Chapter Eight

 

He would never get tired of this view, Hugo thought with a satisfied smile. Solomon was passed out on his new bed, face down after they’d given the mattress a thorough test drive.

That ass was a thing of beauty and the proof that he couldn’t keep his hands—or anything else—off of it was all over Solomon’s skin.

His. For now that view was all his.

“Quit staring at my ass,” Solomon mumbled into his pillow. “I feel objectified.”

He laughed and slid his thigh over the rounded cheeks, pressing his lips against Solomon’s shoulder. “As long as I have eyes I’ll be looking. I can’t resist. It’s a natural wonder.”

His stomach growled and Solomon instantly lifted his head, kissing his lips before rolling out of bed to reach for his jeans. “I forgot to feed you, but I’ve got a four cheese macaroni and chicken casserole in the fridge. Let me make you a plate.”

“And now I’m hard again.” Hugo dragged himself to the side of the bed with a groan. “How did you get your hands on that kind of contraband? You were just complaining that you missed the Finn Again this month.”

Solomon tugged and zipped his pants, shifting with just enough discomfort to make Hugo’s dick twitch in sympathy. “Wyatt brought it over from Jen’s house. Apparently all you have to do to get Rig’s family to cook for you is have a baby. She’s gotten deliveries every day for a month. Thankfully, it’s too much for them to eat on their own.”

Rig was one of Rory Finn’s men. An easygoing Italian from a family of culinary wizards. According to Solomon, Jen had earned a lifetime of loyalty from Rig after helping get the threesome together.

The other threesome.

It wasn’t easy to keep track of who went with who in that family.

“All I have to do is have a baby, huh? It’s a tall order, but for that kind of service I’d give it a shot.”

Solomon’s laugh followed him down the stairs, tempting Hugo to grab a pair of sweatpants and shove the small bottle of lube in his pocket, just in case.

It was hard to imagine that life could get better than it had been these last few weeks. Even when he’d been obsessed with Chief Finn and dreaming about finally getting him to come around, he’d never thought it would be this easy. Feel this right.

He also hadn’t realized what a softy Solomon was. Babysitting his nephew, joking on the phone with his uncle, even remembering the birthday of one of the kids at the center when they went together on Hugo’s day off. It was a side of him he hadn’t known existed. Tender and protective. He was the whole package.

His mother had seen it. Cassandra Wayne couldn’t get over how sweet Younger Finn had been at dinner. She’d been hounding Hugo to invite him over for dinner again but Hugo kept putting her off.

This was still so new. He was already spending most of his free time with Solomon, already sleeping at his house two nights a week. If he let him all the way in, let his family get close and it didn’t work out again, he wasn’t sure he would be able to get over it.

He came into the kitchen in time to see Solomon bent over, sliding the casserole dish into the oven. “That definitely looks better than takeout. And this time I’m not talking about your ass.”

“My thoughts exactly. It needs a few minutes to heat up first.” Solomon stood, placing his hands on his hips and smiling over his shoulder.  “Thank God for family. We’d starve without them.”

“They have their uses. And because of that, sometimes you have to do things for them in return.”

“That’s right.” Solomon chuckled, but some of the light went out of his eyes. “I forgot. Tonight is the Guinea Pig Party with Austen.”

Hugo almost wished he could cancel. “It’s mandatory. No getting out of it without serious repercussions. At least, not for the members of the Wayne-plex. For some reason, the other three siblings always get a pass.”

“You’re more fun.”

His lips quirked. “That’s always been my theory. But I’m sorry my work schedule made me miss this.” He tilted his head toward the fresh paint on the walls. “Did Wyatt help you paint after bringing our dinner?”

“No. I wanted to do it myself, give it time to dry before you got here.”

“I like it.”

Solomon’s smile was almost shy. Pleased.

Sexy.

“Yeah? Stephen and James were both surprised at how different the place looks. I might have to shock everyone and host a Finn Again myself one night.”

Hugo moved closer and wrapped his arms around Solomon’s narrow waist. “That would shock me too, since I’ve never actually seen you cook anything more complicated than eggs.”

Solomon leaned into him, biting his lower lip and pressing their chests together. “Eggs are complicated.”

“Whatever you say, baby.” He slid his hand into Solomon’s loose jeans, squeezing his ass. “Sounds like you had more company than usual today. I’m surprised you still wanted me to drop by.”

“I always want you here, but yeah, it was an interesting day.” Solomon kissed him softly, arousal still simmering between them, even after their passionate reunion upstairs.

