Savior Complex: An MM Age Gap Romance (Wild Heart Ranch Book 3)

Bram and Nacho had a small housewarming dinner planned with Ant and me before Javier showed up and dropped this bomb into our lives. They’ve decided to move forward with it, inviting Javier to join us.

Their house looks way better than when we first took it over. Where there had been walls and distinct rooms with specific purposes, they’ve now opened the floor plan with the help of some of Charlie’s friends. Nacho’s reupholstered the used pieces they bought, and I helped with the painting and wallpapering.

This dinner celebrates more than a new house. It celebrates the new venture we’ve joined and the fact our college loans are now paid off.

Nacho ropes Javier and Ant into a new online game while Bram and I prep for dinner and read the report on Javier that Erik forwarded us.

Bram shares his insightful thoughts while I goggle over Javier’s arrest record and early booking photos. Despite the grainy quality of the photos, Javier’s hair and beard are darker and a lot less trimmed, but his sexy smirk overrides the fact he’s in handcuffs.

“He’s kind of a badass, isn’t he?” I ask as I peel the carrots while Bram juliennes them. Bram raises his brow and opens his mouth to comment but is interrupted by the man himself.

“Who’s a badass?” Javier asks, peering over my shoulder, his hand on my back. “And where’s the Rioja?”

I startle at the unexpected contact, then lean into it. “Uh, you’re the badass,” I answer, unable to come up with a quick enough lie as I grab the deep-red Spanish wine from the counter. “We were reading your dossier.”

I uncork the bottle, and Javier’s grin is far too charming, but it’s the vulnerability in his eyes that makes him truly dangerous to someone like me. Despite my years of clinical training, I still want to reach for this fragile part of his soul and fix it.

He holds up his glass, letting his hand drift lower to my waist. “Don’t believe everything you read. If you’re impressed, I’m sure they exaggerated.”

“So you didn’t stop a trafficking ring at its source in Rio?” I ask, raising my brow as I pour the wine, trying to keep my thoughts on track. “Just went, saw the Jesus statue, and came back home?”

He shrugs modestly, the move far more sensual than it has the right to be. “I had help.”

“Yeah, right. You had”—I recork the bottle and pull up my phone, scrolling to the op in question—“the mother and grandmother of one of the girls who’d been taken.”

“You don’t have to be physically impressive if you know how to handle a gun,” he cracks, the lines around his bedroom eyes angling up in a smile.

Everything about him is impressive. He’s got this tall, rangy build that’s equal parts strength and flexibility. Well-groomed, with white taking over the hair at his temples and beard, but not stuffy. He has a set of serious cheekbones and a sharp jawline but expressive eyes that melt into crinkled half-moons when he smiles. Gorgeous tan skin shows both his age and beauty. Layer that on top of the heart-pounding details in this report, and you’ve got a badass on your hands.

A badass who needs to be loved on and cared for.

Stop it, Lev.

I’m feeling rather unimpressive with my limited experience. I would’ve tapped out early on had I been through what Javier’s been through, but he kept going, like his sister said, straight through hell.

“Uh, Lev, you gonna save some of that carrot for us?” Bram asks with a hint of humor.

I look down and laugh, having whittled it down to nothing. Grimacing, I hand it to my brother. We share a look and an entire conversation.

Yes, he’s flirting.

No, I don’t think he means anything by it.

Stop looking at me like that.

Oblivious to our silent gossip, Javier toasts us with his refreshed glass and wanders off. Thankfully, my brother is willing to focus on the cooking and doesn’t give me any shit.

Despite my distracted carrot peeling, dinner is wonderful. The food is delicious and, more importantly, I’m seated next to Javier. We’ve had an energy between us all night, and his incidental touches have become progressively less incidental.

We started off the meal by reaching for the same glass of water. After, he skimmed the tops of my hands with his fingertips, admiring the tattoos. Halfway through the meal, I dropped mashed potato on my lap, and he insisted on helping me clean it. Now, his hand is resting on my thigh.

I’d worry that the others would notice, but Bram and Nacho are not nearly as subtle as they’d like to believe. That’s not a complaint. Watching my brother’s stoic demeanor give way to a softness around Nacho—even as he corrects his posture and places a napkin on his lap—is wonderful. Mostly.

Bram’s happiness makes me happy, even as it makes me achingly aware of the lack of love in my life. Honestly, I’m surprised Bram was even open to a long-term relationship and was shocked when he fell head over heels for a former patient.

That kind of head-over-heels love is all I’ve ever wanted, yet never once have I stumbled into my Hallmark moment. For a long time, I thought men were the fun I could have on the side until the right woman came along. I’ve dated plenty of women, but I’ve recently concluded that while I’ve always enjoyed friendship and sex with them, I see myself long-term with a man.

