In His Arms

by Caraway Carter

  I hung up the phone, a grin on my face.

  §§ §

  The shower was running when I hung up the phone. Wolff must have moved quietly; I hadn’t heard him come back in. But the knock on the door startled me. Had he turned the water on, gone out to his car and then got locked out? I hurried to open the door.

  “Toby Lee, sweetie! Where’s the party? I’d thought I’d show up fashionably early.” Jake had already had his date with Jim Beam this morning; he smelled like he’d fallen into a vat of it. Of course. He just had to turn up again. I tried to push the door shut, but he leaned on it. “What’s the problem, baby? I still haven’t had a

  shot at your cute ass.”

  “You’ve had a lot of shots of something else this morning,” I retorted. “Go back to your bungalow. The party’s been moved.”

  “That’s not what you said this morning, honey,” Jake said, pushing on the door. “Let me in, baby. What’s your problem?”

  This was all I needed this morning, and it needed to end. But how do you tell somebody you’ve poured into his bed drunk nearly every night of your friendship that you’re done, that it’s over? Especially when he’s drunk and at your door, and the man of your dreams is in the shower behind you?

  “Things have changed,” I said, not letting him push the door any further. “What’s your problem, Jake? Haven’t you fucked up enough things for me in the last few days?”

  Jake grinned, breathing out Jim Beam. I realized that his dates with that particular Southern gentleman had aged him prematurely. The ghost of an old plantation farmer peered through his bloodshot eyes. That was bad enough, but what he said next...

  “What did I fuck up for you, honey? Your bartender destiny? You’re better than that. We’ll find you a nice old rich boy back home now that Clay and Colin don’t want you anymore.”

  It was like a punch to the gut. One-two, he hit me in my two most painful places.

  And he was still leaning on the door.

  So, I’d let him feel some painful places. As drunk as he was, he probably couldn’t duck fast enough. I stepped back out of the way of the door, my hands closing to fists, and Jake fell over the threshold and landed sprawling on the hallway.

  From behind me came a gruff throat-clearing noise. I looked over my shoulder. Wolff stood there, still in uniform. “Toby, what’s going on?”

  Jake looked up, his face contorted in a sneer. “Oh, did I interrupt your stripper?” He struggled to his feet. “Where’s your boom box, honey? You gonna strip for both of us?”

  I lunged forward and grabbed him by the shirt, as I had had to do so many times when he’d been colossally drunk and I’d been the caretaker. “Get out of here, you asshole. You’re a drunk and you’re a bitch and you cheat on Prescott. I’m done cleaning up after you.”

  “Prescott?” Jake snorted. “He doesn’t need to know everything I do.”

  “No, but if you don’t fuck off, I’ll make sure he does.”

  An almost whiny note entered Jake’s voice. “What, you gonna tell on me? As if he’d believe you and not me.”

  He had a point. Prescott needed Jake too much. He’d never listen to anything against his golden boy.

  As Jake’s grin widened, sensing he had the upper hand, I let go of his shirt and took a step back. But before I could say anything else, Wolff spoke up.

  “Would he believe an arrest record?”

  Jake gave Wolff a fluid look of disgust, dismissing him. “Oh, that’s really rich. Your stripper’s gonna write me a ticket? For what? Saving your ass from your lame fantasies?”

  “Toby, what’s this guy’s last name?” Wolff’s voice was low, controlled.

  “It’s Jake Culpepper, why?” I turned to look at Wolff, who was taking his handcuffs out of their holder.

  “Excuse me, Toby,” he said as he moved past me in the narrow hallway. He grabbed Jake’s wrist, just like he’d grabbed mine not twenty minutes earlier. But this time, he was serious. “Jake Culpepper, you are under arrest for drunk and disorderly conduct. You have the right to remain silent. If you give up this right—”

  Jake tried to pull away, just as I had, but Wolff held firm. “You’re not fuckin’ arresting me! You’re not even a cop! I saw what you were wearing at the bar.”

  Undeterred, Wolff continued to Mirandize my once-friend Jake. “—anything you say may be used against you in a court

  of law.” He pulled Jake’s wrists behind him and the handcuffs clinked as he opened one. “Do you want me to keep going, or do you want to fuck off like your friend asked you to five minutes ago?”

