I'll Be Your Last
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Woody shifted and squirmed. “Please, please.” Mack gave up trying to enter slowly. He couldn’t prolong it any longer. With every ounce of strength in him, he thrust in hard, his belly slapping Woody’s backside, his cock swallowed completely within the hot, tight sheath. “Yes.” He uttered a raw growl.
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Chapter Eight
With the first slather of cool lube in his asshole, Woody couldn’t keep still. Being on his belly, his ass on display, all of him at Mack’s mercy was fantastically erotic. He wanted Mack to take him hard and deep. Especially hard. The fingers toying with him, testing him, taunting him drove him nuts. His hips undulated into the bed. He couldn’t help it, couldn’t keep still. He tried to hold onto the memory of everything Mack was doing to him. Didn’t want to forget the sensations, but wanted him to go faster, harder, wanted to feel that amazing cock inside him, stretching him to his body’s limits.
It was the ultimate pleasure. He’d finally gotten Mack in his bed where he couldn’t hide his sexuality, at least not within the confines of this room.
When Mack blanketed him, when his slippery prick slid along his crack, he felt its delicious, heavy heat against his skin. Woody moaned in agreement when Mack bit his earlobe. His hole flowered open a little more with that sharp nip. “Damn it, then do it,” Woody heard himself beg. It sounded more like a demand. “Are you going to tease me forever?” When Mack threatened? promised? to use the glass dildo, he wanted that with every fiber of his being. “Yes!
Harder. Deeper. Son of a bitch, fuck me already.” Mack knew exactly how to torment a man’s back hole with thick, aggressive fingers. But fingers in his ass weren’t enough. He desperately needed the swollen length of his cock. Wanted it. Begged for it.
Then the head of Mack’s penis caressed the ring of his anus. That first touch, the heat, even through the condom, sent his senses flying.
He wanted to fly with them, but he needed to savor this impalement I’ll Be Your Last
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over rich nerve endings of this exquisitely raw taking. Woody heard groaning. Was it his? Mack’s? He wanted to believe the other man was just as crazed as he was.
Woody wrenched his focus back to the here and now, to the stretching, the loosening of the ring, the entrance to his body. He ground his forehead into the pillow, pushed his ass up, actively swallowing Mack’s cock into his rectum. Then he was full of man.
Full of a big man. The massive penis he’d sucked and licked, the one he’d wanted since the day he’d met Mack, was inside him. His pleading had done it. Now he couldn’t push back. Mack’s weight full-out had him pinned to the bed. It felt so right. So good.
Mack moved. Boy, did he ever. Not slowly, not delicately, he pulled out, that having its own fierce potency. Then, in one powerful thrust, he rammed his cock back in, his belly smacking up against Woody’s ass.
His anus surrendered, his rectum clenching with every impalement, with Mack’s every grunt. Increasing the friction, he squeezed his muscles to keep the wide, burning dick inside. The sounds coming from Mack’s throat were more of an aphrodisiac than any sensation-laden lube ever could be.
Woody gave up the idea of moving. He let himself absorb the intensely aggressive cock driving, wallowed in being taken by the powerful man. He almost lost his mind with the pistoning in, the pulling out, until finally Mack gave a huge groan. Woody felt his channel pulse uncontrollably as Mack’s penis convulsed and throbbed his release. He longed for skin-to-skin contact, longed to feel Mack’s shaft, his searing, thick essence flooding inside his rectum with no need for a condom. Being fucked with the sensuous aggression of a Mack Penchant could be addicting.
Woody felt the tickle of a hairy chest on his back, Mack’s long hair brushing his cheek, his heavy breathing pushing him into the bed.
They were still connected in the most erotic way possible. He could barely breathe but had no intention of urging disengagement. The 58
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feeling of belonging, of security in the arms of another man was too valuable to end. Mack’s lips, warm and soft, luxuriously loving, brushed over his shoulder and neck. The world could stop revolving right now. All was perfection.
But it had to end, didn’t it? They had to separate. Damn it. Mack pushed up. Woody’s groan signaled the beginning of a new arousal at the slow withdrawal from his ass. Then he was gone, his heat and weight disappeared. Mack had just gone into the bathroom to get rid of the condom. He’d turn over and wait for him to come back to bed.
It would just take a minute.
Rustling sounds woke him, and he sleepily turned his head to see Mack putting his jeans and shirt on, then his shoes. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” Mack muttered.
“You’re leaving?”
“Yeah.”
Panic setting in, Woody rolled over and gingerly sat up on the edge of the bed, his asshole smarting. What the hell was happening?
“You’re fucking and running?” He tried not to sound completely pathetic, like some pickup at a bar.
This was Mack. They were on the same team, saw each other almost every day. Leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, he slid shaky fingers through his hair. His heart beat erratically. Naked, he felt vulnerable to Mack’s clothed state. He felt used, fucked, and abandoned. This was unbelievable.
“I think it’s best.”
He glanced up at Mack’s impassive face. How could the man show no emotion after what just happened between them? “You think? Why?” he asked, knowing it was probably the most stupid question ever asked in the world.
