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Chapter Fifty-two
Rayne
Bishop and Edison—their guests of honor—were still MIA, but Rayne had managed to convince Manny, Wood, and Trent to stay and enjoy all the food he’d made. He thought if they kept things going, then maybe Edison would get Bishop to come back after he’d cooled down. But he’d been wrong, and Mike was in a worse mood for it. All he could do was go on and on about poison Ivy ruining everything.
“I should’ve said every disgusting thing I ever thought of her, but I was trying to control myself for Bishop.”
“You did good,” Rayne reassured Mike. “I can only imagine the resentment it triggered when you saw her. You didn’t do near what I thought you would.”
Mike grinned. “You thought I was going to beat the shit of her husband, didn’t you?”
Rayne laughed. “And his Jag.”
Mike’s laugh was rich and real. “They’re lucky I have you now, and I won’t lose you by going to jail for manslaughter. But damn, I seriously hate her.”
“She called you Michael.” Rayne tried to lighten the mood as he dumped the last remnants of the pasta salad he’d made into the trash can.
Mike snatched his bottle of beer off the countertop. “She’s always called me that as a reminder that she was so much older and more mature than me… and in charge.”
“That’s messed up,” Rayne admitted.
Mike leaned against the breakfast bar with his beer in one hand and his cell phone in the other. He’d been waiting on his son to return his many calls and texts, but so far, nothing. Bishop had stormed off a little after three thirty this afternoon, and now it was almost eight. Rayne guessed it was safe to say that he and Edison weren’t coming back tonight.
Mike looked lost in his head ever since his son had left. Rayne understood. Mike had put a lot of thought into his special gift for Bishop’s wedding day. He’d wanted to present it to him tonight, but everything had gone south so fast.
“He’ll be back.” Rayne came around the bar and draped his arms over Mike’s shoulders from behind. He smelled like his cologne and smoke from the grill. “I actually know who my mother is, but I haven’t seen her in years. If she suddenly popped up out of nowhere, I’d need a few minutes to myself too.”
“I guess you’re right,” Mike sighed.
“And Bishop said some pretty great things about you as a father… don’t forget that,” Rayne reminded him.
A small tilt of Mike’s lips was enough of a smile for Rayne as he leaned in and kissed his neck, then his jaw, before he cupped Mike’s cheek and turned his head so he could have his mouth. He slid his tongue between Mike’s lips for a deeper taste, forgetting about their few guests still in the backyard.
“Mmm,” Rayne moaned, his dick getting hard with very little stimulation. “I want you inside of me tonight.”
“Or maybe I want you inside of me,” Mike rumbled low in his chest, pulling Rayne snug between his thighs. His rough stubble scraped along his throat as he made his way to his ear. Rayne closed his eyes and tilted his head to the side, wanting more.
“You know I’ll give you anything you want,” Rayne confessed, meaning it.
They kissed some more until Mike slowly brought it to an end. “We still have people here.”
“Ugh. I know.” Rayne was ready to call it a night and get Mike upstairs and naked. He wanted to take his mind off his evil ex, who’d come and ruined their celebration.
“I’m about to tell them the party’s over.”
Rayne chuckled. “At nine o’clock? They’re gonna call you an old man.”
“They don’t need to know why I want to get in bed right now.” Mike sucked on Rayne’s throat some more. “None of them need to know that I’m gonna lick you everywhere before I sink deep inside of you.”
Rayne moaned too loud, as if they were alone. He was trying to think clearly despite the pleasurable sensations Mike was delivering straight to his groin. Neither of them could go back outside until their cocks were no longer pitching tents in their shorts. But Mike’s nasty talk in that gritty, baritone tenor was keeping him rigid.
“Damn, Dad… have some class. You guys are just gonna go at it right here in the kitchen when you have company? That’s rude,” Trent muttered as he walked past them and into the kitchen and started helping himself to the leftovers, packing what looked like two hefty plates to go.
Mike didn’t release Rayne, but he dropped his forehead to his shoulder. “Trent. If you guys are about to leave… do it faster. But first, did Bishop text you?”
“For the twentieth goddamn time, no, Mike.” Trent opened the fridge and took out four beers and put them in his doggy bag. He also took the french onion dip, the bag of Ruffles chips, the mostly full bottle of ketchup, Mike’s unopened pack of bologna, and he finished by taking the last few slices of bread in the loaf from the counter and adding them in too.
“What did I tell you about using my kitchen as a grocery store, T?” Mike said with his face still buried in Rayne’s throat, sounding exhausted and a little amused. The vibrations from his rough voice sent delicious tremors down Rayne’s arms.