I don’t know if you’ve tried to date a man recently, but long-term is generally not the vibe. Even less so when you consider that most of the guys interested in dating me hope that the tattoos, piercings, and body mods translate into dominance in the bedroom.

I’ve disappointed countless men when I tell them I prefer my partner to take the lead and that I like bottoming as much as topping. More damning, is the ache in the center of my chest, the need to curl up in someone’s arms and grow old with them.

What I’ve got—for tonight—is Javier’s hand on my thigh.

Don’t get it twisted—I like his hand on my thigh and may have spread my legs to make it easier for him to put his hands wherever he’d like. Given what he does, I’m guessing sex is a solid release valve for the intensity we’ve all experienced in the last twenty-four hours.

Honestly, as an option B, I could do worse. But I know what this is and what it isn’t.

“You’re seeing this, right?” Javier whispers, his fingers skimming high on my inner thigh with one hand as he passes the rolls with the other. “Your brother’s not being an asshole, is he? That’s Dom behavior, no?”

Bram’s admitted that he and Nacho explore light kink but keep it limited to the bedroom. I’ve decided against pointing out that we’ve all heard him call Nacho a good boy on multiple occasions and that most people would be annoyed by his constant corrections.

Only…they’re not corrections. I know this because Nacho’s eyes dilate and his breathing gets heavy every time Bram palms the back of his neck and whispers something that makes Nacho sit up straighter.

Perhaps the napkin on Nacho’s lap is meant to cover exactly how much he loves my brother’s very particular attention and praise.

Ugh. I don’t want to think about it. Thankfully, I’ve got the distraction of Javier’s fingers skimming my package, the delicate brush somehow intensified by the intervening fabric. I move my napkin to my lap, and he laughs at something Ant says, curving his thumb around the bulging middle seam of my jeans before moving his hand back to the table.

He’s both bold and discreet, and I have zero doubts about what we’ll be doing later.

After dinner, we move the party to the living room, where Ant sits between Javier and me while we start the latest viral Netflix series. By the time the credits roll on the second episode, Ant’s passed out against Javier’s shoulder, his mouth hanging open.

I silently gesture for Javier’s phone and snap a couple of pics, which he sends to his family. Gently embracing Ant, Javier kisses the top of his head, a tumble of emotions making their way across his face.

“Let’s get Ant to bed and get you moved in,” I say to Javier, wiping a bit of Ant’s drool from his shirt.

He nods, then picks Ant up like a baby. Nacho rubs his chest. I know he’s thrilled for his friend, but at the same time, he’s cut himself off from his family to avoid getting pulled back into their bullshit. He found out last week that his grandmother’s health is declining, and it’s been especially hard to stay away.

We get Ant into the truck and then into his bed without him stirring even once.

“He sleeps like the dead,” Javier whispers as we shut the door to his room.

I nod, proud. “He used to be a really light sleeper, but somewhere around the third month, he started sleeping a little harder. Now he’ll sleep through just about anything.” We exchange a heated glance, and I lift a shoulder. “Hopefully, that means his body knows he’s safe.”

Javier shakes his head as we go out to his truck to gather his things. “Protected. It’s not only the absence of bad but the presence of guardians.”

“Yeah?” I ask, realizing the go-bag Javier grabs from his well-traveled truck is all he’s got. Another excellent reminder that whatever happens next is extremely temporary.

Javier slings it over his shoulder and nods, putting his hand on my back. “I’ve seen it. The kids especially—the second they feel safe, they sleep for days.”

I nod, then warn him, “Even though I know you didn’t mean it this way…maybe don’t compare him to children. At least not to his face. It’s a pretty sensitive subject.”

He nods. “He and I have had a few conversations about that. You’re right, I wasn’t thinking of him as a child, but the comparison can be harmful. Thank you for standing up for him.”

“Of course,” I say, winding my arms around his waist. “And sorry if I brought the mood down.”

He wraps his arms around me, smelling my hair. “You didn’t. I appreciate the reminder.”

We hold each other for another moment, then he releases me to go inside and unpack. I think he needs a moment to clear his head. I do too, so I grab some lounge pants and a T-shirt, then take a quick, thorough shower. Shoving my dirty clothes into the hamper, I lightly knock on his door.

“Come in.”

Javier’s rising from his bed as I let myself into his temporary digs. His bag is open on top of Bram’s old dresser, and from what I can tell, all he’s got is an extra pair of jeans, a couple of T-shirts and tank tops, a button-down, and a handful of underthings. His Dopp kit is small and efficient-looking, and in addition to the boots he’s wearing, there’s a pair of sneakers and a pair of slides off to the side of the dresser.

“Not much for material goods, are you?” I ask, closing the door behind me.