“It was just sex, kid.”
Woody leaped to his feet. At least Mack wouldn’t be towering over him. “Oh, so we’re back to calling me ‘kid,’” Woody snarled I’ll Be Your Last
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furiously, even as his mind whirled with pain and confusion. “So this all”—he gestured to the bed—”meant nothing more than sex to you?”
“Don’t expect anything from me. I don’t stick around. I’ve never wanted to. And I don’t,” Mack finished emphatically.
* * * *
Mack turned his back on Woody. What the hell had he just done?
Well, he knew he’d just fucked a fellow cop. He never, ever, did that.
He didn’t want to know about the lives of his sex partners, not even their names most of the time. Now he’d fucked Woody, someone he could have liked. Did like, damn it. How could he have been so stupid? He couldn’t undo it, but he could end it as soon as possible.
The minute he’d felt the kid’s lips, felt his fingers yank his hair, he’d been done in, easy bastard that he was. Now he had to get out of here. “This was a mistake. It won’t happen again.” Sneaking a look at him, the expression on the kid’s stunned face was like a stab to the heart. “If you’re smart, you’ll forget about it.” With that, he turned on his heel, grabbed his jacket, and slammed the front door shut. From the outside. It had always been a fucking cold existence on the outside. Right where he belonged.
He jammed his car key into the ignition and drove a couple blocks before he had to pull over. Pounding the steering wheel with pent-up anger, he raged, calling himself every name in the book. He was always more careful than that. Why had he failed this time?
He’d met Woody. That was why. Then he’d sealed his doom tonight in that house, in that bed. In that ass. He shuddered and felt too close to weeping for comfort. This was just lust, pure and simple.
Lust for that man’s beautiful, muscular body, gorgeous round ass cheeks. His sweet, soft lips. He wished they’d kissed longer.
Damn, thinking about those lips on his cock stirred it awake again, thick and pulsing with the sweetest desire. The rest of the night was 60
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going to be miserable if he didn’t get home and take care of his still-hard cock.
Mack fought the pain in his heart. Fool. Men with the kind of li
fe you’ve led don’t have relationships. Don’t have boyfriends. Don’t get to be happy. He didn’t want those things, did he? He never had before. And even if he did now, he couldn’t have them with another cop. His only hope was to request a new assignment. He couldn’t take any more of Woody Kane.
* * * *
This was just what Woody needed—the peace and acceptance of being with his dad. He’d called him for dinner as an antidote to that fantastic night with Mack, one that changed from fantastic to being left like he was some sort of one-time-fuck boy.
“Thanksgiving is coming up,” Charles reminded. “Do you know if you’ll be on duty or not that day?”
Woody shook his head. “Won’t know for sure until the week before. But I’d rather work the day so some of the guys with wives and kids can be home. Sorry, Dad.”
His father smiled. “You’re a good man, son.”
“Yeah, selfless and all that crap,” he replied self-deprecatingly.
“You could stop in the station if you want.” Woody gave him a crooked grin. “All the bad coffee and vending-machine candy and chips you could ever want.”
Charles took a bite of his burger. “Molly’s cooking. Did she call you?”
“Yup. I said I’d try to get over there if it’s not too late. If she’s doing dinner, she won’t be able to take time out to come to the station.”
Flicking a dab of mustard off the corner of his mouth with a knuckle, Charles added, “I might have a date.” I’ll Be Your Last
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“What?” Woody leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Are you keeping something from me, Dad?” At fifty-one, his father still looked handsome and kept himself in shape. “Is this one a keeper?” Charles swallowed another bite, laughed, then shrugged, turning shy. “She might be.”
“What’s her name? Why haven’t you told me about her?”
“Samantha Greer. She’s forty-five and teaches grade school in the city. Divorced seven years ago. How’s that for information?”
“How serious is this?” Woody asked.
“Might be pretty serious. I’d like for you to meet her. Are you all right with this, son?”
Woody reached across the table and put a hand on his dad’s arm.
“If she’s good enough for you, then of course I’m all right with it.”
“I know it’s only been two years since your mom died.”
“I know you loved her, Dad. All I want is for you to be happy.”
“Samantha is good for me, and she seems to like me, too.” Charles shrugged.
“Why wouldn’t she? Does she have kids?”
“No. And I know she’ll love you.”
Woody got very serious, took a breath. “Have you told her about me?”
“It was one of the first things I told her. If she was going to be uncomfortable with it, then I didn’t want to see her again.” Woody tilted his head, twirled a couple of French fries in ketchup, and neutrally asked, “And was she?”
Charles gave him a big grin. “Her brother is gay, and she loves him very much.”
“Well, then, if you’re happy, I’m definitely okay with this. I’d love to meet her. You all could have your Thanksgiving dinner, and then maybe come into the station.”
“Sounds good, kid.”
Woody winced.
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“Damn, I’m sorry, son. It slipped out. Are you still having trouble with what’s-his-name?”
This time Woody chuckled, pretending to be a little more lighthearted than he really was. “Mack. He’s kind of a problem, but I’m handling it.” He stopped there. As tolerant as his dad was, he definitely didn’t tell him details about his relationships or about his sex life, especially when it came to Mack.
