by Unknown
“Fuck.”
“Yes, please.” Shit. Did he just say that?
Silence reigned, and then Joel’s shoulders moved. Shaking. “Dude.” He laughed, his muscles relaxing under Anton’s fingers. “Did you just say, ‘yes please’?”
“Um, yeah.” Anton shrugged, even though the other man couldn’t see it. “My brain-mouth filter went offline too.”
Joel chuckled some more, and Anton was offended. It wasn’t that funny.
“Sorry.” Joel sounded anything but, and Anton’s fingers stilled. “It’s just that I’ve been eyeing you up for months. Wondering if you ever noticed me. Wondering if you were gay.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. But I keep seeing you with this chick. A blonde with hair down to her ass, and I couldn’t figure if you were together.”
Anton blew out a breath and resumed his slow massage of Joel’s neck. “That’s Kelly. She’s my roommate. We share an apartment.” And occasionally a bed, although not for ages, and only when they were both exceedingly drunk.
Joel shifted in his seat. “Would it freak you out if I took off my shirt? I’m kinda melting.”
In reply, Anton reached down to the hem and dragged the soft fabric up. Joel wriggled, tugged, and the shirt whisked away. Skin, gloriously hot, smooth skin lay beneath Anton’s hands, and his cock hardened even further. Dear God, could he keep himself under control until they got out of here?
The temptation to press his lips to Joel’s neck was immense. Fuck it. He leaned forward and blew a soothing breath on the man’s shoulders, and followed it with the merest flick of his tongue. Joel groaned and arched his back, and feeling bold, Anton did what he longed to do. He pressed soft kisses up the length of Joel’s spine, each touch drawing a whimper of pleasure.
He was right. Joel tasted fucking fantastic, officially his favourite flavour. Salty and sweet, dark and potent. If he could bottle this taste, he’d make a fortune. Climbing higher, he reached the base of his neck, and then dug his teeth into the soft skin. Just a nip, to see how he reacted.
Joel moaned, his body flexing. “Fuck,” he whispered.
“You like me using my teeth? It’s not an official massage tool.”
“I don’t care. Bite me again.”
Anton trailed a string of slow kisses across his shoulders, to the other side, and then nipped without warning. Joel bucked and cursed under his breath. “You are fucking good at that.”
“I’m good at this too.” Gliding on the hot skin beneath his palms, Anton stroked Joel’s sides and onto his chest. Joel tensed. Anton felt his way cautiously, and found his nipples. Hot and hard, they pushed against his fingers eagerly, and he circled around them. Teasing would be fun. He figured that Joel had probably forgotten about the darkness by now, but just in case he was still stressing, there was a perfect distraction just moments away.
Joel squirmed in his seat. Was he as turned on as Anton? There was one way to find out. He reached down, smoothed over impressively hard abs, and found the button of the tight white jeans.
Holy fuck. Joel was not only turned on, he was hard as granite. Anton felt the hard cock pushing at the denim, and cupped it with one hand.
Joel made a strangled noise. “I have to kiss you.”
It was tricky to find each others lips in the dark, especially since Joel was twisting around. They bumped noses first, but then made it on the second go, just as Anton flipped the jeans button open.
This was no timid, enquiring first kiss. This was a full on lip assault, a breath-stealing, heart-pounding, earth-shattering mouth fucking. Anton was glad he was sitting down, as his knees wouldn’t have held him upright. Joel’s eager tongue flicked against his own, and his hands stretched to grab handfuls of Anton’s hair. Fuck, that felt good. Anton liked a little rough play, and having a hot guy hang onto his hair was a delight.
He remembered what he’d been doing, and went back to work on Joel’s zipper, tugging it down, one tooth at a time. His head spun, from oxygen deprivation or blood loss as every drop shot to his cock, he couldn’t be sure. If he didn’t get out of these pants soon, he’d be crippled for life.
“Fuck,” Joel muttered against his mouth. “This is fuckin’ amazing.”