  Jake’s face drained of color. It might have been the first time that he was in a situation where Prescott’s money couldn’t save his ass. “You’re serious.”

  “Damn right. What’s it going to be, Mr. Culpepper? You leave peaceably, or you spend the next two days in a drunk tank.”

  Jake pulled away and stepped out the door, wrapping the shreds of his drunken dignity around him in a cloud of Jim Beam. He turned and looked me up and down, and then dismissively at Wolff. “Who wants to spend two extra days in paradise, anyway? I’ve got a real man waiting for me at home.”

  “Then go see him, Jake. Just get the fuck out of my life.” I closed the door and, for the first time since I’d been in Hawaii, locked the deadbolt.

  §§ §

  I leaned against the wood and began to shake in after- reaction. I’d just thrown Jake Culpepper out of my life. I was sure that Wayne and Lyle would never speak to me again either. It occurred to me that I’d been a caretaker to them, not a friend, so they wouldn’t miss me much.

  I wondered if I’d miss them once I got over the shock. And then Wolff’s voice was in my ear. “Toby, are you okay?”

  He stood behind me, his body pressed full into mine. I leaned back, wishing that he hadn’t had to see that. His first real introduction to me, and he spends it throwing my asshole drunk friend out of my bungalow. Yeah, that’s romantic.

  “I’m not sure,” I said, turning around and facing him. “I was just realizing how much he used me. And how little I liked it.”

  He put his arms around me, not sexy, but comforting. I hadn’t realized how much I needed comforting over the past two days, or how little of it I’d gotten. His voice rumbled low in my ear.

  I scoffed weakly, “I guess I had pretensions. Pretensions of being part of the A-list gay crowd in New Orleans.”

  “You going to be all right slumming with me? I mean, am I just a ‘destiny bartender’?”

  I stiffened, tensing in his arms. “I’m not Jake.”

  His thick fingers lifted my chin, so I had to look into his gorgeous grey eyes. “No, you’re not. And that’s why I’m doing this.”

  You know how a kiss in a fantasy never quite lives up to a kiss in reality? This one did. Shivers traveled clear through to my toes. My body sang with it, shocks running up and down my spine in a way I usually only got when I came. His beard was softer than it looked, and so were his lips.

  I lied. This kiss didn’t live up to the fantasy. It surpassed it.

  When we finally pulled our mouths apart, I was breathless. He smiled, white teeth flashing under the beard. “I dreamed it would be like that.”

  “Maybe we met in our dreams,” I said, my hands clasping around his waist. “All I know is, I’ve wanted this ever since I met you.”

  We held each other, looking into each other’s eyes. I had a fleeting hope that mine weren’t too bloodshot and then realized it didn’t matter.

  After a minute, Wolff took a step back. “I want you, Toby, but I’m filthy from last night’s shift. Jake hasn’t been the only drunk I’ve had to deal with in the last eight hours. You mind if I get that shower now?”

  “Can I join you?”

  His grey eyes blazed, and then we were dragging each other toward the bedroom, stripping off each other’s clothes as we went.

  “Why did you put up with that?”

  §§ §

  The s
hower had been running. I looked to Wolff and he shrugged. “I set it on cold—I usually do. Wakes me up after a long shift.” That wicked grin flashed through his beard again. “Want to heat it up with me?”

  I almost threw myself on him. Instead, I shot him a grin, flipped the shower tap to “hot,” and dragged him in after me. It took a few seconds for the water to heat up, but our bodies were already on fire. Our hands roamed each other, exploring, tasting, teasing, finding every inch.

  Wanting to enjoy this, I leaned down and circled my tongue around his nipples and down his hairy chest. He was misnamed— he was a bear, not a wolf—but he was so hot I’d overlook it. And I really looked him over, like a blind man would, the fur on his chest luxuriant as my fingers dragged through it. Then I returned to his mouth, kissing, sucking, tongues dancing as we tasted each other.

  I don’t know how many times I moved between his nipples and his mouth. By the end of it, he was gasping with arousal, his uncut cock rock-hard between us. I was hard, too, but I wanted him first. All of him. Every bit of him.

