Decision (Diversion Book 8)

by Eden Winters

  Bo loved outdoor sex. Such a win.

  “I gathered from your reports that you liked the cabin.” Walter smiled in his usual all-knowing way. Trust Walter to read between the lines of Lucky’s report. Hopefully, he didn’t know everything, in this case.

  If the boss only knew what they’d gotten up to in the woods behind the cabin…

  Charlotte saved Lucky from embarrassing himself.

  “Okay, everyone. Time for cake.” She shooed them through the kitchen and into the seldom-used dining room. “You too, brother mine,” she barked when Lucky didn’t move.

  He stood and waited until the crowd had departed to wrap an arm around Bo. Oh! Him and Bo alone, sort of, and Bo promising a gift for later?

  Lucky lifted up on his toes and planted his lips over Bo’s. Bo opened his mouth, sliding his tongue along Lucky’s.

  Hot damn. Lucky couldn’t bite back a moan.

  Bo ended the kiss. “We better get in there before they come looking.”

  “Cake or you? No contest.” Lucky leered.

  “C’mon.” Bo gave a laugh and swatted Lucky’s ass.

  Lucky held back while Bo traipsed to the kitchen door. While he never liked seeing Bo leave, watching him go might be Lucky’s favorite image.

  That ass.

  Now to survive the next few hours and get a little private time with his man. Because.

  Yeah, that ass.

  Chapter Three

  Only on his birthday could Lucky get away with eating four hot dogs, two single-serve bags of potato chips, and a slab of chocolate cake without a lecture from Bo.

  Bo didn’t have to lecture. Lucky clearly saw the error of his ways. Damn, he’d eaten so much he could hardly move. And Bo’s promised gift still to come! Lucky patted his overfull stomach. Fuck. Not yet a dad, but with stage-four Dad bod.

  Family headed out the door with the friends, leaving Bo and Lucky all alone.

  Charlotte and Ty took the dog with them, Todd headed back to his college dorm, Cat Lucky was nowhere to be seen, and Bo closed all the blinds. Oh, yeah, something fun about to happen.

  “Sit!” Bo pointed to Lucky’s recliner and vanished towards the back of the house.

  Lucky sat alone in the living room. What had Bo planned? Would Lucky regret the four hot dogs soon?

  Music started, a throbbing beat coming from overhead. What?

  Bo must have checked off another item on the to-do list and fixed the in-house speakers, since Lucky forbade syncing up electronic devices in every room. If Alexa or Alicia or whoever could hear him, others could too.

  A vision strutted out of the hallway in black leather. Mystery solved as to why Bo neglected shaving this morning. The bit of scruff gave him a dangerous vibe.

  More dangerous than usual, rather.

  Leather hat, leather vest, leather chaps, belt, thong, and boots.

  Hot. Damn.

  A biker wet dream.

  Bo sauntered forward, reached under the chair on both sides, and brought up… Chain? Grinning, he wrapped cuffs around Lucky’s wrist and clicked them closed. The scent of Bo’s cologne kick-started the erection Lucky began to sprout the moment Bo stepped from the hall.

  Bo had installed chains on the living room chair? Chains, chaps, Bo. In leather.

  Somewhere in life Lucky must’ve done something right.

  Should he ask how Bo managed to rig the living room chair without anyone finding out, or relax and enjoy the moment?

  Oh. The chains meant Lucky couldn’t move much, and definitely restricted reaching out and touching. The song ended and another began with a sultry, driving beat. Bo nodded, hand on his hat, shadowing his face. He twisted and turned in time with the music. An embroidered dragon snaked up the back of the vest, bringing to mind Bo’s dragon collection and their rumored protective powers.

  Bo didn’t need a dragon for protection, not with a cocky little bantam rooster around who’d take care of any threat.

  Bo ran his hands down the front of his vest, thrusting his hips in an entirely provocative manner. He reached down, down, down, rubbing the impressive bulge at his crotch.

  Lucky’s dick stiffened to the point of pain. He shifted in the chair to make more room in his jeans.

  Turning, Bo offered a fine view, the twin globes of his ass framed by black leather, a thin cord from the thong disappearing between his cheeks.

  “Oh, yeah. Shake that ass, baby.” Lucky’s fingers itched to caress firm flesh, to squeeze, rub, and reach between those gloriously rounded ass cheeks.

