26. Colt

26

COLT

I guide Nash into the living area of our trailer, my blood still boiling from earlier. The memory of those bastards touching Flora makes my fists clench. Through the bedroom door, I can hear her soft breathing—finally peaceful after crying herself to sleep.

“We need to handle this now,” I whisper to Nash, keeping my voice low. “Those pieces of shit don’t deserve to keep breathing.”

Nash’s eyes meet mine, that familiar darkness I’ve always recognized in him rising to the surface. He gives a slight nod, his jaw clenched tight.

“Before we leave this town,” I continue, “Tommy and Jake need to disappear. Permanently.” My hands are shaking with barely contained rage. “You heard what they did to her. For years.”

Nash moves closer, his presence steadying me like it always has. “We protect what’s ours,” he says. “And she’s ours now.”

I glance toward the bedroom where Flora sleeps. “No one will ever hurt her again.” The promise comes out like a prayer, but I mean it as a threat. “We do this clean. No traces.”

“Will Ty let us use the lockup?” Nash suggests.

I rub a hand across the back of my neck. “Possibly. I’ll speak to him.”

“That would sort out the where; the real question is when?” Nash asks.

“I’ll ask Phoenix to check if they’re planning a retaliation, really comb through their communications.” I crack my knuckles. “When we do this, we will make them suffer. Make them feel everything they put her through.”

Nash’s hand finds my shoulder. “Together,” he says simply.

“Together,” I agree. “For Flora.”

Nash’s hand on my shoulder sends electricity through my body, and I fight to control my reaction. His touch has always affected me, but since that night—since we crossed that line—everything feels different. More intense. My dick starts to stiffen in my jeans, and I shift uncomfortably, trying to hide my body’s response.

“What’s up?” His hand hasn’t moved from my shoulder, and the warmth of his palm seems to burn through my shirt. “You’re tense.”

I swallow hard, hyperaware of how close he’s standing. We haven’t talked about what happened—about how his mouth felt on me twice now.

It was supposed to be about Flora, showing her we could all be together. But now, with just the two of us in this dim light, those memories flood back.

“Nothing,” I manage to say, but my voice comes out rougher than intended. “Just worried about Flora.”

Nash’s fingers tighten slightly on my shoulder. “That’s not it,” he says, reading me like a book. “Something else is bothering you.”

My dick throbs, straining against my zipper, and I know there’s no way Nash hasn’t noticed. He’s too observant, too attuned to my body after years of performing together.

“Colt,” he says my name like a question, like a challenge. His thumb moves slightly, stroking my shoulder through my shirt, and this time, I can’t hold back the small sound that escapes my throat.

I step back from Nash, my body immediately missing his touch. The air feels too thick, too charged. I need space to think clearly.

“Want a beer?” I move toward our small kitchen, grateful for the excuse to put distance between us. My hands shake slightly as I open the fridge.

“Sure,” Nash replies, his voice carrying that dangerous edge I recognize all too well. “But we need to talk about the elephant in the room.”

The beer can feels ice cold against my palm as I grab two. My throat tightens, and I have to force myself to swallow. “What elephant?” I keep my back to him, pretending to search for something else in the fridge.

“Cut the bullshit, Colt.” Nash’s words hit me like a physical blow. “Stop messing about.”

I close my eyes, gripping the beer cans tighter. My heart pounds against my ribs, and I can feel sweat beading at the back of my neck.

I take a slow breath and turn around, handing Nash his beer. The tension in the room is thick enough to cut. I crack open my can, taking a long drink to steady my nerves.

“Fine,” I say, leaning against the counter. “What do you want to talk about?”

Nash sets his unopened beer on the table, his eyes locked on mine with an intensity that makes my heart race. “We need to talk about the fact we sucked each other’s dicks and how we both fucking loved it.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I nearly choke on my beer, setting the can down with shaking hands. Trust Nash to be so direct, to strip away all pretense and lay it bare.

“Nash...” I start, but my voice trails off. What can I say? He’s right. The memory of that night floods back—his mouth on me, my hands in his hair, the sounds he made when I returned the favor. The way it felt so right.

