Tag Team (14 page)

Rig groaned and pushed his palm against his throbbing shaft. Fuck, he was horny. A week! He never went that long. How the hell did the subs endure this kind of torture? It wouldn’t take much to get him off, a couple hard pulls and…. Fuck it. Rig scanned the area, looking to see if anyone was on the beach. Satisfied he was alone, he spit into his hand and shoved it past the waistband of his shorts, wrapping his cock in a tight wet fist. Eyes fixed on the rolling waves, Rig ran his hand down his entire length; the precum seeping from his slit added even more slick, and he sped his hand, teasing the flared head with the pad of his thumb on each pass.

“Fuck yeah,” he groaned under his breath. He just needed to take the edge off. Later when he had Bobby alone and in their bed, there would be plenty of time for mind-blowing pleasure. This….
Ah, shit
… his balls drew up close to his body. This was about pure fucking animal need for release.

A little more….

He tightened his hold to an almost painful degree; the calluses across his palms added the perfect amount of bite.

Almost….

His breath came in short pants, chest rising and falling rapidly, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head as he chased his orgasm.

“Hey, Rig?”

NO!

“Rig, is that you down there?” Bobby called again from behind him.

Rig halted his hand midstroke and increased the hold he had on his dick until he winced.
This is not motherfucking happening
.

“Rig, are you okay?”

Rig groaned. Great, Mason too.
Just fucking kill me.
In fact, he didn’t need to ask anyone. His goddamn dick was going to explode, and he’d probably bleed to death before they could get him off the beach.

“Yeah….” His voice cracked and he coughed, clearing his throat before trying again. “Yeah. I’m fine,” he shouted over his shoulder without turning around.

When the immediate danger passed, he turned loose of his dick and positioned the waistband of his boxers just below the head, trying to hold it against his body. It was no use; that son of a bitch wasn’t going to cooperate. The screaming throb was like a—
fuck you, bud, finish or deal
.

He could hear Mason and Bobby chatting, their voices getting closer. Guess he was going to deal.

“Hey, Rig,” Mason said when they stepped up close. “Bobby made coffee and I made chocolate chip cookies. We were wondering if you wanted to join us?”

“Those are not
just
chocolate chip cookies,” Bobby added. “Wait till you try them, Rig. You’re going to cream yourself they’re so fucking good. He added an orange zest.”

You have no idea
, Rig moaned silently. “Cookies, huh?” he muttered.
You interrupted my nut for cookies?
He shot Bobby a glare, but he doubted Bobby would get the full effect in the darkness. “You didn’t have to walk all the way down here. You could have called.”

“We tried, but figured you wouldn’t answer since you left your cell sitting on the deck,” Bobby explained. Bobby ran his hand down Rig’s back. “You okay?” he asked again. “You sound a little hoarse. You’re not coming down with something, are you?” Bobby reached up and laid the back of his hand against Rig’s forehead.

“No,” he grunted and slapped Bobby’s hand away. “Throat’s just a little dry.”
Panting as you’re about to get off does that.

“There’s fresh orange juice if you’d rather. C’mon, Rig, before they get cold,” Mason encouraged and grabbed Rig’s forearm and tugged.

What the hell else could he do but follow the eager guy? Each step was a lesson in agony, but somehow Rig trudged through the shifting sand beneath his feet, grumbling and groaning to himself the entire way.

Bobby was right; the cookies were amazing, soft, warm, and gooey. The addition of the orange zest made a good cookie awesome, and a large glass of ice water helped his dry throat, but thirty minutes later Rig was still achingly hard. Again he thought,
How the hell do people go this long and not lose their fucking minds?
He’d allowed Bobby to tie him up a couple of times, and when he’d still been in training, he’d felt the kiss of leather, the pinch of pain from clamps and cages, but seriously? This whole denial thing was just pure unimaginable torture.

“Rig?” Bobby barked and shoved his elbow into Rig’s ribs, causing him to yelp.