It never went away. If Hugo had thought he would get him out of his system, he realized now it was never going to happen. The more he had, the more he wanted. The more he’d seen of Solomon when he wasn’t being Chief Finn, the more he liked.

More than liked.

“So how long is it going to take to heat up?” He asked, breathless when he raised his head again.

“Long enough for me to have what I’ve been hungry for all day. I might have had a fantasy of my own about this kitchen.” Solomon’s impossible blue eyes were intent as he walked Hugo back toward the table, lifting him off his feet and onto the wooden surface easily enough to turn him on.

Hugo’s laugh became a gasp at the rough treatment his sweatpants got as they were dragged down his thighs. “Are you sure no more Finns are showing up for dinner?”

“They all know better.” Solomon smirked at him, setting the lube beside Hugo’s hip and lowering his head to kiss his neck. His chest. When he sucked hard on his sensitive nipple, Hugo arched his back.

“Damn, I love your mouth.”

And the way Solomon took every excuse to use it, as if he couldn’t help himself. He felt the rumbling groan as teeth skimmed across his stomach and that talented tongue traced his hipbones.

He knew where that mouth was going. It made him want more.  “Give me your hand.”

When Hugo reached for the lube Solomon bit his lower lip, growling as he felt its weight in his palm. “What’s this for?”

“Touch me,” he said, his throat dry. “I want you touching me.”

Solomon licked precum off the head of his cock, making him groan. He heard the pop of the cap before wet fingers rubbed against the seam of his ass. “Oh fuck, Younger.”

Solomon’s rough fingers were steady and sure, teasing and massaging him as his mouth slowly slid down his shaft.

Please.

Hugo’s nails dug into the table behind his back, his body strung tight as a bow as Solomon took his time, seemingly in no hurry to stop what he was doing. The long seduction played hell with his nerves, leaving him stuck in that breathless moment of anticipation until he wanted to scream. Beg.

“Younger, please,” Hugo cried, frustrated. “Do it. Don’t make me wait.”

His mouth lifted and he watched Hugo from beneath his lashes, one slick finger probing, pushing deep inside. “Is this what you want?”

Hugo groaned, shivering. “Yes. Oh God that’s it. That’s… Jesus.”

Solomon deep-throated his cock, adding another finger in his ass. Hugo nearly bent in half at the dual assault. He forced himself to watch, his hips lifting off the table as Solomon took every inch with an eager dedication that had him grinding his jaw in restraint. He didn’t want this to end.

Thick blond hair tangled around his hand as he held on tight, rocking against him. “That’s it, Younger. Take it all. God, your fingers are filling me up. Fuck me harder, baby. Fuck me until I come down your throat.”

Harder. Oh God, yes.

His thigh muscles strained as he rode Solomon’s hand, hips pumping into his mouth. Helpless. Hungry.

Again and again fingers brushed against his prostate while Solomon sucked down his cock like it was his last meal.

He couldn’t look away from the erotic sight. Couldn’t stop whispering dirty commands to watch his lover’s body shudder in reaction. He could feel the end coming and he couldn’t hold himself back anymore. It was too good.

“I’m coming, Younger. Coming so hard for you, baby.”

His orgasm was a flood that pulled him under and tossed him against the rocks. His body jerked with every jet of his release, every hungry swallow against his flesh as Solomon drank him down.

He was a shivering, boneless raw nerve by the time the fingers inside him slipped gently out, leaving him empty, clenching at the absence. He lowered himself fully on to the table and covered his face with his hands, completely spent.

He twitched when Solomon kissed his inner thigh. “Still with me?”

It was laughable, the idea that he could ever be anywhere else.

And didn’t that thought scare the hell out of him?

“I’m here. Admiring the paint job. Have I ever mentioned that I love this color?”

Solomon’s laugh was a soft breeze against his sensitized skin. “You might have said something like that once.”

The timer he’d set next to the oven dinged and Hugo jolted in surprise.

He’d forgotten dinner. Forgotten everything but Solomon.

He always did.

 

***

 

“I don’t know why you’re being so closemouthed, Hugo. Part of the fun of a GPP is listening to the three of you spill the details of your lives while I try to invent the next great face cream. And now that one of you finally has something interesting to talk about, you plead the fifth.”

The GPP, also know the Guinea Pig Party, happened once every other month or so. Austen would drag her bag of ingredients out of her closet and experiment on her siblings, while using interrogation tactics that made him wonder if she was a government operative, trained in facial cream torture. All he knew was she was good at it. So good she usually got her way.

Usually.

“It’s not that I don’t want to share every detail of my sex life.”

