Chapter Twenty-nine
Rayne
“Mmmm, god yes,” Rayne moaned for the tenth time since he’d settled his aching body into the deep tub. He was submerged up to his chin in the steaming water as he took long inhales of the stress-relief lavender bath oil he’d dumped in first.
He flipped open his phone and saw that Chelsea had responded to his text about canceling their movie night and told him to call her when he could. Instead of dialing her back, he went to his sponsor’s contact and sent him a text.
I think I’m about to be in a relationship… a real relationship, Cliff.
Rayne reclined against the thick blue towel he’d folded into a makeshift pillow and closed his eyes. Finally, he was safe… he was home. It was crazy how he and Mike had gotten to this point, but here they were.
Rayne arched his back as thoughts of when he’d first met Mike drifted through his mind on a loop that kept him in a constant state of arousal. Thoughts of when he’d first heard that raspy voice. When he first saw Mike’s switchblade after he’d threatened another man to protect him. Thoughts of him standing outside waiting to be picked up from jail. Mike running his business and that crew of dangerous thugs like a boss. Mike coming to his rescue and grabbing him in his arms, then beating the shit out of his uncle for daring to hurt him. He kept seeing Mike’s power, strength, and dedication over and over.
Rayne desperately wanted to reach between his legs. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He didn’t want to get out of this damn tub, but he had to. The oils in the water made his skin slick and smooth, and each time he bowed his back, his nipples would break the surface and stiffen from the kiss of cool air. Oh god. Just when Rayne thought he was going to lose it, Cliff messaged him back.
You think you’re in a relationship? Well then congrats, I think! I’m happy for you! With Mike right??
Rayne stepped out of the tub and wrapped a towel around his hips before he responded.
Yes. And he kissed me.
Annnnd…
Rayne chuckled as he quickly typed, and no we didn’t make love… but gaahh I want to.
I’m sure you do.
Rayne rolled his eyes at all the laughing emojis. His sponsor was ten years older than him, but he acted ten years younger.
Is it crazy to have these strong feelings for him so soon? I like him a whole lot already. It’s scary… and bizarre, right?
For us, it’s not crazy. When we recover from our illness, we love deeper and harder than most can understand.
Rayne held his breath while he typed the next message. I’m living with him now.
Cliff’s reply was almost instant. We need to meet.
“I had a feeling you were gonna say that,” Rayne muttered. He replied okay and that he’d let Cliff know what day was good next week.
Soon Rayne.
Okay, Rayne typed, then slammed his phone shut. Cliff could say whatever he wanted, but Rayne wasn’t going anywhere. He knew what he was doing.
Rayne wasn’t going to try to unpack any luggage tonight. It was after midnight, and his body was telling him to crash, but his stomach was rumbling at him to eat something. He mentally kicked himself for leaving all of his food at the trailer because he doubted Mike had any celery and peanut butter or some trail mix with extra craisins.
Rayne tied his robe around his naked body and cracked the door open to his bedroom. Immediately, he heard Mike’s rapid breaths and the intense sound of fists pounding the fuck out of something. Is he hitting a punching bag this late at night? Rayne kept his steps light as he crept across the hall, glad it was carpeted, and peered through the small opening like some goddamn Peeping Tom. Jesus, that’s exactly what he’s doing.
Mike had a pair of black earbuds pushed into his ears, and Rayne hoped he had the music turned up loud because he couldn’t quiet his heavy breaths as he gawked at the vibrant garden of flowers tattooed over Mike’s back. He wore nothing but a pair of black nylon basketball shorts and athletic tape wrapped around his knuckles and wrist. His body was glistening with sweat, his back muscles rippling with each blow he struck. God help me. Mike grunted and hissed between his teeth each time his fists made contact with the heavy bag as he circled around it, throwing rapid combinations.
An unconscious whimper escaped before Rayne spun around and pinned his back against the wall. His cock was pushing against the cool silk material of his robe as he tried to catch his breath, tried to get the craving under control, but he was paralyzed. His body wouldn’t obey his commands, his head spinning as he bowed forward and braced his hands on his knees.
Just breathe, Rayne. He didn’t even know he could get this turned on—no man had ever gotten under his skin like this. Deep breaths, he coaxed over and over until his dick no longer felt as if it was going to erupt.
The punching was beginning to slow down, and Rayne managed to get his feet moving. He raced down the stairs and took refuge in the kitchen. He didn’t know what his reaction would’ve been if Mike had come out of that room half-naked, sweaty, and out of breath… Rayne probably would’ve pounced. He opened the refrigerator to get another bottle of water but ended up reaching for a beer instead. He wouldn’t mind something stronger, but he wasn’t about to go searching for a liquor cabinet. Rayne drank a few sips of the cold brew, then checked the vegetable trays in the refrigerator for some fresh fruit or deli meat, but all he found was a pack of bologna and some yellow American cheese.
Goddamnit. What is it with these guys and this nasty-ass meat?
There was also a half-empty jar of grape jam, some butter, and mustard on the door. Rayne sucked his teeth because this wouldn’t do; he’d have to go to the grocery store first thing in the morning. Meanwhile, Rayne opted for the loaf of bread that was beside the toaster. He made himself a couple of pieces of jelly toast and ate them at the breakfast bar. Rayne wasn’t as tired as he thought he’d be, but he was excited to get in his new bed and wake up in Mike’s home to spend all day and evening with him. Maybe he could make them a nice dinner for tomorrow night. He made a mental shopping list while he thought of something simple but delicious he could whip up.
His snack was enough to curb his appetite, and just like at Trent and Wood’s place, Rayne was meticulous and made sure he cleaned his jelly knife and wiped away the crumbs on the counter. He turned the kitchen light off and headed back upstairs.
Rayne was almost in his bedroom when Mike emerged from the hall bathroom in a thick cloud of steam with a gray towel cinched so low around his hips that Rayne’s gaze locked right onto the slick black hair covering Mike’s abs. All thoughts and reasoning faded and bled into pure heated need. He swallowed around a dry throat as he stared at the water droplets cascading through the dips and valleys of Mike’s lower torso.
“Rayne.” The way Mike said his name sounded like a threat. One that he ignored. One that sent a thrill of danger up his spine.
The heat of Mike’s gaze and the danger lurking in his deep voice did nothing to deter him. Rayne was moving, and before he knew it, he was standing in front of Mike, his chest swelling, his breaths shallow. Longing ate at the chains restraining him until he refused to fight it any longer. Rayne stood in Mike’s space, his eyes locked on the intricate detail of the tribal art drawn over his left pec and covering his broad shoulder. So much vivid artwork decorated Mike’s strong body that Rayne didn’t know where to start first.
As if he was in a desert, dying of thirst, a drop of water along Mike’s collarbone caught his attention, and Rayne dipped his head and chased it with the flat of his tongue, gathering the warm water in his mouth and drinking it down. Mike’s unbearably male taste saturated his senses and made him crazy. Rayne delighted in the rumble of Mike’s growl beneath his tongue before he was picked up and controlled by powerful arms.
Rayne clamped his legs around Mike’s body and struggled to hold on as Mike made his world spin away.