Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

brONX

Bronx was balls-deep inside Monty's ass, his muscles spasming around Bronx's cock like they were trying to milk his come. Monty's hands gripped the bathroom sink, and Bronx met his gaze in the mirror as his hand snaked down and curled around him, giving him a single stroke.

"Let me come," Monty begged.

Bronx had been keeping him on edge for the last forty minutes. Through washing all the sand off their bodies, through soaping up their hair, drying off, brushing their teeth. He'd pulled Monty into the kitchen still naked and made a snack while gently pushing a plug in and out of his asshole.

Monty was a shaking mess and had all but sobbed when Bronx finally removed the toy and replaced it with his own cock. He was close to shooting off now, and he was going to take Monty with him, but not just yet.

His hand let go just as Monty began to tremble.

"Please," Monty sobbed.

Bronx leaned over his shoulder and bit hard against his neck. "No." His fingers moved up, pinching and tugging at his nipples. Monty's body was soft, responsive, needy, hungry. He was also very present—something Bronx was keeping a close eye on.

The day had been perfect. It had been more than perfect. Bronx was ass-over-ankles in love with him. There was no more doubt, no more hesitation. It was a love that he'd never quite felt before. Never with Jules. And not with anyone before him.

He felt safe.

But he wasn't on steady ground, and he knew that the dinner with Monty's dad wasn't the right time to bring it up. He'd do it—and soon. He wanted to erase the uncertainty between them and define what they were—and let Monty know what he wanted and what he was ready for.

He was prepared to take the rejection.

But for now, like the orgasm, he was going to draw it out.

"I need to come," Monty gasped as Bronx changed angles and pounded his prostate.

He took a breath, and then his hand returned to Monty's dick, and he began to stroke him. "Okay. You've been so good for me, sparky. So perfect. Let go."

Monty's head lolled back against Bronx's shoulder, and his body went half-limp as his cock gave an almost violent twitch, then spilled all over his knuckles. Bronx held back his own orgasm just long enough to work Monty through the shock of his own, and then with a hard grunt and a rush of heat, he came.

He stuttered up into Monty's ass, filling the condom as he let himself sink into the pleasure, and he made sure to keep a tight grip on Monty in case he went limp. But he didn't. His body was loose and pliant, like it had been all afternoon, but he was still with him.

"I'm going to need a lie down for at least twenty minutes if you want me to be functional at this dinner," Monty murmured, his words a little thick and slurred.

Bronx carefully pulled out and threw the condom into the trash, grabbing the washcloth from the side of the counter. He eased one of Monty's knees onto the closed toilet seat lid and then wet it with warm water. He swiped between his cheeks, behind his balls, and over his cock to clean up the mess.

"You know," Bronx said as he gave himself a cursory wipe down, "I don't give a shit if you're a mess at your dad's. I'll fight him if he says a word to you."

Monty smiled sleepily, reaching for Bronx's hand and pulling him toward the bedroom. They collapsed on sheets just a little too cool for Bronx's liking, but they warmed up with their bodies quickly. "I'd prefer you not use your method of revenge on my father."

"I kind of already am," Bronx pointed out. He stroked a touch down Monty's cheek. "I'm fucking his son."

"I…oh." Monty flopped back away from him and covered his face. "I suppose you are."

"If it helps," Bronx said, pulling Monty's hand back away from his face and kissing his palm, "I would want to fuck his son either way."

"Can you please stop saying it like that?"

Bronx curled toward him, laughing so hard his stomach hurt. "Okay. Okay. But it's true." He sobered as he looked up and cupped Monty's cheek. Their gazes connected, heated and intense. "I really like you, sparky."

"Mm." Monty surged forward and captured his mouth in a kiss. "I like you too. "

They lingered a bit longer before they had to get dressed. There wasn't time for another shower, so they tidied up as best as they could, then dressed, and Bronx made sure to set his hair back to rights. He added a little scented lotion—something from Monty's counter that wouldn't trigger a dizzy spell—and then made sure to kiss him thoroughly as they were heading for the door.

"So," Bronx said as they pulled out onto the street, "prepare me for everything. I got a small dose of your dad before, and I figure it's going to be worse having a whole dinner with him. He knows I'm coming, right?"

"He assumed I'd bring you," Monty said. His dad had implied it in his latest message, making sure to call Bronx his friend . "My brothers will be there. They're not kind, but they don't talk much. They will back him up on anything he says though, even if they don't agree."

Bronx frowned. "Why?"

"Because they're loyal to him. I've never understood them." Bronx glanced over and saw the hurt look on Monty's face. "But it's always been that way."

"Okay," Bronx said slowly. He glanced down at the screen and saw there were only seven minutes left on the drive. He hadn't realized Monty lived so close to his father. "What else?"

