Anti-Hero (Wild Heart Ranch Book 4)
Anti-Hero: Chapter 4

God, I just want to get this trip over with. We should’ve started out this morning, but last night some of the terraced land at my aunt and uncle’s vineyard collapsed, taking a dozen grapevines down with them.

Anja and Georg immediately reached out to their handsome neighbor—and our generous Sunday dinner host—Trip Goodnight. He’s got a land-management degree and has put it to use, both on his own ranch and freely within the community.

So, when Trip called on the entire crew to bring their shovels, Ant and I were happy to push back the trip another couple of days to join in.

Right now, he has us digging out the buried vines before he resets the hillside terracing with his brand-new toy—a shiny compact backhoe. We’ve been at it all morning, and my Nordic ass is about to melt in this heat. Running the tip of my shovel into the loose dirt, I lean on the makeshift support with my forearms.

“Who’s fucking idea was it to re-terrace this section in the middle of summer?” I ask, taking the water jug from Nacho.

“Pretty sure that was the drought-with-intermittent-flooding we’ve been experiencing,” Nacho says, wiping the sweat off his brow.

“Is this one bitching about the heat again?” Ant asks, walking up to us with a shit-eating grin. Taking the water jug out of my hands, he gestures up at me. “What the fuck is this?”

I’m wearing a long-sleeved sweat-wicking shirt and a bucket hat with a neck guard to protect the back of my neck from the sun.

“I’m Norwegian. I burn easily.”

Nacho, who took off his shirt an hour ago and has turned a pretty dark-tan, snickers. “You’ve lived here long enough to know you’re supposed to spend the spring getting a base tan.”

“There is no such thing as a base tan for Scandinavians, you melanin-blessed bastard. Just varying levels of sunburn. You’re still going to age though.”

“Like a fine Mexican tequila. Meanwhile, Noruego, you’re going to spoil like milk.”

My Spanish is only okay, but I do know that Noruego means Norwegian.

Ant’s gorgeous bronze skin has deepened in the sun, and he laughs as he takes off his tank top. Soaking the cotton in cool water from the jug, he runs it over his pretty face and delicate chest. “Erik, you are ridiculous.”

“Not everyone was born with built-in sun protection, Ant. Though you shouldn’t rely on that. Are you even wearing sunscreen?” I ask, reaching for my fanny pack.

“How old are you?” Ant asks, stepping forward to peer inside the pack. “All you need to do is start wearing socks with slides, and someone in Florida will send you the key to a retirement villa in Boca Raton.”

“Shut up. I’m at least thirty years from retirement,” I grouse, smacking his hand as he tries to steal a granola bar. “You can’t make fun of me and then steal from me.”

He blinks at me, his bright eyes glinting in the sunlight.

We’ve spent the last two weeks working out the logistics of our little summer road trip, and I have to admit, mostly to myself, that Ant is even smarter and a helluva lot more capable than I’ve given him credit for. His ideas are clever and a little sneaky.

Of course, it’s inaccurate to call it a road trip when Hedy has lent me her restored Cessna. She also not-so-subtly reminded me that Ant and I have the number to the Bat Phone—Wimberley’s immediate response emergency number. If we call, Wimberley will redirect operatives from any mission to replace us anywhere in the world.

Yeah, I don’t plan on calling on help from Wimberley. Ever.

Anyway, we were up late last night putting the finishing touches on our plans when he’d scrunched his eyes closed and yawned. That’s when I noticed how long and thick his lashes were. That’s only important, I suppose, because I’m noticing them again as they glint in the sun.

Nacho chuckles to himself, and I look down. Ant has snuck the granola bar from my pack, and he’s shamelessly munching away.

“Did I ever tell you I’m a world-class pickpocket?”

I give him my most Nordic glare, but he stretches up on his tiptoes to pat my cheek with an amused smirk. My hands go to his hips automatically, but the look from Nacho has me sliding them into my pockets.

“Trip told me to let you two know he’s ready to backhoe this level if you’re just going to be hanging out.”

He punctuates this with a finger gun and walks off with my granola bar, whistling. Speechless, I turn to my friend-slash-former-fuck buddy, gesturing at the thieving imp.

Nacho clicks his tongue at me, shaking his head.

“What?” I grumble while zipping my—practical, thank you very much—fanny pack.

“You two are flirting with each other.”

“Like hell we are.”

“To be fair, he’s better at it than you are,” he says, yanking on my—admittedly unflattering—bucket hat.