He reaches into the bag and slides a grainy picture of the entire Hernández family, housed in an old brass frame, onto the dresser.

“Doesn’t make sense to own a whole lot on the road.”

“You’ve been on the road for a while then, huh?”

He nods. “I’ve slowed down a little bit over the last few years. Some of that was wanting to be connected to my family, but some of it was me starting to accept that we were likely never going to see him again. I still wanted to help with the trafficking, but I had to stop letting it consume every minute of my life.”

“I think that’s why Charlie does things the way he does. If it were all trafficking, he’d be a very different person. Did you know he volunteers for search-and-rescue missions?”

“As in searching for lost children?”

I nod. “Anyone who’s missing, really. He’s also starting to collaborate more and more with people, so it’s not all on his shoulders.”

“What about you? Ant told me you lead the equine therapy for the rescue center and help with the guests who arrive after some of Charlie’s and Erik’s ops. I hear you even help out on the ops from time to time.”

Lifting my shirt as I lower my waistband, I show him the scar that runs from my belly button out toward my hip. “Just in case you thought you were the only badass,” I snark.

Javier steps into my personal space. “Do you mind?” he asks, his fingers hovering near the scar.

I shake my head, lowering the waistband a bit more as he delicately skims his fingertips over the pink line. “This could have been really bad. The doc did a good job lining up the edges of your tattoo.”

“That’s Anders for you.”

Between the pleasure radiating from his touch and the sharp want from his intense focus, I have to remind myself to breathe. My pierced nipples are suddenly sensitive to even the barest brush of my T-shirt.

I nod, trying to respond somewhat coherently. “We were trying to protect a little boy. We’d been waiting in the truck and got out to help when they sicced their dogs on us. Bram stood in front of me and the little boy, ready to kill the dogs if he needed to. Thankfully, Hopper got them to back off so the little boy and I could get into the house while Bram helped out the team. I didn’t see it until we got inside and nearly fainted when I saw the blood.”

“I bet it was a lot of blood.”

I scrunch my nose. “It was, and the little boy I was supposed to be saving had to help me into the living room. I lost track of him, and then Bram got so upset when he saw me not doing well. I’m not cut out for the heavy operations, but I do okay when they’re only going in for the rescue.”

Javier narrows his eyes, broadening his hand to cup the bit of belly I always think I’ll work on but never do.

“Don’t dismiss what you do.”

His fingers flex and release, and suddenly I feel like the world’s biggest stress ball. That’s not a bad thing, especially if Javier’s the one doing the squeezing.

“I’m a great therapist. I’m…I’m still figuring out where I belong with the fieldwork. I won’t be a getaway driver, that’s for sure.”

He chuckles, then leans in, whispering in my ear as he continues to work over my belly. “I can’t imagine anything more harrowing than listening to people’s stories, Levy. You do that every day. How do you take in all this darkness and stay so light?”

His lips brush the outer edge of my ear, and I take a deep breath, tilting toward the sensation as I answer his question.

“I keep their stories in a different part of my mind and heart. I know what it’s like to be in a dark place. So I meet them in the dark place, and that’s where we leave their stories.”

His hand, still partially under my waistband, moves to grip my hip, his long fingers grazing the top of my ass. “That’s beautiful and incredibly brave of you,” he says, pulling me close enough that our noses touch. “Do you ever find yourself in need of a release? Do you ever have a hard time letting it go?”

I send him a slow, deliberate nod, finding the desire behind his eyes. “Bram and I spar after a really bad day. If we find it difficult to let go, then we have a therapist we can each see whenever we need to,” I say, my words slowing as his other hand dips below the waistband to grasp my other hip.

His head bobs along with my words. “What kind of sparring do you do?”

“We’re both black belts in judo, but we sometimes mix it up with a little karate or aikido.”

He thumbs my belly from his anchor points on my hips, sliding his nose alongside mine. “And…do you find relief in the more carnal pursuits of the one-night variety?”

I inhale his exhale, nodding.

“Occasionally. I’ve got a Tinder profile. Go into Austin sometimes.”

“Not Grindr?”

I shrug, my heart speeding up. “Been a little too nervous for Grindr. I’m pan, so…”

My words drop off as his hands round my ass, pulling me to him, pinning his hard cock against mine.

“Mm. Do you have a preference?”

“I used to think I didn’t,” I say, my hands sliding up and down his cabled arms. “More and more, though, I’ve been checking out men.”

“Why is that?” he asks, nosing my temple, inhaling my scent.

“I have needed—” I go speechless when his teeth graze the edge of my ear.

“You’ve needed—?”

“To not always be the one in charge. To be the one taken care of for a change. Which, to be fair, there are plenty of women who’ll do that, but I sense what I really need…”

“Is for a man to take care of you?”