Oh, fuck.
Who should be coming through the revolving doors of the restaurant but his problem. Damn him. Of all the restaurants in the city, he shows up here? And Christ, did he look hot, especially without the cap for once. All that sleek, soft hair ruffled from the outside wind. Woody’s fingers curled into his palms, his eyes closed briefly with the remembered feel of those strands in his tight grip.
Mack wore a midcalf, black wool trench coat and black jeans. That was all he could see until Penchant turned around, and, like a laser sight, spotted him.
A woman bumped into Mack when he stopped in his tracks.
Woody quirked a smile at Mack’s awkward apology as he steadied her, and at his complete ignorance of her admiring gaze. He doesn’t swing your way, sweetie.
“What’s the matter, Wood?”
He glanced at his dad, scowling, then nodded his head toward the entrance. “That’s him.”
“Holy crap!”
“Yeah,” he ground out between clenched teeth. He tried to break their eye contact. He dimly knew his dad had said something and just needed a moment to pull himself together.
“Will he come over?”
“No!”
* * * *
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Mack had been as stunned as Woody looked when he’d spotted him in the restaurant. He was with an older man. A lover? His insides heated up at the memory of the tall, hard body belly-down beneath him, his cock, slathered with slippery lube, rammed as far up inside the kid’s gorgeous ass as it could get. He glanced at the floor, trying to contain the flash of intense need. Thank goodness he had a long coat on, because it hid the swelling of his prick. He had an irrational desire to grab the kid out of the restaurant, shove him against a brick wall, and kiss him senseless, then turn him around and fuck that sweet piece of tail again.
What the hell was he thinking? Bedding Woody could never happen again. Would never happen again. If anyone found out, it would be the end of both of them. Mack’s eyes glazed over. He’d never get a chance to burrow that glass dildo… “Jesus,” he murmured.
Obviously, the kid had moved on. He wanted to throw something through the plate glass window. Good God, he was jealous? They’d had sex once, and that was the end of it.
“There’s a place at the bar, sir.” The hostess pointed out an empty stool on the other side the room. He would not run away. Damn it, he’d come in for a beer and a hamburger, and by God he was going to stay. He ground out a “thank you” and headed to the bar, throwing himself on the stool, resting his elbows on the wooden surface.
He kept his back to the room, but the nape of his neck prickled continuously. Praying Woody would leave soon, he conversely wanted him to come over. God, wasn’t that screwed up? Mack took a swig of beer.
And then, suddenly, there was said Woody Kane, pushing himself between Mack and the person next to him, his elbow on the bar as comfy as you please.
“Just came over to say hello.” Woody’s tone was mild.
“Hello,” Mack growled back.
“Well, then, have a nice dinner.”
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Mack didn’t respond. He’d thought he was a smoother character than this, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. He didn’t want a lasting relationship with the kid, but seeing him with another man had not felt good.
“If you can truly ignore what happened and pretend it didn’t mean anything to you, then you’re a jerk bastard.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.”
“I’m putting in for a transfer.”
A bubble of panic arose in Mack’s chest. “I thought you said I had to.”
“I don’t care who does it. I just don’t want to look at you every day.”
He gazed into the mirror over the bar. It was safest to look at Woody through that blurry distance. He glanced toward the restaurant’s door. “Isn’t your date anxiously waiting outside?” He put all the snide he could muster into that comment.
Woody’s eyes widened. He took a deep breath and said through a tight jaw, “That was my father, you nimrod.”
“Nimrod?” He huffed out a puff of air. Shit. Now he just felt stupid.
“What the fuck do you think?”
“No one has to know.”
“You know as well as I do that someone will somehow find out, and we’ll be crucified.” Mack shook his head. He wanted Woody in every way but feared the repercussions.
Woody turned and walked away, muttering cuss words. For some reason, that made Mack laugh. It also gave him a good view of the kid’s tight ass in snug jeans.
Mack lost his appetite, at least for food.
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Chapter Nine
Woody didn’t give a good goddamn what Mack did. He was off duty. All he wanted was to hit the hay and sleep. Shit. Running into the guy ruined his evening. He’d make it up to his dad, though. At least Charles saw for himself what he was dealing with in Mack. He did have to chuckle at his father’s “holy crap.” That about said it all.
Leaning back against the kitchen counter, he crossed his arms over his chest and sipped a beer. He needed to wind down a little before taking a shower, going to bed, and hoping he could stop obsessing about Mack.
The hot shower only brought Mack, the nimrod, front and center in his mind. He chuckled at the epithet. Oh, boy, did it fit. The last thing he needed in his life was another man not interested in a relationship. Denial was something he was very familiar with in other gay men. He didn’t advertise it at work, but he embraced his sexuality in private, knowing he was gay from the time he was sixteen. It sounded like Mack’s life had been very different. Being an in-the-closet Marine must have been tough. He didn’t know how Mack had managed it. He must have a will of iron to hide such an important part of his life from his fellow Marines. It would undoubtedly be pretty hard to be open about being gay now after so many years of hiding it.