by Keaton, Elle
“Don’t move. Don’t do anything,” Mat ordered.
More often it was Niall doing the bossing around in the bedroom, but every once in a while—like tonight—Mat asserted himself and Niall could do nothing except obey.
The covers slid off Mat, exposing them both to the chilly evening air. Keeping eye contact with Niall, Mat leaned down and drew one of Niall’s nipples into his mouth, alternately sucking and nipping, driving Niall wild.
“Mat,” Niall groaned.
Mat let out an evil laugh before turning his attention to Niall’s other nipple.
Niall bucked his hips, wanting Mat’s attention elsewhere. Mat chuckled again and sucked harder. Relenting slightly, he snaked one hand downward to wrap his long fingers around Niall’s cock. As he sucked Niall’s nipple, Mat caressed Niall’s erection, running his fingers up and down his hard length. It was torture. Niall felt himself slowly edging toward orgasm, but it was never going to happen at this pace. He groaned again, pushing up into Mat’s fist, asking for more.
“Hmm, not yet.”
But Mat did slide farther down Niall’s body, stopping, thankfully, at his cock. Niall felt a drop of precome leak onto his abs. Mat kept his fist around Niall’s shaft but didn’t take him into his mouth. Instead he rubbed his face into Niall’s pubes, breathing him in deeply as if the scent of Niall was all he needed to come.
Niall spread his legs as wide as possible, forcing Mat to crouch between them. Their lovemaking was generally quiet. Niall wasn’t one for unnecessary conversation when he could be fucking. So Mat’s “Spread wider, I need to taste you,” surprised him. Niall was pretty sure Mat didn’t mean his cock.
“In fact, turn over and get onto your knees.”
Niall did so. He pushed his pillow to the side so he could breathe, his forehead pressed into the mattress as he offered Mat his ass, his hole. Rimming had never been something he’d felt comfortable with, but Mat had permission to do whatever he wanted with Niall’s body.
Mat stilled for a moment, and Niall tensed with anticipation. Fingers, tongue, what was it going to be?
Gently Mat parted Niall’s cheeks, murmuring, “You are incredible. If someone had told me I would someday be allowed to do this—to touch you like this—I would’ve told them they were out of their mind.”
Then, one finger began to massage Niall’s hole. “Yes, like that. Open for me.”
Niall moaned into the mattress and pushed his ass backward; Mat was going to be the death of him.
Mat massaged and crooned for a few minutes, allowing Niall to relax into the sensation and anticipation that soon there would be more. His cock was heavy and hard. It throbbed, and he clenched because he wanted, needed, to come. Mat shifted, and then instead of his finger, it was his tongue.
“Fuck,” Niall practically sobbed.
Mat licked and probed, stiffening his tongue and entering Niall, lingering at the ring of muscle there. Niall forced himself to relax even as he pulsed precoma, and he shifted so he could touch himself.
Mat batted Niall’s hand away. Niall groaned. He visualized how they must look right now: Mat’s face jammed into his ass, Mat’s tongue in Niall’s hole while he still, too fucking slowly, pumped Niall’s hot, weeping shaft. Mat’s ass would be raised too, in a sort of invitation, Niall thought. His control snapped.
“If you don’t fuck me right now, I’m going to flip you over and pound into you so hard you’ll feel it for days.”
Mat ignored his demand, releasing his grip on Niall’s cock, which made Niall whimper with regret. Mat’s tongue also left his hole, and Niall thought soon he’d feel the pleasure-pain of Mat’s erection pressing against his entrance, inside him. But it was fingers Niall felt. Two fingers questing, pushing, probing inside where Mat had loosened him, where his ass was begging for more. Mat was the only lover he’d ever let do this. He’d never imagined he’d allow himself to be this vulnerable with anyone.
A jolt of pure electricity shot through his synapses. “Jesus Christ, fuck.”
Crooking his fingers more, Mat rubbed across Niall’s prostate again. And again, and again. Until Niall was a shaking pile of human cells who could hardly remember his own name. His balls hung heavy and tight; one more pass and he’d be coming.
Gently Mat pulled his fingers out.
“Fuck, Mat,” Niall whined, lifting his head and glancing over his shoulder.
“Yeah, that’s what I want. I want you to keep your promise. I want you to fuck me so hard that while I’m sitting in my office chair at work tomorrow all I’ll be able to think about is your dick in my ass.”
Mat flopped next to him on the bed and pulled his knees underneath him. Niall’s cock throbbed. Sitting up on his haunches, he gripped himself and tried to recite the alphabet backward, because he was that close to coming.
He knee-walked to position himself right behind Mat.
“Fuck, lube.”
Leaning over, he grabbed the lube off the bedside table and squeezed a shit ton into his hand. He didn’t have the time or desire for finesse, but he wasn’t going to hurt Mat. Quickly he rubbed the slick around Mat’s hole and inside him. Mat moaned, and it was Niall’s turn to laugh—except he was still so aroused he really couldn’t. His shaft hung thick and heavy between his legs; his balls ached with need.
