by Mia Watts
“You don’t think I’m fat?” Chris wheedled.
“No, baby. You’re sexy as hell.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yeah, baby.” Vin gently cupped Chris’ hips and drew him closer. Close enough that Chris could see the way Vin flicked glances around them instead of looking at him. “Don’t like those wimpy, flabby chicks. I like the way you give as good as you get.”
Interesting. How far could he push Vin?
“Oh, Vinny,” Chris sighed. Then with a wicked grin of his own, Chris threw his arms around him. “Kiss me.”
Vin’s nostrils flared and his icy gaze locked on Chris’ uncertainly. Chris tightened his smile and fluttered his lashes in challenge. He knew the moment Vin committed by the steely determination in his crystalline gaze and the half-quirk of his lips as he accepted.
He descended, swooping down to take Chris’ lips in heated assault. Firm and full, they crashed against his. Day-end whiskers prickled the outer rim of Chris’ mouth. Strands of hair from the wig stuck like loose netting on Chris’ perfectly applied lip-gloss, distracting but not creating any resistance. Chris’ lungs expanded sharply yet the air he breathed saturated his senses with a hint of mint and oak. Only enough to make him wish he could breath deeper still. His stomach plummeted, or soared, or both, and deep rolling tingles engulfed unsuspecting nerves in his pelvis.
Whistles and hoots from the movers filtered through the roar of blood in his ears.
When Vin’s tongue swept into his mouth, Chris’ knees weakened. He blamed the damn heels-oh holy hell, his dick was on fire!
Oblivious to the pain, Vin’s fingers tightened on Chris’ hips, dragging him forward. In defense, Chris pushed at Vin’s chest.
“Stop,” Chris gasped for only them to hear. Groin burning, he clutched the front of Vin’s shirt to hold himself steady. The pain lingered-none too subtle proof that his restricted junk didn’t take kindly to stimulation.
“Your dare,” Vin reminded.
“My rules,” Chris finished, still wincing. Damn that man. He can fucking kiss.
“You look pale,” Vin said, holding him as he ducked to see Chris’ face.
Onlookers would see it as a lover’s embrace. Chris tipped his head aside. It would be a cold day in hell before he let the guy see how badly he wanted to continue that kiss. But maybe next time without restricted blood flow to vital parts of his anatomy. Shit, that hurt!
“You okay?” Vin asked. He scanned the neighborhood. “We should go inside.”
Chris had no desire to move just this second. Maybe in another moment or two when things went completely dead in his groin region. “Why? We look like the happy couple making up after a spat.”
“You look like you’re about to puke.”
“You mean you don’t get that reaction all the time? I’m shocked,” Chris said.
“Shithead.”
“Mutant.”
He ventured a look at Vin. Clearly, the lumbering giant had never tucked his stiffy before or there would be no confusion on his gorgeous mug. Admittedly, Chris hadn’t either, pantyhose being a new, and not delightful, experience. Well, he would hardly explain to Vin that the impromptu kiss had taken Chris well on the way toward a hard-on. Vin would never let that kind of information drop.
Pain subsided and Chris released Vin’s shirt. Chris shouldered his purse and swept past him, chin held high. He needed privacy to pull himself together. Okay, and let some of him out. Of pantyhose.
“By the way,” Chris said as Vin followed him into the house. “The Master suite is mine. You’ve got the guest room.”
He glanced back.
Vin scowled as though preparing to object.
Chris held up a finger to stop him. “It has a vanity table in the bathroom. When you have to put on makeup and set your wig, we can trade places. Until then, you can stretch your six foot huge on one of the twin beds across the hall.”
* * * *
Chris watched the slatted track of light swing from one wall to the other as dawn advanced into early morning. He strained to hear beyond his door to where he’d relegated Vin. A man that big should snore. He should talk in his sleep or something. Chris heard nothing.
After the night before, he hadn’t heard so much as a grunt from the other man. The door had closed early once they’d eaten bologna sandwiches and potato chips at opposite ends of the couch. Meager, albeit expensive, furniture already graced their appointed places, the kitchen had been put away and the closets filled with clothes and linens. All because neither of them spoke.
