by L E Franks
“Yeh, the lads’r fine. The coach is workin’ on getting us out. Shouldn’t be long.” Corwyn didn’t seem too concerned one way or another. “We’re scheduled to be in California in three days, so I think we’ll be heading there directly.”
He reached through the bars and grabbed my hand. “I’ll send ya an email. You should come and visit. Leave the guard dog—” He nodded to FatBoy who was probably making threatening faces behind my back. “Irish quarantine fer pets is sixty days…”
FatBoy snarled, and Rachel squeezed in.
“How fun.” Rachel was using her ‘professional’ voice, the one that had deadbeats coughing up child support in minutes.
“You have two seconds to say your good-byes, or you’re walking back to town, Nicholas.”
She stepped a precise six inches away and turned her head to inspect her claws.
They were probably still dripping blood.
“Sorry about your place, Nick. It was a deadly spot. With any luck, it’ll be square in no time.” He ran his thumb over mine.
Pressing as close as he could get with the icy bars between us, he dropped his voice and made his pitch. “Maybe it’s a sign, Nick. Maybe you should try someplace else… maybe find someone else. You’re too good a man to be wasting your life pining after someone who can’t appreciate what you have on offer. We’d be good together—” He was earnest and a tiny part of me wanted to still be the flirty bartender who would take him up on his offer, if only for a night.
I almost didn’t recognize myself.
Shaking my head, I removed his hand from my arm.
A little sad.
I wasn’t sure if it was because he might be right about FatBoy, or because it was already too late.
“Take care of yourself, and say good-bye to the boys for me.”
He nodded and moved back into the gloom.
As we passed the next cell, I noticed that Darrell was asleep on the bench, curled up back-to-back with the drummer for the Leprechauns, and it made me smile.
Life was weird.
* * * * *
It was still dark as we stepped onto the pavement outside the police station, though the tang of dawn was in the air. Any second now, I expected to see the gloom lighten to violet, then periwinkle, before blooming into the full-blown rose of day.
I turned to Rachel. “You’re gonna miss your flight.”
She shrugged. “We’ll catch the next one. Nothings more fun than reminding ass-backward security folks of my constitutional right to French kiss my girlfriend in their airport. Tastefully, of course.”
“Of course,” FatBoy agreed.
I was about to ask if she made a habit of it when an electric lime Prius pulled to a stop in front of us. All I could see of the driver was a swath of raspberry colored hair falling across her face and the tan driving gloves wrapping around the steering wheel.
“Well, there’s my ride. Stay out of trouble, children.”
Rachel moved around to the passenger side and paused to dig in her briefcase. She tossed something at us over the roof, and my reflexes fired a split-second before my brain and injury could stop me.
I inspected the wad of keys now clutched in one hand, ignoring the smarting in my shoulder.
“What’s this?”
She’d opened the back door, and tossed her bag inside. “Your ride—”
I could tell she was about to launch into familiar Rachel snark when a chirping from the driver inside distracted her. She ducked her head down to listen, and I wished I had a camera to capture the gooey expression on her face.
Straightening, she slammed the back door and jumped into the front seat.
“—third row from the back. Red. Can’t miss it. Tah.”
She didn’t wait for our response. The car peeled out of the lot before she’d even finished shutting her own door.
I looked at FatBoy.
“Red. Go figure.”
“So they can’t see the blood.”
I nodded. Lawyers really were sharks.
For all the action going on inside the police station behind us, the lot was peaceful and remarkably empty. Even full, it wouldn’t have been hard to spot Rachel’s car.
I forgot about the pain.
“Well shit, Princess… Seems your fairy godmother left you quite the carriage.”
I shoved FatBoy out of my way so I could run my hands over the apple red fender, older than the two of us put together.
I wanted to lick it.
If I could have sex with a car, I’d be buying this one a drink.
I turned back to FatBoy. “No way. She didn’t just….”
He huffed out a laugh. “Nope. She didn’t.”
He pointed to the other side of the Mercedes Roadster to where a four-door sedan was parked. She was a cruel, cruel woman.
Dammit!
Reluctantly, I left my dream car to follow FatBoy as he walked over to the driver’s side and held out his hand for the keys.
I was still pouting.
Not that Rachel’s car was a beater. It was a newer model Mercedes sedan, though it looked more burgundy than red.
The bitch.
Still, a fifty-thousand-dollar car was better than calling a cab.
“Toss ‘em over, Princess.” FatBoy’s gravelly voice gave me a little thrill. No point in rolling over and making it too easy on him.
“Fuck you. I’m driving.”
“What about your shoulder, Nicky?” He couldn’t help himself. The second he thought I was in trouble, he either went all snarly or treated me like a flower.
“Too bad. Rach gave ‘em to me.”
“She threw them at us, and you’re such a competitive little shit, you risked hurting yourself rather than let me catch them!”
“You’re just jealous you got beat by an invalid…” I shoved him aside with my hip, and he spun me around to face him.
“Fuck yes, I’m jealous!”
He straight-armed me into the side of Rachel’s Mercedes.
“Not because you might be better than me at something, Nicky… never that.”