“That’s not what’s happening here, Nacho,” I protest. “We’ve gotten closer as we work on the plans for our trip, and I admit he’s impressed me, but we are friends. Roommates.”

“Roommates,” he says, cracking up. “Yeah, like no one’s ever heard that one before. So you haven’t tapped that sweet ass you keep staring at?”

My hand shoots out, gripping the join of his neck and shoulder, but only because I have—barely—enough self-control not to choke him outright. His eyes drift down to my hand as he raises an amused brow.

I wonder what I ever found attractive about him in the first place.

Pushing him away from me, I spit out, “Fuck off. I’m not staring at his ass, and no, I haven’t tapped that.”

Fucking menace.

“But you’ve thought about it.”

I draw my chin back.

He doesn’t know what goes on in my mind.

“I’m betting his little beatdown fired you up,” Nacho says, popping his brows.

“Who told you about that? And no, it didn’t.”

He snorts. “Are you kidding? Ant is telling everyone. Keeps saying it was the best night of his life.”

“That teeny, tiny jackass.”

Nacho pats my belly. “Big, toppy guy like you letting a little guy get the best of him? I bet you’d love the opportunity to show his tiny ass who’s boss.”

“Hey, you liked it when I was a toppy asshole in bed,” I snap back. “Besides, I don’t think about him that way.”

Mostly. At least not while I’m conscious.

…Okay, sometimes when I’m conscious, but I’m not proud of it.

“He’s gorgeous, amigo. How could you not? Especially since you’ll be going on this little murder spree across the country with him. He once admitted to me he gets super horny when he kills.”

Don’t choke him, Erik.

“Why the fuck would he tell you that?”

Nacho shrugs. “I dunno. But hey, if you’re not interested, me and Bram have been thinking he’d be a perfect little spit roast—”

Nacho is on the ground, grabbing his jaw as he throws his head back in laughter. I look down at my reddened knuckles and…fuck.

Dragging him up from the ground, I stick my finger in his face. “Shit. I’m sorry for hitting you. Genuinely. I—”

Nacho holds up his hands, still laughing. “Nah, I deserved it. Also, you were so mad you barely glanced me.”

“I’m mad because you can’t fucking talk about him like that. He’s been through too much for someone like you to think of him as your little plaything.”

Nacho, having ignored the lesson I just handed out, decides to keep taking his life into his own hands. “Ant’s been fucking his way through the Hill Country, Erik. He’s been plenty of people’s plaything.”

A rumble vibrates my chest as I poke Nacho’s slick, tattooed chest.

“Shut up. Sure, Ant goes off and has his no-strings fun, but that’s him taking his sexuality back. You and Bram, with your little dynamic, had better fucking stay away from him. Besides, wasn’t it you who was saying you two are crazy jealous for each other and couldn’t ever imagine another person in your bed?”

I shove him away from me and rip my stupid hat off my stupid head as I make room for Trip and his stupid earth-moving equipment. Nacho, the interfering jerk, follows me up the path toward the main house, still chirping at me.

“You know it’s not disrespectful to be sexually attracted to him, right? Like, you wanting to bone him is not the same as those who took advantage of him, right?”

God, this fanny pack makes me look like a middle-aged soccer dad. I rip it off and keep walking.

“It’s not wrong to be attracted to the things that also made him attractive to traffickers, friend. He’s small, you’re huge—the gay porn practically writes itself. You would never harm him or take advantage of him.”

I spin on him, practically clawing the air. “Which is why I’m keeping this to myself! He doesn’t need another person horn-dogging after him. He deserves to be treated like a human being.”

Nacho’s smile—even as he rubs his sore jaw—is a little too triumphant. “So you do think about him that way.”

“I will fucking kill you, so help me, God.”

“You don’t believe in God. Besides, why’re you getting mad at me when you’re the one falling in love with the little guy?”

I eyeball his neck and wonder if I’d be forgiven for breaking it.

Probably not.

Instead, I step toward my stupid friend and tower over him, hissing, “Shut. Up. They are just flashes, random misfiring synapses. Means nothing. Sure, I’m a red-blooded guy. I see his pretty eyes and his pouty lips.” The dimples right above his bitable ass. “I know he’s beautiful. I can tell he wants someone to step in and take care of him.”

Nacho’s eyes soften, and it makes me want to hit him all over again.

“And you would love to take care of him, wouldn’t you?” he asks, rubbing his jaw as his mouth hooks into a grin. “I seem to remember you riding the line between soft top and controlling asshole all the way to the bank.”