He didn’t think it was a hardship for Vin. For Chris, who wanted to know if Vin had any thoughts about that kiss, it was torture.
Can a straight man kiss another man like he needed it more than air? Could Vin act that well? The Chief had said he had a blemish-free record of undercover work. There’d been nothing else to indicate Vin batted for the same team Chris did.
But that kiss.
It still made his breath catch and butterflies dance in his belly. And it still made his cock fill. The way it filled now. Chris reached beneath the sheets, firmly rubbing himself.
His breathing had just started quickening, his head just slicking with moisture, when Vin knocked on his door.
“What?” he yelled, pissed at the interruption.
“Get up.”
“I’m up.” Understatement of the year.
“Get dressed.”
“I’m busy,” Chris snapped, circling his thumb over his moist slit before sliding back down his cock. He watched the foot-shadows shift beneath the door. Finally, they moved away.
Chris quit stroking. He sighed and swore, then rolled out of bed. Looking around for a pair of jeans, he rolled his eyes when he realized there weren’t any. “Undercover ops suck.”
No evidence existed to prove he wasn’t who he said he was. Not even a fucking pair of sweats. He sighed again and reached for the godawful daisy robe. “I’ll fucking kill him if he laughs,” Chris muttered.
He washed up and cinched the belt tightly around his waist. He stormed toward the kitchen with his daisy-covered dick pointing the way. “I’m coming!” he shouted.
Vin leaned in the kitchen archway to the living room and entry, a steaming coffee mug lifted to his lips. His eyebrow arched pointedly as his glacial gaze drifted over Chris and paused on his cock. Still sipping, he reached down the side of the entry wall. Vin lifted an umbrella and popped it open toward Chris. “Fire when ready.”
“Fuck off.”
“Pretty sure that’s your department at the moment,” Vin quipped. He closed and lowered the umbrella, giving Chris plenty of excuse to look at the expanse of naked, muscled chest.
“It would have been if you hadn’t interrupted. What the hell was so important that I had to get up at the ass-crack of dawn?”
Vin took another leisurely sip of coffee. “Oh, there’s no question that it’s wood.” He twisted toward the kitchen, hollering through the pass way as he walked away. “How do you take your coffee?”
“Cream, no sugar,” Chris said, following him in.
The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee permeated the air. Chris found himself tracking the nimble twist of Vin’s fingers as he uncapped the cream, the flex of tendons over the back of his hand when he lifted the carton and poured carefully. Metal circled and clicked against stoneware, held in Vin’s grasp.
“What’s that?” Chris asked, his eyes settling on a bright orange makeup bag.
“Gag gifts from your crew. Fuzzy cuffs, lube, condoms.”
“Assholes.”
“Whose?” Vin asked calmly.
Chris chose to ignore the barb.
Vin turned and offered the creamy brew to Chris, handle out, even as he took another sip of his own. Chris took it. He scrubbed his hair absently, not caring if the blond strands stood on end.
“God, this smells good,” Chris murmured. Tasted damn fine too and gave him an excuse to drop Vin’s gaze.
“Mm,” V
in acknowledged.
“You’re a big talker, aren’t you?”
“Mm-hm.”
“Thought so. Listen, I’m not sure about you, but I don’t think that a lot of housewives are ready to take visitors this early in the morning. Think you could let me sleep a little longer next time?” Chris asked.
“You stickin’ with that story?” Vin lifted his chin in the direction of Chris’ groin. “Gotta admire your commitment to the cause.”
“It’s been a good boy, chained up for hours at a time. Thought I’d let it out to roam and pat its head. What the fuck do you care?”
Amusement twinkled in Vin’s eyes. He shrugged a shoulder and quietly continued to sip his coffee.
“Bottomless fucking mug is what you’re holding. Sip, sip, sip. I think you’re hiding shit. Hard to trust a guy who doesn’t talk and hides behind a mug. Spit it out, already. I can see the wheels turning.”
“Your switch always on pissed?” Vin asked.
Chris clamped his jaw.
Vin refilled his mug. He swung the carafe toward Chris in offer.