Yes, it was. The last thing he wanted to admit was how weak he’d become when it came to Solomon. “But I’m not saying anything with Thoreau in the house. Based on previous experience, he’d make a call to his lady friend and every member of Younger’s family would have all the details in an hour.”

Thoreau walked into their living room, a half-eaten cupcake in his hand. “Wyatt is the one with loose lips, not Fiona.”

“Fiona tells Wyatt. And who tells Fiona in the first place?” Bronte looked up from the blanket she was crocheting and raised her eyebrows. “You know Younger’s brothers were waiting to pounce on him the other day, and you know it was your fault. Confess.”

Thoreau grimaced. “Yeah, Fine. She’s got this way of getting information out of me and—”

“Oh we know the way,” Bronte interrupted. “Fiona is a regular visitor, remember? We’ve all seen you following after her like a puppy in love and we know you and Wyatt have been fighting over her attention for months.”

“It isn’t like that, Bronte. Not at all. Look, from now on I’ll tell her the topic is off limits.” He glanced around the room. “Does that work for the judges?”

Austen, Bronte and Hugo all looked at each other, then nodded at Thoreau. “We’ll accept that,” Austen said with a regal tilt of her head. “But for the record, we are not amused.”

“You get points for not bringing up my new caller,” Hugo added with a sigh. “But you have to remember that the Finn men have a tendency to gossip. At least, when it comes to relationships. They’re worse than Grammy Wayne that way.”

Like they were any better.

Bronte was scowling. “Are you talking about Boone? Is he still calling you here?” At his and Thoreau’s nods she swore under her breath. “I think Robert’s punishment wasn’t severe enough for putting that hound on your scent. He needs to be taught to take no for an answer.”

Hugo sighed. He’d thought the same thing more than once, but there was nothing threatening in any of Boone’s messages. Just irritating persistence. “He’s over Robert at work. I’d rather let him figure it out on his own.”

Thoreau joined his sister on the couch, watching Austen slap a clumpy, white paste on Hugo’s cheek. “I’ve already sworn I wouldn’t say a word, but I bet Boone would get over it faster if you did tell Younger about it. Hell, let me tell Tanaka. He could turn his phone off or flag his bank accounts.”

Bronte snorted beside him. “It’s true. And that sexy billionaire Seamus married could probably hire someone to disappear the little twerp to Siberia”

Austen tsked them both, shaking her head in disappointment. “You don’t call in those kind of favors for a guy as insignificant as Boone. He’s a gnat. Pesky but harmless. Like my last boyfriend. Mayor of Gnatville. Always hovering. Great calves though.”

“Calves?” Hugo asked, trying not to smile while she coated his face.

“Sexiest part of a man’s body, in my opinion.”

“No way.” Bronte disagreed. “Shoulders. A strong set gets me every time. Oh and the eyes. As in, can they look at you with them and not lie?”

“Ass.” Hugo was adamant. “A good handful. Mounds of joy.”

“Anyone else notice no one ever says dick?” Thoreau grumbled. “It’s my best feature and it always gets the shaft.”

Hugo was laughing so hard at that he jerked in the kitchen chair he’d been sitting in and Austen had to put her hand on his shoulder to keep him still. “Only a man would wonder about that.”

“I’m a man too, and I say he has a point,” Hugo said when he could finally breathe again. “Dick always gets the shaft.”

“Well you all talk about it enough amongst yourselves, you don’t need any help from us,” Bronte replied tartly. “But we could ask the same question, little brother. Do you think the prettiest thing about Fiona is her vagina?”

“What? No. What?” Thoreau was looking at Bronte with his mouth open.

“You heard me. I get my fill of other people’s privates all day long. I could do my own study on the subject and my conclusion wouldn’t be pretty. As in, male and female genitalia are not pretty. Not at all. No matter what you pierce it with, dust it with, bedazzle it with, doesn’t matter. The best thing you’ll ever get me to say about either gender’s private bits is that some are clean and well groomed.”

She looked around the room at her howling siblings and shook her head, smirking. “I’m not saying what they do can’t feel beautiful. But feeling and objective observation are two entirely different things.”

Hugo bit his cheek as he looked at her. “I had no idea you had such strong opinions on this subject, Bronte-saurus. Bad day at work?”

“You could say that.”

“This is what I’m talking about,” Austen did a small victory wiggle beside him. “Spill it, sister mine. Embarrassing nursing stories are second only to sexual escapades, and Hugo’s not talking.”

Bronte glanced at Thoreau and then turned back to Hugo. “This stays with the GPP?”

“Of course.”

“The Leprechaun showed up asking for me.”

“Wait, William Finn showed up at the hospital?”

