High Concept

by Whitley Gray

  “Fuck.” Zach’s hands came down on Beck’s head and knotted in the longest part of his hair, right in the front.

  Beck let the testicle loose and gave the other one equal treatment. The taste made him dizzy. Want. Now. He let his eyes drift shut as a wave of pleasure wriggled down to his not-yet-recovered cock. The fingers threaded through his hair remained gentle. No hurrying, no “Let’s go” shoves or deep throating. Ah, the pleasure of taking time. With a grin, Beck let the faint stubble on his jaw rasp Zach’s inner thigh as he moved to the base of that beautiful cock.

  “Beck…”

  Looking up, he paused. Zach’s eyes were closed, a sweet smile on his lips. Yeah. Beck mouthed the root, worked up to the satiny skin of the head, and traced the rim. When he tasted the salty sweetness of precum and tongued the slit, Zach trembled, and his hands tightened in Beck’s hair. A word that might have been “fuck” or “suck” came from Zach. Well, Beck could handle that. He popped the head into his mouth and slid down to the base. This time the word was clearly “fuck,” followed by “don’t stop.”

  Great to have a man appreciate his mouth. Beck pulled back soft and slow, ran his tongue under the shaft, slid down fast and hard.

  Zach gasped.

  “Mmm.” Beck let his voice vibrate along Zach’s length. A jerk of the hips, an aborted thrust. Beck increased the speed, moving one hand down to fondle Zach’s balls, stroking the strip of sensitive skin behind them. Was this enough? Because Beck wanted this to be the best Zach had ever received. Beck sped up his strokes, taking Zach’s length, pulling nearly off and diving down.

  “Beck. It’s— I’m—”

  Beck loved this part, loved the throb and the taste and the sounds. A gratifying moan came from Zach. His cock jerked, and he came in rhythmic, hot pulses, salty and sweet on Beck’s tongue, and Beck rode out the aftershocks, hands around Zach’s shaking thighs. With gentle tugs, Beck turned Zach and pulled him to sit on the bed.

  Zach lay back and threw an arm over his eyes, panting.

  “Okay?”

  Zach raised his arm an inch. “Light-years beyond okay.” He dropped his arm into place.

  Beck smiled.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Beck awakened to the gray light of dawn penetrating the foggy window over the kitchen sink. The old heating and AC unit rumbled to life and kicked out dust, followed by shots of mildew-scented hot air. The events of last night had a dreamlike quality. Had they gone to the Olivetti house? Had they been forced off the road by some maniac? Had they come back here and fucked?

  The cock poking him in the small of his back suggested that last was true, anyway. Affirmed the reality of last night’s sexual escapade.

  Behind him, the soft snores blowing on his shoulder told him Zach wasn’t awake—just certain parts of his anatomy.

  His own morning wood could use some attention—like an erotic wake-up call. All Beck had to do was grab on to Zach’s erection, wake him with a blowjob, make love.

  The phrase echoed in his head. Make love? What the hell was he thinking? Sex. That was all it was—sex. Both of them had needed that release last night. The way Zach had kissed him, accepted him…

  No. Getting dressed and leaving before Zach awakened was the way to go. No awkward morning-after scenarios. Beck shifted to his back and eased toward the edge of the bed. At work, they could pretend it’d never happened and avoid discussion of their one-and-done deal. Because that’s all this is, right? He lifted up on his elbow and prepared to slip out of the bed.

  An arm came around his waist and rolled him to his back.

  Blue eyes gazed at him, watchful, wary, steeled for rejection.

  This was it. Beck could brush off their encounter or ask for more. And he had no idea what to do. The options warred in a swirl of tension in his gut. He should go, save them any further embarrassment.

  Zach leaned in and kissed him, lips warm and soft, demanding nothing. “Morning.”

  Words dried up. Kisses from Zach. So much for exit strategy. Beck relaxed and kissed back.

  “Some night last night, huh?” Zach raised up on one elbow and stroked Beck’s stomach.

  For the space of a heartbeat, Beck didn’t move. “Yeah. We’re lucky to be alive.”

  “I meant us.” Zach ran a palm along Beck’s jaw.

  Romance. This was too much. No one cared this much after one night. Gently, Zach tugged on Beck’s side until they faced each other.

