Summary:
When you’re on the run from the mob, the last thing you should do is fall in love…
Indy’s become an expert at surviving.
He’s survived being a mobster’s lover.
He’s survived a brutal attack on his life.
He’s survived being on the run, on his own, his heart firmly closed.
After all, who could want him?
Until he meets former army medic Noah and his friends-with-benefits Josh.
Noah and Josh take him into their home after Indy gets hurt, and he discovers they’re as broken and damaged as he is. Indy finds himself opening up to them, first with his body, then with his heart.
But how can he stay when his very presence endangers them? His ex will stop at nothing to find him...
No Filter is a steamy gay romance featuring a complicated but beautiful polyamorous relationship (no cheating!) that ends on a cliffhanger. The story continues in No Limits, the second book in the No Shame Series. Please note the trigger warnings in the front of the book.
Summary:
Josh served his country and he paid the price.
A self-proclaimed basket case, he can’t imagine anyone would be interested in him. Especially not sexy, built-like-a-freaking-wall Connor.
Connor does want him, however, and the bossy cop with the massive equipment is the perfect match for Josh, even if Connor is a newbie at relationships. And bedroom activities. Bossy meets submissive, massive equipment meets eager recipient.
But when Connor’s past endangers Josh’s special friend Indy, Josh has to make an impossible choice. Love...or friendship?
No Limits is a gay romance with a polyamorous relationship (no cheating) that ends on a cliffhanger. The story continues in No Fear, the third book in the No Shame series. All books need to be read in order. Please note the trigger warnings in the front of the book.
No Fear #3
Summary:Confused puppy seeks owner…
Aaron is lost.
He’s lost his parents’ approval.
He’s lost his job.
He’s lost his sense of identity.
At least he’s out as gay, but all that has brought him is more confusion. He feels like a freak who doesn’t fit in anywhere. Even his own brother doesn’t want anything to do with him.
Sexy jiu jitsu teacher Blake makes Aaron feel things he’s never felt before. Things in his body. Things in his heart. Things he didn’t even know he craved, like being cared for, having decisions made for him.
Like being a puppy.
But Blake doesn’t want a relationship, so how can he want Aaron?
No Fear is a steamy gay romance with mild puppy play elements. It’s the third book in the No Shame Series that needs to be read in order. Please note the trigger warnings in the front of the book.
No Filter #1
1
Indy Baldwin was dying for a frappe, but he was shit out of luck. The sign stated the machine was broken. He’d have to settle for ice cream, then. He debated in front of the freezer section for all of two seconds before deciding on a half pint of Rocky Road. It cost more than he could afford to spend, but fuck it, he craved a pick-me-up. An egg sandwich alone wasn’t going to satisfy him.
Besides, the ice cream here was wicked good and, as far as Indy was concerned, the whole point of shopping at Stewart’s, the New York chain of convenience stores. People said the coffee here wasn’t too shabby either, but Indy wouldn’t know since he hated the stuff. You could smell it walking in, on account of the pots that were always brewing. Handwritten, colorful signs advertised pumpkin spice coffee, even though fall was still three weeks away.
He picked out a few groceries, stacked them on his left arm. His broken right arm still hurt too damn much to carry any weight, even in the cast. He performed a perfunctory check on his appearance, as had become his habit when he’d started dressing as a woman. No one had ever seen through his disguise, and he wanted to keep it that way.
Indy trudged to the back of the store to grab some healthy snack bars. It was impossible to cook when he lived in his car, and these snuck some fiber and protein into his meager diet. He’d lost too much weight as it was lately. Another reason to indulge in a little ice cream.
The egg sandwich balanced precariously on top of the single serve yogurt, so Indy kept an eye on it to make sure it didn’t fall off. Where’s a shopping basket when you need one? Or a fucking carriage, for that matter? A cart, he corrected himself. They call it a cart in these parts. Another sign he was wicked tired—he fell back on the dialect he was trying so hard to get rid of.
He should have shopped at a supermarket. Or Target. It would have been cheaper and more anonymous. But after his 5k run, his body had ached and he’d felt weak and dizzy from hunger. Changing in his car into his female disguise—he couldn’t run dressed as a girl, since workout clothes revealed too much—had cost more time than he’d planned. He needed a quick bite before parking his car for the night. Two days prior, he’d discovered the perfect spot: a parking lot near a nature preserve. Quiet, little chance of people seeing him, yet relatively safe.
A lean guy—the only other customer in the store—towered over the snacks section, studying the various offerings. Damn, he was tall—at least six foot two, Indy estimated. A dark blue cap the same color as his T-shirt hid most of his face, and his hands were stuffed in the pockets of a pair of tight dungies—jeans. Use the right word, moron. Stop with the fucking Boston slang already. His jeans outlined his long, toned legs and one hell of a perfect ass. Too bad he was clearly not a member of the snap-decisions club Indy belonged to. Why did he have to be in the exact spot that Indy needed to be? After a few seconds, Indy decided he’d been patient enough.
“Excuse me,” he started, pitching his voice a tad higher. Hours of practicing ensured he had his female voice down pat.
The guy jumped as if Indy had shocked him with a Taser and backed up immediately, hands flying out of his pockets in front of his face. Wow, talk about a fight or flight response. I must’ve completely surprised him.
“I’m sorry, honey,” Indy drawled, laying the accent on thick. He’d left Atlanta the day after he’d broken his arm, but the Southern charm and accompanying drawl suited his purposes for now. “Bless your heart, I didn’t mean to startle you. I wanted to grab a few bars, if that’s okay?”
Wide-open blue eyes stared at him from under a Patriots cap that matched the tight-fitting shirt he was sporting. At least he supports the right team, Indy thought wryly.
For a few seconds, neither of them moved, and then the guy lowered his hands in clenched fists and stepped aside. If Patriot Guy wasn’t so obviously scared out of his mind, he’d be damn cute. Well, even spooked he was a looker, the butterflies-inducing result of angel mixed with a hint of bad boy. Bright blue eyes in a chiseled, smooth face, dark eyebrows, sharp nose, and luscious lips, framed by damn sexy stubble.