Monty bit down on his thumbnail, then ripped it out of his mouth and tucked his fingers together in his lap. "Don't be surprised if he doesn't address you directly at all. He knows you'll fight back, so he'll avoid you."

"I don't mind that," Bronx said with a small smirk.

Monty snorted. "I'm sure. And, ah, he will be upset when I don't refer to his wife as my mother, so be prepared for him to throw a tantrum about it."

Bronx let out a heavy breath as he turned down a street of rather large homes and began the slow trek toward the house. "Is your mom, ah…is she…?"

"She's alive. We speak once a year, maybe, if she remembers my birthday. She wasn't interested in fighting for me when they got divorced. She's moved on."

"From her own child?"

Monty shrugged. "It happens."

"Fuck." Bronx knew what it was like, though, to have parents like that. Not to mention the way Jules had been. "Any chance you want to cut your dad off for good?"

"He's all I've got," Monty said quietly.

Bronx pulled into the driveway next to several very nice cars and turned the engine off. Instead of getting out, he turned and took Monty's hand. "He's not all you've got. I know you and I haven't established anything, but I like you. My brother loves you, and so does Kylen. And I'm pretty sure if you spent five minutes with the rest of those guys, they'd adopt you in a heartbeat as one of their own."

"I don't have a child," Monty said quietly.

"And I don't think that would matter. Trust me. I fought them tooth and nail on being accepted. I didn't want to deal with the pain and rejection once they realized I wasn't as fun or carefree as my brother. But they liked me for me. You don't need to hold on to someone who's cruel to you because you're afraid of being alone. The other people in your life who lo—who like you, who love you," he corrected because fuck it, even if he wasn't going to say it directly, Monty deserved to hear that word, "will always be there."

Monty took a long, slow breath. He was silent for a beat, and Bronx's heart was hammering in his chest. Was it too much? Not enough.

Monty bowed his head. "We should go inside." Bronx deflated, but before he could turn and get out, Monty grabbed him. "Thank you. I can't tell you what that means to me."

Bronx squeezed his hand, then let go and waited for Monty to get out. At the walkway, Bronx slung his arm around Monty's waist and kept him close. "I don't need to keep my hands to myself, do I?"

"I'd love it if you didn't," Monty said.

Bronx kissed him as he felt around the wall for the doorbell and kept kissing him until he heard it open. He broke away at the sound of someone clearing their throat, and he was slightly disappointed to see a woman standing there. Rod's wife, if he remembered right.

She looked different—dressed down a bit in jeans and a blouse, and she looked tired. She offered them a friendly smile, something Bronx hadn't been expecting, and she stepped aside. "Dinner's just being served. Please ignore him if he says you're late."

Monty let Bronx go and offered his hands to her and kissed her on both cheeks. "Merci, chérie. Did I ever introduce you two?" He stepped aside. "Bronx, this is Poppy, my father's wife."

"Not his mother," she said, extending her hand. "It's been a nonstop fight."

Bronx wanted to ask why she let him get away with it. Why she just stood there the other night. But he also knew that wasn't fair. There were a thousand reasons why someone might not be able to defend what they wanted, and it wasn't his place to judge.

He was standing firmly in the middle of a glass house, and he had no real excuses for himself. "It's nice to meet you," he said finally.

Poppy smiled as she took her hand back. "I'm sure it isn't, but I appreciate you being here. Rod's been losing his damn mind since he laid eyes on you. I think it's the whole silver fox thing."

Bronx flushed. "I hadn't realized I was old enough. But I suppose there are worse things."

"You're perfect," Monty said quietly. He took Bronx's hand again and led the way into the dining room.

It was dimly lit and very quiet, some sort of violin concerto playing in the background. It smelled like roast duck and wildflowers, both of which were on the table. Rod sat at the head, looking very much the same man who had burst into Monty's apartment, and on his left and right were two men who looked almost nothing like Monty.

Brothers, he assumed. They looked exactly like their father, down to the elongated nose and thin lips. A very old-world European vibe, though Bronx wasn't really cultured enough to make that call. They definitely made him feel underdressed and unrefined, but he didn't care. He'd rather be an Appalachian country boy than whatever these men were.

At least he knew how to love.

"Montez," Rod said, and Bronx was surprised. He almost never heard anyone use Monty's full name. Rod glanced at Bronx once, then went into a long string of what Bronx assumed was Portuguese, but he couldn't make heads nor tails of it. He'd barely mastered Google French greetings.

Monty listened to his father as the two of them sat, his jaw tense. "I've been busy at work," Monty told him in English. "I've been swamped."

Rod sneered. "Ah, yes. All those single mothers."

"Exactly. You're the expert. You're responsible for several of them," Monty fired back .

Rod's brows flew up, and Bronx could tell that Monty didn't normally mouth off. "They went willingly."

