I smile, pulling out my phone, Anders’b lewd text already on the screen.
Idiot:No (eggplant emoji) in (peach emoji) just yet, but feel free to check out your hand and mouth coordination. Send nudes.
I watch his face as he reads the text, going from smirking to that lit-up look I love so much.
“Oh, thank god,” he breathes.
“To be fair, the butt stuff is off-limits because I am still healing, not because anything is wrong—”
Having his mouth on my cock makes explaining anything further unnecessary, so it’s wise to just shut my mouth and let my man take care of me.
He grabs my shaft, stroking it up and down as he blindly grabs for the lube in the side drawer. Putting a light slick on his hand, he continues the up-down stroke while sucking the head in and out of his mouth, tonguing the hoop again and again, just like he knows I like it.
“Fuck, Daddy, I missed this thing in my ass. It has a homing beacon right to my tickle spot. What if I rode you and did all of the work?”
I get another text from Anders.
Idiot:I heard that! NO BUTT STUFF. You’re still healing inside.
Idiot:Daddy, lol
I groan, showing Rafi the text.
He laughs. “I can’t tell if I want to get louder, or if we should try to keep it quiet.”
“Baby, if you keep tugging on my piercing with your tongue, I’m not going to have much of a choice in the matter.”
He smiles like the devil, dipping down as he grabs my shaft. “Louder it is.”
Epilogue
Rafi
This feels like a weird bit of déjà vu. A little less than a year ago, I stood at the front desk of Wrecked, and Roly Martinez gave me the forms to fill out so I could become a member. Looking around the bright, open space, set off with various exercise areas, I’m able to see it with new eyes.
There’s some seriously sexy muscle action, to be sure—and that’s just the Bash Brothers. But there’s a hot couple with only four limbs between them competing for the number of one-armed pull-ups they can complete within a minute, and a sweet-looking guy wearing a Wrecked T-shirt is spotting a crotchety old guy as he works with weights.
Omar is here today, and while I moved in with Everett faster than an aged Pomeranian goes after a dropped ice cream cone, Omar and I remain close. Er, as close as a human and Vulcan can be. I’m happy to see him flipping tires with Thane in the area they call the Corner of Heavy Things. And, pretty typical, Anders’ eyes are glued to Omar’s ass, so much so he nearly gets beaned when Odd starts swinging a heavy kettlebell. Man, that guy haszerochance.And maybe a death wish.
Damn, but it feels like family here. Roly and his cousin Nick have something really special happening at this gym, and the thought that my Asa had something to do with inspiring it…well, it makes me proud.
Everett’s healed up nicely and has taken up yoga as part of his recovery. He and Parker are nearly done with Jake’s yoga class, so I lean against the counter, taking it all in. Parker was shy about joining the class since she’d never served. When she brought this up with Jake, he raised his eyebrows and pointed at Everett. “I believe you did serve. Quite admirably.”
Speaking of Parker, she’s become quite an asset to the team. It turns out the ability to organize things comes with several transferable skills that are useful in a murder-for-profit-and-fun business. The first thing she did was give us a name. A lot of us really liked Murder Squad, but she refused to put that on the header. So, we’re Blaylock Security and Investigations, Guardian Division.
And let me tell ya, she’s whipping us into shape.
For starters, Everett is expanding the Portal to Nowhere into the unused office space next door, and she made him include a secure weapons locker and separate murder room so he doesn’t endanger the expensive computer equipment while taking out the trash. She’s also having the upstairs storage area converted into an office space for us, since we both now officially work for DB’s legal business.
We were sad to resign from the university, but there are too many factors at play, and we can’t chance an incident on campus. Besides, Parker was right (a frequent occurrence I’ve decided to just get used to)—DB pays a helluva lot more than the university. Parker convinced him that he can take on international security clients with our combined language skills, and we’ve been busy from the jump.
So, we’re all in. Employed in his legitimate, legal business, while also supporting this ragtag band of law-breaking do-gooders.
As I’m watching two of my favorite people go through their final mindfulness exercises, I hear someone enter the gym behind me. Turning around, I spy a purple-haired woman carrying a stack of familiar-looking pizza boxes.
She puts the boxes on the counter and comes straight over to me, a big smile on her face. Holding out a hand, she asks, “You’re Rafi, right? I’m Evie. I don’t think we’ve met before.”
I take her hand, smiling. “You’re the pizza guru.”