“Don’t,” he cuts me off. “Don’t try to explain it away or make excuses. I saw your face that night. I felt how hard you were when you rubbed that beautiful cock against my dick. You wanted it as much as I did.”

I grip the edge of the counter behind me, knuckles turning white. The truth of his words burns my chest.

Nash takes a step closer, his expression softening. “Listen to me, Colt. What we have—it’s special. Not just the friendship or the performances, but everything. And now with Flora...”

I swallow hard, unable to look away from his intense gaze.

“I care about you,” Nash continues, his voice gentle but firm. “Have for years. And I care about Flora, too. She needs us, both of us. Together, we give her everything she needs—protection, understanding, love.”

My heart pounds against my ribs. “Nash...”

“Think about it,” he urges. “The three of us, supporting each other, caring for each other. No more pretending or holding back. We could be a real family, Colt. All of us together.”

His words strike a chord deep within me. The possibility of having both of them, openly and completely, makes my chest tight with longing.

“Flora brings out something in both of us,” Nash says. “And what we have—you and me—it’s always been there, just waiting. We could build something beautiful, something perfect.”

I let out a shaky breath, processing his words. The truth of them resonates in my soul. Flora fits so perfectly between us. How natural it feels when we’re all together. And Nash—my best friend, my partner, the man who knows me better than anyone else.

I run a hand through my hair, my heart thundering in my chest. The truth claws its way up my throat, demanding to be heard after years of silence.

“Fuck, Nash. You think I haven’t wanted this? Haven’t wanted you?” My voice comes out rough. “For years, I’ve watched you. Every time you move on that silk, every time you spot me during practice. The way your muscles flex, the grace in every motion.”

Nash’s eyes darken, but he stays silent, letting me continue.

“I’ve laid awake so many nights, thinking about your hands on me. Imagined what it would be like to touch and taste you.” I let out a shaky breath. “But I couldn’t risk what we have. Our friendship, our act—it means everything to me.”

Moving closer, I meet his intense gaze. “Then Flora came along. And fuck, Nash, she hit me like a freight train. That same raw need, that desperate connection I’ve only ever felt with you.” My hands clench at my sides. “Watching her with you, seeing how perfectly she fits between us—it’s like something clicked into place. Like she was meant to complete this.”

The confession hangs in the air between us for a heartbeat. Then Nash surges forward, his mouth crashing into mine. His lips are firm and demanding, and I respond instantly, years of pent-up desire exploding in this moment.

My hands grip his hips, pulling him closer as his fingers tangle in my hair. The kiss deepens, turning desperate and hungry. Nash tastes like mint and something uniquely him.

A groan escapes my throat as his tongue slides against mine. His body presses me back against the counter, hard muscle against hard muscle. This isn’t gentle or hesitant—it’s raw and primal, filled with years of suppressed want.

I bite his lower lip, drawing a harsh sound from him that shoots straight to my groin. His hands tighten in my hair, tilting my head to deepen the kiss further. Every stroke of his tongue, every press of his lips speaks of possession and need.

My heart pounds against my ribs as Nash consumes me. His body fits against mine like it was made to be there, like we’ve been doing this forever instead of just these few explosive moments.

I meet Nash’s challenging gaze, my breath heavy from our kiss. The familiar competitive spark ignites between us—the same energy that makes our aerial performances so electric.

“You going to be a good boy for me, Colt?” Nash’s voice carries that dangerous edge. “Get on your knees?”

I grip his hips harder, pushing back against his body. “I don’t take orders from you,” I growl.

Nash’s fingers tighten in my hair, testing my resistance. “No? Seems like you want to.” His other hand traces down my chest, teasing. “I’ve seen how you watch me during practice.”

“Maybe you’re the one who should kneel,” I counter, spinning us so he’s against the counter. Our bodies press together, neither willing to submit. “You’re not the only one who knows how to take control.”

Nash’s eyes darken with desire, but I see the flash of defiance. He’s never backed down from a challenge, especially not from me. His hand slides to my neck, thumb pressing against my pulse point.