“Thank you, honey,” Indy said, raising an eyebrow when the guy didn’t react. Okay, then. Either this guy is a total weirdo, or he doesn’t like people. Or both. Either way, not my fucking problem. He had a bigger issue, which was how to pick up the snack bars with his right arm in a cast.
He should’ve been more careful during that last jiujitsu training. Cockiness, that’s what had happened. Reckless overconfidence. He’d been so excited to get some training hours in, he’d refused to tap out his opponent in time. The snap of his bone breaking had sent a gasp through his partner and the professor. Stupid, plain fucking stupid. Anyways, only two more weeks till the cast would come off.
After fumbling to get the three bars he wanted—Patriot Guy still staring at him like a damn statue—Indy gave up that approach. He put his groceries on the floor, took the bars he wanted, and stuffed them so they were clearly visible in the front pocket of his girly, tan capris. He let the ends stick out so nobody would think he was trying to steal them. Getting arrested for shoplifting was about the worst thing that could happen to him. He needed to stay as far away from the boys in blue as possible, which was why he forced himself to stick to all speed limits as well, and used his fucking blinkers like a grandma. Getting pulled over—or even seen—by a cop could very well get him killed, so he wasn’t taking any chances.
Loading his groceries on his left arm again, he turned toward Patriot guy to thank him. Southern girls were polite like that, after all, and he had an image to uphold.
His gaze was aimed at the floor now, fists clenched and body tense as a runner ready to start a race. What’s the deal with this guy? Seriously.
In the background, the doorbell jingled. Right, your exit cue. Bye, bye, weird guy.
“Gimme the fucking cash!” a young male voice yelled.
Fucking hell.
A quick look over his shoulder to the front of the store revealed a scene that made Indy’s stomach churn. The cashier stood frozen to the spot, his eyes wide in terror under his uniform visor, as he faced a guy dressed completely in black with a ski mask over his face. The robber wielded a Magnum .45 in his shaky right hand.
Indy lowered himself to the floor in an instant, letting the groceries slide out of his grasp. What a fucking mess. That kid behind the register had better cooperate. Ralph, his name is Ralph—Indy had spotted his name tag out of habit when he walked in. All he had to do was hand over the cash in the register, and nobody would get hurt. Hopefully.
Patriot Guy. Indy had forgotten about him. He turned his head. The guy was still standing there, nailed to the floor. What the hell is he doing? Why isn’t he on the floor? Doesn’t this chowdahead have a survival instinct?
“Get the fuck down,” Indy whispered urgently.
“Gimme the fucking money!” the robber shouted again.
In the background, a commercial for Stewart’s ice cream was playing. “Kids in sports uniforms get an ice cream cone for only fifty cents!” Fuck, no. The only thing missing from this nightmare scenario was a couple of kids walking in.
“I’m trying!” Panic reigned in the cashier’s voice.
“I can’t be here.” Patriot Guy’s voice came out a hoarse whisper. “I can’t do this.”
He was deadly pale, body trembling, wide-open eyes darting back and forth. Little pearls of sweat glistened on his forehead. He forced breath puffs out of his clenched jaw.
What. The. Fucking. Hell.
“Get down, you fuckwad!” Indy whispered again. “You’re gonna get shot!”
The guy didn’t seem to hear Indy and took another step, whimpering like a puppy being kicked. He moved like a robot, completely rigid, as if he was sleepwalking and not really present. Another step and the robber would spot this idiot, might feel threatened and shoot him. Fuck, Indy couldn’t let him do this.
Indy jumped up and clamped the guy’s arm tightly. A shooting pain tore through his broken right arm and hand, but he ignored it as he hooked his own leg behind weird guy’s right leg and let himself fall backward on the floor. The move was deeply ingrained, practiced thousands of time in jiujitsu, but this time he couldn’t do a break fall—a maneuver aptly named because you broke your fall by slapping your underarms and hands on the floor. He had to hold on to the guy, and he couldn’t slap the floor with that useless broken arm.
Fuck, this is gonna hurt.
Indy moved with the falling motion as much as he could, but his head smashed into the floor, then snapped back again as weird guy’s weight slammed into him.
Holy shitting fuckity fuck!
Pain exploded through Indy’s body, but he managed to hang on to the guy and brace his fall. Indy’s arms pinned the much taller man against his body. He pressed his head tightly against his own neck and for good measure, he then hooked both his legs around him. He had no idea why this fuckwad wanted to walk into a shooter’s path, but he damn well wasn’t going to let him.
Indy was on his back on the cold, dirty linoleum floor; a hard, male body pressed against his. His muscles stiffened as his heart went into overdrive. A wave of nausea barreled through him, making him swallow furiously. His skin broke out in a fine sweat, and he jerked in a raspy breath. He hadn’t been this close to a man since…
Fuck, no. Don’t go there.
Focus. You have to fucking focus.
Now was not the time to panic. He had far more pressing problems to worry about. Damn, that fall hurt. His head throbbed like a motherfucker, and little specks danced in his vision. Indy blinked a few times, the colorful spots persisting.
“No, no, no, no…” Patriot Guy groaned, unsuccessfully pushing against Indy’s arms. His cap must have come off as they fell, and he thrashed his head around in a futile attempt to break free. Indy moved his left arm slightly, increasing the pressure on his head to keep it down. Despite outmatching Indy in height and weight, the guy stood no chance against Indy’s experience.
Indy’s body shook with the effort. He was too close. Any second now Patriot Guy would realize he was being held down by a man, not a woman, and then what? Indy’s disguise would be blown to hell, and he’d be in hip-deep shit.
What the hell is wrong with this guy? Why won’t he stop fighting? He was in full panic mode, way worse than Indy’s state of mind, but why?
Indy’s eyes fell on a bulleted silver chain around the man’s neck. He made the connection instantly.
Dog tags.
Veteran.
PTSD.
This guy is experiencing one hell of a panic reaction triggered by the robbery. Well, shit.
What could he do to help him snap out of it?
“You’re okay,” he whispered.
He’d seen this on Grey’s Anatomy, when Owen had flashbacks. How did they bring him back? Senses, he had to engage the guy’s senses to make him aware of where he was. Grounding, they’d called it. That all sounded nice in theory, but how comforting was the reality of being in a store that was getting robbed? Shit, it had to be better than whatever this guy was remembering, right?
