Shifting into position, face down, ass up, Magnus curled his fingers over the edge of the mattress and held on for dear life.
A satisfied exhale escaped him as Trey stroked his cock, working him back up to that precipice all over again. But just when Magnus thought the man would impale him, Trey’s tongue took over, rimming him, sending shockwaves of pleasure through his entire body.
Trey certainly knew how to make him moan, and sometimes it seemed Trey’s sole objective was to do just that.
“Trey…”
Or maybe that was Trey’s goal. To make Magnus beg.
“God, Trey … I want you inside me.”
That guttural rumble from behind him sent chills dancing down Magnus’s spine.
When Trey’s lips glided upward, along his spine, Magnus didn’t know what to expect next. Trey never ceased to surprise him.
A soft growl sounded, then Trey gripped his hips, the mattress rocking as Trey inched closer to him. A hard hand landed between his shoulder blades, keeping Magnus’s face in the mattress. A second later, he was impaled by Trey’s enormous cock. Pain blazed briefly, morphing instantly into pleasure.
Trey didn’t hold back, pounding into him, holding his hips while Magnus tried to remain still, accepting every savage thrust as Trey used him in the most delectable way possible.
Needless to say, when Magnus came, it was once again one of the most exquisite orgasms of his entire life. Made all the more satisfying when Trey followed him right over the edge.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Brantley kicked his feet out in front of him, wishing like hell he was at home and not in this godforsaken airport. The only positive in the whole fucking mess was that his headache had remained manageable. All credit went to the pain medicine that Reese had so kindly thought to pack for him.
Reese.
Damn it.
Not for the first time, Brantley regretted reacting so rashly. He hated airports. All the people, the noise. The coming and going. Granted, that sure as shit beat the waiting he’d been doing for three hours now.
He checked his watch. Make that three hours, thirty-nine minutes.
Why he hadn’t thought to call ahead to confirm a flight, he didn’t know. Now his ass was keeping the uncomfortable chair warm. And at best, he was on standby for the next flight to Austin. His chances of actually getting on a plane were probably slim to none.
Hell, he could’ve driven back to Coyote Ridge in less time.
Only Reese had his fucking truck.
Brantley sighed. He scanned the concourse, noticed a coffee shop. Couldn’t hurt, right?
Forcing himself up from the chair, he shouldered his bag. He made it no more than a few feet when his phone buzzed in his hand. He glanced at the screen, saw it was an unknown number. He should ignore the damn thing. If it was a potential case, it wasn’t like he could do a damn thing about it. His entire team was here in Dallas. Anyone down in Austin would be shit out of luck.
The call ended before he had to make a decision.
Brantley stepped up to the coffee counter. “Large black coffee.”
The woman rattled off the price, so he pulled out his wallet, grabbed some cash. As he was passing it over, his phone rang again. This time RT’s name appeared.
“Hey, what’s—”
“Where are you?” RT demanded.
Brantley waved off the change from the cashier and stepped out of the way. “At the airport. Why?”
“At the air— Never mind. Not important. It’s Reese.”
Hearing the emotion in RT’s voice, Brantley’s heart lodged in his throat and he couldn’t even force out any words.
“He’s at the hospital,” RT explained, his tone hard. “He’s been shot.”
The words registered and Brantley forgot about everything else. He stared, not seeing the people, not hearing the barista call that an order was ready. The only sound was the harsh thump of his heartbeat in his ears and the ragged breaths sawing in and out of his lungs.
“Shot?” he croaked. “What? Why? What the fuck?”
“You need to get here, Brantley. Now.”
Brantley forced his legs to move, heading for the exit at a fast clip, doing his best not to knock anyone down in his haste. “Which hospital?”
“Baylor.”
That told him absolutely nothing. “I’m at Love Field,” he told RT. “How far am I?”
“Half an hour tops.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“He’s in surgery, Brantley,” RT said, his voice softer, calmer than before. “We’re here now.”
“What the hell happened?” he barked.
“Just get here. I’ll fill you in then.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
With his heart lodged firmly in his throat, Brantley hailed a cab.
Twenty minutes later, thanks to light traffic and a determined cab driver—the promise of a two-hundred-dollar tip worked wonders—Brantley walked into the emergency room waiting area.
Not recognizing anyone there, he headed for the nurses’ station. “I’m lookin’ for a patient. Reese Tavoularis. Can you tell me where he is?”
“Are you family?”
“I’m his partner.”
Her eyes softened and he realized she had misunderstood. He’d actually been referring to work, although technically the other had been true up until tonight.
Not that he was going to bother her with those details, because evidently, it worked, seeing as she had turned her attention to the computer, and after he spelled out the name for her, he learned Reese was in the intensive care unit.
Thankfully, she offered decent directions, because his mind was elsewhere and the hospital was enormous. He found it easily, somehow keeping his heart in his chest as he made his way into the ICU waiting room. That was where he found RT with Reese’s brother, Z, along with Reese’s mother, Cindy, and her boyfriend, Hugh.
RT was the first one up, strolling right to him.
“Where is he?” Brantley asked, scanning RT’s face for any bad news that might be coming.
“He’s still in surgery.”
“How long has he been in there?”
“A couple of hours.”
Brantley frowned. “Why the fuck didn’t you call me?” he demanded.
“We didn’t know,” RT said defensively. “I called as soon as I got word.”
That made him feel a little better. “He’s gonna be okay though?”
“Sounds like it,” RT said, his voice steady. “We got a brief update a little while ago. They said they were able to retrieve the bullet and repair the artery it nicked. No doubt he was lucky.”
Bullet. Artery. Lucky? Jesus Christ.
“What the fuck happened?”
“All we have are bystander reports, but it sounds like Reese was havin’ dinner and he confronted two armed men. There was a fight—two on one—that ended in one of the other men shootin’ Reese, then they took off before police arrived.”
“They shot him?”
RT nodded and Brantley saw there was something he was holding back.
“Tell me, goddammit.”
RT swallowed, looked away, looked back. “We don’t know who he was with, but there was mention of a woman he was havin’ dinner with. Sounds like Reese instructed her to run before he confronted the guys.”