  The hot, firm kiss took Beck by surprise. Hard arms hauled him in, and their cocks warred for position, thrusting in the limited space.

  “What do you want?” Zach’s eyes shone in the watery light. Sultry words, followed by a smile. A real request, not a game of whose turn it was to top. Another barrier went down in flames.

  Beck could be himself, ask for what he wanted without pretending to submit. “I want you to fuck me.”

  “Yeah?” The smile widened.

  “Yeah.”

  This time, the urgency was gone, leaving them time to explore. Zach rolled Beck onto his back and moved on top. Beck groaned as Zach’s hands roved over him in an erotic pat-down, learning the ticklish spots, the sensitive spots, the spots that produced an involuntary moan. Plenty of those, some Beck hadn’t known he possessed. In turn, he ran fingertips over Zach’s chest, grazing a nipple, and got a gratifying gasp in return.

  Leaning forward, Zach pressed tiny kisses to Beck’s eyelids, nose, and jaw, trailed them behind his ear. The wet heat sent a shiver through him, and he grabbed Zach’s hair with both hands, pulling him in for more insistent kisses. The taste of that mouth, becoming more familiar with every kiss, hot and hungry. Beck could get addicted to the kissing alone.

  Thumbs brushed Beck’s nipples, teasing them into hard points. In the past, this sort of stimulation did nothing for him, but Zach had him groaning. Zach’s fingertips traveled to Beck’s shoulder, skimmed over the scars, over his pounding heart…his belly…to the sensitive juncture of hip and groin. Beck shoved his hips up, rubbing their cocks together. Zach smiled against Beck’s mouth and slid to the side, taking the friction with him.

  Please, touch me.

  Instead, Zach kept up the teasing, hands everywhere but where Beck wanted them most. Torture, but the good kind of torture. His cock was hard as the steel barrel of his gun, heated and ready.

  When Zach had reduced him to jelly, Beck observed from between half-closed eyes as Zach reached over the side of the bed, wrestled with his wallet, and pulled out a foil square. “Condom for this, okay?”

  “Yeah.” Beck shot a look at the lamp table. A hotel-sized courtesy bottle of cucumber lotion still sat there. Okay, good to go. He rolled to his stomach.

  “No.” Zach’s hand tugged on his hip. “On your back. Want to see your face.”

  He tensed. No matter who did whom, he never faced his partners. Not even Van.

  More tugging. “Beck. Roll over.”

  Zach would see his face in the throes of orgasm, see him vulnerable. Just let go. Blowing out a breath, Beck complied.

  Zach shifted upright and sat back on his heels. His cock jutted out, a bead of precum welling in the slit. Beck reached out and swiped his finger across the opening, catching the droplet. Holding Zach’s gaze, Beck sucked the finger into his mouth, letting the salty taste dissolve on his tongue for a moment. With a wet pop, he pulled his finger free.

  Zach groaned. “Fuck, that’s hot.” With his teeth, he tore open the packet and rolled on the condom. He resumed kissing—hot sucking kisses along Beck’s jaw and throat. Arousal jumped up, suffusing Beck’s shaft. More foreplay than he was used to, but it felt good, had his cock begging for attention, his hole aching to be filled, and he couldn’t hold back a moan.

  “Love that noise,” Zach said, then licked each nipple until Beck writhed on the bed.

  “Got an oral fixation, Littman?”

  “Could be.” He ran his mouth down Beck’s belly and stopped before touching his leaking cock.

  Enou
gh already. Beck bent his knees and raised his hips, butting his cock into Zach’s cheek. “Let’s go. Fuck me.”

  Zach laughed. “Not very patient, are you?” He grabbed the lotion and squirted some on his fingers. The cool-sweet fragrance of cucumber wafted over. “Ready?”

  “Ready was ten minutes ago.”

  Grinning, Zach separated Beck’s thighs. Beck pulled his legs up, baring himself to Zach’s view, giving access.

  The first cool touch of lotion slid up his crease, over his hole, and along the sensitive skin behind his balls, tantalizing. More rubbing. A few taps, teasing his hole but not piercing him. Another moan escaped. “Fuck.”

  Was Zach planning to make him come like this? Those long fingers stroked down, and Beck gritted his teeth and braced for discomfort. It’d been months, and his ass was tight. Any second, the rough invasion would happen. Any second.