“Enough. Now,” Mat demanded.
Shuffling as close as he could, so the backs of Mat’s thighs rested against his own skin, Niall guided his red, demanding cock toward Mat’s hole. He tapped against him and Mat relaxed, opening himself so Niall could slide into the heat of his body. There was a hint of resistance, but the muscle eased enough that Niall could push farther inside his man. Niall tried to be gentle, although he didn’t know how long he’d manage—but Mat didn’t want gentle. Instead he heaved himself backward, forcing Niall’s cock inside him, all the way to his hilt.
Niall took, like, half a second to admire the glory of his cock stuffed into Mat’s ass before he let loose, his hips jackhammering. Mat was speaking, but Niall couldn’t understand him. He didn’t know if it was because Mat was babbling nonsense or because he was so gone, he’d lost the ability to understand the English language.
“Harder, fuck me harder.”
Niall pounded into Mat, aiming for his prostate and knowing he was hitting it when Mat gripped the sheets as if he might levitate. Mat reached underneath his body, and his arm started to move as he jacked himself. There was no warning, just Mat propelling himself backward again, then his hole clenched around Niall as he started to come. Niall lifted his lover so he was up on his knees, tight against Niall’s front as he pushed into him. He snaked a hand downward and grabbed Mat’s balls, gripping them as he felt himself tumble over the edge.
He shuddered spasmodically into his lover, one arm wrapped around Mat’s chest, his other hand between Mat’s legs. Come dripped down Mat’s stomach, and now Niall felt it dripping from between his ass-cheeks as well. Niall’s face pressed into Mat’s neck; he could smell them, the sharp scent of their come. His cock pulsed one more time as he bit down on Mat’s neck. Not hard enough to leave a mark, but not because he didn’t want to.
He was just drifting off when their dinner conversation popped back into his head. Mat had rescued the sheets and comforter from the floor to cover them, and now Niall was pressed against Mat’s back with one arm wrapped around his waist.
“I can hear you thinking,” Mat muttered.
“Jeffrey Reynolds,” Niall grunted. “What the fuck does he think he’s up to? What does he know?”
“Well, obviously, he thinks he knows something about my dad’s death. And he thinks it could get him a deal—though I doubt he’s right about that. What he implied today was enough to get me to look into it again. I don’t need him. It also makes me think he heard about Cooper. Why are jails and prisons always hotbeds of gossip?”
“Boredom on both sides, the guards and the prisoners, but… yeah.” Niall shifted, tugging Mat even closer. “I don’t trust h
im.”
“I don’t either, but there’s nothing I can do about it right now. I’ll look at the files tomorrow.”
“Let me do it.”
Mat flipped over onto his back, peering at Niall. “What? Why?”
Niall tapped Mat’s chest with his index finger, letting his touch turn into a caress, the fresh scar tissue out of place under his fingertips. “Because you’re too close. Let me talk to Leo and Kimball. I’m already on leave, and WCF has resources the sheriff’s office doesn’t have.”
Mat sighed. “I guess. I mean—yes, I know that. But I have a feeling that the cases are connected. As I investigate Cooper’s death, it seems we are just on either end of a long rope. The further we get, the closer together the two cases will be.”
“I agree, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t start with your dad. In fact, I think it makes my argument stronger. I’ll talk to Leo tomorrow, unless you’re really opposed.”
“I’m not… opposed, just worried. Nervous, I guess, about what we’re going to find out. Does this mean my dad was involved in something, or at least that he knew about whatever Duane was up to and chose to look the other way? I always idolized him, and I guess… I know he wasn’t perfect, but I’d still rather not learn he was involved in criminal activity.”
“Whatever your dad did, or didn’t do, doesn’t reflect on you. You know that, right?”
“It kind of does, though. What I mean is, if my dad was involved in whatever Cooper was into, he wasn’t the man I thought he was. And when I came back here to take my dad’s place, I meant to be as good and fair as I believed he was. I became sheriff because of my family name, not because of my personal job record.”
“Maybe in the beginning, when you were first appointed—elected, whatever,” Niall flapped a hand, “but now, more than ten years later? You’ve made your own mark here, and the citizens know it. They know you.” He tapped Mat’s chest again, right above his heart.
The residents of Piedras loved Mat—for fuck’s sake, every flower shop within fifty miles had sold out their stock when Mat had been injured in the bombing. His damn hospital room had been stuffed so full they’d started sending overflow to the geriatric center.
“I’m thinking about getting some tattoos.”
Niall blinked at the abrupt change of subject.
“Sure, where?” He knew where. “Do you have something in mind? Kim at Harbor Barber is damn good.”
“I’d like to cover the scars.” Mat ran his hand over his own chest. “I dunno, maybe it’s silly.”