Zipper. Open the zipper. It was a struggle to make his hands obey him. All Anton wanted to do was drown in the kiss, or maybe spontaneously combust, but he fought to keep some sense together, and opened Joel’s zipper to stroke the heated fabric that he found underneath. The outline of Joel’s cock was impressive and when he ran his trembling fingers across it, Joel growled and the kiss intensified.
Seriously, this guy could kiss.
Anton was a heartbeat away from shoving his hands inside Joel’s briefs, when he heard a noise. A slapping, thumping sound. Like footsteps.
Footsteps. He froze and lifted his head. In the distance, he saw a flickering light approaching. A person with a flashlight.
“Fuck. Someone’s coming.”
He groped for Joel’s denims, but the guy beat him to it and zipped himself back up. Moments later, he tugged the T-shirt back over his head. “Yes. Thank fuck they’re here.”
Even though their rescuer was still too far away to see them, still in the adjoining carriage, Anton and Joel slid apart on the seat and put a neutral gap between them.
The minute the connecting door opened, Joel stood. “Hey, over here. There’s just two of us.”
He sounded awfully pleased to be rescued.
The guard explained how they had to walk the length of the train, to get out at the back with him, and the small group of passengers he’d rounded up, but Anton only half-listened. Five minutes longer, that’s all he wanted. Now they were heading off the Magline altogether, and the moment was lost.
Joel chattered eagerly with the other passengers, recounting how shocked he’d been when the Magline stopped, and how he hated being stuck in the dark. Anton trailed behind. What would happen now? Was Joel glad they’d been rescued because it stopped him from making a mistake with Anton?
But what was all that about how Joel had been eyeing up Anton for months? Even noticing him with Kelly? Anton was confused. And tired. The weight of the lousy day pressed upon him, and he remembered again about the hellish day at work. He wanted to go home. And sleep.
After a few minutes walk, and collecting another couple of bewildered and relieved passengers, they reached the emergency exit at the back of the train. Bright lights heralded their arrival, and helpful strangers assisted as they scrambled down onto the track, to walk a short way to the nearest service tunnel.
All too soon, they emerged from the Magline levels to the gallery, an escalator ride from the surface and a line of waiting Magcars. Anton had lost Joel somewhere in the service tunnel. There’d only been twenty or so passengers, hardly a crowd, but Joel had been swept away with them and now Anton waited alone.
He sighed. Shit end to a shit day.
“Hey.” Anton looked up to see Joel, his hair rumpled and T-shirt inside out, and a broad smile on his face. “I lost you.”
It was hard not to smile back, and the sight of Joel’s grin made his heart sing. “Actually, you just found me. Wanna come back to my place while we call a locksmith? It might take a while, this late.”
“You think?”
“Yeah. You might have to stay the night.”
Joel stepped closer, near enough for Anton to kiss him. “I think I can manage that. And besides, we were just getting to the interesting part of the massage.”
The end
If you enjoyed this, check out the other Emerald City stories by Sofia Grey and Allyson Lindt:
Return to Emerald City (a collection of novellas)
Faking It (Sexy To Go vol. 1)
Roman’s Gold
Ann Gimpel
The line between hunter and hunted thins, blurs, and finally disappears.
Devon Heartshorn strode past a pale blue Victorian in the older part of Berkeley after watching Kate Roman run up
the steps and let herself inside. He was nearly certain she knew she was being followed, but she’d played it very cool. Even though he hadn’t been able to see her once the door shut, his genetically-enhanced senses told him she was watching him. Probably peeking through a window behind the heavy curtains that festooned leaded glass panes on the first floor.
He surreptitiously rearranged himself. Just following Kate had been shockingly arousing. He’d known she worked as a sex surrogate, but he hadn’t counted on her sheer animal magnetism—or the hot swing of her hips. She was maybe five feet eight with curves to spare. Full breasts pushed against the front of her denim jacket. He’d gotten a good look when she’d been at right angles to him running up her office steps. Tight jeans displayed a generous butt. It wasn’t just her lush figure and the bright red-gold hair peeking out from under her scarf that heated his blood, though. The way she walked practically screamed she owned the street—and made him want to own her.