  A fingertip pressed in, and he jumped.

  Zach pulled back. “Okay?”

  “Yeah.” Of course Zach wouldn’t rush through the ritual of preparation, wouldn’t shove two digits in. Beck relaxed. “More.”

  Pressure, a finger advancing slow and sure, no pain. A stroke across his gland.

  Zach worked his finger in and out, slicking the way with lotion. A second finger joined the first, stretching Beck’s entrance, rubbing the magical area of his prostate. A little keening noise left him. Hell, Zach had him whimpering, and he didn’t whimper.

  “Christ, that feels good.” And Beck whimpered again. With all the sex he’d had in the past, nothing had felt this good. Waves of pleasure radiated to all areas pelvic in time with the taps to his gland. It’d been so long since he’d come like this, and his body wanted to leap ahead. No, not yet. Please not yet.

  Zach withdrew his fingers and replaced them with the head of his cock, then pushed inside. Tight. Very tight. The entry burned. Beck tensed and Zach halted, intense concentration on his face as he held back. Beck took a breath, blew it out, repeated. The tight muscle relaxed. “Okay. Go.”

  Gazing at him, Zach worked his way inside, sliding in and out until their bodies met. The burn morphed into a pleasurable pressure. “Good?”

  Beck nodded. The fullness of Zach inside him blew him away. Not just his body, his mind. Zach’s presence overwhelmed him, made it impossible to see this as a casual encounter. This was intimate on multiple levels.

  Zach tilted forward and kissed him, hot and hungry. Greedy for the taste of him, Beck pushed his tongue into Zach’s mouth, cranking up the heat, and Zach thrust against him once. Pausing, Zach grabbed a pillow and got it situated under Beck’s hips. The next stroke hit the sensitive spot inside, and Beck shivered as the nerves broadcast tingling through his pelvis, balls, and dick; another perfect strike and he sucked in a breath. “God. There. Right there.”

  They found a rhythm, and Zach reached for Beck’s cock, matching the push-pull of their bodies. The bedsprings worked out beneath them, keeping time. It’d been months, and his body had forgotten any notion of endurance, of pacing. Just like that, Beck teetered on the edge. Too soon, but his body was like a freight train, racing toward completion.

  Tension gathered in the small of Beck’s back. A riot of sensation rushed through him, and he unloaded in hard, hot pulses, splashing his chest.

  “So…beautiful…watching…you…come.” Zach grunted between thrusts, stiffened, a rhythmic release filling the latex, shooting inside Beck’s body.

  Afterward, they stayed wrapped in each other’s arms, waiting for their panting to subside into more regular respirations. Zach nudged his face, kissed him sweet and slow. Beck drifted off, sated and warm, to the rhythm of Zach’s heartbeat.

  * * * *

  “Buenos días, mí amigo. Cómo está?” Dean’s cheerful voice came through the cell at eight a.m., an hour after Beck had left.

  With a grin, Zach answered in kind. “Muy bien. Tú?”

  “What?”

  “Aw, c’mon. That’s like the first day in Spanish class.”

  “You caught me off guard, that’s all.”

  “If you want to go on one of those mission trips, you need to learn Spanish.” Zach pulled a clean shirt out of the closet. “You’ll have to break out those CDs and play them in the car on the way to work.”

  “I know.” Dean sighed. “But it’s distracting to have some Spanish lady asking me where I left my briefs while I’m negotiating rush hour.”

  “She’s not asking about briefs.” Zach chuckled. “She’s asking you to get into the bathtub.”

  “How do you know what she wants? Maybe she does want into my briefs.”

  Zach laughed. “If I hadn’t done the program, I might believe that’s what she wants.”

  “So what happened last night?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You never called me back.” Peevish.

  Zach tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder and shrugged into the shirt. “Something came up.”

  “The case? Did you arrest someone?” Excitement colored Dean’s voice. “The killer?”

  Zach groaned to himself. The man was becoming something of a cop groupie. “No. The FBI doesn’t arrest people anyway. The locals would.”

  “How is it going with the curmudgeon?”

  A flash of Beck’s face during orgasm filled Zach’s mind. “Actually, he hasn’t been very curmudgeon-like.”

