Inside the bathroom, he relieved himself, washed his hands, brushed his teeth, turned on the shower, and stepped into the humid warmth.
All at once he was very tired and feeling…let down.
Not a good day.
Sure, he’d had worse, but still. Not a good day.
And if Will really was lying in that room pretending to sleep, nursing some unknown resentment like a goddamned adolescent, the day was about to get worse. For both of them.
But no.
Will was not a goddamned adolescent. He was the guy carrying the can while Taylor was busy doing whatever the hell he imagined he was doing. He was no longer sure of anything. Beyond the fact that Ashe was probably—probably?—emotionally unstable and lying about pretty much everything.
He braced his hands on the white subway tile, hung his head, letting the hot water sluice over his head and shoulders, slowly inhaling, slowly exhaling.
Distantly, he heard the pop of the shower door, felt a gust of cool air.
The heft of an erection smacked against his buttocks, jarring him from his hazy thoughts. Taylor growled low in his throat—warning, not protest. He didn’t resist, didn’t fight when he was pushed flat against the slick, warm tiles, pushed so hard, his heels came off the floor.
Hard, soapy flesh and wet, wiry hair ground against his ass.
Will’s hand fastened on his shoulder, holding him in place, and his mouth traced the down bent line of his neck, kissing his flushed, wet skin. Taylor made another sound, softer, comforting. Will buried his face in Taylor’s wet hair, not speaking, seemingly just breathing him in, and Taylor lowered his head, shivering, when Will kissed the nape of his neck.
He closed his eyes, conscious of the intimate smell of Will’s soap, the heat radiating between them, the tension of Will’s hard, muscular body pressing into him. Will’s left hand still gripped his shoulder as Will reached down to knuckle wide Taylor’s butt cheeks.
Taylor swallowed, muscles tensing as something slick and stringy—shampoo?—drizzled down his crack. The flick of fingernail against his hole sparked red lights behind his eyelids, flared along his nerves.
“Tay…” Will’s voice was tense and low, somehow working its way beneath Taylor’s skin, into every nerve, every cell, and Taylor’s breath hitched, sped up, waiting for the moment when Will’s cock pushed into him, and all the while Will’s hot mouth brushed the back of his neck, lingered, nuzzling the sensitive spot behind his ear.
“Here,” he whispered, so softly, the word was almost lost beneath the rush of water. Anticipation sparked a thrill in the pit of his belly.
Funny how he had never liked this until Will. Never let anyone do what he let Will do, never gave what he instinctively offered Will.
Why was Will hesitating? What was he waiting for?
Taylor’s hands flexed against the tiles, his cock filled and hardened. He pushed back, restless, longing. “Yeah, come on, Will. Let’s do it.” He bent his right leg, canted his hips, and the snub head of Will’s cock poked, poked, shoved in, filling him with that familiar pressure, that intimate burn.
Taylor took in a lungful of moist, steamy air, dizzyingly conscious of Will’s powerful body covering his, Will’s hot breath against the back of his neck, his own harsh breath misting against the wall of the shower.
That sensation of being penetrated, filled, united… Was sex ever just about sex?
Will gasped, “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Come on.” Taylor moved again, impatient.
Will drew back, pushed into him, each thrust scraping across Taylor’s nerves, sending them vibrating like a tuning fork. He groaned, wanting…what? More? Always more.
Will’s hand slid across his soapy skin, wrapped around his cock, and Taylor bit his lip, pushing into that solicitous grip, let his head fall back, resting on Will’s shoulder. Will’s knuckles banged the tiles, found the rhythm. His hips pounded Taylor’s buttocks.
Taylor shook down to his bones, the hard weight filling his ass, the frantic heat of Will’s hand, slightly off-kilter as he bounced off the wall. The showerhead rained down on him, and Taylor gasped, drowning in sensation as a tingling, explosive energy gathered at the base of his spine.
Will’s grunts sounded desperate, wounded, against his ear. They wavered on the edge, teetering, and then Will let go of him for an instant, his hand closed around Taylor’s balls, teased, tugged, and Taylor felt a kind of ferocious detonation, like triggering a mechanism. They plummeted into the desperate freefall of release.
Taylor was still shuddering, his asshole clenching and unclenching at the fierce pleasure of orgasm, smashed against the streaky tiles as Will shook against him, as they spiraled back to sanity together. It seemed to take great effort to lift lashes. He stared down at their bare feet, at suds and spunk swirling around their toes, spilling down the drain.
Chapter Five
Taylor was shouting from down the hall, “Brandt, do you have any idea where my goddamned briefcase is?”
Will expelled a much put-upon breath, threw his head back, yelled, “It’s at the office. I’ve been using it.”
Silence but for the ominous tick-tick-tick of rain over the sink window.
Today’s drive to Encinitas was going to be a bitch.
Taylor appeared in the kitchen doorway, wearing jeans and a still unbuttoned white shirt that offered an enticing view of ridged abdominals, cut pectorals, and taut nipples. How was it he could want to strangle Taylor one minute and go dry-mouthed with desire the next?
“Damn it. I was even there last night.”
It took a second for the words to register. When they did, Will felt almost shaken with the mix of relief and guilt that washed through him. “You were at the office last night?”
“Yeah. For a few hours. Do we have another briefcase somewhere?”
“My old one’s at the office too. Sit down and have some breakfast, MacAllister.”
Taylor considered, sighed, headed for the coffee machine.
Will glanced at him, glanced away. He had
