The Lucky Cat

by L. M. Somerton

  Gage gave a low growl. “I can’t wait to see you in it.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” Gage guided Landry’s hand to his groin. “See what you do to me?”

  “Oh, wow! That’s cool…hey, maybe you should wear a cock cage!”

  “Do you want another spanking?”

  “Well…maybe not right now. Later?”

  “Almost definitely.”

  “Your turn.”

  “Bondage. Ropes, chains…”

  Landry shivered. “Yes, please!”

  “On you, not me. Just to be clear.”

  “Goody!”

  “No objections there then?”

  “None.” Landry rubbed at his wrists, imagining the marks that Gage might create there.

  “That’s one more for your list then. What else?”

  “This is fun! Plugs are good. Really good.” Landry wiggled. There was nothing better than having his ass stuffed nice and full.

  “I do like the thought of you, plugged, working all day. You wouldn’t be allowed to take it out without permission, of course. Something big enough that you couldn’t forget it.”

  “You’re gonna make me hard again.”

  “Fair’s fair.” Gage shifted in his seat.

  “I’m such a selfish pig.” Landry rubbed a hand over the bulge in Gage’s pants.

  “You’re not selfish. If I wanted you to do anything, I would have told you.”

  “I should have asked anyway…I’m asking now. You want my mouth, my hand…or my ass?”

  “What wonderful options to have. Are you prepped?”

  “I have a kit in the bathroom. I was saving it for later in case you wanted to stay over, but it wouldn’t take long…”

  “Not sure I can wait.”

  “I love that you want me so bad.” Landry lowered Gage’s zipper and his cock sprang free. “No undies! Perfect.” Landry gave Gage’s dick loving stroke. “God, I want you in me so bad.”

  “There’s plenty of time for that. There’s pleasure in anticipation.”

  “I’m not known for my patience.” Landry fondled Gage’s shaft. “It feels like velvet.” He shifted back a little. “This isn’t going to work. I’m bendy, but even I can’t turn myself into a pretzel.” Tucking the throw around him, he scrambled to the floor between Gage’s knees. “Much better. Now, I can get to you without damaging myself. I went to a physiotherapist once when I was a kid. I got injured playing baseball. I saw this tiny Hawaiian lady. She looked so sweet and innocent, but I swear that woman could have had an alternative career in interrogation for the FBI.”

  Gage gave him a frustrated glare. “You’re doing it on purpose, aren’t you? Much as I love hearing about your history, I’d rather your mouth was engaged elsewhere.”

  Landry batted his lashes and smiled. “I don’t know what you mean, Sir.” He plunged his mouth over Gage’s erection.

  “Fuck!” Gage grabbed a handful of Landry’s hair, holding him in place, giving him just enough latitude to move up and down. Landry sucked hard. He licked around the base of Gage’s crown, probing with his tongue, seeking all the most sensitive spots. He knew he was in the right place when Gage’s grip on his hair tightened. Humming happily, Landry put all his energy into giving Gage as much pleasure as he knew how. He pulled off to nuzzle Gage’s balls, taking their warm weight on his tongue. When he sucked each furry orb into his mouth in turn, Gage jerked and swore.

  “You’re fucking killing me, Landry.”

  “Wouldn’t want that.” Landry sucked harder, sensing Gage was close to the edge. He took him as deep as he could, jaw stretched and aching. When the tip of Gage’s cock hit the back of Landry’s throat, he swallowed. Gage came with a yell, tugging hard on Landry’s hair. Landry savored the taste of Gage’s cum on his tongue. He lapped at Gage’s dick, licking it clean, before resting back on his heels. Gage let go of Landry’s hair with a shuddering breath.

  “Holy fuck, you’re good at that.”

  Landry preened. “You taste good.” He scrambled back onto Gage’s lap. “Do I get more cuddles now?”

  “You certainly do.”

