Resist (Sphere of Irony 3)

“Mitch. We’re here to talk,” she murmurs.

I don’t reply. My only thought is to get that twisted asshole Grant as far away from Gavin as possible.

“This is Sasha Knight,” I tell the guard. “She’s also FBI.”

Sasha helpfully produces her I.D. handing it to the large man. He inspects it, his sharp gaze matching the picture to Sasha’s face, then hands it back. “Go on in,” he says, turning the knob and pushing the door open.

The bodyguard leans in the foyer, calling out our arrival. “Mr. Walker, you have visitors.”

Across the length of Gavin’s open floor plan, I see Grant crowding Gavin against the countertop in the kitchen. My blood pressure rises to near explosive when he stumbles back as if caught doing something inappropriate. Which, in fact, he is.

Dark, primal instincts unfurl in my chest. The need to protect and fight for what’s mine roars through me like a feral animal needing to stake its claim.

Operating on reflexes, I sprint through the house and grab Grant by his jacket, slamming him against the nearest wall, which happens to be a pantry of some sort. The door behind him cracks like a thunderclap, splintering from the force of the blow.

“Mitch?” I can hear Gavin’s surprised voice, but my only focus is on keeping this predator away from the man I love.

Love? I shake my head, too enraged to think about that right now. “What the fuck were you just doing?” I snarl, literally bearing my teeth in anger.

“Hale?” Grant sputters. “You’re insane! Let me go!” He tries to twist out of my grasp, so I clamp a hand on his throat to hold him still.

His partner comes into the room and I hear Sasha trying to keep him out of the fray.

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“You fucking piece of shit,” I hiss, my inner caveman rejoicing at the chance to defend Gavin and get payback for the years of torture Grant subjected me to. “Don’t go near him.”

Hatred bubbles up, burning my throat like bile. The urge to punch his smug face gnaws away at my lizard brain, refusing to be tamped down by reason.

“You’re fucked up, Hale. Just like you were at the bureau!” Grant laughs, but it’s a high-pitched, nervous laughter.

I pull my fist back, ready to break this fucker’s jaw.

“Mitch, stop.” Gavin is at my shoulder, his warm hands curled around my wrist, attempting to calm me down.

“Did he fuck with you?” I growl, glancing at Gavin over my shoulder.

God, he’s beautiful. The adrenaline, the loathing, the need for revenge, Gavin’s presence… they all combine into a high so perfect, so rooted in the deep part of my brain that still responds to my animalistic needs, that my cock begins to stiffen.

Van Zandt is becoming agitated where Sasha has him pinned in a corner of the kitchen. My gaze returns to Grant, his face red, a line of spit trailing from the corner of his mouth, and I see it. The man is shit-his-pants terrified of me. That cocksure attitude I used to find so attractive is gone, the façade peeled back to expose the manipulative coward that he is.

I remove my hand from his throat and push back, not breaking eye contact until I’m sure he won’t retaliate, but I already know he won’t. Grant Halifax is only good at the mental mindfuck. He can’t and won’t hold his own with someone physically.

Reaching deep into my rational side, I turn and take Gavin’s hand, towing him from the room and straight up the stairs. With a booted foot I kick the door to the master bedroom closed behind us with a deafening bang. When Gavin opens his mouth to ask a question, I grab his face and crash my lips down over his.

Stunned, it takes Gavin a minute to respond, but when he does, he’s almost violent in his need. Gavin’s strong hands circle my ass, long fingers digging into the muscles painfully. His hard cock presses alongside mine and I counter by thrusting my hips forward, not caring that the rough fabric or zipper of my jeans is probably chafing my dick.

“God I missed you,” I moan, plunging my tongue into his mouth, reveling in the familiar taste. I inhale deeply, letting the scent of coconut, and sun, and sweat overwhelm my senses.

Breathless, Gavin rips his mouth away long enough to yank his threadbare T-shirt over his head and shove down his board shorts. He grips the hem of my shirt, practically tearing it off and tossing it behind his head. I can tell by the way his eyes widen that he’s going to ask about my scar.

To distract him, I fumble to undo my fly. It works, Gavin slapping my hand away, deftly undoing it and kneeling as he pulls my pants down to my ankles.

“Baby,” he moans, grabbing my ass and burying his face in my groin, inhaling deeply.

“Jesus, Gav,” my breath hitches, then stops completely when he swallows my cock. “Fuu-uuck,” the air punches out of me in a huff at the pleasure of his hot mouth and perfect suction.

Gavin moans, sending a shudder through my balls all the way up my spine. Much too soon, I can feel my release straining to be contained.