STORY EXCERPT

Atticus cherished and fostered his role as the bad boy in the Hill family. From the time he could say his first word—which was no—he knew his older brother, Kai, was the driven one, the one who would ensure he succeeded. Atticus had the same black hair and black eyes as his father and brother, but he didn’t want to be a carbon copy of either of them. He rode a Harley motorcycle, always dressed completely in black, and grew his hair long and shaggy.

Right now he stood just inside the gay bar, looking at the stage for the drummer. Midnight on Tenth was the only decent gay bar in town, and Atticus was a regular visitor here, although he seldom picked up a one-night stand anymore. He was thirty-nine and even he was ready to find Mr. Right and settle down.

His decision had been hastened by his father’s edict nine months ago to all six of his sons that they had twelve months to settle down and give him some grandchildren. Since then, all five of his brothers had found their own Mr. Rights. Hell, his perfectionist brother, Storm, had even married his Mr. Right.

There were also two grandchildren for his parents to dote on. Christabelle, the girl his oldest brother Kai and his partner, Alan, had rescued, had a son, CC, born on Christmas Day. And Jude, his golden-haired, stunningly good-looking brother, was in a relationship with Stuart, who had a baby daughter, Kathleen.

Sawyer, brother number four, was happily settled with police lieutenant Mitch, and just recently his baby brother, Ross, had set up house with Perry Scott, a carpenter. Which left him the odd one out. Thirty-nine and with no one special.

No one who even made his pulses pound the slightest bit faster. Except maybe the drummer.

The drummer was tall and muscular, with brown hair and eyes, and a lot of piercings. Atticus could imagine tugging on the rings that adorned his body while they fucked. The man put a hell of a lot of effort into his drumming. He usually wore sleeveless shirts, and his skin glowed with sweat by the end of a set of music. Atticus liked the idea that his bulk was all muscle, not fat. He was a big man himself, six feet three and solid, and he liked to fuck hard and fast. He needed a fit and strong partner, not some frail twink who’d break if he pushed him against a wall and slammed his dick into his ass with no preparation.

The drummer. Mmm. The drummer was the only man who’d had even the slightest effect on his libido in months. It was time for Atticus to revert to his old bad habits and fuck the man against a wall to see if he still wanted to know him afterward. Unfortunately, in the past, the answer had been mostly no. But maybe this time he’d find someone who was more than a one-night stand. Someone who suited him. The drummer was his only hope.

He waited until the set of songs ended and then pushed his way through the crowd, arriving at the edge of the stage just as the drummer was leaving it.

“Buy you a drink?” he asked.

The drummer nodded. “You’re Atticus. I’ve seen you here often, although not so much lately.”

That was a surprise. He didn’t have the faintest idea of the drummer’s name. Hell, he couldn’t even remember the name of the band, yet the drummer knew him.

“What would you like to drink?” he asked as they moved toward the bar.

“Espresso caipirinha, please.”

Atticus just stared. He’d never heard of it.

“The barman knows.”

Yeah, well he would. That was his job. Atticus would Google it on his cell phone later.

Once again he pushed his way through the crowd. That was the advantage of being six three. He could see how to get to the head of the line a lot faster than short people.

“A longneck and an espresso caipirinha, please?” he asked.

He watched the bartender prepare the drink, but it wasn’t easy to see, as he turned his back after he added the ice coffee and Atticus had already figured that bit out himself.

He paid the man and shoved his way back out of the crowd. The drummer, whose name he still didn’t know, was leaning against the wall. Atticus was surprised he hadn’t grabbed a table, and then he wondered if maybe the staff wasn’t supposed to. No, he was sure he’d seen some of them sitting before.

“You know my name. What’s yours?”

“Roger. This way.”

Atticus followed him around the side of the bar to a narrow alcove with just one small table there. Roger sat so he could watch the crowd, leaving Atticus with his back to the room. He didn’t like that at all and moved his chair to the side of the table where he was beside Roger and could look at the crowd by turning his head to the side.

Roger grinned. “I’ve never met a nervous bikie before.”

“I’m not nervous. I just like to know what’s happening.”

“That seems reasonable. Why did you want to buy me a drink?”

Atticus took a long pull on his beer and noticed Roger just took a tiny sip of his drink.

“I want to fuck you. Tonight. Is that okay?”

ADULT EXCERPT

He walked over to his desk drawer and took out lube and a condom, rolling it over his shaft before walking back to the couch.

He really needed more light to see Atticus properly. His ass resting on the gray couch was so difficult to distinguish he was mostly working by feel, but that was okay. His fingers knew what to do. And he wanted this man so much his dick hurt. It was just as well he needed to prepare him thoroughly. Otherwise he’d have been tempted to rush. He didn’t want to rush tonight. He wanted to savor every moment with this man who was as hard and demanding as he was.

