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They’d been there once. Willow had asked them to accompany her to DC so she could visit Jake’s grave, as she did every year, and Darius hadn’t wanted to deny her. Not after everything she’d done for them. So the three had flown out for a week, shortly after Darius had proposed. And one of the evenings when Willow just wanted downtime at the hotel, Darius and Gray had visited the infamous Mclean House, the kinky estate where River and Reese had built their BDSM community. Greer was apparently one of the founders, but he hadn’t been around when Gray had marveled at the contraptions around the house. At times, he hadn’t known if something was used for medieval torture or erotic pleasure.
“I think I’ve had enough for one day,” Reese announced tiredly.
“Are we on the same flight tomorrow?” Gray asked. “Ours is at five, I think. Three-hour layover in Houston, then the last flight to Seattle.”
Reese groaned as he stretched his arms over his head. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”
Cool. Ryan was Washington-bound too, but he’d go home first so he could travel up with his family. They’d arrive in Camassia a day or two later.
“Night, guys,” Reese said, getting off his lounger. “I’ll head over to the market first thing to get us breakfast. Shall we say eight o’clock?”
They were all in agreement, and they decided to meet up on the terrace outside the bungalow he shared with Ryan and Greer.
Gray finished his drink and wiggled his glass at Ryan, who shook his head in amusement.
“C’mon, bartender. Liquor me up.”
Ryan grinned.
In the meantime, Darius was talking to Greer about different kinds of fertilizer.
So sexy.
No, really, it wasn’t sexy at all, so it was a shock to feel Darius from behind with a semi-hard cock. Gray coughed and rested his forearms on the edge of the pool, and Darius stepped forward a smidgen and dipped his fingers into the waistband of Gray’s underwear.
“We didn’t have much luck with sodium nitrate,” Darius was saying. “Since we’re in the middle of the forest, we gotta raise the pH quite a bit, and it’s been a slow process.”
Gray barely reacted when Ryan handed him a new drink. It was kind of difficult when Darius was teasing his fingers between Gray’s ass cheeks. He’d pushed down his boxer briefs just enough for quick access.
Was this actually happening?
Gray took a swig from his drink.
“…sick of all the planting beds,” Darius went on, and Greer nodded. “And I hate buying soil. It goes against my fucking nature.”
Greer laughed. “I feel ya. At the same time, there’re plenty of benefits with the planting beds. If a crop gets sick, it’s easy to purge the area. And once you have the soil, whether you buy it or not, you can experiment with it according to the plant you’re growing. More often than not, the answer is more manure, but at least that’s free.”
For the love of God, change the topic.
“Aye, we have a neighbor who supplies us,” Darius replied. “We’ve had some success in using the soil we already have, but it takes two years to get the right pH for anything other than raspberries and blueberries—whatever shit you usually find in the woods.”
Gray shuddered as Darius pulled himself free from his underwear and pressed the head of his cock against Gray’s ass. The man was really fucking doing this. Now. Here. In the middle of his conversation about soil pH and cow shit.
“Are you using the eggshells from the coop?” Greer asked.
“Yes,” Gray said, when Darius finally started pushing in. Oh, fuck yes, finally. Just about an inch so far. It stung without oil, but that only made it hotter. Then Gray realized he’d kind of answered Greer’s question too, which sure as hell hadn’t been his intention, but he went with it. “I mean, yeah, I grind it into powder. We mix it with the soil every spring and fall.”
Good save.
Darius took it from there, and Gray left the conversation altogether. He sipped his drink, made sure to regulate his breathing, and focused on Darius’s big cock slowly pushing deeper inside him.
Gray felt so inappropriate and dirty. In the best possible way.
Then it got worse—or better, depending on how one looked at things—when Cullen reemerged, saying he couldn’t sleep. His brain couldn’t relax. So he sat down, in obvious pain, and lit up a smoke. And poured a damn whiskey.
“I’m glad you’re taking your gunshot wound seriously, man,” Gray said. “What is it with you Marines?”
Cullen merely smirked and tipped his glass in a silent cheers, then took a swig.
“Just keep reminding yourself that he’s safe and sound again,” Greer murmured.
Cullen nodded with a dip of his chin. “Anyway. Didn’t mean to interrupt. What were you talking about?”
Gray took the cue and tuned out once more. He was almost done with his next drink too. And his man was buried balls deep in his ass and moving way too slowly. There was nothing fluid about the pace, and it wasn’t even a pace. It was natural movements, like when Darius shifted where he stood, or took a step forward, pushing in deeper, when he drank from his cocktail. Then a step back, more shifting, a fake cough, some laughter, all of which slid his cock in and out of Gray.