“What?” he growled and glared at his partner.

Bobby’s brow furrowed, and he looked Rig up and down. “What the hell is wrong with you? Mason just asked if you wanted any more cookies before he put them away.”

“Oh shit. Sorry, Mason,” he said, turning to meet Mason’s concerned eyes, guilt assaulting him. “Thanks for the offer but I’ve had my fill,” he said, patting his gut, then went to his feet. Luckily, the kitchen island blocked Mason and Bobby’s view of Rig’s thick bulge. “They were awesome, but I think I’m going to turn in early tonight.” To Bobby he said, “You ready to go?”

Bobby shot him a questioning look. Rig just shrugged. “Uh sure,” Bobby said warily. “Let me help Mason clean up these dishes and we’ll go.” Bobby hesitated, staring at Rig for a moment longer as if he could find the answers to the questions written in Rig’s body language or in his eyes, but Rig carefully relaxed his stance and, from years of practice, schooled his features, showing nothing of his discomfort or his longing.

Bobby wasn’t fooled.

“Actually. I was hoping….” Mason looked down at his feet. “I was kind of hoping that….” He huffed out a breath. “Never mind. It’s stupid.”

He and Bobby responded immediately to the nervous lilt to Mason’s voice. Bobby, being the closer of the two, placed his hand on Mason’s back. “I’m sure it’s not stupid. What were you hoping?” he asked gently.

Mason continued to stare down at his feet for a few more seconds, but Rig didn’t miss the way the tension in the man’s shoulders seemed to relax with Bobby’s touch or the way he leaned ever so slightly toward Bobby.

A nervous chortle escaped Mason, and without looking up finally blurted out, “I was hoping you guys would stay tonight.” Mason then seemed to hold his breath, the tension returning as if waiting for a blow.

“You want us to stay all night?” Bobby asked and looked at Rig with wide eyes. Before Rig could respond, Bobby added, “Sure we can, if that’s what you need. Can’t we, Rig?”

Ah, Jesus. Someone was testing Rig. No, they were fucking with him, just to see if they could break him, and at this rate it wasn’t going to take long. Rig nodded. “Yeah, sure, we can stay,” he responded tightly.

Mason lifted his head, his smile broad, and Rig instantly felt contrite his first thought had been no. Rig tried to smile, but he was pretty sure it came out as more of a pained snarl. He grudgingly started his mantra of
Mason’s needs outweigh yours and Bobby’s
.

“Great! I’ll get the kitchen cleaned up and then freshen up the guest room.” Mason turned and moved toward the sink.

“I’ll help—” Rig grabbed Bobby’s arm and stopped him from following the younger man. “What the hell has gotten into you tonight?” Bobby cursed. Rig easily recognized the irritation in his tone, which was fine since Rig was a little frustrated himself.

He leaned over the island, tugging Bobby toward him at the same time, and whispered close to Bobby’s ear. “I think we should run home for a bit.”

“What? Why?” Bobby tried to pull back, but Rig held tight.

The sound of the water running and the clanking of dishes helped disguise their conversation. “It’s been a week,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

“I know, I’m surprised he’s asking us to stay,” he murmured. “This is a good thing, Rig. He’s starting to really trust us.”

Rig shook his head. “It’s not that,” he grunted in frustration. “You know how much I hate the color blue? I hate it even more when it’s the color of my ’nads.”

Bobby’s eyes narrowed, and then realization set in and they filled with laughter and went wide. “Oh.” Bobby snickered. Rig wanted to whack the bastard upside his curly head.

“A week,” he reminded him gruffly.

“Uh, yeah….” He looked back at Mason, who was filling the sink with dishes, and then back to Rig. “Just let me help him clean up and we’ll run home and take care of your little problem.”

Rig arched a brow.

“Okay, okay,” he laughed, pulling free and holding his hands up as if to ward off an attack. “Big problem,” he mouthed silently.

Bobby turned away before he saw Rig’s response, which was just a silent “Damn right it’s a big fucking problem.”