He moved his hand slightly to hover above my heart, barely touching my shirt. From a distance, all anyone would see was one man strong-arming another—probably an everyday occurrence among the recently released—but they’d miss the sentiment behind his gesture.
“Corwyn, Cam… all those guys at the bar who flirt with you every night… It kills me. I want to be the one sitting in public, holding your hand…”
He trailed off.
I could see it was true. Even now, here in the deserted lot of the police station, he kept a foot of space between our bodies. Where I would be pressing into him, shoving my knee between his legs to tease him, biting his lower lip to keep him close and kiss him, he was cautious. Reluctant. Restrained.
I was dying to see him off his leash. I wanted that passion he kept bolted down deep to explode—preferably all over me, in me…
Shit.
I was done.
“Get in the car, FatBoy.”
“What…?”
“Get in the goddamn car.” I hit the release on the fob and threw open the door, going for effect. Instead getting German engineering—the heavy door wouldn’t be thrown—gliding open silently. I gave up.
Dropping into the front seat, I slammed my knee on the steering wheel.
Fucking short people.
I rubbed it while fumbling for the seat control. It still throbbed from the earlier injury. From the corner of my eye, I watched FatBoy get settled, smiling his 'Nick is being Nick’ smile. I wanted to wipe that superior little grin off his face and have him howling for more. I wanted to bite him and—
I realized that I wanted two things almost in equal intensity.
Food. And sex.
With FatBoy.
Now.
I pulled onto the main street, going the opposite direction from either of our homes.
“Where’re you takin’ us, cher?” FatBoy was back
to his old self. He’d ditched his suit jacket, tossing it into the back seat, before rolling up his sleeves. His arms were a distraction of golden skin and flexing muscles and a scattering of light brown hairs.
“Um…” I turned my attention back to the road. “Honestly? I’m starving. Hardees should be open by now. Then I’m taking you home and putting you in my bed.”
“Are you now?” He slid a hand over my thigh, and I shivered.
“Unless you want the couch.” I wouldn’t look at him.
Don’t look.
“Bed is fine. Where will you be sleepin’?”
I looked.
The man was edible.
And bordering on feral, something we had in common.
His body, big at the best of times, was enormous in the confined space of Rachel’s car. He lounged, muscles loose, giving a false impression that he wasn’t primed to pounce on any prey crossing his path.
And while his profile was relaxed, his eyes were hooded. I could only see light reflecting from the streetlamps, but I guessed they’d be the color of a dark ocean at twilight if I could see them.
I licked my lips, regretting my decision to challenge FatBoy for the driver’s seat.
It was pure macho bullshit, and if our positions were reversed, I’d already be working his cock free with my mouth. Squirming at the thought, I did the only thing I could in the face of FatBoy’s never-ending patience with me. I banged a U-turn in the middle of the street and hit the gas.
“What the fuck, Nick!” FatBoy had to slam his hand against the dash to keep from hitting it. Hastily, he yanked on his seatbelt, the click of the latch a sharp staccato note accenting the rising tension.
Streetlights flashed by in the periphery as I drove faster.
“I’m done.” I pressed the accelerator, watching the needle jump on the speedometer. The ride was smooth, and I couldn’t feel the upper end of the power.
Yet.
“You will be if they pull you over and arrest you for real.” His calm demeanor cracked, and my cock jumped. I wanted him an emotional mess. I planned on taking him apart like he had me.
Welcome to my world.
“I’m done with all the bullshit between us, FatBoy. I’m done dancing around. You want me? Well, here the fuck I am! Use me or lose me!”
I was having a Top Gun moment, and I couldn’t stop butchering the lines in my head. “I feel the need—the need for speed!”
I glanced over, and he looked furious.
“Then maybe it’s time you started calling me by my name!” I heard the hurt behind the snapping words.
Silence crashed down between us, and I was afraid I’d gone a step too far.
Again.
Finally, after an eternity where I died, and lived, and died again, he said, “I don’t want to use you, Nicky—” FatBoy’s words were just a whisper, “—and I definitely don’t want to lose you.”
His timing was impeccable.
I wished I had another hundred miles of empty country road unwinding in front of me, time to sort things out. Instead, I pulled to the curb outside my loft. I threw Rachel’s Mercedes in park and considered the neighborhood with its mix of industrial and residential.
Rachel had insurance.
Probably.
I turned to look at him. “Coming?”
Any other time, he’d throw that line back in my face. Not now. Not when we’d taken a giant step outside our safety zone. He sat, staring out the window, avoiding my eyes.
“Do you still want me… to?”
I knew what he was asking. This was for everything.
We were either going all in, or we’d both fold.
The idea of FatBoy walking away made my skin hurt.
“Come on.”
I know I didn’t answer him. It was mean to like him off balance, a little. But I’d been walking this wobbly tightrope with him for weeks and it felt like there was something more for us, just beyond the bullshit, if we kept going and didn’t take the easy out.
He grabbed his suit jacket. I alarmed the car—hoping it would survive until Rachel’s return—and we walked together into my building, almost like a real couple.
Almost.
I fumbled at the lock, my hand shaking in the effort to steady myself. And just like that, he stepped in, wrapping his arms around me from behind, pulling me into his warmth. I relaxed against him and the key slid home. He followed me in, kicking the door shut as he went.