I snarl at his characterization, and Nacho—either very brave or incredibly stupid—pats my shoulder. “All I’m saying is don’t be fooled by the walls he throws up. He’s surprisingly sensitive. Your job on this little road trip isn’t to protect him physically. It’s to protect his heart and his mind. Don’t step in if he’s struggling to take someone down. Step in if one of those guys starts putting him into that headspace.”

I grind my jaw. Letting Ant put himself in harm’s way instead of taking care of these list assholes myself is driving me insane.

“Erik, promise me.”

“Yes, Nacho. Fine. If they fuck with his head, I fuck with them, and not in a way they’ll enjoy.”

“It’s killing you not to make things better for him, isn’t it?” he asks, a little too shrewd for my taste.

“So? Shut up about it,” I say, clamping my lips together when my Uncle Georg rounds the corner, buttoning his shirt.

“It’s a good thing you two are so loud. You nearly walked up on something you would not have recovered from,” he says, grinning.

Right on cue, my Aunt Anja rounds the corner, picking leaves out of her hair. “Ah, boys. Arguing over whether or not Erik will make a move on this big trip around the country. What odds do you have, Nacho?”

“My money’s on this one finally breaking down by New York. Fort Lauderdale and New Orleans are still on the table.”

“I’ve got Fort Lauderdale,” Georg says, reaching for his wallet. “What’s the buy-in?”

“Five dollars.”

Anja shakes her head. “He won’t make it past New Orleans. Darling, can you lend me the cash?”

Georg shakes his head. “No. But you can earn it once everyone leaves.”

“I’m still here, right?” I ask, gesturing to my height. “Last I checked, two meters is pretty fucking hard to miss.”

“Especially wearing that get-up, my dear,” Anja says, patting my hand. “Honestly, Erik. How are you going to woo him when you look like some grandpa who runs the neighborhood carpool?”

Nacho slaps his thigh, doubling over with laughter. “Fuck, I love being part of this family.”

Georg pats his back, laughing with him. “Wait, was Erik serious? Are you and Bram monogamous?”

“For now.”

“Hm,” my uncle says, looking thoroughly disappointed. “You’ll have to let us know if you ever change your minds.”

Nacho sends me a look that means who the fuck knows what, and I stalk off, completely over this entire exchange. Ant can replace his own way home, the little thief.

I also can’t believe Nacho got so much out of me. I’ve kept these disturbing urges for Ant to myself for a while now. At least as long as I’ve been living in the bunkhouse. Though…maybe a little longer if I really think about it.

Once I get home, I stomp into the bathroom on my side of the house and turn on the water, letting it heat as I disrobe. I step into the steamy tub and stand under the hot water, snarling over Nacho’s and my family’s insinuations.

I will not be taking advantage of Ant on this trip. I’m going as his protection. Nothing more, nothing less. Just taking care of a friend. A friend with ridiculously long, thick lashes and plush, pink lips.

Also…so what if I like shorter men? My porn-watching habits are nobody’s business. His age still bothers me, even though I know it’s largely mitigated by his experiences. This just feels wrong. Inappropriate.

Besides, I’ve never been in a relationship, and I’ve never wanted to be. If I were to pursue something with him, it’d only hurt him in the end, and that’s the last thing I’d ever want to do.

I mean, I’ve got to imagine that what he wants more than anything in life is stability. To know he can come home at the end of the day and trust the person there to greet him. To know he’ll be cared for gently and guided when he needs it.

That thought reminds me that I’m less bossy in the real world when I have regular access to a willing bottom. Which further jogs my memory—I haven’t been with anyone on my rotation in several weeks.

Shit. That’s probably what this is all about.

I get out of the shower and towel off. Hanging my towel to dry, I walk across the hallway to my bedroom and grab my phone. Ensuring the door is closed, I lie on the bed and pull up my favorite porn site. It’s run by a reputable company and features extreme size differences.

I go to my favorite couple—a diminutive five-foot-tall cutie with a pretty micro-cock and a six-foot-seven monster of a guy with a cock big enough to wreck any hole. They switch up who’s in charge quite a bit, but I’m a basic bitch—my favorite videos are the ones where the big guy gives it to the smaller one.

I’ve watched all their videos, including the newest one—at least twice—so I go back to my favorite. The little guy is spread out on the bed while the big guy spends several moments rimming and edging him, then filling him with an improbably large fantasy dildo with an expandable knot.

Using the handheld pump, he fills the knot until his tiny husband taps the bed.

“Too much?” he asks, swirling his tongue around the smaller man’s stretched rim.

“Just perfect,” he says, barely holding on.

