I come with a shout, spilling over his hand and wrist in hot pulses. My knees nearly buckle as the orgasm tears through me, more intense than anything I’ve experienced before. Jacob works me through it, his grip gentling as the last aftershocks subside.
We stay frozen like that for a moment: me half-standing, half-leaning over him, both of us catching our breath. Reality starts to seep back in, bringing with it questions I’m not ready to face. What just happened? What does it mean? Where do we go from here?
But Jacob’s expression holds no regret, no panic like last time. Just a dazed satisfaction and something like wonder as he looks at the mess we’ve made of each other.
9
Riley
The Rusty Anchor is exactly the kind of place I’d never choose myself. Dark wood paneling absorbs what little light manages to penetrate the windows, the air thick with beer and testosterone, and a crowd that looks like they could bench press me while discussing the finer points of ladder truck operation. Leave it to Bobby to drag me here on my one free Friday night, claiming we need “brotherly bonding” when I can see his real motive eyeing the firefighters scattered across the room, their station t-shirts stretched tight across broad shoulders.
“Really?” I gesture toward a particularly rowdy table where a few guys wearing Station 13 shirts are laughing over beers. “A firefighter bar? Subtle, Bobby.”
My brother grins, unashamed, and takes a sip of his overly complicated cocktail: blue with multiple garnishes that looks wildly out of place among the beer bottles and whiskey glasses populating other tables.
“What?” He widens his eyes innocently. “The drinks are good. And the bartender is hot.”
I roll my eyes but can’t help smiling. Bobby’s never been one to hide his intentions, and I’ve always appreciated his honesty,even when it comes wrapped in flamboyance and overpriced accessories.
The bartender appears in front of us, all dark hair and lean muscle beneath a fitted black t-shirt. The name tag pinned to his chest reads “River.” He moves with quiet grace as he wipes down the bar in front of us.
“You gentlemen good with these?” River asks, his eyes tracking everything in the bar even as he focuses on us.
“I could go another round,” Bobby replies, his voice dropping into the flirtatious purr he reserves for attractive men.
“Same for me,” I add.
River’s mouth quirks up at one corner. “Coming right up.” He moves to make the drinks, returning a moment later to slide my whiskey across the bar top before starting to mix Bobby a new blue concoction.
My gaze drifts to the small rainbow flag pinned beside the liquor shelf behind him, next to a sign that reads “All Are Welcome Here.” “Nice to see that,” I say, nodding toward it.
River follows my gaze and smiles, genuine warmth replacing his professional politeness. “It’s important.” His eyes flick briefly toward the Station 13 table before returning to Bobby’s drink. “Everyone deserves a place where they can just be themselves.”
“Amen to that,” Bobby says, raising his nearly empty glass.
River sets the finished blue concoction in front of Bobby with a slight nod. “Enjoy, gentlemen.”
With that, he moves off to serve other customers, and I turn back to Bobby, who’s watching River’s retreat with undisguised appreciation.
“So,” I begin, swirling the amber liquid in my glass. The question has been sitting in my throat ever since… well, since Jacob. “Can I ask you something personal?”
Bobby’s eyebrows shoot up. “Personal as in my sex life? Because there are some things even brothers shouldn’t share.”
“No, not that specific.” I take a sip. “More like… when did you know? That you liked men?”
Bobby stares at me for a moment, his expression shifting from surprise to thoughtfulness. “I always knew,” he says finally. “There wasn’t some big revelation moment. I just… never felt anything for girls. Not the way my friends talked about them.” He tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “Why are you asking me this now? You never asked before.”
I shrug. “Just curious.”
“Bullshit.” Bobby leans forward, his voice dropping despite the noise in the bar. “You’ve known I was gay since I was like, twelve. Mom and Dad knew too. You all just waited for me to say it.”
“And we were right to do that.”
“You were,” he agrees. “But that doesn’t explain why, after ten-plus years of not talking about it, you’re suddenly interested in my sexual awakening.” His eyes widen suddenly. “Holy shit. Is this about you and that fighter? The mountain man who was in your office?”
Heat crawls up my neck, and I know I’m turning the same shade of red that betrays me in every emotionally charged situation. “No. It’s not about Jacob.”
“Jacob, is it?” Bobby’s grin is wolfish. “First-name basis. Interesting.”