“Make me,” he whispers against my lips, the words both invitation and challenge.

The push and pull between us crackles with tension—both of us are too stubborn, too dominant to yield easily. Yet there’s trust here, too, built over years of catching each other mid-air, knowing exactly how far we can push before we need to pull back.

I lock eyes with Nash, our bodies still pressed against the counter. Our familiar competitive energy shifts into something deeper, more primal. Years of working together, of reading each other’s signals, have taught me exactly who Nash is at his core.

His hand remains firm on my neck, but I notice the subtle tells in his posture—the slight tremor in his fingers, the way his breath catches when I push back against his control. Behind that dominant facade, Nash has always craved something he won’t admit.

“You want to prove who’s in charge?” I growl, letting my voice drop lower. “Then show me.”

Nash’s pupils dilate, and I feel the moment his resolve wavers. For all his calculated control and careful manipulation of others, Nash has always yielded to me in crucial moments. It’s there in the way he trusts me to catch him during our most dangerous stunts and looks to me for final approval before every performance.

I press my advantage, sliding my hand up to cup his jaw. “You talk big, Nash, but we both know what you want.”

His resistance crumbles. Nash slowly sinks to his knees with a shaky exhale, his eyes never leaving mine. The sight of him looking up at me makes my heart race.

“Good boy,” I murmur, running my fingers through his hair. The trust in his eyes, the vulnerability he shows only to me, makes something protective surge in my chest.

“Fuck, yes,” he swears, his eyes dark with desire. “Say it again.”

I lean down, my fingers tightening in his hair. “Good boy,” I murmur, relishing my power over him now.

The hard ridge of his cock strains against his sweatpants, visible evidence of the effect I have on him. My blood sings with satisfaction—both at the knowledge that I’ve gotten him so worked up and at the unfamiliar yet thrilling rush of dominance.

“On your knees, that’s a good start,” I say, my voice dropping lower, commanding. Nash’s eyes flash at the order, but he listens, staying on his knees, his gaze fixed on me. “Now take it out. I want to watch you touch me.”

Nash swallows hard, his pupils blown wide. Slowly, his hand reaches for the button of my jeans. His fingers are steady as he undoes the button and pulls down the zipper, revealing the bulge of my cock straining against my boxers.

“Go on,” I urge, my voice rough with anticipation. Nash’s eyes flicker up to mine, his hand hovering over the waistband of my boxers.

“Touch me,” I command. “Take it out.”

With a deep exhale, Nash hooks his fingers into the waistband and pulls my boxer briefs down, freeing my cock. My dick springs free, fully hard and aching for his mouth. Nash lets out a small sound, eyes widening at the sight.

“You like that, don’t you?” I ask, my voice hardening with authority. “You like seeing me like this for you.”

“Yes,” Nash breathes, his eyes glued to my cock. “God, yes.”

I step closer, my jeans pooling at my ankles, as I give him a slight nudge with my foot. “Then show me how much. Show me what a good boy you are.”

Nash’s breath quickens as he leans forward, his tongue darting out to swipe the tip of my cock. I grip his hair, guiding him as he takes the head of my dick into his mouth.

“Mmhmm, fuck,” I groan at the sensation of his wet heat surrounding me. Nash’s mouth is hot and wet, his lips soft against my skin. His tongue teases the sensitive tip of my cock, and I feel him hum in appreciation.

The sound vibrates through my shaft, straight to my balls, and I let out a harsh curse. Nash’s eyes glint with pleasure at my reaction. He hollows his cheeks, sucking harder as he takes more of my length into his mouth.

“Ah, fuck.” The sight of Nash on his knees is enough to steal my breath, but the feel of his warm mouth surrounding me, his tongue swirling around the pierced head of my cock—it’s enough to make my knees weak. I reach down, tangling my fingers in his hair, and he meets my eyes as he sucks me deeper.

His eyes—those deep, dark pools that have always drawn me in—they’re hazy now with lust, fixed on me with an intensity that ignites a wildfire in my gut. His lips stretch around my girth, full and perfect, the sight of them wrapped around my cock sending a jolt straight to my balls.

