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Mike gazed at him with a lopsided smile tilting his lips. “I wouldn’t mind seeing you get a little dirty.”
“Show me,” Rayne whispered as he ground himself against Mike’s hard thigh.
Mike spun them in one swift move and took Rayne down to the ground, settling between his spread thighs. He didn’t care how much his shirt cost; he wanted Mike to sully him, to put his rough hands that’d just been digging up soil all over his bare chest. Things were getting hot, and Rayne was about to tug at the hem of Mike’s shirt when someone pounded on the fence door like they were trying to burst through it—multiple someones.
Rayne swiveled his head around to see who or what it was, his heartbeat getting faster. “What is that, Mike?”
“Sounds like frantic knocking,” Mike cupped Rayne’s cheek and turned his head back so they could keep kissing. “Ignore it and it’ll stop.”
The knocking got harder, and Rayne’s eyes got wider. “Mike.”
“Ugh. I’m gonna kick both of their asses,” Mike grumbled, then got up and pulled Rayne to his feet. Rayne was still dusting off his pants and shirt when Mike hollered, “Goddamnit, it’s open! Get your asses in here before you knock my fuckin’ fence down.”
Rayne was surprised to see Bishop and Trent come through the side fence door as if they knew exactly where to find their dad on a Sunday morning. Trent had a shit-eating grin on his face, but Bishop looked serious, like a younger, hot version of his father.
“What’s up, Dad?” Trent asked while staring at Rayne, who was trying to shield his hard dick and the dirty handprints on his chest behind Mike.
“You didn’t answer the phone, so I figured you’d be in the yard.” Bishop nodded at Rayne, and he returned a small, embarrassed wave.
“I didn’t pick up for a reason,” Mike retorted.
“I see why.” Trent hid his smile behind his fist.
“Since you haven’t answered or responded to any of our calls and texts, we assumed you wanted some face time, then.”
“Then you thought wrong, B, because that’s the opposite of what that shit means.”
“Come on, let’s talk.” Bishop stopped near a pile of mulch Mike had stacked at the edge of the yard and hefted two onto his left shoulder.
Trent walked by Mike and gave him a father/son jab in his shoulder and said in a sarcastic tone, “So how’d you sleep?”
Rayne was leery of Bishop’s obvious attitude, feeling bad that he’d caused a rift between Mike and his sons. He’d never intended for that to happen, but apparently, they weren’t aware of this side of their dad, and they wanted answers. Now. Rayne tugged on Mike’s hand to get his attention, figuring it was best to leave so Bishop and Trent could speak to their father in private.
“Don’t worry, I’ll handle them,” Mike started, but Rayne cut him off.
“I’m gonna make a run to the grocery store. I want to make us dinner tonight and talk, if that’s okay?”
“You don’t have to ever ask if that’s okay. It will always be more than okay.” Mike wasn’t shy about their tight proximity, his heated gaze still narrowed on Rayne’s mouth. “Drive my truck. I don’t want you taking the bus. The keys are on the hook by the garage door.”
Rayne nodded, knowing it’d be futile to insist on using the HRT. What Mike said goes. Period. And fuck if Rayne didn’t love it that way.
