Take It On The Run

Chapter 64

POV: Sumner

We still had hours to kill before we left for Liam Murphy's country estate, so I decided to make food for everyone in Mr. Dawson's giant ass kitchen.

Honestly, though, I just needed some space. Lately, I had begun to feel like an outsider, and it reminded me too much of Hurricane Katrina. I'd been an outsider then too.

When my family landed in Georgia nearly twenty years ago, I had three pairs of clothes to my name, a body riddled with third-world wounds, and an all-encompassing grief. Rumors had swirled in school about the Katrina kids, much of it thinly veiled or often blatant racism, not only from the students but also from the teachers and parents. When people weren't treating me like a juvenile delinquent, they treated me like a zoo animal.

Sloan had been the first person at my post-Katrina elementary school who hadn't treated me like a sideshow, who didn't ask invasive questions or press for morbid details about my rescue to regale her friends with later. It had taken longer for the guys to warm up to me.

I tried not to feel insecure about the past, but it was hard not to when they went behind my back and ganged up on me because I wasn't on board with dragging our girlfriend back here like some goddamn Neanderthal.

There was only one person who could dispel the tension between us, who knew how to keep the peace, and she was currently in Tallaght. Maybe it was for the best since the four of us would've unleashed all of this pent-up testosterone and uncertainty about the future on Sloan.

After the night we'd tied her up and taken turns making her come over and over again, I was almost afraid of what that reality might look like, afraid of what it would take to assuage the four of us. The mere thought of it already had me stiff.

I cared about Sloan's safety and well-being above all else, but fantasizing about her chased some of the darkness away. Right or wrong, I needed a break from this bleak reality and the constant arguments, so I allowed myself to imagine what I would do to her as I made sandwiches.

Now that Avery had finally popped Sloan's anal cherry, all I could think about was getting my hands on her beautiful ass, stretching and widening that puckered opening with my tongue until the knuckle of my finger fit inside. I'd take my sweet time eating and touching her before easing my cock into that tight hole, and then I'd—

A deep chuckle scattered my thoughts, and I looked up from the sandwich supplies I'd laid out on the kitchen island. Deacon was leaning against the ancient entryway, his arms folded across his broad chest like some sensual sentry. He flashed me a sultry grin, his cobalt gaze noticeably heated as it locked with mine.

It was an old yet familiar expression, one I never thought I'd see directed at me again. Or maybe I was just misreading the situation.

"Hiding out?" he asked wryly. Those piercing blue eyes dipped knowingly to my cock, lingering there, and the deliberateness of the gesture made me even harder.

On second thought, maybe I'd read the situation correctly the first time around...

Deacon showing interest in another dude wasn't surprising. I knew he was bisexual because our friendship hadn't always been so...uncomplicated.

He had spent the night in my bed on more than one occasion back when we were teenagers. After what happened to Sloan, it had been comforting to hold someone who understood that immense loss and holding had led to touching or sometimes even sucking. I wasn't ashamed of that past, and I was pretty sure he wasn't either since he'd followed me to New Orleans after college and insisted we live together.

What did surprise me, however, was his sudden interest in me now. Deacon and I hadn't broached this particular subject since the end of our senior year of high school.