TAKEDOWN

The drink spilled over the rim of the glass as the ice clinked against the sides. Rye wiped the cloth against the bar to clean up the mess from the rum and Coke he’d prepared. He looked out to the bar, the hotel quite busy, considering the night was still early. The UFC fight gave energy to the room where shouts of encouragement rang out in loud outbursts. Two of the top fighters were in the third five-minute round with only two minutes remaining and if Rye had a chance to have a go at them, he’d jump on the opportunity.

The ring had been his home for the past decade of his thirty-four years. He excelled, won some championships, but not enough to get him in the ring with the likes of the pros. Not that he minded. His contentment lay in the life he led, he traveled to fight when he could, but moved to Turks and Caicos for the relaxing atmosphere. He settled into a fine life there a year back and did not intend to leave anytime soon.

After he cleaned up the remaining mess, he tossed the towel aside and approached the waiting customer. A U.S. Marshal. The badge on his hat declared so much and the words written in white block letters on the back of his navy tee- shirt confirmed it to be true.

Rye grinned. A law man sent his arousal into full alarm. The tough persona, the harsh personality, exactly the type of man Rye enjoyed bedding. His women he liked sweet, with a bit of sass in their personality. Men he wanted ragged and rough around the edges. More fun to play with. To some, he’d be considered a bisexual, one who enjoyed both a woman’s pussy and a man’s tight ass. He hated the label and left it at he enjoyed sex. All types.

He drew closer to the man and his muscles tightened as he wiped his hands on his jeans. The Marshal, represented precisely what he’d been looking for in a lover. So much so, he’d enlisted the services of Madame Eve to help him find it. The men he’d been involved with were either too soft, too giving, or couldn’t stand up to his personality. He craved a man to go head to head with, equal in strength and demeanor, a fantasy he’d hungered for for years and never fulfilled.

As the thought rose, annoyance burned his blood. Madame Eve had yet to live up to her obligation. Months had passed and she hadn’t found him what he sought. Pushing his irritation away, he stopped in front of the Marshal. “What’s your pleasure?”

The Marshal raised his gaze and Rye bit back a groan. The man’s occupation made him appealing, the hard exterior of his features captivated Rye. Russet hair peeked out beneath his baseball cap, curling up at the ends. His eyes rich as chocolate, and the chiseled manner of his jaw line and lips made Rye’s cock heavy.

“Cold beer,” Wyatt responded.

Rye cleared his throat before turning away to grab the beer from the fridge below the bar. He grabbed the bottle opener from his pocket, flicked it open and handed it him, brushing against his hand with his own. The man tensed before he raised the bottle to his mouth and took a long draw on it.

Was that a flicker of interest Rye witnessed at their touch? Intrigue held too much in his body not to find out. First, he’d play it cool. The Marshal might stir erotic thoughts, but Rye had enough sense to tell he looked exhausted. “Rough night?”

Wyatt lowered the beer from his mouth and wiped away the remaining liquid on his lips. “A rough week.”

Rye noted the gravelly tone to his voice, due to tiredness or a given attribute, he couldn’t be sure. Didn’t much matter, he enjoyed it nonetheless. “That bad of a vacation is it?”

“No vacation.” Wyatt shook his head, spinning the beer bottle in his hand. “On a case.”

Interesting.

Rye’s curiosity peaked, needing to become better acquainted with the Marshal, he offered his hand. “Rye Daniels.”

“Wyatt Tanning.” He wiped his hand on his shirt before he shook Rye’s.

Again, a flash of interest appeared on the Marshal’s face at the contact. Rye had enough experience to know straight-men, but he doubted the man before him only enjoyed the likes of women. Remaining blasé, he continued with the small talk. “I take it you haven’t found whoever you’re looking for.”

“Nah.” Wyatt took another long sip of his beer. His lips made a suction sound as he lowered the beer back down and Rye stifled the moan threatening to escape his lips. “Not even close.”

Rye leaned against the counter, brought his gaze back to Wyatt’s, and took notice of something when he did. The Marshal’s gaze drifted to his forearm, which Rye could feel had flexed with the move. His eyes widened slightly and his breath drew in deep, before he clamped up.

To be sure he saw it right, Rye shifted positions repeating the move and Wyatt’s eyes burned again, however, ceased an instant later.

A challenge.

Rye’s adrenaline kicked up and his cock stiffened. To explore more, he reached down and shifted his erection in his pants and Wyatt tensed. His gaze snapped away and he drank his beer with his eyes focused on the bar ahead. It appeared the Marshal took notice of Rye as well, yet wasn’t so inclined to indulge in such attractions.

Too bad for him, Rye lived to push limits. An opportunity had fallen into his lap. A dream come true, really. Not only did it provide the exact type of man Rye longed for, but Wyatt had dared him not to try, even if he hadn’t meant to. Bored with the meaningless conversation, Rye tested Wyatt. “Got any plans for tonight?”

Wyatt’s beer came down on the bar with a heavy thud. His eyes wide with surprise, but he hid it well a quick second later. “Early start tomorrow, my plans are to hit the sack and in the mornin’ catch a killer.”

The answer didn’t surprise Rye. If anything, it pleased him. Increasing the challenge only built the burn in his groin. “The Marshal gets no fun then?”

Wyatt cleared his throat, before he finished off his beer and stood. Reaching back into his pocket, he took out his wallet, grabbed a ten dollar bill and threw it on the bar. “Appreciate the beer, a good night to you.”

Rye nodded in response and watched Wyatt leave, focusing on his tight ass filling his jeans. Wicked images played on his mind. That is, until he got interrupted.

“I’m here,” Saul gasped, breathless.

“About damn time,” Rye exclaimed, glancing toward one of the other bartenders at the hotel. “You’re an hour late.” Not that he minded. If he’d left when his shift ended, he would’ve missed the Marshal.

“Sorry, got stuck on a call with an old friend.” Saul looked away when a customer approached the bar. “Go on, I’ve got it handled now.”

Rye pulled twenty bucks from his pocket, placed it in the cash register and helped himself to a six pack of beer from the fridge. Good thing Susanne at the front desk adored him because he needed to know one thing—Wyatt’s room number.