“Since I don’t know any other Irish pains in the ass, that would be a yes.” She rolled her eyes. “He got into a fight and decided it was worth a trip to the ER to harass me.”

Thoreau frowned at her. “He got himself injured to harass you?”

“No he dropped his pants to harass me. The bloody lip and black eye were already there when I showed up. I’m guessing both were well deserved.”

Hugo stopped Austen from applying anything else to his face. “He flashed you?”

“Not on purpose. Not at first anyway. I walked in on him stripping to put on a hospital gown, but when he saw me he dropped it and said since I was there…”

“Since you were there what?” Hugo didn’t like where this was headed.

“Nothing this exciting happens at the salon,” Austen said with a dramatic sigh. “Now you’ve both had half-naked Irishmen come on to you. Men dropping their pants left and right. I’m in the wrong line of work.”

“Answer Hugo, Bronte.” Thoreau was scowling. “What did he want from you and do we need to give him a few more bruises?”

She looked down at her crochet needles uncomfortably and mumbled something.

“What?” Hugo asked intently. “He said what?”

“He said we should get married so he could get citizenship and I could get, well, him.”

Hugo reached for the towel on the back of his chair and used it to wipe his face. “GPP is officially on hold while I decide how to tell Younger his cousin is dead.”

Austen set down her applicator with a huff. “But I barely got any on you.”

“It was more than enough. I don’t like the smell of it, and it feels like melting glue on my skin. Not in a good way.”

“Fine.” Austen grabbed a notepad and started writing, still staring at her sister. “That is the greatest nursing story you’ve ever told, Bronte. And I still remember the weasel incident.”

“We all remember the weasels,” Thoreau said, shuddering.

“You can’t kill him, Hugo,” Bronte reasoned, ignoring the others. “You have too much respect for the law and you’re dating his cousin. But don’t worry. I took care of it.”

“Wait,” Austen held up her hand. “Cute Irish guy with his pants down, and you took care of it? I’m going to need you to be more specific there. Details.”

“We don’t need those kind of details, Austen,” Thoreau groaned.

“Leave the room if you’re too young.” Austen swatted his words away as if he were another gnat.

Bronte eyed him, looking worried. “I laughed.”

Hugo winced. He’d only wanted to punch the guy. “You laughed? While he was naked?”

“Naked and proposing,” Austen corrected softly. “Wow. Talk about a mood killer.”

“I know. I shouldn’t have done it, but not for the reasons you’re thinking. To be honest, I think it would have been smarter to ignore him instead. He acted like I’d thrown down the gauntlet or something. Like his manhood had been challenged.”

“You are challenging,” Austen said helpfully, despite Bronte’s glare. “And I’m impressed. Any man with that kind of confidence deserves an award.”

“Just to be clear.” Thoreau held up his hand. “I’m definitely not allowed to share this story at the pub? If I spread the word that his junk was small and oddly shaped, and that you’d turned down his naked proposal, they’d all point and laugh at him anytime he came in. That might put a dent in his confidence.”

Bronte patted his hand. “That’s thoughtful, but no. That’s too cruel for one episode in bad judgment. I was surprised, but like Younger said last month, William’s in a bad spot right now. And his window of opportunity is closing.”

“We should find a way to help him.”

Hugo looked up at Austen in surprise. “What?” she said. “Anyone with the nerve to literally dangle himself in the breeze like that—at Bronte of all people—deserves another chance.”

“Me of all people?”

“A strong woman who can take care of herself and shred a man at thirty paces? Hell yes you. Clearly he wasn’t intimidated.”

“Because he’s an idiot,” Hugo muttered, earning a glare from both his sisters. “He is. And my cheek feels numb, Austen. What exactly did you put in that batch?”

She patted his face firmly. “It’s better if I don’t tell you. Go wash it off now. The feeling should come back in about twenty minutes.”

Son of a bitch.

On the way to the bathroom, he heard his cellphone ringing. It was plugged in by his bed, ready for his nightly conversation with Solomon.

He was early.

He reached the phone right before it cut off. “Younger?”

“How’s the party?”

“Salacious. And potentially life threatening, depending on whether or not I can scrub this shit off my face in time. How are you?”

“Salacious, huh? Not talking about me, are you?”

“Not this time.” Hugo frowned as he entered the bathroom. “What’s wrong? Did I tire you out earlier? I wasn’t expecting your call for another few hours.”

“No, that’s not it.” Hugo heard him take a bracing breath. “I didn’t tell you why Stephen and James stopped by, and I can’t stop thinking I should have.”

Oh.

“So tell me now.”

“The mayor wants to meet with me. About Miller and what’s been going on there.”