“My name is Indy, and I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
He put as much warmth in his soft voice as he could manage under the circumstances. Fuck, his system was still on full alert with a body tightly pressed against him. Nobody had even touched him in a year and a half, and now this.
It’s too much. He’s too close.
Focus, dammit.
“As long as we stay on the floor and he gets his money, we’ll be fine. You’re okay, honey. I’ve got you.”
The man kept struggling in blind panic. Fuck, it sucked to hold him against his will, but what else could Indy do? It beat the hell out of him getting killed.
He needed more senses. Smell was a powerful one. What could he make him smell? He’d taken a shower after his run—he’d snuck into a YMCA—with this floral-scented body wash, and he still smelled pretty rosy. Maybe that would work?
“Smell my hair. Do you smell the lavender in my shampoo?”
Indy lifted his head up and turned his curls close to the guy’s nose. He’d grown his hair to shoulder length since deciding to disguise himself as a girl, and it was longer than it had ever been.
“Maybe you can even smell my shower gel and body lotion. It’s Dove. I don’t know if it’s true what they say that it contains real cream, but whatever. It smells great, and it makes my skin wicked soft.”
Indy was babbling, his accent slipping and his voice getting too low, but he was trying, for fuck’s sake.
Still nothing. Auditory, smell. What else? Visual.
It was risky, because anyone looking too closely could see past the makeup and women’s clothes and recognize the man underneath. What other option did he have?
“Lift your head and look at me. Look at me.”
When the guy didn’t respond, Indy let go of him with one hand, tightening his injured arm around the man in a secure grip, which fired another blaze of pain through his body. He cupped the man’s sweaty, pale cheek and raised his head slightly. The unfocused, panicked gaze in his eyes told Indy he wasn’t able to see anything right now.
Shit.
What could he do to bring him back? Taste and touch, those were the only two left. But they were on the floor of a store during a fucking robbery, what the hell could he make the man touch and taste?
You.
Without thinking too much about it—because thinking would make what he was about to do fucking impossible—Indy loosened his grip and dragged the guy a bit higher, to bring his head to the same level as his own. He was still unyielding in Indy’s arms.
Indy hooked his legs around the man’s thighs again and yanked his head down, crashing their mouths together.
Oh, God.
Shit, did he even know how to do this anymore? He hadn’t kissed anyone in…two years.
Technically, two years, three months, and fifteen days.
Not that I’m counting.
Not that those kisses were ever any good, or worth remembering in the first place.
Not that Duncan wanted much kissing anyways.
Too romantic. Too time-consuming. Duncan’s main objective had been to get off and who needed kissing for that? Mouths were good to stick your cock in—or so Duncan had stated repeatedly.
Fucking stop it! Focus on the present.
Patriot Guy wasn’t kissing him back. No wonder, Indy was assaulting his mouth with the finesse of a ten-ton steamroller.
Indy softened his lips and explored the guy’s mouth, coaxing him to open up and respond. Come on, kiss me back, he silently willed him. When the guy remained frozen, Indy’s tongue peeped out to lick the plump, soft lips. Oh, fuck, they tasted sweet and salty at the same time. His stubble sanded Indy’s own clean-shaven chin, sending delicious tremors through Indy’s body.
Wait…Was he…? It couldn’t be. He couldn’t like this, could he?
A bubble of panic rose up again in his belly, but he shoved it down. He was okay, no one was forcing him to do anything. His hands wound around the guy’s head, caressing his wavy, dark hair that was a tad too long. Indy’s fingers trailed his smooth skin, his tight jaw with the pleasantly rough stubble.
Please, kiss me back. Work with me here.
Suddenly, the man’s whole body relaxed as if the air was let out of a balloon. He stopped struggling and in surrender, sank into Indy.
Indy froze for a moment, bile rising in his throat, then willed his body to relax. You can toss him off any time you want. You’re holding on to him, not the other way around.
The man opened his mouth and let Indy in, thrusting his tongue into Indy’s mouth. He tasted of chocolate, addictive and rich. Indy’s skin tingled as pleasure radiated from his mouth throughout his entire body.
The guy placed his forearms on the floor and put his hands behind Indy’s head, lifting it up to press them closer together. It relieved some of the man’s weight off Indy’s upper body, which was good, because his ribs hurt like hell. It also increased the pressure on their lower bodies, which ground together. God, he wanted to grind against him, grate his hard cock until…Wait. He was hard. He was hard as a fucking pole. Oh, God, this was bad on so many levels.
Their slick tongues coaxed and explored, danced with each other, kept chasing one another in a sexy game of cat and mouse. The soft sucking sounds made Indy’s insides swirl in response. Fucking hell, was this how good kissing was when there were no groping hands, no expectations, no force?
No, he didn’t want to think of Duncan now. This glorious kiss, this enticing, seductive battle of their tongues—this was what he wanted to focus on. Hot damn, this guy could kiss.
Giving in to his needs, he gyrated his hips into the guy’s crotch, and he connected with a solid erection. It sent a shock wave through his body. A burning heat he hadn’t felt in a long time—had he ever experienced this before?—pooled in his stomach. He was so fucking horny. His hole twitched, signaling it, too, was ready for some action.
What the hell was happening?
Reality hit, and yanked his mind out of the gutter. Fuck, he was royally fucked. There was no way the guy wouldn’t notice Indy wasn’t a girl. And when he did, things would go south faster than you could say Indiana Jones.
No Limits #2
1
The house was blissfully quiet,and Josh released a slow exhale. He was curled up on the couch with a gay romance, snuggling under a velvety soft fleece blanket. December in New York, what a fucking nightmare. Wind cutting straight through your clothes to creep into your bones, flurries whipping around the house, with the forecast predicting more snow to come in the next few days—and winter hadn’t even started yet. Couldn’t Noah have found a hospital in, say, Florida to work at? Josh pulled the blanket up high, sighing as he dove back into his book.
The doorbell rang, and Josh almost jumped up. He took a deep, steadying breath before getting up to the hallway. He recognized him through the glass in the door, and his hand froze on the doorknob.
Connor.
The cop was not in uniform this time, but sported olive-green cargo pants underneath his snow-dusted black winter jacket, a gray beanie protecting his head. Connor raised his hand in an awkward wave when he noticed Josh behind the door. What did he want now?