Monty scoffed and reached for his water, bypassing the wine on his right. He took a long sip, then turned and smiled at Bronx. "He thinks I was avoiding dinner because of you."

"I did keep him a bit busy when work wasn't," Bronx said helpfully, leaning heavily on his accent.

Rod's ears went flushed, and one of Monty's brothers choked on his swallow of wine. Monty hid his smile in his napkin before dropping it into his lap.

"I suppose I'll do introductions. This is Bronx, my boyfriend."

"Aren't you too old for that word?" Rod asked.

Monty ignored him. "You've met my father and his wife when they walked into my home uninvited."

"I recall," Bronx said dryly.

Rod looked like he wanted to set the plates in front of them on fire, and it was all Bronx could do not to burst into a fit of laughter.

"These are my brothers, Carlos and Bernardo. My oldest brother, Angelo, is away on…business?" Monty asked.

Carlo, the one who'd choked, cleared his throat. "Yes."

"He's with his mistress," Monty said. "Business is his code word."

Bronx swore Monty was glowing with his shining spine, and he was grateful he could be here to see it. "He sounds delightful."

Monty smirked as Rod looked like he was ready to launch into a tirade. Luckily—or unluckily, Bronx couldn't decide—Poppy stood halfway up and grabbed the serving tongs for the duck. "Is anyone hungry?"

Bronx had a feeling no one was, but he was going to choke down the meal, if only for Monty's sake. And when it was over, he was going to make sure Monty knew exactly how impressed he was.

"So," Rod said once everyone had been served. He pointed his finger at Bronx. "What do you do?"

"I'm a vet."

"Military?"

Bronx smiled. It wasn't the first time he'd gotten that. "Animal. I just opened up a practice over on Fifth and Elm. We open on Monday."

"And you're just starting out at this?" Rod glanced at Monty and shook his head. "What career did you leave for it?"

"No. I just moved here," Bronx said.

"Not that it's your business," Monty interjected.

Bronx reached over and picked up Monty's hand, kissing his knuckles. "I don't mind, honey. He can ask me anything he wants. You know I'm an open book."

"Are you gay?" Rod demanded.

Monty choked on his water, but Bronx met Rod's gaze when he answered him. "I am. I've been out for most of my life. My ex-husband and I divorced some time ago, and I moved here with my son to be closer to my brother."

"Adopted," Rod said with another sneer.

"He'd be my son regardless," Bronx said flatly. "But no. We used a surrogate. Would you like to know how many milliliters of semen I managed to produce when I was at the fertility clinic?"

Rod paled, his sons glanced away, and Poppy covered a smile with her napkin. This wasn't a game—Bronx was well aware of that. But if it was, he and Monty were winning by a landslide .

"Are you satisfied?" Monty asked when he'd regained his composure.

Rod sniffed, then turned to his wife. "How was the market today?"

Poppy rolled her eyes and chewed slowly before she answered. "It was the same as it is every time I go. Just fine."

"I like him."

"Don't patronize me," Monty said.

Bronx couldn't see which brother he was speaking to, but as much as he wanted to look, he didn't want to interrupt the moment. He'd excused himself to the bathroom before they left, and he was standing on the other side of the wall near the foyer.

"I'm not. I actually do like him."

"Eavesdropping?"

Bronx spun to find Poppy standing a few feet away from him. She held her hands up in surrender as he took a few steps away from the conversation Monty was having. "I didn't want to interrupt." He tried to pitch his voice quiet so Monty wouldn't hear him.

"I don't blame you. This is a rare moment. His brothers are not always kind to him, and…" She trailed off, wringing her hands in front of her. "Anyway, it was nice, what you did. Especially after we barged in on you two."

Bronx shook his head. "It was for him. I have a feeling he hasn't gotten much support over the years."

"I try," she said very softly. "It's not easy. I didn't know it was going to be like this. I didn't meet his children until six months after we were married. Then Rod started in on this whole stepmom business, and I just…I don't know what to do about it. I don't know how to make it stop."

"He's not cruel to you, is he?" Bronx asked.

"You going to save me too?"

He flushed. "Sorry. I didn't mean to sound like that. I just don't understand. You seem perfectly lovely, and as far as I can tell, you care about Monty."

"I do. It…it was different, when it was just me and Rod. I don't know how to reconcile the man he is to me with the man he is to them." She glanced away. "It's getting harder."

"Well, you know a good family attorney if you need one," Bronx said. He didn't want to feel sorry for her, but he was having a hard time shutting his emotions off.

Poppy smiled sadly. "Yeah. I suppose I do. Anyway, I just want to say thank you. I think Monty's been alone for too long, and it's gotten worse since his illness."

"You don't need to thank me. It's not some act of charity."

