Page 24 of Holiday Scars
“Blade,” I cry out, his name a plea.
A plea to stop. A plea to keep going. A plea to never let me go.
Blade doesn’t just fuck me, he claims me. Sweat drips from his chest and onto my back as he power-fucks me hard and fast. The way he grips my hips and uses me for his pleasure is primal and raw.
“Christ, I’m gonna come.”
To my surprise, he pulls out and warm cum coats my hole.
“Oh my God.” I lower my head, unable to deal with how dirty this feels. But safe at the same time.
“So damn good.” Blade presses his chest against my back.
“It was,” I admit, tears prickling, my cock cooling off in the bitter chill.
I just had my first time with a guy.
And it was everything I wanted it to be. Because it was Blade.
He collapses next to me and pulls me close, kissing my neck. “We good?”
“So good.”
Everything else disappears. The cold, the trees, even the delicious smell of pine. Everything but the feel of Blade’s lips on me.
After a few minutes, we quickly get dressed to brace against the bitter chill. Standing in the clearing, I hear a male voice. Then another.
Blade’s head snaps toward the sound, too. We left our rucks at the starting point, since we thought we were alone. But he pulls out a gun from his jacket.
We move toward the voices, slow and careful until we see two men near the trail, one of them holding a satellite phone.
“It’s about Dirk Fields, sir,” one says my brother’s name, crackling over the static. “I told you, sir, he’s not cooperating. We need to bring him in for questioning about that dangerous security ring of contract killers. He has to be tatting up those mercenaries.”
Feds.
My blood ices over.
“Permission to search his mountain cabin,” the other says into the phone. “He’s not home. Cabin’s empty. No phone pinging.”
“Wait in town. Those are your orders,” the voice on the other end says.
“Fuck,” the one agent says, shoving the phone into his jacket. “This guy needs to know we mean business. I’m going to make a call to the black op commander. They know how to get people to talk. We’ll find his brother and takehimif we have to.”
The Feds stalk off, their heads disappearing down the mountain trail. I let go of my breath, and then I grab Blade’s sleeve.
“No one is taking you,” Blade says to me, pulling me close.
“We have to go.” I look around to make sure we didn’t leave anything behind for those Feds to track us. “I need to warn Dirk.”
“Let’s go.” Blade steers me down the mountain.
We find our rucks and make our way back to the cabin. There’s still no BMW in the drive, just Dirk’s Ford pickup. They took Hana’s Beamer to the spa. And Dirk isn’t answering texts or calls.
“That’s why the Feds couldn’t track Dirk,” Blade mutters when we get back inside. “They don’t have Hana’s car logged.”
“What if they—” I can’t even finish, pacing in front of the fireplace. “They can’t arrest Dirk. I can’t lose my brother.”
The words come fast, panic burning the back of my throat. I’m not even seeing the room anymore. Just a flash of bad memories, cops at the door when I was a kid, our strung-out mother being taken away in cuffs. Someone put Dirk in one car and then me in another.
