Beyond the Stix (Warrior Black #2)

Chapter 6

SIX

John

After Connor shuts himself in his bedroom, Fig and I make sure Jessup did leave.

Once Amanda goes to bed, Fig heads back to the spare room to get some sleep.

I plant myself on the couch, while the wall clock tick-tocks away past two in the morning. Restless, I stand and wander to the pictures on the wall, my eyes studying every one.

Jesus. It’s like a shrine . From Connor’s grade school pictures to boy scouts camping to his high school career in baseball. There’s one where he’s holding a set of drumsticks in his tiny hands. There are images of the band when they were at the Midwest Clash of Bands contest in downtown Chicago.

Then my eyes land on a photo of Jessup behind a set of drums, holding Connor on his lap, with sticks in his hand. I study the drummer’s young face and realize he had to be no more than three years old.

My mind keeps reeling over what Amanda said, about what Jessup did to Connor. But I have a feeling the drummer’s deep- rooted hatred for his uncle is rooted in more, a darker reason than a single slap across the face.

If the reason for Jessup being here was to apologize, then why did he clam up? He could have easily explained himself. But he didn’t. And that’s too suspicious in my book.

I’ve asked Connor, but his silence about the past is just that—silence. I won’t get anything from him.

As the night wears on, my mind becomes consumed with scenarios that all lead me to the startling realization that the bastard needs to be investigated.

I grab my phone from the coffee table, step out of the house, and hit Tobias’s number.

“Do you know what time it is?” he growls low.

“I know, but I need to keep this on the down low, without Connor finding out,” I admit, looking around the front lawn.

“Hold on,” Tobias mutters.

“Who is it?” I hear Danny asking.

“It’s John. It’s nothing. Go back to sleep, sweetheart.” Then I hear a click. “Okay, what’s going on?”

“I’m sure Fig let you know that Jessup showed up here earlier.”

“Yeah—Is he there again?”

“No,” I say, and quickly explain. “I want to know Jessup’s history. Any felonies or misdemeanors. Jail time—anything to get a better insight on the man.”

Silence over the other end of the line has me squirming where I stand.

“Tobias.”

“What’s your interest in this matter—why do you want to know?”

“Strictly professional,” I lie.

“Bullshit,” he counters. “I want the truth, John.”

“After tonight, and seeing Connor so withdrawn—and it’s not from losing his father, Tobias,” I quickly add. “Every time Jessup shows up, Connor is instantly on the defense. I have no choice but to follow my gut.”

More silence rings out before Tobias asks, “Deep dive?”

“As far as Lee can go.”

“You know, you could have called Dean,” he replies with a yawn.

“Chain of command,” I counter, and Tobias heaves a sigh.

“Give me a day or so.” Then Tobias hangs up.

Feeling slightly better, I stay out front for a while, letting the cool night air calm me and settle what’s rambling around in my head.

As much as Connor has been a pain in the ass with his antics, and as much mischief as he gets into with the entire band, the man’s passionate about his family and his friends. I’m seeing a different side of the drummer, one he normally doesn’t show. I’m coming to recognize that Connor shields himself by his goofy actions and in-your-face attitude.

I hate to admit it, but during this past week, my perspective on the drummer has changed drastically. To be honest, my sexual attraction for him never ebbed after the night we shared—quite the opposite. I think about him constantly. And when I get a whiff of his bodywash, it brings me back to that shower.

I head back in and lay on the couch, letting that percolate in my head. Then I close my eyes, remembering the night, seven months ago, after the band played at the Independent in San Francisco.

I hungrily kiss him back, tasting every inch of his mouth. My hands groping at his bare ass. Cupping his length.

“I need your cock,” he says, as I unzip my jeans and shove them down around my knees. I wrap my hand tightly around both our dicks and we thrust in unison.

“Fuck, John.” We pump our hips in time, wanting more of that frantic delicious friction.

He groans softly. “Christ, John… Yes—Yes, I’m coming.”