  Bo whirled again, running his hands under the vest, closing his eyes and letting out a moan when his fingers scraped over his nipples.

  No fair! Lucky wanted to touch too. He squirmed, but the chains held. Why had he ever admitted mild bondage turned him on?

  Oh, because it did, though the man before him always would be his biggest turn on, in whatever way Lucky could have him.

  In a dramatic move, Bo threw open the vest, letting the leather slide off his shoulders, down his arms, and onto the floor in time with the bass tempo. He kicked the vest away, running his hands over his bare chest, combing through the slight wisps of dark hair.

  Settling his fingers on his belt, he thrust his hips, pantomiming an intimate act. Slowly, slowly, grinding to the music, he opened the belt and, loop by loop, parted the strip of leather from the chaps. They settled lower on his hips.

  Bo bent at the waist, grabbing a zipper at his crotch and lowering the metal pull down the inside of his thighs to his ankles. The chaps leg flapped open while he repeated the process with the other side.

  At last, he stood in thong, hat and boots, the dark hair adorning his runner’s physique painting an image of pure masculinity. He came closer, close enough for Lucky to catch a whiff of woodsy cologne, mingled with sweat and man.

  Closer he came, and closer still.

  Bo palmed the back of Lucky’s head and pressed his face into Bo’s groin.

  Oh God! Forceful! Yes! Lucky grabbed the thong with his teeth and pulled.

  Bo danced back, waving an admonishing finger. He jumped, spinning to land on his feet, back to Lucky, ass on display. The muscles in his back flexed, beautifully defined without excessive bulk. Oh, God, how Lucky wanted to touch, needed to touch.

  A chain hung from Bo’s neck, the hummingbird charm—a gift from Lucky—glinting against his skin when Bo turned back around. His skin glowed under a sheen of sweat, the hair on his arms and legs darkening.

  Damn, but he was beautiful, with his dark brown hair and eyes, five o’clock shadow, and sleek body. Lucky had never before had a type other than a man with a come-hither smile and no plans past a single fuck. Until Bo, Lucky had been strictly catch and release.

  Now, no matter how much he saw of the man, Lucky remained fascinated. Each day revealed more new facets to love.

  Sliding his fingers underneath the thong straps, Bo played peekaboo, lowering the pouch, showing a bit of dark curls and lifting the tiny bit of material back into place. No mistaking the bulge tenting out the front. Bo’s hardon couldn’t be missed.

  Nor Lucky’s. He shifted again, but he wouldn’t find comfort with a raging stiffy seeking escape from his jeans, and his hands bound too tightly to remedy the situation.

  Placing a hand on the chair arms on either side of Lucky, Bo bent down, putting his lips within kissing distance, then righting himself without losing a beat.

  He danced like he did everything else: with his whole heart.

  Back and forth he swayed, muscles clenching and releasing in his thighs and calves. The song changed to something more downtempo, and Bo slowed to match the beat. He danced close enough for Lucky to feel his body heat, occasionally brushing his crotch or ass against Lucky’s arm, and once bending over, giving Lucky the perfect view of where he wanted to be.

  Lucky groaned. This man might be the death of him, but what a way to go. Dick aching, Lucky squirmed, grasping for any bit of friction available.

  Clutching the c
hair arms again, Bo performed a modified pushup, lowering his face nearly to Lucky’s lap and up again.

  “Stop torturing me!” Lucky groaned. He didn’t want to break the spell, but damn it. He needed.

  A sultry grin crept across Bo’s face, his eyes crinkling at the corners. This time, when he went down, he knelt, mouthing Lucky’s erection through a layer of denim.

  Oh, hell yes. Yes. Yes. Lucky nearly screamed in relief.

  Too soon.

  Bo rose again, yanking the thong away to reveal his own erect cock, the head swollen and purple. He ran his hand beside Lucky’s thigh, pulling the handle to recline the chair. Lucky fell backward with an “Ooomph.”

  Grinning, Bo pushed Lucky farther back into the chair. He climbed onto Lucky’s lap, lowering the zipper of Lucky’s jeans, and working Lucky’s cock over the elastic of his boxers. Yes! Freedom.