Black coffee straight up. Figures. “No, thanks.”
Vin reached for a bottle Chris hadn’t noticed, and squirted a healthy dose of chocolate syrup into the cup, swirled the spoon, and resumed sipping.
Chris’ startled laugh spilled forth. Hot, ripped, and deadly-with a sweet tooth? It was like seeing a dog meow.
Vin studied him over the rim of his mug, motionless but for the tip and release of his cup.
He watched Vin too. One thick arm folded across his chest served as a surface for the other elbow. Even in relative repose, Vin’s musculature appeared flexed and taut beneath his tight skin. The barest sprinkle of tiny black curls dusted his pecs and veed downward into a slim trail, lost beneath the edge of his jeans.
Solidly built without an ounce of fat, on a wide-shouldered, thick wristed frame a Valkyrie would be proud of, Vin could kill a man in one lethal, fluid motion. Though he’d never been small compared to most men, he wouldn’t stand a chance against Vin in combat.
Vin propped his ass against the line of cabinets and casually crossed his ankles. “You were right,” he said, finally breaking the silence.
“About?”
“Your mascara smudges.” The amused twinkle had re-entered Vin’s eyes.
“Ah.”
“You look like shit.”
“I had a rough night,” Chris said.
“Looks like some woman jumped you, fucked you all night long, and left her makeup all over your face.”
A wry smile tugged at Chris’ lips. “My bedmates don’t generally wear makeup. It’s not a quality I find attractive.”
Vin shrugged a shoulder again. “I dunno. I think it’s kinda cute.”
Chris stilled. Did he mean women waking up with smeared makeup was cute or Chris smeared with makeup was cute? He mentally chewed on the words, searching Vin’s expression for a tell, but found nothing.
“Good call on the fight yesterday,” Vin said.
“Seemed like a good idea at the time. And it got the stash of oregano out in the open. I just hope the fight didn’t scare off any of the neighbors.”
“It didn’t.”
“How can you be sure? Most people avoid domestic issues, and we raised the roof,” Chris said.
“The two women talking didn’t like me. They sympathized with you even after the kiss.”
Chris felt his cheeks heat. He didn’t think he could stand the tension any longer, so he busied himself finding the bowls they’d unpacked yesterday. Snatching a box of cereal, he tried to convince himself he wanted breakfast more than he wanted Vin.
Vin set down his mug and made to leave. “Typical housewives don’t expect early visitors, but you require more maintenance than a typical housewife. You’re wearing old makeup, but you still look like a guy. By the time you’re done, there will be a knock at the door,” he said, alluding to their earlier conversation.
Chris grinned privately. Being forced to wear a dress, makeup, and tuck his parts emasculated him. Knowing Vin thought he looked like a guy despite that, pleased him.
“Tarp,” Vin called from somewhere down the hall.
“Yeah?”
“Pretty robe.”
Chris looked down at the huge floral imprint on puke green. At some point, his dick had slipped through the front of his boxers and poked its head from the folded material at the center of one gold-toned daisy.
His earlier blush drained away. Had Vin seen? Chris closed his eyes on a groan. Something told him he’d be left to wonder. “Goddamn it! That doesn’t look fucking desperate at all.”
Chapter Three
Vin had been right. Chris had barely slicked on his gloss and straightened his skirt when the doorbell rang. And in the process, he made another discovery. Vin looked ridiculous in a suit and tie. They reached the front door about the same time.
“Lose the coat,” Chris said.
“Office guys wear suits,” Vin argued. His face took a stubborn cast.
“It looks stupid and fake on you. Take it off before I open the door,” Chris ordered in a whisper.
Vin shrugged out of his coat and draped it over the arm holding his briefcase. Chris grabbed it back, shook it gently and folded it back at the shoulders before re-draping it.
“Office guys take care of their shit and know how to hang their suit coats. I thought you were good at this stuff.”
Vin opened the door before Chris could say anymore. The smug look didn’t disappear as they faced the two ladies from the day before and another on the front step.
“Hi! Welcome to the neighborhood. I’m Doreen.” The tall blonde smiled widely at Chris.
