Good Behavior: An MM Forbidden Romance (Wild Heart Ranch Book 2)
Good Behavior: Chapter 17

I’m waiting at my breakfast table, hair still wet from a shower, wearing my favorite silky pajamas with a cup of coffee in hand, when I hear Bram’s truck pull up next to mine. His footsteps are heavy as he makes his way up to my door and lets himself in.

He looks mostly normal—handsome and imposing as ever. But his eyes look weary and ancient as if aged by the things we heard on that call.

“There’s my badass vigilante,” I crack.

Bram drops his chin to his chest, stuttering to a halt in the middle of what I jokingly call my living room. Setting down my coffee, I stand and wrap him in my arms, relieved when his forehead hits my shoulder.

“We went because we had a very short window of time to save those people.”

“Sounds like it was a successful mission,” I say, slightly rocking him from side to side.

“Yeah, but everything else is fucked up.”

I pull back. “Why are you saying that?”

“I lied to you. And Levy figured us out, and he’s looking at me like he doesn’t even know who I am.”

“What did he say?”

“We haven’t had a chance to talk. I can’t imagine it’ll go well.”

“His opinion matters to you.”

He nods, touching his forehead to mine. “We’ve always had each other’s backs, even before our parents died. Afterward, it became our biggest priority.”

“How did they die?”

“We’ve never talked about this?”

I shake my head.

“Car accident,” he says matter-of-factly. He clears his throat, and after a moment, he continues, “Levy is only a year younger than me, and we went to the same college, so at the end of every summer, we made it a big family trip. We’d stop somewhere fun along the way, usually camping because we didn’t have a lot of money, and then our parents would drop us off. It was my last year of undergrad. We’d gone to Yosemite and were on the final leg back when an eighteen-wheeler cut us off, then stopped abruptly. I don’t remember anything from the accident, but Levy does. Mom and Dad died right away.”

“Were you and Levy hurt?” I ask, kissing his cheek.

“I had a severe concussion and several stitches,” he says, revealing a scar hidden by his hairline. “But I think I’m the one who got a little lucky. Levy had a bad case of whiplash but never lost consciousness, so he remembers everything. I was unconscious for a long time, and he thought he lost everybody all at once.”

“How did y’all get through that?”

“Together.”

His one-word answer says more than an entire conversation possibly could.

“And he knows about us now?”

He nods. “He guessed where I was going, and I’m pretty sure Charlie and Erik know too.”

“Are you going to lose your job because of me?”

The look he gives me in response…I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this before. He cradles my face, shaking his head.

“I don’t know how much Charlie wants me to tell you, but given what you’ve already seen…” He chews the inside of his lip, then continues, “That driver who did all those awful things to the women we rescued tonight? I just saw them hand him off to Anders and a guy named Hopper. They are almost certainly torturing him right now at what looks to probably be a black-ops site, maybe? So, yeah. I suspect fucking an ex-patient isn’t high on their list of things that will get me fired.”

I swallow thickly. Maybe I should be focusing on this whole connection with a black-ops site, but that’s not where my head is at.

“Is that all this is? Fucking?”

Bram’s haunted eyes give me the answer before his words. “No. I know we’re still new to talking about all of this, but please believe me when I tell you this goes way beyond merely fucking.”

The intensity of his stare, the crackle of electricity at this moment…I know he’s telling me the truth.

“Then let’s get you in the shower and wash last night off you. I’ll call in, and we’ll spend the day in bed.”

It’s weird and deeply sensual to be the person whose words pull the pin on Bram’s control, letting it bleed out along with the tension in his body. Within seconds, he looks softer, his need allowed to show itself.

“Thank you,” he says softly, following me to the back.

Stepping up to the shower closet, I lay down towels in the hallway, keeping the door open as I wash him thoroughly and gently. After that, I dry him off, and he follows me down the short hall into the big bed. We climb in together, naked, holding one another.

“Do you need anything? My mouth, my ass?”

He shakes his head. “Just you.”