I nod.

“Have you found that the men here can take care of you?”

“Not as well as I’d like.”

“Would you like for me to take care of you? Just for tonight? It would help me very much.”

My whispered yes is cut off as his lips crash down on mine. I stifle a whimper as I wrap my arms around him, arching into him as he delves his tongue into my waiting mouth. We stand at the foot of the bed, making out, his large hands calming me.

“You’ve got a perfect ass,” he whispers against my lips, squeezing said ass.

“You should see my thighs. Strong and thick.”

“Oh, I’ve been feeling them up all night. You’re built like a…what are those beer horses?”

“Clydesdales,” I respond, grinning as I run my fingers through his pretty beard.

“Yes. Clydesdales. But it’s this belly, this tiny, perfect layer of softness, that’s driving me out of my mind,” he says, going to his knees, pushing my shirt out of the way, kissing, his lips soft and hot against my skin.

Bringing his fingers to the tie on my thin lounge pants, he flicks his eyes to mine. “May I?”

I lean back, gripping the dresser, nodding like it’s my job.

“Oh God, please. Yes, to everything. Yes, to anything. Just be careful with my piercings.”

He grins, running his finger over the thin material covering my cock. He stops as his fingertips discover the apadravya piercing, and he runs his teeth over his bottom lip.

“I’m a simple man with simple tastes. I want merely to be able to take you apart tonight if you’ll let me.”

“I need it.”

We share another look, this one less frenzied, less heated. He sends me a wink, letting the pants fall to the floor. I’m not the longest guy out there, somewhere decently in the middle and a little on the thick side, like the rest of me.

Pushing his face into my groin, he moans. “Beautiful.”

Taking me in hand, he strokes me to full hardness, gently licking at my slit before tonguing the piercing, both top and bottom. Producing a little spit to shine over the crown, he sucks it into his mouth, his tongue circling and swirling the piercing for a few eye-rolling seconds before taking in my full length.

I don’t think I’ve ever had a man look so satisfied in that position. He makes the quietest little noises of happiness as he slides up and down on me, and I feel like the tastiest boy he’s ever had.

His fingers graze my taint as he palms my sac and the guiche piercing. Alternating tapping the tiny silver balls, he goes back to tonging the piercing through my glans, creating the perfect shots of pleasure up and down my shaft.

I put my hands on his head, rolling my hips. “Close.”

His hand comes to my belly, cupping it as he slows his thrusts, carefully pulling off me.

“I’m good keeping it to oral tonight if you prefer, or…”

I shake my head. “Of course that’s fine if you prefer, but…fuck me. Please,” I tack on, probably sounding desperate. “If you don’t mind.”

He stands, gently tugging me toward him, delving into my mouth for a deep kiss. “That is the very last thing I would mind.”

He reaches for his Dopp kit, pulling out a small bottle of lube and a stack of gold foil condoms. My hands go to his jeans, and I make quick work of them, then step back.

“Holy. Fucking. Shit.”

He grimaces, stroking himself. “If it’s too much…”

Shaking my head, I laugh. “I’m just glad I’m a size queen when it comes to my dildos.”

Even half-plumped, his dark uncut cock hangs down his thigh and is way thicker than mine. I clench my hole, a little terrified but a lot fucking turned on.

“Hm, curious,” he says, thumbing my nipples through my T-shirt. “Let’s see what you’ve got under here.”

He pulls up my shirt, his hands once again squeezing my little bit of belly.

“Nice,” he says, drifting his hands to thumb the thick rings with heavy beads hanging from my nipples. “Are you used to these? Or do they turn you on all day long?”

“Depends on the situation. Ah…” I pause, arching into the sensation. “Um…ah…When I’m in a…oh shit…a clinical moment, I make sure I’m…fuck, that feels so good…present for whatever my clients need to say.”

“What about non-clinical moments?” he asks, dipping to pull a nipple and its piercing into his hot mouth, alternating suckling on the pebbled flesh and using his teeth to tug on the hardware. “Are you more aware of them then?”

I whimper, nodding as he moves to the second nipple.

“Yeah…ah, ah, ah…when I’m alone, I’m more…aware.” My hand curves around his head, pulling him closer, silently begging for more. “I use heavier gauge piercings so I can enjoy the weight.”

“You obviously like it when someone plays with them, pulls on them,” he says, sucking hard.

“Mm-hmm.”

“What about if someone twists them? Do you like that?”

“Love it. Obviously, you have to be careful, but that’s why I got them. It feels…” I catch my breath as he pinches each ring between his index fingers and thumbs, pulling and twisting gently. “Fucking amazing.”

“Is that why you got all of your intimate piercings? Because they bring you more pleasure?”

“In the right hands, yes.”