Connor grunts, and releases several ropes of cum over my hand and my dick, then leans forward until his forehead presses against my collarbone.

I’m too focused on the familiar buzz at the base of my spine to worry about any jizz that may have gotten on my shirt. I thrust my pelvis faster until my balls draw up, letting loose a loud moan, and come right after.

Tilting my head back, I breathe in the humid air, Connor’s drugging scent, and the smell of our combined spunk.

“John?” When Connor’s shaky voice jolts me out of my lusty stupor, I ignore the heavy bulge in my pants and stare blurry-eyed at Connor, who’s shivering.

He’s standing at the threshold of the living room wearing only tight, black boxer-briefs and nothing else. I’m not sure if it’s sweat or tears on his reddened cheeks, but drops are trailing down his chest.

“What’s wrong?” I bolt off the couch and approach him. “Are you okay?”

He steps farther into the room. “I can’t sleep.” His voice is shaky and meek, not like the raucous drummer I know him to be.

“Connor—” I start to say, but he interrupts with a heart-broken plea.

“Please.” He steps even closer to me and I clearly see the grief in his eyes—and something else I can’t decipher. Fear maybe? “I had a…” He clamps his mouth shut and shakes his head.

I’m not sure what he’s asking. “Want to talk about it?”

His blood shot eyes dart around the room before centering on me. “Come lay with me—just for a little while.”

How can I say no—I should say no to him, but I don’t. He just lost his father and had one fuck of a time dealing with an uncle he hates. “Alright.”

I follow Connor back to his room. The full-size bed looks like it will barely hold my big frame, but add Connor’s body, and we’ll be too close for comfort. But I don’t complain.

I wait until Connor slides into the bed first before I climb in on the other side, being sure to stay over the covers. With his back to me, I reach over him and switch off the light.

Not a second later, Connor snuggles his ass back against my groin, and his posture relaxes. Jesus, talk about torture. I shift my hips away from him until my own ass is half off the mattress, doing all I can to not get a hard-on again even with the covers between us. But I’m failing miserably.

After shifting a bit, I tuck my right arm under the pillow, but I don’t know exactly where to put my left. At my side?

Fuck it.

Since Connor is nestled against my chest, I drape my arm over his middle and close my eyes, hoping sleep hits me as fast as it did for him.

A moment later, Connor moves, and his luscious butt is plastered against me once more. But he doesn’t settle. He wiggles until I have a full-fledged erection. Willing my cock to go down isn’t easy. I shift slightly away, and my ass is now totally hanging off the bed.

“What are you doing?” he asks in a drowsy whisper that is all too alluring.

“Giving you room,” I reply while trying to scoot back an inch more.

Connor reaches back and plants a hand on my hip and squeezes. “John,” he counters gruffly like he’s irritated. Hell, I should be the one who’s annoyed.

I sit up, reach over Connor, and turn on the light before looking down at him. “What do?—”

My words are cut off when Connor sits up and kisses me. “Make me forget.”

I’m taken aback by his plea. What does he want to forget? That his father just died? There’s nothing I can do to stop the hurt and loss he’s feeling.

This close, I see his eyes are puffy and red. I reach up and wipe the wetness away with the pad of my thumb. “What do you want to forget?”

“Just do this for me,” he demands before kissing me again—a little more aggressively this time.

There’s raw desperation as he drives his tongue into my mouth, claiming every bit of it. I know where Connor wants this to lead, and I can’t allow it.

I run my fingers through his sweat-slicked hair, tug at it until he meets my eyes. “It’s not a good idea, Connor.”

He doesn’t look away. “It’s a great idea.”

There’s no denying the fact that Connor brought me in here for only one reason—I know it now. No matter how much I want to tell him, just this once , and take full advantage of his body, I won’t relent.

Yet, the more I stare at his full lips and remember what he tastes like, my resistance becomes futile, and I capture his mouth with a scorching kiss—anything to get him out of his own head.

