Page 36 of Survivor
Davis seemed almost hesitant to answer him, his eyes searching Taylor’s face for a few intense moments before he spoke. Frank wasn’t even upset that Davis spoke to Taylor and not him. “There are several possibilities, but my instinct is telling me that Melissa Taylor took her baby and disappeared, assuming the identity of Emily Langford. Whether or not Sean is the Keith listed on the birth certificate, the man that belongs to the arm in the picture of Emily and Taylor when he was still a baby, I have to say that I don’t think so.”
Taylor’s head shot up. “You don’t?”
Shaking his head, Davis looked to Frank, his eyes earnest and hesitant. Frank nodded once, silently telling the man to answer Taylor’s question. “You have to understand, Taylor, I’ve been doing this for a very long time. I spent fifteen years in the military, focused on counterintelligence and profiling. I joined the force just as soon as I retired, and my gut and instinct when I’m working any case have always been strong and proven me right. There are several scenarios I can think of that would force your mother to take you and run, change your names, your identities, and none of them are good.”
Standing, Davis put one hand on Taylor’s shoulder, the look on his face fierce and intense. “I promise you, Taylor, I will use every skill I possess to find the truth for you. And hopefully find the person that killed your parents in the process.”
Taylor continued to stare at the image of him and his mother, eyes misty. “She was so beautiful and kind, full of love. How could anybody hurt her?”
“You keep that one, son.” Davis tapped the edge of the image, clasping Taylor’s shoulder once more before he turned to his stash of boxes. Caleb went around the table to where Davis stood, the two of them conversing in hushed tones. Frank fought the urge to walk over and insert himself into the conversation. Instead, he stood and pulled Taylor up with him, quietly leaving the room and then the building.
Digging the keys to his jeep out of Taylor’s pockets, Frank gently put his shell-shocked boyfriend into the passenger seat and buckled him in. Texting Caleb to let him know they were heading home, he started the car and backed out of the parking spot. On the long drive, Frank stopped to fill the jeep, pick up some Thai takeout for dinner, and held a conversation with Val long enough to share the events of their day with her. She’d called to remind them about dinner on Sunday and picked up on the tone of Frank’s voice right away.
“Oh, my dear sweet boy,” she cried into the phone. “I’ll get Charles and we’ll be over as soon as we can.”
“I think we need to be alone tonight, Val; he’s really shaken up. Can you wait until tomorrow? Please,” Frank begged.
All he heard for a few seconds were her soft sobs, Charles trying to reassure her that Taylor would be just fine with Frank, that they could see him the following day. “Okay, Frank, but I swear, if I don’t hear from you or Taylor first thing in the morning, I’ll be beating down your door.” And he knew she would. Valerie Stone may not be Taylor’s mother by birth, but she loved and cherished him as if she were.
Once they were back at the apartment, Frank led Taylor inside and pulled out one of the tall chairs for him to sit in. They ate in silence, really only picking at the food. Eventually, Frank took the plates and dumped them, putting the leftovers in the fridge and heading into the bathroom to shower. He left Taylor at the table, still staring at the picture of him and his mother. When he came out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, all hell broke loose.
“Did you bring him back here? Fuck him in our bed?” Taylor barked. Frank jumped and spun around, the disdain dripping from the words catching him off guard.
“What?”
Taylor pushed off the door and advanced on him, backing Frank into the wall, planting his arms on either side of Frank’s head. “I said did-you-fuck-Rory Landers-in-our-bed?”
“Really, Taylor?” Frank tried to shove him away to no avail. Taylor had several inches and probably twenty-five pounds on him. “You’re kidding me right now.”
Anger, that should be the emotion Frank was feeling. How in the hell could Taylor be angry with him for something that happened before they got together? Alas, his body and his mind were of different opinions at the moment. When Taylor stepped closer to him, pinning Frank’s body to the wall, his dick took notice and decided it was time to come out and play. And—Oh, holy hell—when Taylor wrapped his hand around Frank’s throat with just enough pressure to keep him in place without it feeling threatening or confining, Frank involuntarily whimpered. No one had ever manhandled him the way Taylor did and his body was responding, ready to succumb, eager to please. “Taylor, what…oh, fuck.” Frank groaned when Taylor slid his leg in between Frank’s, slowly running his knee up the length of his semihard dick.
