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Chapter Twenty-six
Rayne
“Hey. We’re almost there. I live in that new subdivision on the north side of Norfolk.” Mike’s eyes stayed on the road, but Rayne caught him checking his side mirrors several times.
Were they being followed?
“Rayne, are you sure you’re okay? You’re still shaking.”
Rayne wiped his clammy hands down his pants leg in an attempt to calm them, but it was a useless effort. He didn’t know if he was still scared from being trapped by his uncle and almost getting eaten by Zelda or the fact that he was moving in with the man of his dreams before he was in a monogamous relationship. Oh my god! What am I doing? What if this changed things for Mike? They weren’t even a couple yet, and Rayne was already wreaking havoc and blowing shit up in Mike’s world like the TNT that he was.
Rayne cleared his throat. “I’m fine. I—”
“Don’t lie,” Mike rumbled, his voice dark and confident. “You don’t have to fake anything for me. I’d be rattled too if some drunk, perverted relative locked me in a room.”
Rayne refused to cry in front of this incredibly strong man, but he was beyond frustrated with life knocking him down every time he got up on one knee. He searched for something to be grateful for instead of whining about life not being fair. He was still struggling to think of something when Mike turned into his driveway, and Rayne’s mouth fell open. The streetlights illuminated Mike’s gorgeous lawn that continued around the side of the two-story house. There were solar lights lining the pathway to the front door and framing the flower bed that was overflowing with spring blooms. It was even more amazing than Edison’s.
“I know the lawn needs some maintenance, but I’ve been up to my ears in new contracts and haven’t been able to get to my own yard. I’ll work on it tomorrow,” Mike muttered after he’d brought the truck to a stop.
Um, what?
Mike pressed a button on the remote attached to his visor and waited for the garage door to go up. The lights came on as he eased his big RAM inside and parked it beside two shiny black motorcycles. The garage was neat with a padded asphalt floor and barely scuffed white walls, which told Rayne that Mike’s house was pretty new. Maybe a year or two old, if that.
“Are you off work tomorrow?” Rayne asked softly.
Mike looked at him in a way that caused the residual fear he held inside to dissolve until all that was left was the intensity of Mike’s presence. Now that Rayne was safe inside and the garage door was whirring closed, his anxiety began to wane. There’d been no sirens, police stops, roadblocks, or helicopter searchlights looking for them. Mike had promised him he’d be okay, and so far, he hadn’t broken his word.
“I can bring your bags up to your room for you,” Mike offered as he went to the truck bed, his eyes widening at the sight of all the luggage. “You don’t travel light, do you?”
Rayne ducked his head so Mike didn’t see his embarrassment. Oftentimes, the sight of his massive wardrobe overwhelmed anyone that agreed to let him move in with them. It looked as if he was about to take over every closet in the house and then ask to have one built on.
“Hey.” Mike touched his shoulder, but the heat of the contact was gone too fast. “I was joking. It’s not that… much.”
Rayne scoffed. “Now who’s lying?”
A warmness glowed in Mike’s eyes as he curled his lips into a fraction of a smile. Whatever he’d thought in that moment didn’t have to be voiced; Rayne still felt it. Mike opened the door to the house and flicked on a light switch. “Why don’t you just bring in what you need for tonight, and tomorrow, we can bring in the rest? You look like you need some sleep and some time alone.”
“No,” Rayne blurted, sounding too loud in the dimly lit hall. He lowered his voice. “I don’t want that at all.”
“Are you hungry?” Mike asked. He walked them through what must be the formal dining room, but there were no table or chairs for eating. Instead, an L-shaped desk sat in the corner, cluttered with so much paperwork and folders that Rayne didn’t know how the person found the keyboard to use the old computer sitting on top.
“No, thank you. My stomach is all over the place,” Rayne admitted. “I’ll have a bottle of water… if you have it. If not, I can—”
“Yes. I have water.”
Mike turned on the recessed lights in the kitchen, and Rayne was stunned at how clean and organized everything was. There weren’t many appliances on the countertops, which led Rayne to believe that Mike was more of a takeout kind of guy. Maybe I can help with that. The kitchen didn’t appear to be used much, but Rayne loved to cook. He’d just never had access to a nice kitchen.
He couldn’t see around the corner into the living room or where the stairs were that led to the second floor, but what he did notice was that Mike wasn’t big on decorating. The walls were completely bare of any artwork, pictures, or color.
Mike opened the refrigerator, and Rayne caught a glimpse of a couple of condiments on the door, but mostly bottles of water and Heineken beers took up all four rows. Mike handed him a bottle of water and opened a beer for himself. Rayne didn’t even have his cap all the way off before Mike had gulped half his brew down. Maybe I’m not the only one nervous about all this. Mike had to be a little shocked that he now had a new roommate in his nice, quiet home. A sex addict roommate. One that was beginning to struggle with cravings. Mike’s throat worked as he drank, and Rayne’s mouth watered, but it wasn’t for the H2O in his hand. He stared at Mike’s oil-black shirt that clung to the hard lines and dips of his torso in perfect detail.
Oh, fuck me. Not now. Rayne turned around and set the bottle of water on the counter, his cock pulsing behind his zipper. He gripped the edges until his fingers began to hurt. This wasn’t his plan. He was supposed to somehow get Mike to fall in love with him, but now… now he may have blown it.
It was silent except for the quiet hum of the refrigerator and Rayne’s labored breaths. He’d been standing there so long with nothing to say that he began to feel foolish. He was about to turn and ask where the bathroom was when a solid heat pressed against his back. Mike buried his nose in his hair, his lips brushing against his earlobe.
Ignoring his quickening heartbeat, Rayne stood to his full height and tilted his head back and to the side. Mike curled one hand over his exposed throat while the other anchored his hip. His touch was sin and paradise all rolled into one.
“Mike,” Rayne groaned, his voice husky with emotion.
“I warned you about saying my name like that, didn’t I?” Mike growled past a tight jaw. He turned Rayne in his arms and pulled him in tight to his chest. He trembled as Mike’s mouth hovered an inch above his own.
He wrapped his arms around Mike’s back and fisted his shirt in both hands. He wasn’t letting this man go, not until he agreed to be his. It was now or never because Rayne couldn’t tell his sponsor that he was now shacking up with a love interest no sooner than he’d finished his twelve steps. He should stop this now and clear the air between them, but he was too far gone, the lust crashing into him like a battering ram to the gut.
Mike slowly lowered his mouth to his, and the initial contact of their lips made a fierce shudder travel down Rayne’s spine. Mike groaned, and Rayne tasted it on his tongue, savoring it, savoring him. His lips were urged apart, and Mike’s tongue swept into his mouth, and Rayne sucked on it, his eyes rolling from the heady flavor of beer and Big Mike. Rayne molded his body around firm muscles and strength as the kiss shifted from delicate and exploring to persuasive and demanding.
The counter dug into Rayne’s back in the most delicious way as Mike practically bent him backward, as if he couldn’t get a deep enough, thorough enough taste of him. They were all clawing hands and groaning into each other’s mouths like two frat boys on spring break, until it became imperative for Rayne to take in a breath of oxygen.
Mike devoured him with his eyes, his breath just as ragged and shallow as his. That look was almost daring Rayne, challenging him to take what he wanted—it was right there in front of him.