And in this, me taking care of him absent any of our dynamic, just his vulnerability between us…my heart tips over into words unspoken. Like dipping into a heated pool, warm and comforting.

We wrap ourselves around each other, falling into a deep sleep.

I wake to a thick, wet sensation against my hole.

“Are you rimming me?” I ask, blinking against the midday sunlight that fills my tiny room.

“Mm-hmm,” Bram growls, pushing me facedown against the pillows as he drags his thick tongue from my cockhead to my rim and back again.

I arch back when he spits on my hole, loving how dirty it feels. After turning me into a boneless mess, Bram swirls a lubed finger around the puckered rim, softening it before sliding inside the tight space.

He’s nearly torturous with the glacial speed he’s going, nipping the shelf of my ass as he adds a second finger, tickling my ribs while he scissors his fingers, stretching me. So carefully.

“Does this feel good, Ignacio?”

“Yes, Dr. Barlowe. It feels so good.”

“Do you know why I’m doing this?”

“Because I’ve been good?”

“Mm-hmm. You’ve been a very good boy, Ignacio. You took care of me when I really needed it. And good boys get rewarded.”

I squeal, grinding my still-sleepy cock into the covers. He taps my hip. “Stop humping the bed. I’ll take care of you. Promise.”

I let out a disgruntled sigh, but I still my hips because he’s asked so nicely. He continues to spear me with his fingers, carefully driving me up the wall with perfect pressure.

“Fuck me, Dr. Barlowe. Please, please fuck me,” I plead, half babbling, half whining.

He makes a sound low in his throat, and I look back. He’s slowly stroking himself, attempting to draw this out despite the desperation in his expression.

Fuck that.

I shift my hips back, bumping his hand.

“I’ve been saving myself for you. Only you. Please…I beg of you…take what’s yours.”

He groans, then pushes inside me without warning.

I moan into my pillow, loving the not-so-gentle stretch, and hump back against him, shoving him deeper and deeper inside me. Grabbing my hips, he snaps forward, and my eyes roll back in pleasure.

Flattening me against the mattress, he blankets me with his powerful weight, covering my entire body with his. The only movement is his hips grinding into me, rocking the mattress up and down from that powerful movement alone.

Suddenly he flips us, him below with me still facing away from him. He brings his knees up, and I set my feet against his thighs as he grabs my hips. I drop down as he punches up, hitting every inch of that sweet spot inside me.

My waking cock flops with the violent movement, smearing my belly with a portent of things to come. Tightening his grip, he fucks into me again and again.

I watch as his curious fingers play with different parts of me. My peaked nipples, my loose sac, the foreskin that captures his attention every time. Tease and stroke, explore and stroke, stretch and stroke.

How I melt and harden at the same time, I’ll never understand. No one ever told me that sex—togetherness—could be like this.

Just as my climax starts to build, he slows us down again. I whine, needy, even though I know he’ll make it worth it. He taps my side.

“Turn to face me,” he commands softly.

Grinning, I comply…eventually. Sitting up, I enjoy the reverse cowboy for a few hip rolls, loving his pleased sounds as his hands land on my hips and help them along. Satisfied that I’ve given him a bit of his own medicine, I slowly pull away from his hard, curved cock, then spin around and impale myself on him even more slowly. His breath and mine hitch with each new angle until I’m once again fully seated.

Facing him, I lift my brow. What next, Dr. Barlowe?

“Fuck me nice and slow, Ignacio.”

“Yes, Dr. Barlowe,” I gasp.

“Look me in the eyes.”

“Yes, Dr. Barlowe,” I say, lifting my eyes to his.

Affection, approval, admiration…his look floors me, and I slow the roll of my hips. Pleasure blooms across his features as his mouth falls open, gasping with each thrust.

“Those people were in such a dangerous spot, Ignacio. Everything was going wrong, and I knew I could call you. Depend on you. I knew you would save them.”

I shake my head, leaning forward as I continue rolling my hips, running my fingers through his chest hair. “I just translated. That’s it.”

