In this week's Rose and Thorne, Vinnie receives from tender loving care from Ethan, after a hard night on the job! I won't be posting Rose and Thorne much longer because I'm about ready to sub it, so I need to pull it. I'll keep you posted on how that goes!
In Moving Forward, the confrontation with the man who assaulted Marshall ends and the evening resumes, with some interesting information coming out. I'll still be posting Moving Forward, so I hope you're enjoying it! Don't forget to see what the other Briefers have been up to. Their links follow my tales. Enjoy!
Rose and Thorne #7 (2.3)
He lifted my foot and set it atop his muscular thigh while he fumbled with the clasp. When I winced at the pain, he placed a soft kiss upon the top of my foot. He managed to work the buckle loose and carefully drew the strap through it, instantly relieving the pressure.
“Damn, baby, those were on tight.” Ethan clucked like a mother hen as he carefully pulled the shoe from my foot.
“Yeah, well, they weren’t exactly cheap,” I gritted out, bracing myself as he gently set the first foot on the floor then reached for the second and repeated the process. “I didn’t want to lose them.”
“Money doesn’t matter, you do,” he gently chided me. “Besides, we get reimbursed for what we spend on the job. Put it on your expense account.”
That was true, but sometimes old habits die hard. I was used to counting every penny.
“How’s that feel?” His fingers stroked along the bottom of my foot, then moved on to caress the instep, tickling the tender skin, as he eased some of the tension from my sore muscles.
“Feels divine, Ethan. Mmmm, so good.”
This was what I had been waiting for. This balanced out everything that had happened in the park, made everything all right. I confess it—I like to be babied by Ethan. I love when he takes care of me. Only on my own terms, naturally. I think it satisfies a need in each of us.
For a moment, I was so distracted by his sorely needed ministrations, which I felt were long overdue and well-deserved, that I almost didn’t notice when his hand began to climb my leg.
“Ethan… are you… are you stroking my leg or my panty hose?”
“Both,” he murmured, just before I heard a swift intake of breath. “Oh baby, what did you do to your knees? Let’s get you out of these so I can take care of you.”
I knew there’d be no salvaging these stockings—straight into the trash for them. It wasn’t easy to find panty hose that fit and were relatively comfortable. They don’t exactly make them in men’s sizes.
Ethan helped me to my feet. He bunched my skirt around my waist and told me to hold it there while he eased the torn stockings down my body, being careful around my knees. I glanced down at them. They hadn’t bled very much, just a little scraped and tender.
He lifted each foot as he removed the damaged stockings and then had me sit on the bed again while he got the First Aid kid from the bathroom. In our line of work, you never knew what might need healing, so we carried a wide variety of bandages and antiseptics.
Ethan carefully removed bits of debris that had dug themselves into my flesh then swabbed the affected area with hydrogen peroxide. He didn’t attempt to bandage either knee. Kneecaps were horrible places to place a Band-aid because they bent so much. He finished by painting both knees with mercurochrome. I grit my teeth rather than admit to how much that stung.
“There, I’m afraid that’s the best I can do for now,” he declared. “Just don’t get them wet for a while.”
“I wanted to take a shower,” I protested, my visions of blissful hot water fading away.
“Sorry, babe. First thing in the morning, I promise.”
I thrust out my lower lip, pouting, until he added, “I’ll wash your back for you, how’s that sound?”
That sounded perfect. And suddenly, I wasn’t quite as tired as I had been. Ethan still sat between my legs, his hand gently stroking my inner thigh, and I started thinking. Me kneeling on the floor was definitely out—for any reason—but lying on my back, with Ethan on top of me, sounded like just the ticket.
“Mind helping me out of this skirt and blouse?” I ran my hand through his wavy blond hair, so soft to the touch. He caught my hand and held it against his cheek before turning it over and kissing the palm.
“Not at all.”
I still held the skirt away from my knees, leaving my legs quite bare. He dropped a soft kiss on one thigh and then the other. My cock twitched in interest and became semi-hard instantly. Since I’d gone commando under the stockings, it would have been impossible for him not to notice.
He looked up at me, and his beautiful blue eyes held the same touch of lust that mine undoubtedly did, only mine were darker. Part of my Italian heritage. Spanish too.
He hesitated for a fraction of a second, and I decided to nip his indecision in the bud. I knew how his mind worked. He equated being injured to requiring rest and anything that disturbed that rest was by necessity bad and to be avoided. Furthermore, he knew that once he got me out of my clothes, there was a certain inevitability to what would follow. Being what he considered the responsible partner, it was his job to keep that from happening.
Just as it was my job to do everything in my power to make sure it did.
I stood without warning, giving him a much more up close view of my hardening dick. I heard the moan he did his best to stifle, but without success. I grinned shamelessly. Of course, he couldn’t see that.
To put the seal on the deal, I managed to turn about, presenting him with my posterior, as well as the back of the skirt, which I didn’t allow to fall. Yet. He needed to see what else was on the table, namely my rather shapely ass, if I do say so myself.
“Oh God, Vinnie, we shouldn’t…”
Too late. I knew I had him now. Especially when he kissed each cheek with reverence.
Oh yes, he was mine, and I wanted him so badly I could taste it.
to be continued
Moving Forward #7 (2.4)
“And assault with intent to do harm isn’t?” Roy pointed out.
