The Sunset Job (The Rainbow's Seven 1)

“Yes, yes, oh shit, Roman, baby, you’re going to make me come.”

“Do it,” he growled, fucking into Wyatt so that it echoed in the room. “Blow your load. I want to feel your ass when you come.”

Wyatt’s eyebrows dipped, his mouth forming the shape of an O and losing all ability to form words. His entire body gave a spasm as Roman fucked the come right out of him, Wyatt shooting jets of come right over his shoulder, splattering the headboard, some of it landing on his chin.

Roman’s grunts turned animalistic, his thrusts erratic. His eyes rolled back as he came, filling Wyatt up, so much so that Wyatt could feel the streams of come.

Both of them, spent and emptied, melted into the bed, Roman’s entire body weight creating a comforting pressure.

The blissful mix of oxytocin and endorphins flooded Wyatt and turned him into a giddy blob of a human. He chuckled into Roman’s chest, only just beginning to get feeling back in his toes, the rest of his nervous system catching up after the hard restart Roman had just given him. He reached over and managed to grab a shirt, wiping himself off as best he could.

“Goddamn,” Roman said, kissing Wyatt’s head, his swollen cock still plugging Wyatt. “I think I lost my vision there for a second.”

“And I think I died for a second. Like I saw the other side. Holy shit.”

Roman laughed, his body encasing Wyatt’s, surrounding him in a sense of peace and safety. Roman shifted his hips and pulled himself out, leaving Wyatt slightly sore and already craving more, come dripping down the back of his thigh. He flipped over, throwing a leg over Roman’s, both of them looking up at the ceiling with drunken smiles playing on their dimly lit faces.

“When did you learn how to move your ass like that?” Roman asked as he moved an arm underneath Wyatt, who cuddled in with his head resting on Roman’s smooth, muscular chest.

“You haven’t been the only one living life these past few years. I’ve managed to have a good time, even without you around.”

“As good a time as you had tonight?”

Wyatt mulled that one over for a second. “No, not as good as tonight.”

Roman smiled, twirling Wyatt’s messy hair between two fingers. It was one of Wyatt’s favorite displays of affection, whenever someone would lazily stroke his head, playing with his hair and massaging his scalp.

“What did you mean, back in the underwater tunnel? How you’ve been through some shit? What happened, Roman?”

His chest rose with a deep breath, lifting Wyatt’s head with it. He could hear the woosh of air that filled his lungs. The lub-dub beat of his heart, slow and rhythmic. All of Roman’s inner workings creating a soundtrack of Wyatt’s most loved music.

“A lot happened, more than I think I can say in a night.”

“What’s the biggest thing that happened, then? Since I’ve been gone?”

Another deep breath filled his chest. “Well, let’s see. I ended up graduating but got mixed up with the wrong people, my uncle being one of them. He brought me into his ‘business’ after I graduated, and I helped him for a couple of years, watching him lead and learning as I went along. Three years into it, and we were betrayed. An entire job ended up being a trap, and we walked right into it.”

“Who set the trap?”

“The Pride. Leonidas himself. He hated my uncle, always said it was because of my uncle stealing his wife, but I had a feeling it ran even deeper than that. Leonidas executed him, right in front of me. I was next, but Mimic—she was part of my uncle’s original crew—she was there and saved the day.

“I changed after that. I’d never taken a life before then, always using blunt force to knock someone out or aiming for nonvitals if I had to shoot. After that, my aim shifted. Pulling the trigger became easier, but so did becoming a leader. I slipped right into the role, and over time, I collected the group we have today.”

“The Rainbow’s Seven,” Wyatt said, his fingers trailing down Roman’s side.

“You know, the day before my uncle died, I had a dream. It was one I had often, but I remember it being so fucking vivid that night. It was you and me, lying out on a beach, but the ocean was full of stars instead of water. And we’d make love until the sun disappeared and reappeared at least twice, three, four, five times. Lost track, until I’d wake up. It was one of those dreams that leave you depressed the second you open your eyes and realize none of it was real.

“I wanted to make it real. I booked a flight—I still have it in my email. I was going to find you, apologize for everything. Make it right somehow. Except I never made the flight.”