Josh slowly opened the door. “Officer O’Connor,” he said, his tone formal even though his pulse was totally speeding up.
The man was so fucking gorgeous, but Josh wasn’t making a fool out of himself by assuming anything. Even if Noah and Indy were convinced the cop was gay and into him, Josh wasn’t buying it. It had been three months since the robbery. If he’d been interested in Josh, Connor would’ve stopped by sooner. Josh couldn’t blame the cop. No one would want to date a fuck-up like Josh, let alone a man as perfect as Connor.
“Call me Connor,” the cop said. “Can I come in?”
Out of habit, Josh opened the door wide and let the man step inside. With Connor’s massive body next to him, the hallway seemed small and crowded. Connor stomped his black boots to get rid of the snow, then took off his beanie and zipped his jacket open.
“How are you?” Josh asked, not quite able to keep the concern out of his voice. “Noah said you got hit by shards of concrete two months ago. Are you fully recovered?”
Connor blinked a few times. “I’m fine. They were minor cuts that healed quickly.”
“Oh,” Josh said. “That’s good. And your partner?”
Something flashed in Connor’s eyes. “Thanks to Noah, he’s alive. It’ll be a spell before he’s back on the job, but that’s not important.”
A silence followed. Josh sighed inwardly. Was he supposed to say something? God, he sucked at social interactions like this. “Erm, Noah and Indy aren’t home,” he offered. Connor thinks Indy is a woman, he reminded himself. He’d better not fuck that up.
Connor jammed his hands into his pockets. Is he nervous as well? “That’s okay. Actually, I wanted to talk to you.”
“To me?”
“Could we maybe sit down?”
The confidence the cop had displayed in the previous two meetings had vanished. It was disconcerting, somehow. What was going on? Still, Josh nodded.
Connor took his jacket off, hung it on a coat hanger in the hall way closet. Stupid, you should have taken his jacket, Josh berated himself. He was always too slow. Connor quickly unlaced his boots, leaving them on the doormat.
Wordlessly, Josh gestured to the living room and followed Connor as he walked in. He was wearing a tight, black long sleeve shirt that accentuated every one of his powerful muscles. Josh couldn’t deny himself a quick look at the guy’s ass. Damn, the cop was packing a perfect, firm butt in those cargo pants. Well, everything about the cop was muscular and toned. Was he really gay, or had Noah and Indy been yanking his chain?
“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked, more out of politeness than expectations. “I have homemade lemonade?”
“You make your own lemonade?”
Josh shrugged. “Sure. Beats the overly sweet store-bought stuff.”
“I’d like to try it.”
Josh frowned as he poured two glasses of lemonade in the kitchen. The cop was obviously off duty, so what the hell was he doing here, and what did he want to talk to him about?
He put one glass on the coffee table in front of O’Connor who had found a spot on the sofa. Josh sat in one of the reading chairs and waited, clutching his own glass.
“Did Noah say anything?” Connor finally asked.
“About what?”
“About me, or what he and I talked about in the hospital?”
“No. He only told me you were hurt, but that it wasn’t serious, and that your partner needed surgery. Noah takes the privacy of his patients seriously.”
“Oh, okay.” Connor dragged a hand through his hair, avoiding Josh’s look. His hair was high and tight, though a tad longer than he would have worn it as a Marine, probably. “I’d hoped he’d talked to you.”
Josh's stomach was doing twists that were acutely uncomfortable, and his palms were getting sweaty. “You wanna maybe get to the point? You’re making me nervous, and that’s not a good thing for a guy with PTSD. Spit it out.”
O’Connor looked as if he was in front of a firing squad. What the hell was bothering him? “I wanted to ask you out,” he finally managed.
Josh barely avoided dropping his glass of lemonade, instead plunked it down on the table. Good thing they had thick, solid glassware. “You want to ask me out,” he repeated stupidly.
“Yeah. Noah said it would be okay.”
“You want to ask me out,” Josh said again, his brain simply not able to come up with anything else.
Connor got up from the couch, stuffed his hands back in his pockets. “Look, I get it, okay? Apparently, your boyfriend has a nasty sense of humor. He told me you guys weren’t really together, and that he wouldn’t mind me asking you out. Joke’s on me, okay? Very funny, haha. I’ll leave now.”
Josh's brain was frozen, unable to react. Connor wants to ask me out? What the fuck? Why?
When he finally came to his senses, Connor was gone, closing the front door with an angry bang.
I’ve fucked it up.This gorgeous man apparently was interested in him, though heaven knew why, and he’d fucked it up because his brain had been slow as shit again. And what was worse, Josh didn’t even have his number.
Josh slowly sagged backwards in the chair. Why on earth would a man like Connor be interested in him? The guy knew he had PTSD, that he was basically a fuck-up, right? And what the hell had Noah been thinking, talking about him to Connor, telling him they weren’t really together. Couldn’t he at least have given Josh a heads-up?
He buried his head in his hands. He’d never find anyone. Not like Noah loved Indy. God, the two of them were amazing, if equally sickening at times. He wanted that, too.
Noah had changed—he was less angry, happier. And witnessing Indy’s transformation from a frightened, skittish guy into a more relaxed, confident person was nothing short of amazing. Josh loved Indy with all his heart—how could anyone not love this sweet man? Noah and Indy made every effort to include him, let him still sleep with them, and Noah had fucked him a few times even after he was together with Indy. When Noah was tired or in pain and his control was thin, he chose Josh over Indy. Indy couldn’t handle rough sex, and Josh, well, he got off on it. Which, of course, was completely embarrassing, but between the three of them there was no judgment. They each came with emotional scars.
Josh wanted that for himself, someone he could love and who loved him. Someone who would accept him being fucked up and would be okay with it. Someone who wouldn’t judge his sexual desires…maybe even satisfy them?
He’d done some research on the whole Dom/sub thing after what Indy had said, and boy, had that blown his mind. Most of it was too kinky to even consider or downright freaky. But some of the videos he’d watched had exhilarated him. He’d been completely turned on, had jacked himself off hard. Afterward, he’d felt like crap, though. His chances of finding someone who would do that with him, within a loving relationship, were practically zero. How the fuck would he ever find someone, sitting at home, scared as he was of going out? And who the hell would love a damaged fuck-up like him?