This was not his first time here—that was weeks ago, after he lost a game of rock-paper-scissors to Juan and was stuck dragging my carcass home after a post-shift pancake run left me snoring in my plate.
“Look I—” I turned toward him, not exactly sure what to say.
“Stop thinking, Princess. It just gives us both heartburn.”
He grabbed me, covering my mouth with his kiss. It was hot and desperate, and I stumbled under the intensity, catching my foot on a side table, knocking into it with my knee. I heard a pot roll off the edge and break.
Our kiss went on and on, and I used his strength to my advantage, all those muscles I’d admired for months were at my command. I canted a leg to rest against his hip and guided his hand under my thigh. He got the hint, maneuvering my legs to wrap around his waist as I pulled myself up, arms around his neck.
We spun in place, a bizarre waltz of hands and tongues, finally crashing into the back of the couch. A cascade of mail I’d left stacked on the armrest fanned across the hardwood, accompanying the sound of keys hitting the floor as I shook them free of my fingers, desperate to touch his skin.
He was all-consuming, and when his buttons wouldn’t cooperate, I bit them with my teeth and tore at his shirt with my fingers.
“God, Nicky.” He moaned against my lips as I pinned him between my thighs and began to rub. He balanced my ass on the back of the couch, and we had that moment of frustration where we worked against each other: me leaning forward, tugging his shirttails free, him pushing me back to work the zipper on my jeans.
I won, stripping him to the waist, but as I sat up to take advantage of all that skin, he pushed, toppling me backward onto the couch and out of his way while he tugged my jeans free.
“Bastard!” He’d left me wobbling on the back of my couch, bare-ass naked to the world from the waist down.
“Whiner.” He licked a stripe along my cock and then laughed, pulling me back up by my tee. “Hang on, Princess…”
“Ahhh! Fuck!” My outrage faded as he unzipped his trousers and pulled his own dick from his briefs. I reached for it, and he slapped my hand away.
“Just feel, Nicky… just hang on to me and feel.” I took him at his word and saw stars as he wrapped his fingers around both our cocks. I tightened my hold around his neck and thrust into his hand, posting from my position with my legs gripping his waist.
“That’s it, baby. Come on, come on.” His jerking interposed with swipes of his thumb to spread our pre-cum around to lessen the bite of friction.
Skin on skin.
I craved the feeling, soft and hard, fast and slow. The pressure built in my balls, and I drove on—flexing my hips, burying my face in the side of his neck. The first glorious effusion of come slicking his hand sent me crashing down in his wake, and I clung to him, shuddering through my climax.
FatBoy held me in his arms, nuzzling the uninjured side of my face. I felt him run his hands up and down my back.
“Need a shower,” I mumbled against him.
“Which one of us?” FatBoy sounded torn between disgruntled and amused.
I pretended that FatBoy hadn’t just wiped his cum-covered hand across the back of my T-shirt under cover of a caress. It was a move I’d used before so I couldn’t judge.
“Both.” I hopped off the couch where I’d ended up, and winced.
FatBoy had tucked himself away but with his pants still unzipped, and at the first sound of pain, he was there immediately, a naked wall of muscle towering over me as he cataloged every injur
y he could see.
“Pretty banged up, Nicky.” He traced a finger across my cheekbone as if seeing the damage for the first time.
I shrugged, trying to play it cool, and winced.
“Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up, then we can play doctor.” His grin was almost feral. I trailed him into the bathroom and flipped on the water to let it run to hot.
Peeling off my T-shirt, I worked one arm free, carefully pulling it over my head to keep pressure off my other shoulder. I let go, and it slid to the floor, leaving me naked under FatBoy’s scrutiny.
I turned, and he sucked in a quick breath.
The area around the front of my shoulder was already purpling where the skin wasn’t scraped and red. I could only imagine how it looked from the back. I inspected a mosaic of bruises and scrapes all along one side and a shallow gash across one hip. It was a wonder I didn’t feel that while I was riding FatBoy like a carousel horse.
Stepping around him, I climbed into the shower.
“Well?” I poked my head from behind the curtain. “You coming? I don’t think I’m in any shape to wash my own back. Do you?”
He grinned and dropped his pants.
* * * * *
My body stung under the spray. Hot water pinpointing each tiny injury, it felt like torture by a thousand cuts, and I clung to the showerhead to stay upright.
“Damn, Princess.” FatBoy stepped over the edge of the tub, crowding into the shower behind me.
“If it looks worse than it feels, I don’t want to know.”
“How does it feel?” I could see his hands hover in my peripheral vision like he wasn’t sure where it was safe to land.
I turned to face him and hissed as the water hit my back for the first time.
“Like a mythological creature from the north woods threw me into a wall and a team of tiny ninjas attacked me with their little swords.”
“Well then, I think we’re on the same page, cuz that’s what it looks like.”
He dabbed at my lip with a clean washcloth, then kissed me gently. “I’m not sure how to touch you—”
“Then inviting you into my shower was a fuckin’ bad idea, FatBoy. You have two seconds to change my mi—”