  But still he ached. Ached for Bo’s touch, to be inside of him—or for Bo to top.

  “Oh!” Lucky let out a gasp when their cocks brushed, and he fought to reach out, grab them, hold them together while he pushed into his fist.

  Bo rose, holding Lucky’s cock straight up.

  What the…

  Lining the tip of Lucky’s cock to his hole, Bo shifted.

  And plunged down.

  Oh, fuck! Slick, stretched, ready, Bo wasted no time, holding Lucky’s upper arms in a fierce grip and hissing through his teeth. Wearing nothing but his boots and hat, Lucky fully clothed, Bo rode him hard, up, down, back forth. Grinding onto Lucky’s groin. The chair creaked and chains rattled—Lucky’s new favorite song.

  Tight, slick heat. Oh, hell. Sensory overload. Lucky threw his head back, fighting for air. Too much, too fast. Bo took Lucky’s face between his palms and plundered Lucky’s mouth. Nothing gentle about the battle of tongues, or the way Bo wrung pleasure from Lucky’s body.

  Panting, moaning, Lucky strained against the chains to clutch Bo’s ass and help the pace.

  But no. Helpless to do more, he bucked as much as possible, burying himself in Bo’s body.

  Never breaking the kiss, Bo reached between them, stroking his cock in time with Lucky’s thrusts.

  Harder, harder! Bo barely missed a beat, using the position to better angle Lucky’s cock inside of him.

  Lucky gripped Bo’s thighs—all he could reach—and groaned out a long breath. Pressure built in his balls, drawing them up. Plunging into Bo felt damned good. He could go forever.

  Then… “Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck!” Body tight as a bowstring, he shot, filling Bo intimately. Bo stiffened, rhythm faltering and eyes flying wide. Kissing Lucky with near brutal force, Bo joined Lucky in ecstasy, Lucky catching Bo’s cries in his mouth.

  Bo convulsed, rocking his hips and gyrating down on Lucky’s highly sensitized dick.

  Lucky’s brain spun, hyperventilation and hellifying orgasm bringing on a bad case of post-orgasmic stupid. What was his name again? He held Bo as best he could, fingers sliding off sweat-slippery skin.

  That was… That was…

  How could anyone come so hard and live to tell the tale?

  Gulping air like a marathon runner, Bo let out a shaky laugh.

  Lucky roused enough brain cells to ask, “What’s so funny?”

  Bo sat back, Lucky’s softening cock still inside of him, every part of his face showing joy. “When I planned this, I hoped it would be good. I had no fucking idea.” He rubbed a hand over his face, momentarily hiding twin dimples. The Dimple had a smaller, less pronounced twin.

  How fucking cute. Just when Lucky thought he’d figured Bo out, the man surprised him once again.

  Bo rested his forehead against Lucky’s. “Did you like your surprise?”

  What? A question requiring thought? Bo screwed Lucky’s brains out and expected him to have enough functioning gray matter to answer? Not happening. Lucky managed a nod.

  “Good. I hoped you would.” Bo’s warm breath wafted over Lucky’s face.

  How could Lucky not? Bo gave himself. What better gift? “Bo, will you do me a favor?”

  “If I can.” Bo folded his arms over Lucky’s chest, gazing down at him.

  “Never stop surprising me.”

  Bo kissed him.

  Promise enough.

  Chapter Four

  “What’s wrong with this product?” Lucky handed out bottles and unit-dose cups to the trainees sitting around the conference table.

  The lingering image of Bo’s surprise stuck in Lucky’s head, and he’d caught himself humming to the dance music more than once.

  If he closed his eyes, he could still feel the moment of release, his orgasm crashing into him with a sledgehammer’s force.

  Not good while in a classroom with a bunch of rookies.

  He’d caught a glimpse of Bo a few times since arriving at the office this morning, looking out of Lucky’s league in a suit and tie. Then he’d turn and catch Lucky’s eye, one side of his mouth curving upward. Whatever Lucky had done right to have Bo in his life, he might never know.

  Jimmy glanced up and nodded. Butt kisser. Lucky waited to see if anyone else got the answer—if Jimmy wasn’t lying about knowing.

  The other six stared at the cups and bottles, turning them over, shaking them, and even rolling them on the table. No guns needed for this exercise. Still, he’d keep an eye on Riley. And Road Rage Robinson. More than bullets put them at risk on the job.