Kissing is harmless, and there are other ways to distract him from his idea of me fucking him. Connor doesn’t need me inside his body. What he needs is comfort and reassurance that he isn’t alone in this. But the more time I spend around this man, it’s getting harder to remain distant and professional.

Connor molds his body against mine as though he’s trying to deepen the kiss until his stiff prick grinds against my thigh. “I need more,” he complains against my lips.

Even though my cock wants equal friction, I deny myself that pleasure and focus on his. “Just relax.” My lips skim his jawline before trailing kisses along his neck, and I pull the covers down so I can reach his muscled abs. I lick and nip, until the tip of my tongue meets the thin trail of hair near his lower abdomen.

“John,” he groans, gripping my hair tight. I love the bite of pain along my scalp.

“Shhh.” With a nudge, I pat at his upper thigh. He lifts his hips off the mattress so I can remove his underwear and expose his beautiful, veiny cock.

Without hesitation, I fist his dick, and dip my face into the trimmed fuzzy hairs on his ball sack. “Hmm. You smell so damn good.” I lick up the shaft, then cover his leaking tip with my mouth. I suck the slightly bitter fluid with appreciation, before partially swallowing him down.

“John.” My name tumbles out of his mouth like a prayer.

I grunt in reply, before sucking his meat to the back of my throat. I don’t stop either, until his balls touch my bottom lip, then I pull back and lick the tip of his dick.

Connor’s balls are drawn up tight and he’s quietly moaning. He’s about to come—I know it. But he rakes his fingers in my hair and tugs hard until I give him my eyes. “I want you to fuck me. I need you inside.”

“Connor,” is all I say before he props himself up on his elbows and stares at me strangely. Even in the shadows of the single bulb lamp, the firm set of his jaw conveys that he won’t take no for an answer. But he has to.

“Let me—” I begin to say, but he scrambles off the bed.

“Don’t you want me, John?” He’s glaring at me with frustration, like I’m doing him a grave injustice for not fucking him into the mattress. But he has to know that I’m not like that. I won’t use him… like he wants to use my dick as a release. Not like he used me seven months ago.

“Yes, but not…” I admit, but should have kept my mouth shut.

Connor narrows his eyes at my dick that’s bulging out like a stiff pole, loud and proud despite the tightness of my jeans. “Your cock says otherwise.”

“My cock doesn’t know better. But I do. And me sticking my dick in your ass isn’t what you need,” I say bluntly. It’s the truth, even if he doesn’t want to hear it.

“You don’t know what the fuck I need,” Connor grates out, then turns his back to me. “I’m going to sleep on the couch.” He storms toward the door.

“Stop,” I order—not loud, but stern enough to convey that I’m not fucking around. I hate games, and Connor is playing with the wrong person. He’ll lose to me every time.

Connor halts at the threshold, but doesn’t turn around or say anything, and I’m fine with that. He just needs to listen.

“You asked me to lay with you, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Now get your ass back into bed.”

“Or what?” The challenge in his voice and the slight turn of his head is enough for me to know he’s readying for a fight.

I sit up tall and place one foot on the floor, in case I have to chase him down. “Do you want to test me?” I put power behind my voice, to convey that I’m not fucking around.

He stills—not even taking a breath. I’m normally not aggressive with clients, but when you meet a challenge like Connor Wild, you have to use every weapon in your arsenal. I have to make him understand I’m no one to fuck with.

Warrior Black’s drummer needs to learn this sooner rather than later.

“We have a long day tomorrow. You and I need sleep.” It’s all I say before Connor turns back around, eyes me like I’m a speck, and then climbs into bed. He turns off the light, situates himself at the edge of the mattress, putting his back to me once again.

“I don’t fucking think so.” I haul his ass to the middle of the bed, spooning him close, so neither of us falls off the mattress. “Now go to sleep.”

A soft growl penetrates the dark, but I say nothing. Instead, I close my eyes, and listen to Connor’s breathing even out in a matter of minutes. I, on the other hand, lay there contemplating whether I did the right thing by ordering him back to bed with me, then decide I’m too damn tired to worry about it now.