  Chapter Eight

  Gage scowled into the darkness, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He’d never been so frustrated in his life. It was as if some higher power was determined to keep him away from Landry’s exceptionally cute rear. Exchanging the prospect of Landry’s warm bed for a long, cold night watching the back entrance of an anonymous warehouse was not his idea of fun. After the call had come in with the tip-off he’d barely had time to get to his assigned spot, let alone stop for coffee, and that had not improved his mood at all. He dialed Sancha.

  “I hate my life.”

  “On a promise, were you?” Sancha knew him far too well. “Did you leave him tied to the bed?”

  “That would not be responsible now, would it?” An image of Landry, naked, tied down, begging, flashed into Gage’s mind. “Fuck.”

  “Not gonna get the chance, are you!” Sancha cackled.

  “We’ve been here for four hours. My ass is numb and the only life I’ve seen has been a couple of mutant-sized rats and some hobo pushing a shopping cart full of beer cans. I was half tempted to ask him if he had any full ones.”

  “No action here either, but I do have a flask of coffee and a packet of sandwiches.”

  “What filling?”

  “Peanut butter and jelly.”

  Gage sighed. “This is a fucking waste of time. Where did the tip come from?”

  “That information is above our pay grade. One of the lieutenant’s oh-so-reliable sources, I’d guess. A shipment of antiques being moved tonight, possibly from the Tokyo raid.”

  Gage caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He slumped as far down in his seat as he could manage while still being able to see the wing mirror. “Gray van, coming down the street behind me. No lights. This could be it. Stand by.” He disconnected the phone and switched to his radio. “Stay in position. We need to wait until they start unloading.” He updated the stakeout team then watched in the mirror as the van pulled up next to a roller door. No one got out of the vehicle but the door began to open, making little sound, suggesting that it had been recently oiled. Gage held his breath. He couldn’t understand why no one was getting out of the van. Traces of exhaust told him its engine was still running. Without warning, it swung into the center of the street then reversed toward the opening door.

  “Fuck, the van is going into the building.” He spat the words into the radio. “I’m going to try to get in before the door closes.”

  “Don’t be so fucking stupid,” Sancha yelled. “Wait for backup.”

  “Give me five minutes, then raid from the other entrance.”

  Once the windshield of the van edged from view, Gage slipped from his car and, keeping to a crouch, he scuttled across the road. He pressed against the wall of the warehouse, gun in hand. When the shutter lowered to a foot above the ground, he dropped and rolled, making it inside seconds before the shutter closed. The slight clang as metal hit concrete disguised the sound of him sliding beneath the front of the van, where he froze in place. The clunk of van doors, followed by heavy footsteps, told him that at least two occupants had exited the vehicle. They circled to the back doors and yanked them open.

  “Let’s make this quick.” The gruff statement was met with a grunt.

  Gage shifted, trying to get closer. He didn’t want to reveal himself until his colleagues had gained access to the other end of the building. His knee hit something hard and metal.

  “What the fuck was that?”

  “It came from under the van.” Dirty boots appeared far too close to Gage’s face. He rolled the other way, only to be dragged from under the van. He kicked hard but was forced to his knees. He raised his gun, but a wrench connected with his wrist, compelling him to drop it as pain shot up his arm. The weapon skittered across the floor and a fist connected with his jaw.

  “Fucking cop.”


  “He’s seen our faces. Kill him. Then let’s get out of here.”

  In an attempt to buy some time, Gage spat on the nearest boot. Saliva mixed with blood spattered the leather.

  “Filthy pig.”

  Gage braced for another blow but shouts of “Stop, Seattle PD!” echoed through the space. He threw himself to one side, reaching for his gun. He grabbed it and got one shot off into the van’s tire before a line of searing fire crossed his shoulder. There were more shots and shouting. Gage kept his head down, pressing his body flat to the floor. Only when the shooting stopped did he dare roll over, to find Sancha looming over him, her face like thunder.

  “Could you be any more of a fucking idiot?”

  Gage doubted there was a correct answer to that question, so he settled for what he hoped was a disarming grin.

  “I should shoot you myself.”

  “I think they beat you to it.” Gage pressed a hand over his shoulder. His fingers came back bloody. Sancha knocked his hand away.

  “It’s a flesh wound, you lucky son of a bitch. I swear you’re going to give me a coronary one of these days.”