Connor is interested. Was. There was no way he’d still be, not after Josh had basically ignored him. Maybe if he explained that it wasn’t intentional? But how the fuck could he manage that if he didn’t even have his phone number?
* * *
Beinga cop had definite positive sides, but damn, Connor hated the shitload of paperwork involved. He sighed as he started filling out an arrest report on his computer. He and his partner had caught a guy driving with at least three times the legal amount of alcohol in his system, plus some other as of yet undetermined substances. It had been a fucking miracle the guy had even been able to put his keys in the ignition. Thank God he’d hit a tree before crashing into another car, or worse, killing someone.
“O’Connor, visitor,” Lucky shouted.
Connor looked up from his screen. Who would come and visit him here? He debated asking Lucky for a name, then shrugged. He might as well go see who it was. He rose from his chair, stretched his back and cracked his neck, before making his way to the front waiting room.
Lucky, the station’s receptionist, indicated his visitor with a jerk of her chin, and Connor followed her gesture.
Josh.
His faded Pats cap hid most of his face, but Connor would recognize him anywhere. He was sitting ramrod straight in one of the chairs, his eyes trained on the ground, a crumpled magazine in his hands.
Connor’s heart skipped a beat. What was Josh doing here? Was he upset about the way Connor had left four days ago? It had been wicked rude, Connor admitted to himself, but he’d been so fucking humiliated. Disappointed, too, in Noah Flint. He’d thought the guy had morals, but apparently not.
He jammed his hands into the pockets of his uniform pants. “Josh,” he said simply.
Josh's head shot up. He fumbled with the magazine in his lap, almost dropping it before putting it on the chair next to him. Avoiding Connor’s eyes, he rose. “I was wondering if we could maybe talk somewhere? In private?”
“Yah. Sure. Lucky, is there a room free?”
Lucky checked her list. “Room 3, for about half an hour.”
Connor nodded. They’d be done way before that, was his guess. After all, what was there left to say? “Thanks.”
“Follow me,” he said to Josh. Damn, he sounded way too professional, too emotionally closed off. Like Josh was a citizen who came to file a complaint. What else could he do? He refused to let Josh break him again.
Josh had been so shy and flustered, yet so adorable in that store. Connor had barely been able to do his job, too shaken to concentrate. All he could think of was please, let this guy be gay. He’d thought Josh was, but the dynamic between Josh and Indy had thrown him off. And when Indy confessed to kissing Josh, and he hadn’t seemed like he minded, Connor had been convinced he’d been wrong. Josh had to be straight.
But even after that, he had to see him again, had to know for certain. And when he’d come to his house and Noah had claimed him as his boyfriend, Connor had been sure everyone would have been able to hear something break inside of him. Still, he’d tried again, had stupidly believed Noah when he’d told him Josh was available. How Josh had gotten under his skin that fast, he had no idea, but he was done. His heart was too damn fragile to handle another rejection from this man.
He led the way to the interrogation room, which was a fancy word for a small room with a table and four chairs. Out of habit, he made sure the recording equipment was turned off.
“Grab a seat,” he said. “Do you want coffee?”
Fuck, he hoped not. His stomach swirled uncomfortably even thinking about the smell.
Josh lowered himself in one of the chairs. “No. I don’t drink coffee.”
Connor mentally shook his head. Why does Josh have to be so damn perfect? He took a seat across from him, let out a long breath. “What can I do for you?”
Josh winced. Was Connor’s professionalism bothering him? Connor’s heart softened. He had to take it easy on the guy. It wasn’t his fault, and besides, he had PTSD. Not something to trifle with.
“What’s wrong, Josh?” he asked more friendly.
For the first time, Josh looked up to meet his eyes. “You left,” he said, sounding shocked, then jerked his head as if to shake himself out of something. His eyes cast down again.
“Are you okay?” Connor asked, his voice even warmer.
Josh clenched his fists, then released again. “Yeah. Sorta. I wanted to know why you walked out.”
Connor sighed. He should not have left like that. It was rude, cowardly, and considering his issues a nasty thing to do to Josh. He should’ve had the balls to face him, talk it out. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I was mad, but I shoulda given you a chance to say something.”
Josh raised his stunning blue eyes to meet Connor’s, and it took Connor’s breath away. Damn, the guy was so beautiful. Handsome, would be the manlier word, but it didn’t fit Josh. He truly was beautiful, pushed all kinds of protective buttons inside Connor he hadn’t even been aware of possessing.
“Because of either the PTSD or the meds I take, my brain is slow sometimes, especially when I’m surprised or shocked. It takes me a while to respond,” Josh said, his eyes all but pleading with Connor to understand.
Connor winced inwardly. Damn, he should have known. He’d been a complete asshole. God, what a Charlie Foxtrot. “I’m really sorry. I should’ve given you the opportunity to respond. I thought you were making fun of me or trying to find a way to let me down gently.”
Those blue eyes never left his. “I wasn’t. I was shocked.”
“Why?”
Josh was quiet for a bit, but Connor gave him time. “You’re gay,” Josh said. It wasn’t a question, so much as a statement.
“Yes.” Connor’s tone was defensive. Did Josh realize how momentous this occasion was? He’d never admitted this to anyone, ever.
“Is that why you came to the house when you were looking for Indy, instead of calling? Because you liked me?”
What, were they playing twenty questions now? Wasn’t it obvious? “I wasn’t sure if you were gay.”
Josh snorted. “Dude, your gaydar is worse than mine.”
Connor relaxed, a smile tugging at his lips. “That’s what Noah said.”
“Nothing wrong with Noah’s gaydar.”
“Is he gay?” Connor asked, finally daring to broach the topic they kept avoiding. “Are you together or not?”
“He’s with Indy now.”
Connor managed to keep the shock off his face. Noah and Indy were together? Was Noah bisexual? Interestingly enough, Josh didn’t seem upset about it. He’d said it factually, with love, even. “And you’re okay with that.”
“Mostly.”
Connor needed to know. “But you are gay, though?”
“I am.”
“That’s good,” Connor said, then cleared his throat. So much for playing it cool. Oh, fuck it, that ship sailed long ago. You might as well go all in. “Look, before we continue this conversation, can you at least say something?”