Hugo gripped the washcloth he’d snagged and stared blankly at his reflection. He focused on keeping his tone even. Supportive. “I’m not surprised. How do you feel about that?”

“I don’t know. After what you told me and what James said about Miller going after people he thinks are connected to me, I don’t think I can ignore it.”

“I know you can’t.” He was a natural protector, and the mayor knew exactly what he was doing, getting his family involved.

Hugo took a beat, striving for calm. “They aren’t asking for a decision right now. They want to talk. It doesn’t sound like a bad idea to me. And if they want more than that they’ll have to give you time to think it over. Nothing is set in stone, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Yeah.” He sounded so haggard Hugo wanted to drive over and wrap his arms around him. “You’re right. I’m overthinking this. And hey, I’m sorry to interrupt your family time, but after you left I realized how much I needed your opinion.”

“I’m glad. And like I said, you weren’t interrupting anything.” What he was doing was giving Hugo everything he’d asked for without hesitation. Making him feel necessary. Like a true partner.

“So now that we’ve settled that problem, what are you doing for the rest of the night?”

He heard Solomon’s smile. “I’m standing in my kitchen, wondering if I’ll ever be able to eat in here again without thinking of you on the table.”

“Stop. If I walk back into the living room with a hard-on I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Solomon laughed. “Can I still call you later?”

“You better.”

Hugo hung up and set the phone down, carefully washing the remaining paste off his face. When he finally looked up, he saw Bronte behind him. “Everything okay, Hugo?”

“Sure. Everything’s great.” He shrugged. “The mayor wants Chief Finn to come back to work.”

Bronte’s expression cleared. “Thank the lord. The new guy is a disaster.”

When he didn’t respond she frowned. “That is good news, right? You told me he hasn’t even been looking for another job, so there’s no conflict there. And we all know he was good at what he did.”

He was better than good.

“He was dedicated,” Hugo agreed. “He lived and breathed it. That job defined his personal and professional life for ten years.”

Not that Chief Finn had a personal life beyond family obligations. Chief Finn didn’t date. Didn’t laugh. Didn’t admit to his own needs until he was in too much pain to deny them.

“I see.”

Hugo turned to face her, slumping back against the sink. “Do you, Bronte? Because all I’m seeing right now is a spoiled, selfish son of a bitch who secretly wants the man he’s been fucking to stay available and focused on him instead of doing anything for anyone else. Instead of doing what would make him happy.”

Bronte crossed her arms. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting attention. Or being afraid things will change if he takes the job on again.”

Not change. Go back to the way they were.

Solomon had changed. Their relationship had changed. But what if it was temporary? What if they were together because Solomon didn’t have something else pulling on his focus? What if Vacation Younger, as he called himself, disappeared completely when Chief Finn got his badge back?

Because he would get his badge back. There was no doubt in his mind.

Solomon would go to that meeting, look into the faces of everyone who was relying on him to save the day, and he wouldn’t be able to say no. It wasn’t his nature to turn his back on anyone in need. This entire year had been an anomaly, and everyone but Solomon knew it. His time with Hugo might have been an anomaly too.

Solomon was his one. The mate to his soul. Wayne’s always knew, his mother had assured them for as long as he could remember. A family gift that went back generations, if you believed the stories.

It was more like a curse, if you asked her children.

Bronte believed it, though at forty-one, she’d given up hope that her soul mate was in the right hemisphere years ago. She’d thrown herself into her work, into taking care of her family, swearing that was enough for her.

Even Emerson, stubborn pragmatist that his brother had always been, had known from the beginning that his ex wasn’t his match. But her pregnancy with their oldest son had taken the decision out of his hands, and he’d done his best to make it work until she’d left him for another man.

Hugo knew Solomon was it for him. He’d avoided facing it, but that was the reason he’d hung around waiting for so damn long the first time.

It was the reason he couldn’t go back to what they had before. Scraps wouldn’t be enough, not when he’d been given a taste of how it could be. How they could be together.

He would rather lose him now than stay and watch as it got stripped away, bit by bit.

“Hugo.” Bronte wrapped her arms around him, making him realize that he wasn’t alone. “Whatever you’re thinking, you need to stop it now. I don’t like that look in your eyes.”

He forced himself to smile, squeezing her affectionately. “Are you sure? Because I was thinking we need to save some of that goop Austen tried out tonight for our enemies. Forget punching, slap some of that on your leprechaun the next time he drops his pants and he’ll never bother you again.” He patted his face. “Seriously, I still can’t feel my cheek.”

He wondered if it would work on a breaking heart.