Forsaking Truth Read Online Free PDF

prime the blade, and get rid of any debris maybe

left from previous use.” Fuck, why the hell was his neck on fire? Was he

fucking blushing? “That’s good enough,” he quickly said.
    Unplugging the pump,

he fit the saw’s extension cord directly into the power source. “Now you’re ready to cut,” he announced, stepping back.
    “And that’ll keep the

blade wet?”
    He swallowed again.

Where the hell did he put his beer? “Well, yeah. But if you’re going at it hard

and the blade looks dry, you gotta stop and prime t he

pump some more.”
    Luke’s mouth kicked up

and the dimple was back. “Things always run a little smoother with a nicely

primed pump.”
    Tristan gave a nervous

laugh. “You know it.”
    Luke loaded up the

first tile and secured it in place. “Maybe you should cut t he first one.”
    Tristan stepped

forward, but Luke remained close, hovering over his shoulder as he adjusted the

blade.
    “There’s the mark,” he

said, sending a long tapered finger into his space.
    “I see it. Watch your

fingers unless you want nine.”
    Luke stepped back, but

not enough. Frazzled, Tristan grabbed a pair of safety goggles from the table.

The blade fired to life and even the grinding of the wet saw couldn’t shut out

the roar of his heart beating in his ears.
    The spinning saw

dwindled to a dull reverberation as he reached the

end of the tile and the ceramic split in two. “Beautiful.”
    “Nice,” Luke said

admiringly. “My turn.”
    Tristan stepped aside

and Luke took control. He was a natural. The next hour was spent watching Luke

expertly handle th e powerful machine and shifting

uncomfortably as every gesticulation of his fine body added pressure to the

bulge growing in Tristan’s pants.
    As they gathered the

last of the tile needing to be cut, Luke annihilated the remainder of Tristan’s

control by pe eling off his shirt. Motherfucker. The

guy had the most beautiful body he’d ever seen.
    Smooth pecs cut above

his tapered ribcage. He counted eight—motherfucking eight—perfectly sculpted

abs. On his side was an enormous crucifix tattoo with writing scrolle d beneath it and disappearing beneath the sharp contour of

his hip.
    “You want another

beer? It’s hot as fuck today.”
    Tristan’s gaze jerked

to his face and he nodded. Maybe he should switch to bourbon or straight up

moonshine. A moment later Luke returned a nd handed

him a bottle, cap already removed. “Thanks.”
    As Tristan’s lips

closed over the mouth of his beer, Luke’s head tipped back as he gulped his

own, a tiny bead of sweat traveling slowly down his rippling throat,

distracting his gaze. “I like this mac hine. Like most

machines. Something good about handling so much power. Makes you feel like a

man.”
    Tristan swallowed a

groan. “Yeah.”
    “Luke?” Turning at the

singsong, female voice, Tristan spotted a woman he didn’t recognize

approaching. Where the hell had she come from?
    She wore unlaced

boots, a loose bun, and some sort of dress hidden under an apron. Her hair was

copper and her eyes were creased with laugh lines. Was this Luke’s mom?
    “I saw you had a

friend over, so I thought I’d see if you boys were want in’ some supper. I made dumplings.”
    Tristan nodded in

greeting and stepped back. Luke’s expression was blank as he pulled the last

drop of beer from his bottle. If this was his mother, he didn’t acknowledge her

presence with any sort of real courtesy. Luk e’s gaze met his. “You hungry?”
    “I’m always grateful

for a home cooked meal.”
    The woman smiled, her

face round and pleasant. “Now, that I have plenty of. Come along. Wash

yourselves up and get eatin’ before the gettin’s gone.”
    She turned and briskly

walked toward the log cabin in the distance. “Is that

your mom?”
    “The one and only.

Come on. Let’s get cleaned up.”
    Tristan didn’t ask

about the obvious tension. Rather, he followed Luke into the