  “You love me really.” Gage staggered to his feet. The warehouse was swarming with cops who were poking into the van, investigating the stacks of boxes and dealing with the two bodies stretched out on the ground.

  “Why did you shoot the tire instead of one of them?” Sancha had her hands on her hips.

  “Didn’t want them to get away.” Gage shrugged, instantly regretting the action. “Fuck, that hurts.”

  “You’re doing the fucking paperwork on this one because it’s gonna take a week and you’re buying me lunch tomorrow.” Sancha kept muttering under her breath as she guided Gage to the warehouse’s other entrance, where paramedics had arrived. “This idiot needs a Band-Aid.” She pushed him toward a bewildered medic. “Not that he deserves one. Don’t be nice to him. Make it hurt.”

  “It’s because she cares,” Gage reassured the young woman, and it was true. He knew Sancha’s reaction was because she worried about him and she was right. He probably should have waited for backup, but four hours sitting around had made him stir crazy. He caught Sancha’s eye. “Was it worth it? Have they found anything?”

  “I’ll go find out. Don’t move.”

  “Not going anywhere.” Gage submitted to the ministrations of the paramedic without complaint. “Tell me I don’t need stitches.”

  “You don’t. You’ve lost a strip of skin. It’s messy and it’s going to hurt like hell for a while but I’ll clean it up—there could be fragments of your shirt in the wound. Then keep it covered with sterile dressings for a few days. You’ll have a narrow scar, not much more than a line.”

  By the time the medic was done, Sancha had returned clutching a piece of paper. “They found paintings and some silverware. No jewelry. The van crew were collecting, not delivering, so the stuff could have been there a while. There was also this note in one of the dead guys’ pockets.” She held it out.

  Gage unfolded the single, lined sheet, which looked like it had been torn from a cheap notebook. “Find the key. Did they have a key?”

  “Nope. Well, just the one for the van, which is a rental by the way. No identification of any kind.”

  “Professionals then.”

  “Not very good ones, considering they’re both full of holes. They had no intention of giving themselves up, which suggests the consequences of failure would have been severe. Lovely bunch.”

  “Doesn’t help us though, does it? It would have been helpful to have live bodies to question.”

  “Go home, Gage. Tomorrow is soon enough to start wading through the paperwork mountain.” Sancha yawned. “Bring me coffee and donuts or your life won’t be worth living.”

  “No promises. Thanks for having my back, S.”

  “I don’t have time to break in a new partner. It’s taken me long enough to beat you into shape.” She marched off and didn’t look back.

  * * * *

  Landry made a star shape in his bed, wishing he didn’t have the space. The evening had gone so well and he’d been beyond happy when Gage had said he could stay the night, but then Gage’s stupid phone had made beepy noises and after a muttered conversation with whoever was on the other end, he’d left. Not before giving Landry the best kiss ever, admittedly, but it wasn’t the same as a night of wild, energetic sexy times. He hadn’t slept well, and by the time his alarm sounded, Landry had the mother of all headaches. It wasn’t the best way to start his first day in charge of Treasure Trove.

  He scraped himself out of bed, took a lukewarm shower because the water was playing up, then yanked on jeans and a plain navy long sleeved T-shirt. He had plenty of tops with snarky slogans but Mr. Lao didn’t like him wearing them when he was working. Landry thought that was a shame, because there were quite a few customers that could do with a humor injection.

  His stomach rebelled at the thought of food so he saved the few precious minutes that would normally have been dedicated to a bowl of Lucky Charms and used them to make an extra-large coffee in his lidded cup. He breathed in the aroma with a sigh. The first cup was always the best.

  After swallowing two painkillers and grabbing his keys, he stumbled downstairs, leaving his coffee on a step while he went through the laborious process of unlocking the back door, yard gate and security shutters. He made sure to relock the gate and door on the way back inside, partly because Gage might come by and check but also because Landry didn’t want any more surprise visitors. He let himself into the store, turned the ‘closed’ sign to ‘open’ and unbolted the front door. Finally. Fort Knox is now open for business.