  Idiots! “If those were explosives you’d be in trouble.”

  Six trainees stopped moving, except for the one who dropped a cup. Riley. Figured. Jimmy snorted.

  Oh well, no hope for it. Lucky fought not to sigh. “Mr. Salters, care to tell us what’s wrong?”

  Jimmy presented the bottle with unnecessary flourish, like a waiter pushing a hundred-year-old vintage back in the day when Lucky had dined at restaurants with expensive bottles of wine. “No lot number or expiration date.” He held up a cup and spoke in a bored manner. “No barcode. While serialization is still a few months out, most manufacturers started last year.”

  The others groaned. Two examined the products again. Okay, three out of the group might last through six weeks of training.

  “Without proper identification, these could be counterfeit.” Lucky hoisted a bottle and a cup. “Which is the reason for the Drug Supply Chain Security Act and serialization. Even with tight controls on labels and components, there’re some pretty convincing fakes out there. But a serial number”—he traded the samples for ones with proper identification— “means even John Doe who got the bottle from his pharmacy can trace the product through every step in the supply chain: manufacturer, distributor, possibly more than one, drug store, and on to him.”

  Lucky squinted at the barely legible label and passed the bottle around, providing a visual lesson. Damned shitty-assed eyesight.

  The moment the bottle had circulated the conference table and made its way back to the front of the room, seven pairs of eyes rose over Lucky’s head to the clock. Okay, tomorrow the clock went bye-bye. No clock watchers allowed. “Four-fifty-five, right?”

  Seven heads bobbed.

  Worked for Lucky. “Go on, get out of here.”

  Six shot for the door. Jimmy paused long enough to round up the product samples and smile at Lucky on the way out.

  Nope, Lucky wasn’t putting in a good word with Charlotte. Not happening. If Jimmy wanted to date Charlotte, he could ask her his damned self—and get shot down. Maybe literally. The ex from hell had left Lucky’s sister rather picky.

  Lucky put away the samples in a lock box in his cube and waited until the halls cleared. No need joining the stampede, waiting for the elevator and fighting to maneuver his car out of the parking garage.

  He’d still get home at roughly the same time.

  Most days the drive didn’t bother him as he put the city in his rearview mirror and drove to the outskirts and home. Today the moments might stretch out forever.

  Bo, in chaps. Bo, in a thong. Bo, grinding on Lucky’s coc
k. He reached down and adjusted himself.

  No one hovered around the reception desk, and he rode the elevator alone to a nearly-empty parking garage. Bo’s truck sat in its usual place, as did Walter’s SUV.

  Working late again.

  Lucky inched his Camaro down Peachtree Street, gridlocked in the evening’s mass exodus from Atlanta. Way too many cars.

  After way too damned long, he broke relatively free of bumper-to-bumper traffic and managed to reach over thirty miles per hour the rest of the way home.

  The community gates stood wide open today. They’d never been much protection anyway—the reason he’d tightened security on the house. The house needed repairs and appeared run down—not the most desirable target for would-be thieves—but the place sported $5,000 worth of security system.

  So far.

  In addition, the shaggy, four-legged alarm worked about half the time, though the cat might trip intruders. Lucky eased the door open, listening for massive paws approaching at high speeds. Good. No fending off doggy kisses today.

  Still, Lucky’s heart fell a little. No Bo. More and more his partner stayed late at work. Yeah, learning a new job took time, but Lucky liked coming home to his man.

  Oh! Something sure smelled good. Tomato? Yes, definitely hints of tomato in there. Spices? His stomach rumbled.

  He tossed his keys on the table by the front door and followed his nose to the kitchen door, in time to hear his sister hiss, “Someone’s home. I gotta go.”

  Who was she talking to?

  He pushed on through. Charlotte stirred something in a pan, humming softly to herself while slipping her cellphone into the back pocket of her jeans.

  Lucky opened and closed his mouth, managed to keep from asking questions he’d no business asking. She had the right to talk to whoever she wanted to on the telephone. Though curious about who’d been on the other end of the line, and why she didn’t want to be caught talking to them, he’d keep quiet.

  For now.

  Besides, she wouldn’t be doing something wrong with her kid a few feet away, right?