He thrusts sharply. “Pay attention.”

“Yes, Dr. Barlowe.

“You didn’t just translate. You were kind. You treated them like human beings. You were compassionate.”

“Thank you, Dr. Barlowe.”

“You were such a good boy, and…I think you might be a very good boyfriend too.”

He emphasizes this with a scoop of his hips. Fuck. Yes.

“So,” I say, panting from what his dick is doing to me. “You only think I might be a good boyfriend?”

“I know so, Nacho.”

My eyes snap open again at the use of my name.

“Dr. Barlowe, are you trying to convince me to agree to a significant relationship while I’m emotionally and sexually compromised?”

His features sharpen at the playful words, and he punches his hips, that fucking curve in his cock hitting the right…everything.

“Yes,” he breathes.

“You like compromising me, don’t you?”

Something evil and romantic and fucking perfect flares in his eyes.

“Yes.”

“Then yes, Bram.” I rub my chest, where his words are sending soft, insistent explosions. “I’ll be your boyfriend if you’ll be mine.”

He drags me down to him, pulling me into a perfect kiss. Flipping us again so he’s on top—in more ways than one—he pistons into me, kissing me breathless.

“I love fucking you, Ignacio. So obedient. So compliant. So good for me.”

“I love being your good boy, Dr. Barlowe.”

Angling up, he goes after the bundle of nerves again and again.

“I’m going to come,” I warn.

He goes even faster. “Yes, Ignacio. Come for me. Come for me, pretty boy.”

My face flushes at the compliment, and the orgasm consumes me, making me his. Making me wish for things I shouldn’t but will anyway because that’s how it is between us. Just as I’ve been drained of all fluids, he grunts, slowing his thrusts, deepening our kiss as he fills me.

“Fuck, Nacho,” he breathes into my ear. “You’re so fucking tight. So fucking perfect for me. Thank you. I can’t tell you how much I needed this,” he confesses, gently stroking the last of his cum into me.

We collapse into a tangle on the bed, holding each other until his cock softens, and we scramble for an old T-shirt to avoid a mess. It’s miraculous seeing him post-sex, relaxed, funny, his hair all over the place.

He’s gentle with me as we clean up, and then we fall into bed again, taking our time with kisses before drifting into a cuddled-up nap that feels like home.

He doesn’t call me Ignacio for the rest of the day, only Nacho. He enters me twice more, with no orders or even good boys. Just sweetness and appreciation, and longing, deep looks that mean something, even if neither of us is able to say it out loud just yet.

“Somebody’s walking funny this morning,” Ant says as I pick him up.

I woke Bram up with a blowjob, and he fucked me again in appreciation. Something about sneaking in a few extra kisses with him right before I had to let him go was…sigh.

God, I’m a goner.

After that, I got ready and made the lonely drive over, only for this salty twink to give me shit.

“I’m sitting in my truck, dude—you don’t know how I’m walking.”

“Still. You’ve got that freshly fucked look about you.”

“I could just make you walk to this project.”

He rolls his eyes because it’s not that big a threat.

The nice lady from a previous job, the one with the creepy dogs, loved our work ethic and professionalism so much that she recommended us to her dog lady, who owns the property next door to the ranch.

Remembering Bonnie said the lady is a little rough around the edges, I’d asked Charlie if he’d ever met her. He hasn’t had a chance to because he’s been rebuilding from the fire and the entrance to her property is nearly a mile down the road. He’d been surprised that she trains dogs because they haven’t heard much in the way of dogs barking, which I thought was strange, even with the size of the property.

Unfortunately, this means we’ll hafta skip the fancy coffee, but at least we’ll get a quick start to our day.

Joanna Weber has asked for a twelve-foot chain-link fence with privacy slats and barbed wire across the top. We see this a lot for people trying to secure heavy equipment, and I’m curious about the kind of business she does beyond the dogs. Since I was out yesterday, Justin and one of the other guys set the posts, so Ant and I are just here to put in the slatted chain-link fence and barbed wire.