She had presence, an almost regal bearing. Though she hadn’t turned around, he knew from pictures her eyes were amber, shading to golden. Cat eyes. Just like the cat she was.
Kate was magnificent. No way around it.
He didn’t think he’d be able to capture her. It would be a crime to put something that perfect behind bars. He shook his head. Dark hair fell into his face. He pushed it aside and ducked into a coffee shop. Everything was self-serve. He held his wrist computer up to the auto teller, ordered ten credits worth of food, and scanned his personal ID, rather than his cop creds. The auto teller obligingly gave him a code, which popped up on his screen. Devon marched down the aisle. When he saw something he wanted, he scanned the barcode on his display, a glass door opened, and he took his item.
Coffee and pastry in hand, he sat at a table and raked his fingers through his hair. He wasn’t pleased about his current assignment, but he didn’t see any way out of it. He’d moved from the Mojave Desert three months ago to take a job as a lieutenant with the City of Berkeley Police Department. He’d even gone through the series of infusions to alter his already-enhanced genetics so he’d be more sensitive to shifters. The last infusion had been three days ago, and his arm still ached. Something in the IV fluid was a hell of an irritant. He was glad to be done with that part of things.
He took a bite of pastry and chased the dry, tasteless sweet with coffee.
Law enforcement had changed dramatically since he’d finished his criminal justice degree at UCLA. He’d dreamed of attending law school, but hadn’t had a way to pay for it—not then anyway. Half Paiute from his father’s side, he’d applied to the Tribal Consortium for an educational loan. Because he wasn’t a full blood, they’d turned him down, and he ended up signing on as an officer with the San Bernardino County Sheriff’s office. He’d pulled down a decent salary, but a failed marriage and an underwater mortgage sounded the death knell for his law school plans.
Fifteen years later, he was still working as a police officer. It wasn’t such a bad life—until the governmental directive to round up shifters was signed into law two years ago.
A familiar pain knifed through him. His mother had been half-shifter; mixed genetics had cost her life. He’d petitioned the parole board to free her, had promised them he’d keep a close eye on her.
His request was denied.
“If we do it for her,” the head of the board told him, “well, son, we’d have to do it for everybody’s mother. I’m sure you understand.”
Devon hadn’t understood, though. Not any of it. The push to rid the United States of shifters made no sense to him. There may have been a few who’d used their animal forms to harm humans, but human criminals harmed humans, too. His mother wasn’t a threat to anyone. Not then, not ever. Her health had never been good, and she’d died in prison from a lung ailment, probably pneumonia.
At the funeral, his two sisters and father hadn’t said two words to him. He was a living, breathing representation of the ruling class, and the reason his mother wasn’t with them anymore.
He looked at his half empty cup of coffee and barely touched pastry. His stomach knotted; he didn’t feel hungry anymore. Devon winced. He’d done his share of trapping shifters and carting them off to prison. Once the governmental directive came down removing their human rights, he’d taken his responsibilities as a sworn law enforcement officer seriously.
It didn’t matter how he felt.
He was bound by oath to uphold the law.
What about protect? an inner voice nagged. Aren’t I supposed to protect the innocent?
His mother had been one of the sweetest, kindest women he’d ever known. He fisted his hands by his sides. Unable to sit still any longer, he shot to his feet, almost tipping the flimsy table over, and stormed out of the cafe. In his haste, he barreled into a couple coming in and mumbled, “Sorry.”
He ran to ease the pain in his guts. Ran until the city limit sign flashed past and he kept on going. He was off duty. No one expected him anywhere. If he went back to the station, they’d just grill him about Kate, and he’d have to fill out a report. Maybe he’d tell them he hadn’t been able to find her. That might buy her a few more days of freedom. He drew up hard and bent over, hands on his knees, sucking air. He’d never reneged on his duty before. He couldn’t believe he was even considering such a thing now. If his superiors found out, he’d never work in law enforcement again. He might even get tossed in jail.
Yeah, just like Mom. Maybe it’s what I deserve...