The kitchen was too small for the three of them to move around in. Rig paced while Bobby and Mason washed and dried the dishes. The two of them happily chatted about favorite recipes, foods, completely oblivious to Rig and his distress. Rig had gotten it in his head that he was going to get laid, and no matter how hard he tried to steer his focus away from what his body was demanding, he simply couldn’t do it. It was as if the harder he tried to ignore it, the harder his dick got. Like a little gnat buzzing around his head, the more he swatted at it the more irritating and insistent it became.

A droplet of sweat rolled down Rig’s spine as he continued to try and burn off the sexual energy cursing through his system. The room was suddenly too small… stuffy. Rig ran a hand through his damp hair. “Too damn hot,” he grumbled. “Bobby, I’ll wait for you on the porch,” Rig called out, already reaching for the doorknob.

Standing on the porch, Rig leaned against the railing. The breeze didn’t do much to cool his heated body, but at least it no longer felt like the walls were closing in on him. He could breathe a little easier, but not much. Fuck he was horny. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this jacked up, nor had his need for release consumed him quite this completely since he was younger. Maybe it was all the stress he’d been under the past week. He’d dealt fairly well with the haunting memories of the past, but he’d reached his limit. He just wanted to lay back, release, and relax. There definitely wasn’t a better way to burn off stress than a hot, mind-blowing orgasm. Rig tipped his head back and closed his eyes; a wry smile pulled at his lip.
Except maybe two hot
,
mind-blowing orgasms
, he mused.

Rig opened his eyes when he heard the door open behind him.
Finally
. He spun around, and his hopes plummeted to his feet when he came face-to-face with Mason’s smiling face.

“Mason needed some fresh air. He’s going to walk with us. Isn’t that great, Rig?” Bobby’s voice was cheerful, but his eyes were apologetic as he looked at Rig.

A strangled sound escaped Rig before he could reel it in.

“I don’t have to go,” Mason remarked, his smile falling. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have invited myself. You probably wanted some time alone.”

Mason’s needs outweigh yours and Bobby’s.

Resigned to his agony, Rig put an arm around Mason’s shoulders. “Don’t be silly. We’d love for you to go.” He led Mason down the steps and glanced back at Bobby, giving him a
your ass is going to pay for this later
look. The way Bobby shuddered, the message was received loud and clear. Rig smiled.

Chapter 13

S
TANDING
in front of the open window, Mason looked out toward the rolling waves of the gulf beyond. Mason ran a hand down his smooth chest, the fine sheen of perspiration slicking his way down farther across the ridges of muscle on his stomach, the thin line of dark hair below his navel soft against his palm. He dipped his pinky finger below the waistband of his shorts, a shudder going through him as it brushed across the sensitive head of his cock. With his eyes still on the shoreline in front of him, Mason pushed his shorts down just far enough to expose his hard shaft and wrapped his hand around it. His eyes fluttered closed as he began slow, even strokes up and down his length.

Mason’s eyes flew open, and he looked down at the large, familiar hand roaming across his chest as heat pressed against his back. He closed his eyes once again with a moan and leaned his head back on his lover’s shoulder, matching the strokes against his cock to that against his chest.

Callused fingers pinched and pulled at Mason’s nipples as soft lips pressed against the side of his neck, and his pulse increased, skin flushing and tingling. Mason leaned back farther, resting more of his weight on his lover’s body, and widened his stance, the rhythm of the hand on his chest and on his dick moving faster in measured strokes. He was close, could feel his sac draw up, the muscles in his body coiling, readying for release.

A cool wind blew across Mason’s back, and the hand on his chest disappeared. When he opened his eyes, he was shocked to find the sun had set; he could no longer see the gulf beyond, the room around him in complete darkness. He held a hand out in front of him, turning in a small circle, reaching out to find his lover, but he grasped only air. Mason strained to hear his lover’s breath, a footstep, anything to get a bearing of where he was, but the silence was as complete as the darkness.