  “Oh.” There was a pause. “You’re getting along?”

  For a moment, he hesitated. “Yeah.”

  “You got some, didn’t you?” Dean’s voice had tightened, all humor evaporated.

  “It’s not like that. We—”

  “I’m happy for you.” The degree of happiness sounded like ten below zero.

  “Dean—”

  “Hey. You can show your firearm to whomever you like, big guy.” A funny note had crept into Dean’s tone, something Zach hadn’t heard before. Desperation? “I don’t have any claim, right?”

  Oh, hell. “Dean. Please—”

  “Buenos días.” He hung up.

  Zach stared at the phone and dialed Dean. The call went straight to voice mail. “Dean. Call me. Please.”

  So much for communication. In any language.

  * * * *

  “The detective and the special agent were at the house last night. Stryker and Littman. They went inside.” The male voice had no accent, but Olivetti would know it anywhere. Precise marksmanship honed in the military, available for hire. Expensive as hell, but with no scruples and no blowback on his employers.

  “In the dark?” Olivetti paced in front of the fireplace. “Why?”

  “I gathered Littman wanted to see the crime scene at night. Part of drawing up a profile.”

  Olivetti mulled that over. Possible. Littman might do things differently. “What action did you take?”

  “Took out their rear window with a high-powered rifle.”

  “And?”

  “They went off the road. Vehicle should’ve flipped and rolled into the pond, but it didn’t. If it had, they’d be dead.”

  Olivetti made a fist. Did he have to do everything himself? “Get rid of the FBI agent.”

  The assassin snorted. “Got a suggestion, Olivetti?”

  “You’re a problem solver,” Olivetti snapped. “That’s what you’re paid to do. Solve the problem.”

  “An assassinated federal agent would bring ten kinds of shit down on our heads,” growled the voice.

  “Then you’ll have to be creative.” He ended the call and paced. So the cops had been at the house last night. The skeleton hadn’t spooked them enough, and they’d gone inside. Luckily the power was off—they wouldn’t have seen much using flashlights, and the crime scene had been thoroughly inspected.

  Why go to the house at night? What had they hoped to discover?

  Whatever it was, his high-paid sharpshooter had scared them off, but he’d outlive his usefulness shortly.

  The FBI agent had to go.

  If assassin
ation was out, what would work? Last night would have looked like an accident if the car had rolled. An accident was still the way to go. It was just a matter of coming up with a new scenario, something plausible but unrelated to the case or Olivetti. Something completely random. Something up close, ensuring success.

  Olivetti contemplated the fire.

  * * * *

  October was a coldhearted bitch. As he gimped along, Ferris wrapped the prison-issue canvas jacket across his chest. The damn thing provided zero warmth. As cuddly as a whore and just as useless against the chill. The wind carried a promise of winter, sweeping leaves along the concrete.

  In the prison yard, clumps of inmates stood in groups, huddled in their piss-colored coats. A wicked corkscrew of razor wire decorated the fence line like millions of metal teeth on the edge of a chain-link box. Behind it, a sky as gray as a dead man’s skin hinted at snow.

  Ferris glanced over his shoulder and stumbled to the corner of the yard. The ninety-degree angle protected his back and sides, and he could see everyone, especially anyone approaching.

  Especially fucking Jedidiah Brown.

  After last night… Fuck. Death was right around the corner. The next lights-out could be permanent lights-out for him. He shifted his weight to one hip, and a bolt of white-hot agony shot through his no-longer-virgin sphincter. The ache in his ass had to be a tear—the bastard had nearly rent Ferris in two. He’d probably shit blood today. A damn miracle he could manage to walk.

  Across the yard, Brown pumped out a series of pull-ups. White teeth appeared in the deeply tanned landscape of his face and disappeared as he blew Ferris a kiss. The muscle heads with him laughed, tattooed biceps bare and bulging despite the cold. The prisoners walking the yard ignored the whole proceeding.

  Some of those assholes had shouted encouragement in the dark while Ferris screamed. At one point he’d been sure Brown had shoved his massive dick deep enough to perforate Ferris’s liver, skewering him like a bug on a stickpin. With nothing but spit to slick the way, the penetration had been excruciating until he’d started to bleed. Turned out, blood was an excellent lubricant.