his fingertips with every caress.

“I love you,” I whispered, wanting him to know I felt the same.

“Thank you.”

I smiled. Thanking someone when they said I love you wasn’t likely a normal reply. In fact, I had it on pretty damn good authority if I said that to a woman, she’d probably try to corndog me.

Corndog = the official term for when a woman knees (or kicks) a dude in his goods.

T wasn’t a woman.
Thank God for that.
And his response was perfect. He didn’t take me for granted—us for granted. He was grateful for the way I felt, and he wanted me to know how much it meant that I’d handed over my heart.

He might have hesitated in taking it at first, but not for very long and not because he didn’t want it. Trent was thankful I didn’t give up even when he told me to.

“Think they’ll notice if we don’t go downstairs?” I asked, hopeful.

He made a rude sound. “Hells yes, they’ll notice. Then they’ll all be crowding in here, staring at us in bed together.”

“Well, that’s an unpleasant image,” I muttered.

He grinned, and I was glad my eyes were finally open to see it.

“You can put off rolling out of bed for a few more minutes. I’m gonna take a shower.” He started to push up off the mattress, and his mouth pulled into a taunt line.

All sleepiness vanished. I bolted up, and my eyes narrowed when I noted his stiff and slow movements.

“Fuck,” I growled. “Hang on, frat boy.”

Of course he didn’t listen. I had to scramble to get up before him. I spider climbed over the bed and got out on his side. Once I was on my feet, he was in a sitting position with his legs thrown over the side.

I slid my shoulder beneath his arm and stood, bringing him with me. “All the soreness has set in, huh?” I asked, trying to temper my anger.

He made a gruff sound. “I’m just stiff. I’ll be fine once I move around a bit.”

I stepped back and looked him over. Forget tempering the anger. Just looking at him pissed me off all over again.

Not only had all his soreness set in, but so had all the bruises.

His eye was still puffy and swollen (though not swollen shut anymore); the skin around it was dark and mottled. His lip was cut and red, the corner of it still fat, and the cut on his ear was still fresh and raw-looking. I knew beneath the giant Band-Aid I’d put on his head, the gash there would probably still be raw and now bruised as well.

Since we were still naked, I was able to see the full damage to his chest and upper body. The bruise from where he was kicked in the shoulder was dark against his smooth skin and was a real contradiction to the muscles cording his body.

It was so goddamned unfair. If they hadn’t jumped him, he would have wiped the floor with their asses.

His ribs—ha, his ribs. They were black and blue. Puffy in the center and clearly tender to the slightest of movement. He didn’t seem to be having any trouble breathing, and I hadn’t yet heard a cough.

That was good, I guessed.

There were also a few marks I hadn’t noticed the night before, like the red dotted rash across the back of one arm. It looked like road burn from being pinned down on the driveway and beaten.

Basically, he looked like shit.

Sure, most of the wounds were superficial and he’d be fine in a week or less. But those ribs and the gash in his head would be there longer.

And every second they were, it would only feed my anger and thirst for revenge.

Yes. I was a grown-ass man. I had a college education, a career, and another career on the horizon.

It didn’t matter who you were. There were some things in a person’s life—a man’s life—that were off-limits.

Trent was one of those things. I wasn’t above revenge. Sometimes payback was inevitable.

“Can I borrow some clothes?” he asked, either not realizing how deadly I felt or pretending not to notice. “Mine are kinda ruined.”

The idea of him in my clothes was enough of a distraction, and my temperature gauge went from boiling to hot.

“I prefer you naked.” I stepped closer.

“Well, I can walk around in the buff all day if you want.”

I made a face and showed my teeth. “No one sees you naked but me.”

His lips tilted up into a half smirk, half smile. “Well then, Forrester,” he drawled, “I’m gonna need some clothes.”

He totally liked my possessive streak.

I stepped away to pull out some things, my favorite T-shirt and a pair of loose sweats that were slightly too big on me so they’d probably fit him perfectly.

Then I pulled out a pair of black Calvin Kleins.

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re gonna let me wear those designer boxers?”

I returned his expression. “You like my designer taste in drawers, do you?”

“You wore those that night in the hotel, when we went to meet with Gamble,” Trent recalled. The heat of his stare pierced me. “Do you know how long it took me to fall asleep that night?” His voice dropped as he stepped forward.