Josh tilted his head to the side, his nose crumpling, making him look adorably cute. “About what?”
Connor threw his hands up in the air. “About whether or not you like me back. You still haven’t said a damn thing on how you feel about me, if you like me or not.”
This time, Josh's answer came wicked fast. “You’re hot and damn sexy, but I don’t know you well enough yet to decide whether I like you or not.”
Connor’s mouth dropped open slightly. “You think I’m sexy?”
Josh rolled his eyes. “Dude, you’re built like a tank, you’re as masculine as they come, you have the whole uniform thing going with a healthy dose of dominant macho and ‘don’t fuck with me’ thrown in. You’re, like, the wet dream of every bottom, including me.”
This brutally honest confession was not what Connor had expected from sweet, shy Josh. To be fair, the guy seemed a little flustered once the words were out, as if he’d said more than he’d wanted to. But holy fuck, those words had lit a fire inside of Connor.
“I’ve never done this before,” Connor said. “I’ve never been in a relationship, haven’t even dated, so I have no idea what I’m doing here or how to do this.”
Understanding dawned in Josh's eyes, taking away his previous embarrassment, which was exactly what Connor had intended. He had this baffling urge to make Josh feel better. “You’re not out,” Josh said.
“No.”
“But you’ve had…” Josh's voice trailed off, but Connor had no trouble filling in the blanks. Sex. Josh was asking him to share the most humiliating thing in his life. Hell, no. He’d rather go through hell week all over again.
“That’s a little personal, don’t you think?” he said.
Josh shook his head. “No, that’s not how this works. I don’t do secrets. You wanna get to know me, you need to talk. I watched through my telescope as Noah got blown up by that fucking IED, and I spent two weeks in a closed ward afterward because I couldn’t process my feelings, couldn’t talk about it. Still can’t. Talking is hard for me, but that’s why Noah and I have made it a rule. I know we’re saps, discussing our feelings and shit, but it has helped me slowly get better. You need to get down with the program, or this thing will be over before it even starts.”
Wow. That was the most Josh had ever spoken to him, and every word had reached deep inside Connor. It took guts to lay himself bare like this, to talk about what had traumatized him so deeply. It made Connor want to protect this sweet man all the more.
“Not here,” he said, indicating the room they were in.
Josh nodded, understood. “Can you come by tonight? Noah and Indy won’t be home.”
“Yah. It’s a date.”
Josh shook his head but smiled a little. “No. It’s a talk to determine whether or not we’ll have a date.”
Connor couldn’t help grinning. “No pressure, huh?”
Josh's gorgeous blue eyes fixed on him. “You’re a fucking Marine. You got this.”
No Fear #3
1
The yellow sticky note on the kitchen counter left little room for misinterpretation.
“Aaron: clean your shit up. Now.”
Aaron Gordon didn’t need a name to know who wrote it. Blake. Aka Professor Kent, the Brazilian-jiujitsu teacher who’d kindly taken Aaron into his home, a home he shared at the moment with two women and an older guy—all victims of domestic abuse. And apparently, Aaron had repaid his kindness by making a mess. Again.
He looked around the well-used kitchen and winced. His stuff was everywhere. He’d left his backpack on the floor, his shoes next to the back door, and his dirty dishes on the counter. He’d even forgotten to throw the carton and plastic from the microwave meal he’d devoured for dinner yesterday in the trash.
A check of the living room revealed the same. The sleeve of the Xbox game he’d played was still on the table, as was the magazine he’d been reading, and the wrapper of his candy bar. He’d even discarded his dirty socks on the floor, right under the coffee table.
The kitchen and living room were common areas, meaning everyone could use them. It also meant you weren’t supposed to leave personal stuff lying around. Aaron had his own cabinet in the kitchen where he could store food and china—if he’d had any. His room also had a large closet for his stuff. It wasn’t even half-full. All he had left were his clothes. He’d sold his furniture and everything else when he’d lost his job and had to cancel the lease on his apartment in a DC suburb. His clothes and his car were all that remained from the up-and-coming lifestyle he’d once had.
He needed a job. Desperately.
But first, he needed to clean up his stuff. His shit, as Blake had put it, though words like that still did not come easily to Aaron. It was the result of a conservative Christian upbringing, strict parents who did not tolerate that kind of language. He’d never even uttered curse words till a few months ago.
He cleaned up the kitchen first, making the extra effort of wiping down the entire counter after doing his dishes. The living room was little work, which made him feel even guiltier he’d left his stuff there.
It was hard to think of things like that when he’d never had to. His mom had always cleaned up after him, and when he’d lived on his own, nobody else had been around to see. He’d cleaned up maybe once a week, once every other week if he’d been busy. He couldn’t do that here, not in a house he shared with others—as Blake had patiently explained to him multiple times in the last couple of weeks. He felt like such a kid when the guy did that, even though they were only ten years apart. And the fact that Aaron had forgotten again, had received this publicly visible reminder from Blake, man, it made him feel like a total loser. A fuck-up, was the better word.
He tasted the foreign, rude word on his tongue. Fuck-up. Yup, that was exactly what he was. An utter and complete fuck-up. And he’d managed to disappoint Blake once again, the man who’d taken him in weeks ago and had asked for nothing in return. Not even rent—which Aaron wouldn’t have been able to pay anyway, but that was beside the point. Blake deserved better.
Aaron looked around the living room. It could do with a bit of cleaning, actually. The kitchen too. It wasn’t gross, but there was dust, and both the tile floor in the kitchen and the hardwood floors in the living room could use a good mopping. Should he? Yeah, that would make up for his slovenliness.
It took him two hours, but by the time he was done, the kitchen was sparkling and smelling of the lemon-scented cleaner he’d used, and the living room was dust-free. He’d even vacuumed the couch cushions, finding a condom packet when he did. Was it Blake’s? He’d never seen the guy with a woman so far, but who knew.
He admired his cleaning work, satisfied he’d done a good job. At least Blake would be happy with him now. He checked his watch. Two o’clock. That late already? Huh, he must have slept in again.
Oh, crap!He was supposed to meet Blake at the jiujitsu studio at two to help him with some stuff. He’d completely forgotten.
He got changed in a hurry and ran out the door. The studio was close, but he still didn’t arrive till fifteen minutes past the agreed time.