Devon worked his long hair into a single braid to get it out of his face, and then took off at a fast jog. Maybe if he ran long enough, the guilt sluicing through him would ease. He’d read the official paperwork condemning shifters—all of it. It hadn’t made a whole lot of sense. After all, he had shifter blood, just not enough to change into anything. The rules were quite clear, though. Fifty percent was the dividing line. No one had bothered to hide their shifter background before things went south. It was right on their birth certificates, so hunting them had been easy. Too easy. He’d asked to be reassigned after his mother’s death, but his desk captain had laughed and told him to grow a thicker hide.
Shunned by his fellow officers for being soft-hearted, shunned by his family for his mother’s demise, Devon couldn’t stand it anymore. He had to leave the Mojave Desert and its painful memories. It had taken a while to find another job, but the City of Berkeley had finally offered him one. They had a new hush-hush task force. He’d only found out he’d be tracking shifters after he’d accepted the job, moved, and been sworn in.
The slap of his running shoes against asphalt was loud in his ears. Sweat ran down his sides. Hovercraft whirred overhead. The sky was thick with them outside the city limits. His throat stung. It didn’t take much to erode the already-marginal air quality. One craft flew too low. Devon was certain it was in violation of the hundred-foot minimum, but didn’t radio in the infraction.
“Hey, handsome. What you running away from? Got an angry woman on your tail?”
Devon whipped his head around to see who’d spoken to him. A young Asian, probably Vietnamese from the look of her fair skin and high cheekbones, smiled. He came to a stop, momentarily confused, and then smacked the palm of his hand against his head. Of course. Hookers weren’t allowed inside the city limits, but many women set up shop close enough to Berkeley’s edge to lure clients. Maybe a diversion was just the thing he needed.
“Nope. No angry women. Just running.” He smiled back.
She sashayed over, her hips swinging. Her sarong gave him a fair view of the tops of her high, firm breasts. “It’s been pretty slow today.” She grinned engagingly. “You’re quite a cutie. I’d be willing to give you a deal.”
He quirked a brow, his heart still pounding from his run. “What kind of deal?”
“Depends what you want.” She tugged the low neck of her dragon patterned red and black dress aside, giving him a quick peek at a brown nipple.
Devon looked hard at her face. She was young. Past ei
ghteen, but not by much. Part of him felt sad. He wanted to ask why she’d ended up selling her body, but didn’t. He already knew the answer. It was more money than she could make at a minimum wage job.
Better me than the next stranger she flashes. At least I’ll be kind—and generous.
His cock twitched, still lost in Kate’s allure. Her golden hair with its copper-red streaks, and the tantalizing swing of her hips when he’d followed her earlier, filled his mind.
“Well?” The woman who’d flagged him down dropped her gaze from his face to the pavement. “If you don’t want to, I’ll go back inside.”
He gestured toward a flashing neon sign a few doors down. “Should we get a motel?”
“If you want to. It would save me some laundry.”
“What’s your name?” He held out a hand.
She took it, her grip firm. “Huong.”
“Vietnamese?”
She nodded. “Yes, how’d you—”
He traced an index finger along her cheek. “Bone structure. And your name. Do you need to lock up?”
“No. My sister’s inside.”
Yes, and likely her mother and father and a few assorted uncles, aunts, and grandparents. Huong was probably supporting all of them. He wondered if her sister turned tricks too. He opened his mouth to ask, and then shut it with a clack. None of his business.
Huong waited outside while Devon dealt with the bored motel manager. Clearly used to his place being used as a rent-by-the-hour crash pad, the man barely glanced at Devon, merely swept his cash into the register.
Devon waggled the key at Huong, and she fell into step with him, waiting until he unlocked the door of room seventeen and motioned her through. Though the motel was well past its prime, the room was clean. A double bed sat dead in the middle, and a small table with two chairs were next to a wall mounted vid screen.
He turned the deadbolt and dropped the night lock into its slot, then turned to Huong. “You asked what I wanted. Just straight sex is fine. If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to shower first. I’m sweaty from running.” He kicked off his shoes.