  Usually the problem with the first meeting is deciding who is going to be in charge, who is going to take the lead. I was pretty certain it would be him (buff cop and all), so I gave in and let him direct me. His hand pressed down on my shoulders and I willingly lowered myself to my knees, taking his thick cock in my hand, testing its heft.

  Wolff’s foreskin hung a little over the edge, and I gently pushed it back as I darted my tongue in and around. With my other hand, I grasped his balls. They were huge. The tip of my tongue pressed between them, sucking in one and then the other. It was one hell of a mouthful. His body jerked and I opened my lips, releasing them one by one.

  His voice was a hoarse whisper over the shower’s rain. “No one has ever been able to get both of them in before!” He pulled me up.

  “Are you all right?” I asked, as I stood into his arms.

  “I am impressed—and not hurt.” His smile was weak around the edges—with lust? Or with shock? Either way, I could see that I had him eating out of the palm of my hand.

  He devoured my mouth. I thought back to our little vampire conversation, and wished he’d move down to the hollow of my neck. A bite from those beautiful teeth, a bruise from those soft lips? Oh, I’d revel in it. He sucked hard on my tongue as I slipped it between his lips, the battle raging on. I moaned into his mouth and he moved aggressively to pin me against the shower wall.

  His thick hand grabbed at my ass, pulling it apart, and the next thing I knew I’d been turned to face the wall and his tongue was bathing my backside as the water rained around my legs. Slipping between my ass cheeks, his tongue tickled at my hole, teasing, testing, pleasing me. I sighed and shivered from my head to my toes, like I did with that first kiss in the hallway.

  After a few minutes of ecstasy, my cock was throbbing and my ass was clenching. It was my turn to protest. I turned around and cupped his chin in my hand. “Save that for later. Come up here.”

  He did, and I produced a washcloth and a bottle of liquid soap. “Turn around, and I’ll scrub you down.” I started between the shoulder blades, scrubbing hard and slow, cleaning and massaging at the same time. I paid special attention to the cleft of his ass, my mouth watering as I discovered his tight hole through the rough washcloth. With his backside well-lathered, I directed him, “Turn around and rinse so I can take care of the front, too.”

  We stared into each other’s eyes as I made the washcloth dance over his flesh. It didn’t take long before his chest was as lathered as his back had been, and I was able to pay attention to his cock. Kneeling with my hands cupped around his thighs, I took him in my mouth and scrubbed down his legs as far as my hand could reach. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his toes were curling and some fancy tongue work brought a deep, nervous chuckle from his throat.

  Remember how I said the problem with the first meeting is deciding who’s going to take the lead? It was a perfect handoff— one moment I was still the boy, and the next, I was the man. I cupped my tongue around his cock, finding his g-spot, teasing, teasing. He gasped and groaned, his hands fisting in my hair, until I drew back with a sharp shake of my head. “Ah-ah-ah, big boy. Put your hands on your head and keep them there.”

  His fingers relaxed after a shocked split-second pause. Glancing up, I saw him lacing his hands behind his head, his back arched against the shower wall. I returned to my work, dancing my tongue under his foreskin, dragging it along the head, listening to him groan and seeing just how much he could take. When his balls drew up, I drew back, holding just the tip in my mouth. My hand clamped around it just below my lips, keeping his orgasm at bay.

  “Toby, I’m gonna shoot. Please, I need it!”

  I looked up at him, totally in control of the situation. Was this really happening?

  Oh, yes it was. “No, you will not. You will let me do what I want, and you might even enjoy it.”

  His only answer was a tortured groan as his body shivered and his balls danced. His breath shuddered out in fast gasps as he rode the edge of my teasing and his balls dropped down again.

  When it had passed, his cock still throbbing in my hand but his balls loose and soft again, I let go and slid my mouth back down over him.

  “God, Toby, please! I’m gonna blow. I can’t stop it!”

  I pulled off and looked up into his eyes, my face stern, my eyes twinkling. “No. You. Won’t. Got it?”

  An agonized look crossed his bearded face and his nod was a single, quick jerk. But he let me go on doing it. As I took him deep again, my mind briefly flashed on his handcuffs and what I could do with them, and a wicked little smile nearly ruined my sucking technique.