“Probably the same amount of time it took me.” I matched his tone. We stared into each other’s eyes, almost measuring one another, desire and electricity crackling through the room.

I cleared my throat and lifted the boxers between us, dangling them off my fingertip. “What do you say, frat boy? Wanna put your package in the same place mine usually goes?”

He snatched the underwear off my finger and fisted them in a tight grip. At the same time, one arm snaked around me and jerked me into his body. I tried to pull back, afraid of touching his middle, but he wouldn’t let go.

“I’m gonna walk around with a stiff dick all day now because every time I shift and these fucking boxers touch my cock, I’m gonna know they did the same to yours.”

I reached between us and cupped him gently. “Sounds like exquisite torture to me.”

He lowered his head and claimed my mouth. He kissed me soft and slow, like right there between us, our cocks weren’t stirring and our hearts weren’t hammering.

He pulled back. “Thanks for the clothes, Forrester.”

I caught his wrist. “Wait.” I didn’t want him moving around too much. “You should sit down.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m taking a shower.”

I felt my lips thin.

He sighed. “I know you wiped up my cuts and shit, but I need to clean up. I need to wash my hair. Besides, the warm water will be good for my stiffness.”

“Fine.” I relented. “The Band-Aid on your head needs changed anyway.”

“You inviting yourself into my shower?” His eyebrows lifted.

I was now. I nodded, grave. “You might need help.”

He chuckled. “C’mon, then.”

I rushed around to get some clothes for myself and then flung a towel laying on my dresser at T. Once it was around his waist, I opened the door and peered out into the empty hallway. Gesturing with my head, I stepped out, holding my clothes as a shield for my junk.

The second we were shut in the bathroom, Trent gave me a look.

“What?” I asked, reaching behind the curtain to turn on the spray.

“I needed a towel to walk down the hall, but you just strutted right along naked as the day you were born?”

“Pretty much.” I shrugged and yanked the towel from around him.

“Asshole,” he said fondly.

The shower wasn’t as eventful as we both wanted it to be. We were under a time clock for the family meeting, and T really did look rough and I honestly didn’t want him moving around too much.

If last night hadn’t been so fucking awesome, I’d have felt bad about it.

But it was awesome. I wasn’t lying when I said it was the best sex I’d had in my entire life. It wasn’t just physical (though that part was bomb), it was the emotional connection between us as well. In that moment, we were tethered body and soul.

Once we were both clean (some parts cleaner than others *wags eyebrows*), I shut off the water and, to his frustration, helped towel-dry him.

“I’m not a damn invalid,” he griped.

“Here, put on my underwear.” I thrust the black boxers at him.

Once we were both dry and wearing boxers, I pushed the hair off his face and made him sit so I could re-bandage his forehead.

I sort of wished he’d gotten stitches. It probably would have healed faster.

“Hey,” he rasped, grabbing my wrist and pulling it down. When my eyes met his, he said, “It’s fine.”

I didn’t say anything, just finished applying some more antibacterial cream and another butterfly. Since he wasn’t leaving this house today, I didn’t bother with another large bandage over it, figuring the air would be better.

I dabbed a little more cream on various other scrapes and cuts. Then we both got dressed.

I was right. Seeing him in my shirt—my favorite shirt—was going to drive me crazy all day. The boxers might be his sweet torture, but watching his shoulders ripple beneath my shirt was mine.

The strength in his body was quite the turn-on.

“Yo!” Braeden called up from downstairs. “Get your gay asses down here!”

“Go ahead.” I opened the door and motioned for T to go first. “I’m gonna grab the pain reliever out of the bedroom and bring it down.”

He was still moving slow, but not as slow as when he first got up.

He was just stepping off the stairs when I jogged down. Without any thought at all, I hooked an arm around his waist and offered some support, moving toward the living room. He didn’t lean on me, but he did grab the back of my shirt and bunch it in his hand.

In the living room, four sets of eyes turned on both of us. My feet stalled a little when I realized they were watching us… It was the first time we’d touched each other as more than friends in front of anyone.

And no, there was nothing even seductive about it. It was more me trying to help him move, but it was still more than we usually did. The second I reacted to being watched, Trent took it to heart. He let go of the back of my shirt and smoothed it out, cleared his throat, and stepped away.