Nash’s hand moves to his own cock, pulling it from his sweatpants, and he begins to jerk himself in time with his mouth’s rhythm. I feel a rush of liquid heat in my veins at the sight of his hard length in his hand. He moans softly as his fist pumps up and down, the sound vibrating against my shaft and making my toes curl.

I’ve fantasized about this a hundred times. Still, the reality is so much better—the feel of his full lips on my cock, the way he tongues the sensitive spot around my piercing, his free hand now reaching up to grip my thigh.

The sight of him taking what’s mine—it’s too much, and I’m overcome with this unbearable need to brand him, to claim every part of him as mine. My hands tighten in his hair, and I start to thrust my hips, fucking his mouth slowly, helpless to hold back.

Nash’s eyes flutter closed at the first shallow thrusts, his breath escaping in a soft moan. The sound vibrates through my shaft, straight to my balls.

“Fuck, Nash,” I groan, my hips moving on their own now, my cock sliding deeper into his mouth. “Suck it; take it all.”

Nash’s hands clutch at my thighs, his knuckles white as he tries to ground himself. His mouth is magic, every swirl of his tongue, every bob of his head driving me closer to the edge.

“Take every inch,” I grit out, my hands tightening in his hair. “Gonna fuck that pretty throat until you’re gagging on my cock.”

His hands grip my thighs harder, holding on as I thrust into his mouth.

“Fuck, you’re such a good boy,” I praise. “Suck my cock, Nash. Show me how much you love it.”

His throat relaxes around me, and I slide deeper, finally reaching the back. I groan at the wet, tight heat engulfing me, my hips stuttering.

“You like that, baby?” I ask. “My dick in that pretty throat, making you gag.”

Nash moans again in response, his eyes now hazy with lust.

“That’s right,” I grit out. “I’m gonna make such a mess in that slutty mouth of yours.”

Nash’s throat works around me as he tries to swallow my length, his eyes fluttering shut, lost in the sensations. His hands move from my thighs to grip my ass, pulling me even deeper into his mouth.

“Yeah, you love that, don’t you?” I tease, holding him in place as I thrust. “Sucking my cock like a good little slut.”

The dirty words spill from my mouth, fueled by the sight of Nash on his knees, worshipping my cock. It’s too much, and I feel my balls draw tight with the need to come.

“Fuck, I’m close,” I warn, my hips stuttering as I thrust into his mouth. “Gonna paint that pretty mouth with my cum, cover those lips with my load.”

Nash moans again, the sound vibrating through my cock. His throat convulses as he gags, and the sensation sends me over the edge. I spill into his mouth with a harsh groan, my hips moving frantically as I fill him with my release.

Nash swallows every drop, his hands gripping my ass tighter. I feel his throat working as he takes my load, his eyes squeezed shut, his cheeks hollowed around my dick still.

I pull out slowly, my cock finally softening as I catch my breath. Nash keeps his eyes closed, sucking in deep breaths, his hand still wrapped around his own cock. I can see the precum beading at the tip, his heavy length straining for release.

“Look at me, Nash.” My voice is low and commanding, and his eyes slowly blink open, hazy with pleasure. “Finish what you started, baby. Come for me.”

His pupils are blown wide with lust, his full lips swollen from sucking my cock. I lean down, wrapping my hand around his length, stroking him firmly.

Nash moans, his head falling back as I fist his cock. I stroke him hard and fast, needing to see him lose control.

“That’s my good boy,” I encourage, my voice soothing. “Come for me, let it go.”

It only takes a few more tugs on his cock before his body goes rigid, his release painting my hand and his stomach. His hips stutter as he rides out his orgasm, a string of curses spilling from his mouth.

I keep stroking him through his release, drawing out every last drop until he finally goes limp, completely spent. He remains on the floor, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. I step back, letting him recover.

“Fuck, that was hot,” Flora says, drawing my attention to our pretty angel, who is sitting on the sofa with her fingers in her cunt. And I know this night is going to be a very long one.