  Next came the ritual of the light switches. Rather than glaring overhead lights, there was a range of lamps dotted around the place. Most were rewired antiques and part of the stock but until they sold, they earned their space by illuminating the cavernous store. Once that was done, Landry thought he deserved a coffee break. On a Monday morning he was unlikely to see a customer before ten, if then. He settled in his chair behind the cash desk and closed his eyes. A few sips of coffee helped his mood but not the nagging ache that formed a tight band around his head. The painkillers either hadn’t kicked in or given him up as a lost cause. He knuckled his temples, tilting his head from side to side. His neck gave an ominous crack. Rolling his shoulders produced more creaking sounds. “Anyone would think I was fifty-five, not twenty-five. I need a massage in the worst way. Ought to stop talking to myself too—it’s not a good look.”

  After fifteen minutes of quiet contemplation, Landry fetched his special duster from the supply closet and got to cleaning. Old furniture attracted dust like a magnet but he did find the polishing part of his job therapeutic. Mr. Lao used a brand of beeswax-based polish that came in a squat jar and smelled of almonds. It only took a dab and a bit of elbow grease to bring up a glow. When the bell over the door rang just before eleven, Landry was almost done. He shoved his cleaning materials into a convenient rose-patterned chamber pot then wandered back to the cash desk, keeping an eye out for customers. He didn’t see anyone and wondered if he had imagined the bell but then a creaky floorboard betrayed whoever was hiding in the aisles.

  “Can I help you?” Landry didn’t want to have to tackle a thief so early in the day.

  “I can think of many ways I could respond to that offer.” The English accent was a giveaway.

  Landry suppressed a groan. “Do you have some kind of qualification in skulking?”

  “Of course, it’s in the job description.”

  “Can this shitty day get any worse?” Landry muttered. “Hello, Mr. Ellery.”

  “Call me James.” James Ellery held out a tall take-out cup.

  “Is that a bribe?” Despite himself, Landry licked his lips.

  “Call it a peace offering. I had to guess what you might like. I got you an extra hot, extra foam, double shot, vanilla latte.”

  “Oh my God, gimme!” Landry made a grab for the cup
, his self-respect in tatters. “This doesn’t mean I like you.”

  “Of course not.” James’ eyes twinkled.

  They actually twinkled. He looks like a fucking movie star. Landry took in the designer jeans, gleaming white shirt and pale blue Burberry sweater, which had to be cashmere. A trace of stubble stopped James from being too pretty. “I’m busy. I can give you ten minutes.”

  “Yes, I can see you’re overrun with customers.” James glanced around the empty store.

  Landry huffed. “No people doesn’t mean no work. I’m sure your job is the most important thing in the world, but here, I’m in charge. If I say I’m busy, I’m busy.”

  “Maybe vanilla wasn’t your flavor after all.” James grinned.

  “If only you knew.” Landry scowled. He wondered if James had a Dommy streak. Pure sadist, I’d guess.

  “So is the guy you were with yesterday your boyfriend?”

  “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

  “It is if I want to ask you to dinner.”

  Landry gaped. “You’ve got a nerve! One coffee does not buy you a date.” You do have a cute accent, though.

  “That wasn’t a no.”

  “No!” Landry retreated behind the cash desk.

  James was still smiling. “I don’t give up easily.”

  “I’m with Gage. I don’t cheat.” Landry sipped his coffee. “Oh God, that’s good.” Unless drinking another man’s coffee counts as cheating.

  James shrugged. “We’ll see.”

  “Did you come in here to irritate me or do you have questions? I’m beginning to wonder.”

  “What do you know about international jewel theft?”

  “Nothing. Well, I know it happens,” Landry said. “Sometimes we get pictures from the cops asking us to look out for certain pieces, but Mr. Lao is careful about provenance.”

  “Where does he get his inventory?”

  “Auctions, private sales, other dealers. He sometimes takes items on consignment.” Landry gulped more coffee. “But we don’t sell that much jewelry. Mr. Lao specializes in furniture… As you can see.” Landry waved at the teetering piles of stock.