I’m slightly obsessed with nipples and love it when the big guy takes out the nipple suckers and slowly…so damn slowly, twists them to create the suction, turning the little guy’s sweet gumdrops into stretched, oversensitive fat nipples.

With his partner filled to the gills and fully stretched, the big guy adds lube to his long fingers and sweetly plays with his partner’s small cock.

I’m not at all into age-play, but playing with someone who is physically tiny? Fuck, it scratches my Viking itch to be the big, strong man in charge. I return my attention to the screen, my cock swelling as the larger guy works two fingers over his man’s needy little cock. I love how the small guy arches and begs for completion, only to be denied.

I stroke my cock in anticipation of the next part, where the big guy deflates the fantasy dildo and replaces it with his own massive rod. One of my other favorite videos shows him playing with a real live ultrasound, and it’s shocking how much of the guy’s insides he’s rearranging with his dick.

The way he pushes inside that little body again and again…

Just as I get up a good rhythm, the alarm system chimes, and the front door opens.

“Honey, I’m home,” Ant says, laughing at his own joke.

“I just took a shower,” I call out, a bit breathless. “Might wanna give it a few minutes.”

“It’s a tankless water system, viejo,” he says, opening the door to my room.

I drag a pillow over my erection as he walks in and frantically fumble with my phone until I replace and hit the pause button. Ant stops short.

“Shit. Sorry, dude. Didn’t mean to interrupt your me time.” He coughs back a laugh as I slide my arm under my head. “Uh, nice pillow.”

Want to see what’s under it?

Pulling back the invitation from the tip of my tongue, I look down.

Fuck.

It’s the decorative pillow that came with the ocean-themed set. The large tentacle in the middle is a particularly unfortunate feature.

“Get out,” I grump, pointing at the door. “And knock next time!”

Ant turns to leave, then looks over his shoulder, his eyes landing on the damn pillow again. With a salacious wink, he salutes before leaving me alone with my embarrassing porn.

Asshole. I remove the pillow, still at full mast.

“Oh!” he says, walking back into the room with a hand covering his eyes. I don’t trust him in the slightest, so I slide the pillow back in place. “Hedy called me—the Cessna needs some work, so Wimberley’s lending us the smaller jet for next week’s locations.”

I sigh in relief. The Cessna is a nice plane, but I feel safer with Ant on one of the jets.

Ant playfully peeks between his fingers, then pouts when he sees the pillow back in place. “Damn. You’re no fun.”

“Get out!”

He walks out, cackling, and I’m left with a bigger dilemma.

Rather than the petite submissive begging for his husband’s enormous cock, all I can picture now is Ant’s knowing smirk morphing to pained, overstuffed pleasure as I enter him in one swift thrust.

That’s right, little one. Your body is mine to do with as I please.

Fuck.

I am not going to jerk off to Ant.

I can’t.

Only…fuck, my hand on his throat. His dark cherry nipples so plump and stretched, awaiting my mouth.

Maybe…just this once.

I’m so hard that three, four—ah, shit, his tiny hole stretched impossibly around my hard length—five strokes—fuck, fuck, fuck, his petite body jerking forward with each punishing thrust—is all it takes for thick white cum to streak my abs and spill down my tight grip.

Even though I’d love to see my cum dripping from his abused hole, I can also imagine his pink tongue lapping up my release as I guide him, my palm on the back of his head.

Yes, baby. I could be so good to you.

Another thick dribble of cum makes its way down my white knuckles. I squeeze harder, almost to the point of pain. A punishment for perving on my tiny, deadly, perfect roommate.

Throwing the decorative—and, frankly, profane—pillow across the room, I grab the box of tissues and mop up my disgraceful mess. After pulling on my favorite lounge pants and an old T-shirt, I shove down the reality of what I just did, grab my laptop, and head to the bunkhouse’s common area.

I set up at the dining room table and send messages to all our contacts, making sure they’re good with the updated schedule and that transportation, lodging, and food are all taken care of.

Ant, fresh from a shower and wearing only a pair of loose, white pajama bottoms—so perfect against his sun-soaked skin—walks by me to grab an apple from the counter. He smells like that cocoa butter lotion he likes to wear while I still smell faintly of cum. I glare at the laptop, hoping it looks like concentration as I widen my legs to make room for my thickening shaft.

Even though I couldn’t possibly go again, my imagination serves up an image of him kneeling between my thighs, working my cock with his mouth and hands while I go about the business of finalizing our trip. How I would love to cup the back of his head and roll my hips, making sure he’s taking all of me…

Fuck.

Fuck.

Pull it together, Bash.