“You’re late,” Blake greeted him when Aaron hurried in. He was dressed in tight gray training pants and a form-fitting black shirt, looking good as always.
Aaron’s shoulders slouched. “I’m sorry. I lost track of time. I cleaned the living room and the kitchen?”
Blake’s face softened. “I appreciate that, Aaron, but we had an agreement you’d be here at two.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” He stared at the floor. Even when he wanted to do the right thing, he still messed up. Yup, total fuck-up.
“Look, I know things haven’t been easy for you, and I get that you needed some time to figure things out. Time’s up. You need to get your shit together, Aaron, because I have no patience for people who don’t keep their promises. I need to able to count on you, trust that your word means something, you feel me?”
Much to his embarrassment, Aaron felt hot tears burning in his eyes. Life sucked so very badly at the moment. Would it ever stop? He swallowed, determined to fight back the tears. “You’re right. I’m trying, but I don’t know where to start. It’s all so overwhelming.”
“Do you want my help?”
His head jerked up. “Of course I do!” What kind of question was that?
Blake’s expression was kind. “You haven’t asked for it, so far.”
Aaron frowned. Why would he have to ask for help? Couldn’t Blake see he needed it? Why would he make Aaron go through the humiliation of having to explicitly ask for it? “I didn’t realize I had to,” he said.
“And there is arrogant Aaron again.” Blake shook his head. “Boy, you know how to push my buttons, don’t you?”
Aaron shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans, feeling infinitesimally small. “I don’t mean to,” he said softly.
“I know, which is the only reason I let you get away with it. What you need more than anything is an attitude adjustment. You have this sense of entitlement that rears its ugly head all the time. Until you get rid of that, you’re not gonna get far, boy.”
“I’m not a boy. I’m twenty-four.” It was all he could say when his soul felt like it had been cut to shreds. He’d never realized how much Blake didn’t like him.
Blake’s eyes narrowed. “Then fucking act like it. You’re entitled to exactly shit, and the sooner you realize that, the better. If you want something, anything, you’re gonna have to work hard for it. And you’d better learn how to ask for help, because people aren’t exactly lining up to help you.”
He would not cry. He clenched his fists, biting back his tears with all he had. “I need help. Please.” It didn’t come out as nicely as Blake might have wanted, but it was the best Aaron could do right now. He even managed to look Blake in the eye, saw a flicker of something he couldn’t identify.
“All right, then. Let’s get to work. Since you seem to enjoy cleaning, why don’t you start by dusting and vacuuming the entire studio? After that, you can clean the big blue mat with a special cleaning product you’ll find in the cupboard below the kitchen faucet. Make sure it’s all done and dry before five because that’s when the kids’ lesson starts.”
Aaron’s mouth dropped slightly open. When Blake had said he could use Aaron’s help, this was not what he had in mind. He’d thought it was a quick job, like hanging up a picture or something. Not hours and hours of cleaning, and especially not after he’d already done the kitchen and living room at home. Besides, he’d asked the guy for help. How did cleaning help him?
“I don’t get it. How does this help me?”
Blake sighed. “Remember what I said about you not being entitled to shit? You’ve lived in my home for almost a month now, without paying rent. Think that’s what you’re entitled to? Think again. Until you’re able to pay rent, you can work it off. Now, get your ass to work, because I have more to do.”
* * *
As he satin his tiny office, updating the financial data for the previous month, Blake wondered if he’d been too hard on Aaron. It was always a tricky line between confronting the folks he tried to help with a truth they needed to see, and hurting them so much it rendered them completely passive. He could only hope he’d gotten it right with Aaron. He wasn’t a bad kid, not by any means. Simply spoiled, as far as Blake could tell.
It was hard, because Aaron often behaved in contradicting ways. Self-assured and cocky one second, insecure and hurt the next. Entitlement and arrogance were followed by confusion, helplessness, and social ineptitude.
Blake wondered what the story was with Aaron and his brother Josh. As far as Blake knew, they hadn’t seen each other since Aaron moved in. Aaron hadn’t even seen him for Christmas, had spent it alone as far as Blake could tell.
It could be because of personal stuff. Blake still hadn’t been able to figure out what Noah and Josh were to Indy, and to each other, let alone what that cop’s role was, but they were obviously tight. Noah had apparently been in the hospital, and Indy had been on the run for some reason, so Josh likely had more on his mind than hanging out with his brother. Plus, from the little interaction he’d witnessed, they weren’t exactly close. Josh had seemed happy to be rid of him.
A soft buzzer alerted him someone had come in. Aaron was vacuuming the main floor, so he couldn’t have heard it. Blake got up and walked into the hallway.
“Indy!” he said, surprised to see the young man by himself. “How are you?”
Indy was dressed in his gi, proudly wearing his brown belt. He was a natural, exactly like the letter from Matt Fox had said. Blake had no idea what Indy’s story was, but if Matt Fox requested you’d train him for free and keep his identity a secret, that’s what you did. The guy was the highest-ranking Brazilian-jiujitsu professor in the country, a true guru of the sport. Blake had met the man twice, had seen him fight once, and was still in awe of his skills.
“Good. Thank you again for being a go-between for me and Connor.”
Blake nodded. “No problem. You here to train?”
Indy looked apologetic. “If possible. I wasn’t sure I would be able to come, so I didn’t call.”
“You here by yourself?”
“Yeah. Noah is still recuperating from his surgery, and Josh is taking care of him. Connor’s at work.”
Blake marveled at the casual way Indy suggested the four of them were together. They couldn’t be, could they? Fuck, what did he care? He’d seen stranger things, and if they loved each other and it made them happy, it was fine with him. He honestly didn’t care, as long as it was all consensual.
“No problem. I need to finish something in the office, so why don’t you get warmed up?”
Indy nodded. “Thanks, Professor.”
Blake smiled as he went back to his office. He loved grappling with Indy, as he was so ridiculously talented. He was at most five foot six, so Blake had a good five or six inches on him and at least fifty pounds, but the guy simply never gave up. He did not know the word defeat.