"You're in love with him," Poppy said.

Bronx bowed his head. "He doesn't know yet. So…just between us for now?"

"Sure. But tell him soon. He deserves to know."

Bronx was well aware, but he wanted to do this on his time. On their time. He shoved his hands into his pockets and turned, walking around the corner. Monty was by the door, his face unreadable, but he brightened a little when he saw Bronx.

"Ready?" Monty asked.

"Do I need to say goodbye to your dad?"

Monty laughed. "No. He's retired for the night. I think we wore him out. "

Bronx leaned over, taking one hand out of his pocket so he could hold the back of Monty's neck, and he kissed him. "Good. I have big plans, and I didn't want anyone to spoil the mood."

Monty seemed a little deflated in spite of the good evening, so Bronx just led the way to the car and said very little on the drive back. He wasn't sure if he was invited to stay, but Monty grabbed his hand when he got out and tugged him along.

"Will Lucas mind if you're not back right away?"

Bronx pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed Lucas's number. It went to voicemail, and by the time Monty had the door unlocked, there was a text on Bronx's phone.

Lucas: At Gage's. We're gaming. Talk later?

Bronx: Staying the night?

Lucas: Yeah. Cool?

Bronx: Make good choices. Love you.

Monty shut the door behind them, and Bronx quickly bustled Monty against the wall, cradling his face. "Can I stay tonight?"

"Yes, but…" Swallowing thickly, Monty didn't look sure. "Is it alright if we don't have sex? I know that's against the rules, but?—"

"We make our own rules, sparky."

Monty bit his lower lip for a second. "You said you had plans."

"Yes. And I still do. Go into the bedroom and dress in whatever you're most comfortable in. I'll be there in a sec." He stole a kiss, then waited for Monty to disappear down the short hallway before he made his way into the kitchen.

He couldn't cook, but he could put together a tea tray. Monty had a wide variety, so he chose the box that looked like it had been used the most, and he flicked the kettle on. Monty didn't have a ton of supplies. His kitchen was more bare than the last time Bronx had seen it—which was likely because of his work schedule.

He made a mental note to do something about it if Monty was swamped again. Maybe he was overstepping, but he was ready to take risks. He wasn't going to live Monty's life for him or fight his battles, but he would be there to hold him up the moment he got tired.

Bronx had the tea tray in his hands when he started for the bedroom, and halfway there, he heard a loud thud. By now, he knew what it was. He hurried through the door, sloshing hot water all over the little plates, and he all but threw the tray on the bed before dropping to his knees.

Monty was on his back, eyes closed, one hand in the middle drawer of his dresser. His breathing was even, and he was a little pale, but Bronx reminded himself this was normal for him. He was okay.

He picked up his limp hand and held it. "Come back to me, sparky. Please. I need to finish spoiling you."

It took less than a minute before Monty began to twitch. He grimaced, then took in a deep breath, and it looked like he was forcing his eyelids open. Bronx held his breath until Monty met his gaze, and while he still looked a little confused, he was coming around.

"Faint?"

Monty shook his head and slowly licked his lips. "I heard you. I'm here." His voice was raspy and small. He cleared his throat, then pulled his hand away and used it to sit up. "You don't need to do this for me."

"I know." Bronx stood up and held his hands down, hauling Monty to his feet. "But you were amazing tonight. I don't even have the words."

"And it cost me," Monty said, gesturing at himself. "I didn't think I could ever be so brave. I'm just glad this didn't happen in front of him."

Bronx sighed and reached past Monty, grabbing the pajama pants he'd had in his hands and pressing them against Monty's chest. "I made tea. Go change. Take your meds. Do what you need to do. Then come to bed."

Monty smiled at him. "Merci, mon chéri. I don't want tea though. I just want to be held."

"That I can do." Bronx waited for him to go into the bathroom before he stripped to his boxers and borrowed a pair of Monty's sweats. He set his phone on the nightstand, moved the tea to the dresser, then pulled back the covers and climbed into bed. He listened for another thud, but all he heard was the toilet flushing, then the water running, and eventually, Monty appeared.

He stared at Bronx for a long moment, then walked over and turned the lights off. The darkness falling felt almost physical—cold at first, then warm as Monty slid into his arms. He rested his ear against Bronx's chest and yawned.

"Tonight doesn't feel real."

"I know." Bronx kissed the top of his head before settling against the pillows. It was earlier than he liked to go to bed, but he'd been wound up after the long day and stressful night. Sleep was tugging at his edges. "But it was real. You were fantastic."

"You helped me feel like I could be brave and still be protected if something happened. "

"You will always be protected while I'm around. For as long as you want me."

"I'm starting to realize that," Monty murmured. His voice was heavy. "Can we stay like this?"

Bronx squeezed tight. "For as long as you want."