Al made no reply. Jeff set him on his feet and released his shirt. Al jerked away from him, sullen eyes glaring around him as he smoothed out the twisted material. It couldn’t have escaped his attention that no one was willing to stand up for him, and he was alone in the middle of a group of men who wanted nothing more than to beat the living shit out of him. Especially Lee. Only Jeff stood between Al and a severe beating.
“Aw, who wants to be in a dump like this anyway?” Al blustered. “Lots of other places to have fun in this town.”
“That’s a wise decision, Al,” Jeff commented dryly. “Go have fun. Just do it somewhere else.”
Al snarled. He looked toward Marshall, and for a moment he looked as though he had something to say. He took a step in his direction, but a quick look at Lee changed his mind. With a muttered, “Fuck y’all,” Al turned on his heel and headed toward the door.
Marshall was relieved. He had no doubt Lee would have been more than able to take on Al, and while he would have enjoyed seeing the bastard get his comeuppance, the risk was too great a one to take. Better that it end like this. He knew Jeff would add Al’s name to the list of those who couldn’t get in, assuming Al was stupid enough to make the attempt.
“Okay, guys, I don’t think we’ll be seeing him again. Sorry he was such a dick.” He laid a compassionate hand on Marshall’s shoulder. “You okay? Maybe you should go to the doc-in-a-box and get checked out?”
“Thanks, I’m good,” Marshall replied. “Much obliged for your help.” He turned toward Lee, who quickly claimed him with an arm about his waist.
“Thanks, Jeff,” Lee added to what Marshall had said. “We appreciate what you did for us. Sorry for the trouble.”
“Not your fault,” Jeff said. “And it ended peaceful, so no harm done. You guys should be good to keep on partyin’. I’ll send a pitcher round to your table.”
“That’s very decent of you,” Roy said.
Jeff grinned. “Y’all are good customers. Least I can do.” He nodded to them, then headed for the bar.
“Back to the table?” Rye asked.
Lee gave Marshall a look, and Marshall knew without his saying a word what he was asking—did he feel like it or not—and he nodded. “Yeah, let’s do that,” Marshall said. “We have free beer coming.” He grinned to let Lee know everything was okay.
Back at their table, the talk was all about what an asshole Al was, and if any of them caught him alone, how they’d make him sorry he was ever born. Marshall made no comment, just let them talk and listened quietly. Lee’s hand was twined in his, and that’s all he wanted, the comfort of Lee’s presence. He felt good that his friends had stood up for him like that, and he was grateful the fight hadn’t got any worse than it did. But he didn’t want to dwell on it, either.
Eventually, the subject petered out and other topics superseded that one, such as the next day’s Superbowl. A lively discussion ensued on the merits of the teams involved.
Stu rose from the table and stretched, casting a sultry glance at Rye. “C’mon, honey, the music’s calling our name. Let’s you and me shake it.” He shimmied his hips in an unmistakable invitation.
Rye leapt to his feet, conversation forgotten. “I like the way you think.” He placed his hands about Stu’s waist and steered him in the direction of the dance floor.
Dustin, who’d been sitting across the table, next to his cousin Denver, rose and came around to stand next to Marshall. “Why don’t we dance?” he suggested, holding out one hand to Marshall.
Marshall immediately shook his head, without even considering the offer, before he realized how rude he might have seemed. “Thanks for the offer, but I think I’d rather just sit here. No offense to you.”
“None taken. I can understand your hesitation.” He stood there for a moment, and Marshall got the impression he wanted to say something else, but the moment passed.
“Dustin, I can’t thank you enough for being there for Marshall,” Lee spoke up. “If you hadn’t been there, no telling what that bastard might have done.”
“Right place at the right time,” Dustin replied. “My pleasure, sir.”
“Don’t call me sir, it’s Lee.”
“Okay. My pleasure, Lee.” Dustin grinned at them, before sliding into the chair next to Marshall.
“You from Tucker Falls too?” Roy asked. He sat on the other side of Lee. “And just call me Roy.”
“Dang, I was gonna call you Sheriff,” Dustin quipped. “No, I’m from up near Austin. Little old town no one’s ever heard of. You sheriff here?”
“No, Burnham. Another of those little towns no one ever heard of.” Everyone chuckled.
“Dustin’s staying with me for a while,” Denver volunteered. “We’re heading out on a cruise together in just a few weeks. It’s gonna be fun.”
“A cruise? That’s a coincidence,” Marshall said. “We’re going on a cruise too. Where you all headed?”
“We are going to the Virgin Islands,” Denver replied excitedly. “And not just that, it’s a gay cruise. Wall-to-wall men, do you believe it?”
Marshall and Lee exchanged glances. Was it possible?
“That’s funny, we’re going to the Virgin Islands too,” Marshall said.
“What port you leaving from?”
“Galveston,” Lee answered. “Cruise is going to St. Thomas. And it’s a gay cruise too. Ship’s name is the Wandering Star.”
“Goddamn, it’s a small world.” Denver whistled, then glanced at Dustin. “Cousin, looks like we’ll be sharing a boat with my friends here.”
“You’re right, it is a small world.” Dustin leaned toward Marshall. “Looks like Fate is trying to tell us something, I think.”
to be continued
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