Page 44 of Survivor
Chapter Thirty-One
Taylor
A loud clap of thunder rang out, the sky vibrant and angry just before it opened up to rain down on them. Taylor was so fucking happy they’d hired movers right then, otherwise they’d all be getting soaked. As it was, the men doing the heavy lifting were dripping all over the hardwood floors of the townhouse they’d leased in a gated, secure community south of Dallas. Frank had gone back to the apartment with Caleb and some other guys from work to pack their belongings. Hell, Taylor had never actually unpacked most of his stuff, the boxes marked with “F” for Frank still stacked in the spare bedroom. He never went back, though. The man that helped give him life had entered that place intent on killing him, and the pain of that night was still brewing just beneath the surface. If Taylor allowed himself to think about it for too long, to remember the way Landry had looked right through him, those dead eyes chilling him down to his bones, he might break down again.
They’d gone to Caleb’s house that night, after the medics bandaged him up, and he was fine until the fog cleared. Lying there in the dark, his mind raced, flashes of what could have happened leaving him vulnerable and afraid. He didn’t know what he would have done if Frank weren’t there with him, holding him, reassuring him that they’d be okay. He was Taylor’s anchor, keeping him facing the shore. Ten years of his life had been spent wondering why. Why his parents were taken from him, and by whom. If he and Frank were going to have a happy, fulfilling life, Taylor was going to have to leave his pain in thepast.
True to his word, Rory Landers was still investigating his parents, all three of them: his biological father and the two people he’d called Mom and Dad since he was knee-high to a grasshopper. Unfortunately, the CCS had pulled Rand off the case and handed him a new file, but he spent a lot of his off time with Rory, following up on leads and continuing to work the case as best as he could. There would come a day when Taylor would have all the answers, he hoped. If not, at least he had a life, a man he loved, and a family. Which was more than he could say for his parents, Emily and Sean.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Frank whispered, pressing his body against Taylor. Two of the guys unloading the moving truck walked past them with the couch, their bare chests glistening from the rain. Frank whistled low. “Dayum, let me go get a towel.”
Taylor turned and grabbed Frank by the wrist before he could take more than two steps away, wrapping his arms around Frank and squeezing tightly. “The only person you’ll be toweling off, Moore, is me.” He nibbled on Frank’s bottom lip, sucking and biting before pressing his tongue into the warmth of his lover’s mouth. Frank held on to the front of his shirt, moaning, while Taylor walked him backward over to the cabinet. Their tongues danced, Taylor running his hands down Frank’s back, grabbing his ass, and lifting Frank’s feet off the floor, sitting him on the countertop.
“Are we going to give the movers a free show?” Frank asked. His face was flushed, eyes shimmering in the harsh, fluorescent lighting and his lips were already swollen. Lord, but Taylor wanted to strip him naked and screw him on every flat surface in the kitchen.
Taylor shook his head. “No Frankie, this…” He reached between them and rubbed Frank’s cock through the denim. “…is mine. No one else gets to see.”
With just a little more pressure, he had Frank squirming and begging. “Fuuuuuuck, Tay, please.”
A throat cleared behind them, catching them both off guard. Frank jumped, slamming his head into the cabinet. “Son of a bitch!” he shouted.
Taylor glared at the pixie standing in his living room. “Hello, boys.” Justine crooned with her best Texas drawl. If she wasn’t holding bags with the In-N-Out burger logo in each hand, Taylor might have shanked her.
“Fucking goddamn, Jesus Christ on a cracker, this shit’s heavy.” Caleb teetered into the house carrying two boxes labeled, Books.
Frank growled, the frustration evident in the low rumble. “We are paying people to do that, dumbass.” he shouted at his best friend. Hopping down off the cabinet, his feet were a little unsteady. Taylor wondered if it was the haze that remained from their make-out session, or the clonk on the head. Maybe a bit of both.
Sitting on the cabinet in the home he and Frank had leased together, eating burgers, drinking lukewarm beer, and laughing with Justine and Caleb, Taylor knew that no matter what storm lay ahead, he and Frank would weather it, together.