Roger didn’t like soft, sweet boys. He didn’t do romance and mushy stuff. The closest he came to that was kissing. But somehow he wanted tonight to be special. Even though it was in his office, on the couch, he still wanted it to be as good for Atticus as it was for him, and that wasn’t just because Atticus was a regular customer. There was a deeper need than that, one Roger wasn’t ready to explore yet.

He dropped the lube onto the floor and pulled Atticus closer to him, holding his cock at Atticus’s back door and wrapping his legs behind the man.

“Ready?”

“Hell, yes.”

He pushed in at the exact moment Atticus slammed down on him, and suddenly his cock was inside Atticus and they were both gritting their teeth and panting.

“Fuck! I never knew it’d feel like this.” Atticus’s voice was tight with lust.

“It’s good to know I’m doing you a favor. Damn, you’re tight.

“Just start fucking or I’ll explode.”

“I’m setting the pace here,” Roger warned him.

“In your dreams.” Atticus pulled away and then slammed back down again, causing both of them to shudder with lust and Roger to grab hold of Atticus and stop him from moving.

“Neither of us is going to have a good night if you break my dick, you maniac.”

Atticus gave a harsh laugh. “The paramedics might find it interesting.”

“Fuck yes. But right now, slow down and let’s make this good for both of us.”

He kept a tight grip on the man underneath him until he was sure Atticus had gotten the message. Dammit, the man was just like him. Too proud to say he’d agree but conforming nonetheless. Thank fuck for that. They really did need to slow down and enjoy the fucking. He set a measured pace, faster than he should have done but as slow as he thought both of them would tolerate right now.

That plan lasted about twenty seconds. By then they were gripping each other’s arms and slamming into each other full force with about as much delicacy and gentleness as a couple of wild buffalo out on the plains. About that much noise, too. They were both groaning, their bodies slapping together, the couch creaking, and its legs thumping on the floor with every stroke.

“Yesss,” Atticus hissed as cum shot out of his cock over both their bellies.

“Damn,” he muttered, his dick exploding in Atticus’s ass.

He flopped down on top of Atticus, grabbing a fistful of his hair and kissing him hard. Atticus kissed him back just as hotly, and his dick, which should have been limp and exhausted, twitched and hardened.

Atticus shoved him off the couch onto the floor and walked over to the desk, opening two drawers before he found the box of condoms. “Now it’s my turn,” he said.

“I’m not eighteen anymore. My recovery time—”

“Will be fine,” Atticus said, pulling Roger to his feet and bending him over the desk. He picked up the tube of lube, squeezed some on his hand, and thrust a slippery finger deep into Roger’s ass.

“Fuck, man, be careful.”

“I am being careful. That couch might not survive another mating between us. I hope your desk is built sturdy.”

Roger laughed. “I’ve fucked men on that couch before, and it’s never creaked like it did tonight.”

“I guess we gave it a good workout. Now let’s give each other a good workout.”

Roger shuddered. Already Atticus had two well-greased fingers in his ass and his dick was as hard as if he hadn’t come in a week instead of not even five minutes ago. Faster than he could have imagined, Atticus was inside him, pumping into him, his fingers iron bands on his hips and his thighs slapping against Roger’s flesh fast and hard.

He’d thought he’d have been swamped by images of the past if he let a man fuck him, but he wasn’t. All he could think about was Atticus’s thick cock driving in and out of his body like a pile driver into the soil, with so much power and force it almost left him limp with desire. Well, his body was limp. His cock was as hard as a rock, and he was so ready to come again his balls were drawn up tight against his skin.

Atticus gripped his hair, turning his head to the side and grabbing his earrings with his teeth, tugging on them, rubbing his tongue over the earlobe and the edges of the rings, twisting and turning them. Never would Roger have thought it could be erotic, but dammit, it was.

And then Atticus reached around his body and gripped his dick, fisting it hard and fast, and he was gone, pumping his seed all over Atticus’s hand and the damn desk. Behind him Atticus kept pounding into him until he was done, and then, with one last hard, deep drive, he filled the condom and rested over his back.

They stayed like that, panting hard, for quite a while before Roger remembered something he needed to say. “Sorry. There are no showers here.”

That was a lie. There was a staff shower, but he couldn’t possibly take Atticus there. No guest was allowed out back.

“Tissues?” Atticus pulled out of him and moved away so Roger could stagger over to a small closet behind the door, grab a box, and hand it to Atticus. Then he took a handful of tissues to clean himself up.

Once they were dressed, he pulled Atticus to him one last time and kissed him passionately. Atticus kissed back with just as much fire and then left, shutting the door silently. Roger sagged back onto the couch. What the fuck have I done?