When we arrive, however, things are just…off. The house is a big ranch that would be pretty if it were better maintained. The property has the kind of neglected details—weeds that need whacking, a listing carport that needs shoring up—you often see out in the country, where there are fewer neighbors to impress.

That, in and of itself, is not unusual. The teeth-baring pack of six German Shepherds greeting us at the gate, however, is. Just like Bonnie’s dogs, they’re whisper-quiet. Like, deadly quiet. And they look like they’d rip us apart if given half a chance.

From this angle, there’s a professional-looking dog run-slash-kennel set up in the backyard, so they definitely aren’t pets. She’s got six precision-trained guard dogs on a shitty piece of property out in the sticks with no one around.

Curious.

When Bonnie said Joanna was rough around the edges, I anticipated someone who looked hard and prematurely aged with a collection of unfortunate flannels. When Joanna finally comes out, she looks like a soccer mom, and when she softly orders the dogs to their kennels—in German—they comply immediately, almost like they’re afraid of her. She doesn’t even close the gate to the backyard.

Beyond that, she’s weirdly tense and standoffish. I’d worry it’s my tattoos, but honestly, it’s not just her attitude that’s the problem. The longer we’re here, the more I don’t like the feel of this place.

I like it even less when she takes us over to the area where the new fence is going up. Already in the space is a prefab metal building, the type of insta-building a qualified crew can put up in a day. Nothing—not a goddamn thing—is sitting right with either Ant or me if his uncomfortable shifting is to be believed.

On top of that, the more we talk about the work we’ll be doing, the more her demeanor shifts. She’s becoming increasingly agitated with each detail we share. Angry, even.

“Well, I have errands to run. I suppose I can leave you to do this on your own. I usually don’t trust Mexicans on my property, but Bonnie seemed to trust you.”

Ant goes to say something, and I shake my head. He glares at me but shuts his mouth, his teeth clacking together.

Thing is, I recognize her move. She’s saying something inflammatory to evoke a reaction so she can overreact to the reaction. I don’t know why she’s trying to start a fight, but she very clearly is, and I don’t want any part of it.

I respond with as much charm as I can muster. “We’ll get this up real fast for you, ma’am, and then we’ll be out of your hair. First, though, I’ll need you to secure your dogs.”

“They’re secure.”

“Ma’am, my apologies, but the fence is open.”

Rolling her eyes, she stalks toward the fence and closes it with a hateful flourish before stomping over to her truck. After sending another distrustful glower in our direction, she peels out of the property onto the two-lane road.

Ant rounds up on me the second she disappears from view. “She doesn’t usually trust Mexicans? Why the fuck did you let her get away with that? Jason and Justin would never want to do business with someone like her.”

I hold up my hands. “She said it on purpose. She was…I don’t know. And I know this sounds weird because I definitely don’t wanna put up her fence, and I absolutely know Jason and Justin would be totally fine with us walking off the job, but…something’s telling me we need to stick around.”

“What could possibly make you want to stay?”

“I’m curious about what we’ll see,” I answer, gesturing to the odd building we’ve been tasked with fencing in. “Ant, do you know why on a property like this, someone would request this kind of privacy fencing?”

He shrugs. “Heavy machinery.”

“Where would they fit heavy machinery in with that building?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s a garage.”

“Then where are the garage doors?”

We walk the circumference of the building.

“No garage doors,” I say, running my hand through my hair.

“And what’s on the windows? It’s like a blackout film. Like something to prevent the sun from getting in.”

“Or to prevent whatever’s inside from being seen by people on the outside.”

Given his history and my far-too-recent experience, I wonder if we’re not just being paranoid. But I’ve gotta check.

“Ant? When you were being passed around from place to place, were you ever kept in a place like this?”

He stops throwing the fencing supplies on the ground, looks at the building, and then up at me.

“Fuck,” he grits out, giving the place another once-over. “Yes, but I didn’t… The building looks different out in the middle of the country. But out in Baytown, we were in an industrial area, and this is exactly the kind of building they held us in. Some have loading docks, some don’t, but…fucking hell.”