It didn’t happen often to Blake that he misjudged people, but he’d been completely off about the interaction between Noah and Indy. When the boy had shown up for the first time with that big guy in tow, his body language had been uncomfortable. Blake was a trained observer, and he’d spotted tiny moments of hesitation and flinching on Indy’s part, followed by deliberate contact initiated by Indy. Blake had concluded Indy wasn’t comfortable with Noah, was afraid of him on some level.
He’d been wrong.
Indy was uncomfortable with anyone touching him, though he tolerated it during grapples and practice and it was getting better. Blake could only guess the cause, but he didn’t want to. It wasn’t his place, and by now he was confident that whatever the relationship was between Indy, Noah, Josh and even Connor, Indy was safe and loved.
It had been unfortunate that Josh had concluded Blake had an issue with gays. He didn’t, not even close. How could he, when he himself was gay? Not that he was broadcasting it. Brazilian jiujitsu was still a bit of a macho sport, and he didn’t want to deal with the inevitable homophobic reactions from some people. Also, not all parents were okay with a gay man teaching their kids.
But his brothers knew and so did his close friends, and of course the one-night stands he fucked at a gay club twenty miles away. He only went once a month or so, but he rarely left without finding a suitable guy willing to bottom for him. It wasn’t ideal but it worked. For now, at least.
He quickly finished his bookkeeping so he could move on to more fun stuff. He changed into his gi, preferring to be on equal terms with Indy. It could be a disadvantage when one person was wearing one and the other wasn’t, since it made gripping and pulling your opponent down easier.
When he walked into the main room, Aaron had shut off the vacuum cleaner and was talking to Indy. Oh, fuck. He’d completely forgotten Aaron was there. Damn. He’d wanted to keep him away from Indy, not sure if Indy wanted Josh's brother to know him. Well, too late now.
Aaron had his back toward Blake, but Blake had no trouble picking up his words.
“Maybe we could go out some time?”
Blake’s eyes went big. What the fuck? Aaron was asking Indy out? Shit, the kid really had no self-preservation instinct, did he? Anger rose up in him. What the hell did Aaron think he was doing, asking strangers out like that? Fucking moron.
Indy found his eyes over Aaron’s shoulder and shot him an apologetic look. Blake sent him a reassuring smile back. Nothing to apologize for. Definitely not his fault. There was not a sliver of doubt who had initiated this. The concept of Indy flirting was too absurd to even consider.
“Look, I’m sure you’re really nice, but you’re skipping a few steps.”
Aaron jammed his hands into his pockets, which seemed to be his go-to thing when he was insecure. “I just want to get to know you better.”
“You could’ve started by asking my name. Then I would’ve told you that my name is Indy, and I am Noah’s boyfriend. It would’ve saved us both this highly uncomfortable conversation.”
Aaron’s posture froze. “How did you know who I was?”
“Dude, you look enough like Josh to make it obvious. You guys have the same build, the same eyes, and you even sound the same. I know you recently came out as gay, but Aaron, you really need to learn how to do this. You cannot walk up to men you’ve barely met and ask them out. Somebody will take offense and beat the shit out of you.”
Blake stepped in. “They already have, and I’m starting to see why.”
Aaron blushed fiercely. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“Actually, I can,” Indy said. “It’s offensive to be asked out simply because you can tell I’m gay. It reeks of you wanting to lose your gay V-card, and while I’m sure there are guys more than happy to help you out, it doesn’t appeal to me at all. You’re not even close to being my type, as any gay man would’ve been able to tell you, and I’m damn sure I’m not yours, either.”
Indy wasn’t pulling any punches, and Blake almost felt sorry for Aaron. Almost, because Blake’s anger was still bubbling below the surface, and there was no doubt in his mind Aaron needed to hear this. He might not realize it now, but Indy was doing him a massive service. “Why would I not be your type?”
Indy deserved credit for not rolling his eyes at that question. Blake totally would have, no doubt in his mind. “You’ve met Noah, right? That’s my type. Big, strong, bossy as fuck. Which would be your type as well, if I had to hazard a guess.”
Aaron’s face grew even redder. Blake suppressed a chuckle. It looked like Indy’s guess had been spot-on.
“How the f-f-fuck would you know what my type is?” Aaron sputtered, clearly embarrassed as hell. It would have come out a lot stronger if he hadn’t stuttered on the word “fuck.”
Indy merely laughed. “Experience. Now, that’s ‘How to Be Gay 101’ for today. I have a training I want to get back to.”
He turned around, but Aaron, clearly frustrated by something, stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder. Blake winced, knowing what was coming. Within a second, Indy grabbed that hand and put his foot back, twisting his hips, effectively slinging Aaron over his hip, flat on the ground. The air left Aaron’s lungs with an audible whoosh. That had to hurt, especially since his previous injuries weren’t completely healed. Well, he shouldn’t have touched Indy.
Lesson learned. Hopefully.
Aaron groaned in pain. “What the heck did you do that for?”
Indy looked at him calmly, not even breaking a sweat. “Don’t ever, ever put your hands on me again.” He turned around and went back to his warm-up exercises as if nothing had happened.
Blake reached out a hand to Aaron, letting him pull himself up. Aaron grimaced in pain. Good. Hopefully, he’d remember this for the next time. “Can he do that? Isn’t there like a code for jiujitsu or something that you can’t use it to harm others?”
Blake mentally counted to ten. For some reason, this boy exasperated him. “Did you put your hands on him?” he asked.
“I was only touching his shoulder!”
Blake was done being patient. Apparently, the message had not been clear enough yet. He stepped in, bringing their faces close. They were the same height so he stared hard into Aaron’s eyes. “You put your hands on him without his permission. He defended himself, as is his right. The next time I see you do that with him or with anyone else, I will kick you out on your ass. Do you feel me?”
Aaron nodded, clearly intimidated. Good. Maybe a solid dose of fear would help him develop some common sense. Fuck knew he needed it.
Nora Phoenix is a bestelling author of MM romance. She writes in various subgenres of gay romance, including contemporary, mpreg, and sci fi. Nora is known for a mix of steamy romance, usually a dash of kink, all the feels, and some suspense.
Proud single mom. Book addict. Eternal optimist. Unapologetic feminist. Ace. Panromantic.
iTUNES / AUDIOBOOKS / CHIRP / B&N
No Filter #1
No Limits #2
No Fear #3
Series