  I slid down with skill, my tongue caressing the underside, sucking and licking and teasing once more. Again, I saw his balls react, this time quicker. Just as quick, I pulled off again, clamping on the tip once more.

  Again. Again. Suck, draw up, pull back, clamp. By the time I was ready to let him shoot, he was shaking like a little boy needing the bathroom and moaning uncontrollably.

  “Are you ready?” I asked. “Or shall I just play some more?”

  “God, no! Yes! Yes, I’m ready.” That evil smile curved my lips again, and I let go of the tip as his balls drew up even tighter. I slid my hand up and down once, twice, and watched as he arched his back and shot a string of come out of the shower and into the bedroom. Later, I found out it landed on my pillow. As he shot, his voice broke in a rough, deep cry that echoed off the tile and was music to my ears. He shot again, and again, his hands groping uselessly at the wet tile behind him while the shower’s rain streamed down over us both.

  When it was over, he slumped back against the tile. I rose to steady him. He was shaking and sighing and stammering, his body shivering with the aftershocks.

  “God, Toby, I... I’ve never done that before.” “Welcome to edging.”

  “Over-the-edging, I think.” He laughed shakily.

  I kissed his soft lips and rinsed us both with the showerhead, shutting off the water with a careless flick. Wrapping a towel around him and snagging one for me, I maneuvered his over- sensitized body towards the bed. “Moving your body is so much nicer than having to move Wayne’s. Besides, I’ll get to play with yours when you relax again.”

  He laughed, not looking at me, and my laugh echoed his, with obvious intent. As he looked up, he caught the twinkle in my eyes, and we landed on the bed in a towel-wrapped heap.

  §§ §

  * * *

  The next three days were simply heaven. Sex in the morning,

  sex in the evening—heck, sex any time we got the chance. Dinners at Orchids, breakfasts that I cooked myself, and even a picnic on the beach outside my bungalow one splendid night when the sky was lit with a hundred thousand stars and I thought of the lanterns floating out to sea at Clay and Colin’s wedding.

  The only other time I thought about the gang was at Orchids. As I picked up our drinks at the bar, a whiff of Jim Beam made me do
uble-check behind me to make sure that Jake wasn’t lurking there. But it was only a middle-aged woman picking up her Kentucky Iced Blue Coffee, which hadn’t been mixed well and reeked of the stuff.

  Wolff and I talked. We kissed. We savored each other. He called in sick to work twice and then, on the third day, went in regretfully. I waited at the bungalow the whole damn night like a bride waiting for her groom to come back home. It was pathetic, and real, and romantic, and sexual.

  And I didn’t know what to do.

  When he got back to the bungalow late in the morning of the third day, he showed up with a dozen roses and a box of fancy chocolate. “I thought you said it was expensive to live here,” I said, taking the flowers and the chocolates and staring at his grin.

  “It is,” he said. “But some people are worth a splurge or two.”

  We had dinner that night at a sushi place we’d found together. I fantasized about eating sashimi off his rock-hard ass and had too much sake for my own good. He didn’t quite pour me into bed that night, but he was concerned as he held me. He’d had a rough night the evening before—a nasty drunk and a domestic violence call—so even though he wanted to stay awake, I heard him drifting off to sleep as we spooned, him on the outside, me on the inside.

  Just before his quiet snores replaced his breathing, he murmured, “Stay with me, baby. Don’t go away.”

  The sushi sat in my stomach like lead as I realized our time together was almost over. Clay and Colin would be flying back to New Orleans in two more days, and they’d expect me to go with them. My job was there, my friends—such as they were—were

  there, my life was there.

  But Wolff was here. And I didn’t want a life without him.

  §§ §

  We woke on the morning of the fourth day, and I knew I wasn’t ready. His crumpled police uniform lay on the floor of my bungalow—my five-hundred-dollar-a-night bungalow—and we had to get back to real life.

  The problem was, this was the life I wanted now. But how could I be sure?

  Wolff looked at me, his black brows drawing down eerily like Clay’s had, less than a week before. “You’re worrying. I can see it. Don’t make me break out my enhanced police interrogation tools. Talk to me.”