“You belong to me, Frankie, right?” All he could do was nod and moan as Taylor moved his knee faster; the friction on his dick from the rubbing and the coarse material of the towel was exquisite. There was a niggle in the back of his mind that he and Taylor needed to have a conversation about the past being left in the past, but his body overrode any chance of that happening until later.
“Please Tay, fuck me,” he whined.
One corner of Taylor’s mouth lifted, the grin wicked, dangerous, and promising. “Don’t move.” Frank slumped, his legs shaking now that he was holding all his own weight. Pushing off the wall, he took one step, intent on walking over to the bed, and Taylor was there, shoving him back against the wall. “I said, don’t move.” He was naked now, a glance at the floor showing a trail of clothes leading from where they stood to the bedside table, the top drawer hanging on by one corner stopping it from falling the floor.
“Taylor, oh fuck, mmmmppphhh,” Frank stammered, one of Taylor’s long, thick fingers sliding into his body. With his other hand, Taylor lifted Frank’s leg and rested it on his hip to give him better access to his ass. “Can’t, oh Jesus, bed.” There should have been a few more words in that sentence, but Frank’s brain was scrambled. Taylor had three fingers inside him now, rubbing against his prostate with every pass and driving him up the wall, for lack of a better term.
“Oh no, Frankie, you and I will never sleep in that bed again,” Taylor whispered in his ear, tongue trailing a path to Frank’s shoulder, his teeth digging into Frank’s flesh and he gasped. “Tomorrow, we will go shopping for a new bed. That one can go to Goodwill or be tossed with the trash. I could care less, but it’s leaving this apartment.”
Frank groaned when Taylor removed his fingers from his channel, sighing when he felt the firm head of Taylor’s cock tapping his entrance. “Can I have you without a condom, Frank? It’s been months, and we’ve both been tested.”
Taylor’s hands were digging into his hips hard enough to leave bruises, and his thick cock was gliding up and down the crease of Frank’s ass, making it very hard to think, but he understood what Taylor was asking. They’d both been tested twice now. Once when they got back from the Vineyard and again a couple of weeks ago, both negative. It was something they could share with each other that neither of them had ever done, sex without a condom. “Oh, hell yes, put it in me. Now,” Frank demanded.
Ever so slowly, Taylor slid his lubed cock inside him, both of them groaning. “Frankie, baby, you feel so good.” He thrust up, rocking Frank’s back against the wall.
Nothing he’d ever felt compared to the intensity that connected them mentally, physically, and emotionally. Taylor’s cock felt like velvet steel inside him, setting a fire in his groin that was gradually climbing up his spine. Bending his knees, Taylor grabbed Frank’s ass and hoisted him up off the ground. “Wrap your legs around me,” he directed; his hands spread him wide as soon as Frank locked his ankles around Taylor’s body and he pushed deeper, Frank’s back screaming at him as he slid up and down the wall, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Sweat dripped off their bodies; Frank’s moans and pleas for Taylor to fuck him harder, deeper, faster, bounced off every flat surface in the room.
“Not gonna last…much…longer, Tay. So close.”
Taylor’s grip on his ass tightened, his dick swelling inside him, signaling he was just as close to coming as Frank was. “Fuck yeah, Frankie, give me that come.” He could tell that Taylor was hanging on by a thread, determined to make Frank explode first. With each thrust, Frank’s climax climbed higher like a thermometer on a hot, summer day, before cresting and falling, dragging Frank under with it. Stars exploded behind his eyes and he cried out as he came, painting Taylor’s abdomen with thick, white ropes of come. He couldn’t see, couldn’t catch his breath, but he felt safe and secure with Taylor’s arms wrapped around him, holding Frank open and tearing him apart all at the same time.
Blinking, Frank opened his eyes just in time to see Taylor come, his face a twisted marriage of pleasure and tension. It was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. What truly amazed him was the ability to feel Taylor’s orgasm without the latex barrier between them. He could feel his lover’s cock pulsing inside him, feel the ridges of Taylor’s shaft rubbing his prostate as a comfortable heat painted his channel. “Holy, fuck, God,ahhhhhhhhhhAhhhhhhhhhhh.” Taylor groaned as he thrust up into him one last time.
Frank chuckled. “That good, huh?”
“Better,” Taylor answered hoarsely. Pulling out, Taylor collapsed onto the bedroom floor, dragging Frank down with him.