I think about the mission Levy, Bram, Charlie, and Erik just went on. They had to go in at the last minute because they found out about the shipment on a big bust.

“Ant, when did the order for this fence come in?”

“Day before yesterday. She threw all kinds of money at Justin to get him to approve a next-day installation.”

“And Justin worked on this project yesterday, right? Did he say anything about the building? Like, do you think it just went up, or has it been here for a while?”

He shakes his head. “He said something about waiting for some contractors to get out of the way before he could get started. I wonder if they were still putting the finishing touches on it when they showed up yesterday.”

Scanning the building, I curse under my breath.

“What?”

I carefully point out the cameras around the building.

“Do you think they can hear us? Understand us?” Ant asks.

We’ve been speaking in Spanish this whole time, which is as natural as breathing for us, but I shake my head. “If this is who I think it is…I don’t think they’ll understand us at all.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m calling Charlie. Let’s go back to the truck.”

Wrinkling his brow, he follows me, asking, “You think they’re up to something? Shouldn’t we just call Justin? Or Jason?”

I climb into the truck alongside him, considering my words. Tapping the steering wheel, I answer, “I, uh…Charlie and them needed a translator for some people night before last. I sorta got to see one of their operations, I guess you’d call it.”

“Wait. I was one of their operations. Why didn’t they ask me to translate?” Ant asks, his brows coming together in an angry stitch.

“Dude. The shit I had to listen to…they would’ve never put you through that. Like, they called in Anders to deal with the driver after everything those women said.”

He lets out a sound of disgust. “If anyone gets to fuck up one of those motherfuckers, it should be me.”

It’s a little hard to take him seriously since he’s so tiny, but then I remember some of the things he’s shared with me, and I stifle my reaction.

“I hear you. They’re just super protective of you, man.”

“Whatever.”

I turn on the truck and fire up the Bluetooth, punching in Charlie’s number.

“Go for Charlie.”

“Charlie, I’m here with Ant, and I’m gonna feel real stupid when I say this to you, but I think this fencing job we’re on is connected to the people you saved outside of San Antonio.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You can check the invoice with Justin, but this was an urgent last-minute request for a fence. Almost as if they hadn’t planned on needing a fence and suddenly did.”

“Okay…”

“When Justin and Chase arrived yesterday morning, I think they were delayed by some contractors. See if those contractors were putting the finishing details on one of those insta-buildings, like a corrugated metal storage facility. I pass this place every day. Two days ago, there was nothing on this land, and now there’s a building with cameras on every corner and blackout film on the windows. Plus, we’re about to put up a twelve-foot privacy fence with barbwire at the top. I bet if you were to get a hold of whoever they bought this building from, they would have a similar story about a last-minute purchase.”

“It’s not a lot to go on, Nacho.”

“I know. It’s just a gut feeling. Like, nothing’s really wrong about this place, but nothing’s right either. Like, even the dogs are kinda scary with how quiet they are. The lady who owns this place…”

I don’t even know how to describe her.

“What’s her name again?”

“Joanna Webber.”

He goes quiet and a tapping sound like keystrokes fills the line.

As I wait for his response, I start wondering if I’m way overthinking this.

“Like I said, maybe I’m just being super paranoid, and she’s just being an ignorant good-old girl out here in the country.”

The keystrokes stop.

“Don’t do that. You know these people better than anyone,” Charlie says as though he knows my history. “I’m going to look into this. I want you and Ant to continue as planned. Put up the fence but leave part of the job undone due to some…I dunno, materials issue. Something that’ll force you to go back to finish it tonight. I’ll make it right with Jason and Justin.”

“Got it.”

“Listen, man. Keep your eyes open, and if there’s any hint of trouble, get the fuck out of there.”

I turn to Ant. “What do you think?”

“Whatever it takes.”

“Thanks, Nacho. Best-case scenario is you’re a little paranoid. But I like where your head is at.”

Ant and I exchange a glance as I hang up. Guess I’m in it now.