“Welcome. I’m Carla. We saw you move in yesterday and had to do the neighborly thing and drop by. Is this a good time? We brought a coffee cake. And oregano,” the second woman sang brightly. “Sounded like you go through a lot of it. I grow mine.” Her red hair glittered in the sunlight with shades unnatural to human coloring.
“I gotta get to work,” Vin mumbled.
“That’s okay. It’ll be all girl talk anyway. We’ll just catch her up with the gossip.” Doreen’s stiff smile and cold eyes held no welcome for Vin. The others smiled woodenly too.
Chris bit his tongue to keep from laughing. “Guess you’d better go, Vinny.”
Vin ducked his head and started out the door.
“Aren’t you going to kiss your wife goodbye?” Doreen asked.
Mercifully for Chris’ cock, Vin dropped a cursory kiss on his cheek and took off. Chris stood aside to let them pass. “You’ll have to excuse our moving mess and my husband. He’s not much of a talker.”
“Except to his girlfriend?” Carla gently squeezed Chris’ arm, her eyes liquid with understanding. “We heard the whole thing, honey. I’m so sorry.”
“You have to forgive Carla. She’s doesn’t hold back,” Doreen said, fondly.
Chris held a hand out to the third woman, who hadn’t spoken yet. “Thank you all for the welcome. I’m Christy.”
“Nina,” she said, smiling widely.
Chris motioned them to the living room and then set another pot of coffee on. This was almost too easy. Drug dealers that came to him? What’s the catch? The case file said Christy would get a referral from another inside agent, but felt too simple. What had they been told? And Vin hadn’t said anything about disappearing all day to a fictional office while Chris infiltrated the ring alone.
Yeah, he wanted the glory, but this front man shit felt more like solo work. Dresses, drag, and now the neighborhood? Fucking fantastic. Now he had to figure out female small talk for God knew how long until Vin decided he’d spent enough time at a bar or something and came home.
And what did Chris do? Housework? Fuck that! Laundry? Hell no. And he wasn’t making Vin’s bed either. He might go smell the pillow-but he definitely wasn’t making his fucking bed.
What the fuck did women talk about anyway? Why hadn’t he
paid more attention to his sisters?
Chris set out the pot of coffee and several mugs. Every trip back into the living room was greeted with silence and large commercial smiles. They looked like toothpaste ads for daytime programming. Your teeth can be sparkly and new too, with DentaGreat. If it had been Vin smiling like that, it would have had a distinct, shit-eating quality to it.
Doreen got up to get plates, forks, and a knife. It was all very tea-party. He worked hard to keep his pinky crooked like Nina’s and nibble on a corner of the cake like Carla before setting it aside.
Chatter turned to gossip about babies and who was cheating on their wives-a not too subtle u-turn in bringing the conversation back to the fight between Vinny and Christy.
“Are you going to be okay? Does he ever hit you?” Carla asked.
He fought down the urge to defend Vin. Did he make something up? Would that make them more sympathetic or shut down communications for the drug bust by seeming weak?
“He’s hit you,” Nina said, interpreting Chris’ silence.
“Vinny gets a little worked up sometimes. He hasn’t hit me, exactly.”
“That’s fine, sweetie, you don’t have to tell us. We’re strangers, but you’ll come to trust us. If he lays a hand on you, we will take care of it,” Doreen said.
Chris had the distinct feeling he was being written off. That wouldn’t do. “Oh, don’t worry about me. Vinny is a pussycat most of the time. He lets me do pretty much whatever I want.”
A speculative gleam entered Doreen’s eyes. Carla grew quiet.
“I’m sorry. I owe you an apology.” Chris went with his gut instincts and kept talking. “Vinny likes things rough, but he hates upsetting me, which makes it convenient when I want something.”
He hoped he sent the women a sly smile. Having never seen his lips with gloss on them, he couldn’t say if it worked or not until interest caused Carla to lean forward.
“Like a new house in a new neighborhood with a garden,” he continued with a grin. Chris sighed dramatically. “He cheated on me once and it makes perfect leverage.”