“Mm.” Niall rolled on top of Mat, rotating his hips against Mat’s. “Not silly. Tattoos are sexy as fuck and will only make it even more impossible for me to keep my hands off of you. It’s not right that the sheriff looks so sexy in his government-issued uniform, I can’t walk into the station without getting hard. Knowing you have tattoos underneath…”
Laughing, Mat reached up, pulling Niall down for a heated kiss.
Much later, they were both lying on their backs again, fingers intertwined as they recovered. They’d kicked the covers off, and Niall’s overheated skin was starting to turn to goose bumps.
“So that’s a yes to the tattoos, I guess,” Mat murmured, turning onto his side.
Niall tugged the blankets back over them and snuggled into his back.
“Yes,” he managed before sleep claimed him.
11
Thursday—Mat
“I’ll see you in a couple hours,” Mat said as he slid into the front seat of the cruiser.
Fenrir woofed at a sparrow, on his way down to the beach to do doggy things. Niall chuckled and leaned in through Mat’s open window, and Mat eagerly accepted one more kiss before he had to leave. He’d never get used to Niall being his, never take it for granted.
“I’m going to call Leo in a little while,” Niall said a few moments later. “Is Marshal coming to check out the remains?”
Mat nodded, still a little addled from the kiss. “Yeah, but I don’t know when. And I’ll be here too—I’ll bring Flynn along. It’ll be a learning experience for her.”
Niall stood back, moving away and shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. Mat put the car in reverse, adding, “Keep the damn dog away from the bones.”
Niall rolled his eyes but headed the same direction as Fenrir, whistling sharply to get his attention.
Mat was the first person at the station. Once his desktop was powered up, he quickly created a file for the remains they’d discovered and uploaded the photos he’d taken. A professional photographer he was not, but they’d do for the time being.
“Sir, you’re early,” Birdy said as she strode into the bullpen and plopped her lunch bag onto her desk.
Mat leaned back, looking over at her. “We found some remains on the Hamarsson property last night.” He held up a hand at her expression of horror. “Old—at least ten years, I’d say, maybe quite a bit older. Marshal is going to head out there later and check them out, and we’ll meet him there.”
Birdy sat down. “Do you have any ideas who it could be?”
“It was too dark last night.” He shrugged. “I’ll need you to pull up any missing persons—go back as far as you can. I don’t think we’ve had any since I’ve been sheriff.”
“Yes, sir, and I don’t think so either.”
Mat rolled his eyes at the “sir.” “Let me know what you find.”
She swiveled her chair around to face her computer, turning it on. “And if I don’t find anything, sir?”
“Then we’ll have to go to the community. You know as well as I do that missing persons aren’t always reported. I’m hoping Marshal finds something that at least gives us a time frame, a decade to work with.” He sighed. “But I have a feeling it’s not going to be that easy.”
“What about the evidence from the boats? Do you want me to work on that?”
Mat groaned; he’d locked the paper bags of tickets in a filing cabinet last night and put them out of his mind—but Duane’s murder took priority over bones that had been buried and forgotten for years.
“Add what’s left. I think there’s just one more bag. I cannot believe that in this day and age they are so cavalier about keeping track of who moors there.”
Birdy snorted.
“What?”
“‘This day and age.’ You sound like my grandmother.”
He chose to ignore that; he was too young to be a grandfather. “Whatever. Anyhow, they’re the only lead we have at this point.”
“What about talking to Sharleen again?” Birdy suggested. “She saw Duane pretty often—he was at the East Bay Marina on a fairly regular basis. I think, no matter what she says, she knows a lot more about Cooper than she wants to let on. I mean, yeah, Joella Wainwright started that fire, but… there was still hinky stuff going on.”
Mat raised an eyebrow. “Hinky?”
“The latest in investigative terminology,” she replied primly.
Mat nodded, because Birdy had a point—not about “hinky” but about Sharleen, the former dockmaster of the East Bay Marina.
“I’ll swing by her place today or tomorrow,” Mat said. “If she does know something about Cooper, she probably thinks we’ve given up on her at this point—and I don’t think she’s going anywhere.”
After Merle Wainwright’s wife found out about the affair between Merle and Sharleen, burned down the marina, and tried to kill Merle, Mat had the impression Sharleen and Merle were no longer seeing each other. Mat thought he would’ve heard about it through the island grapevine.
As if reading his mind, Birdy commented, “Sharleen just stays holed up in that big house of hers. I think Merle called it off between them.”
“You knew her better than me. Do you really think she knows something?” He was thinking about Birdy comforting Sharleen the night of the marina fire.
Birdy shrugged. “I knew her as a kid. I mean, Devon had a boat at the marina when our dad was still alive, and I used to go a
nd play while they worked on it together. Run up and down the dock and get into trouble, chase seagulls, that sort of thing. I don’t really know her.”
“Okay.” Mat nodded. “She’s on our list of people to talk to about Cooper. Anyone else we need to add?”
“What about Tom Bellows?”
“Yep. I have a hard time believing he didn’t know Duane. Let’s assume for now that Cooper and Chastity Reynolds are somehow related. I have a hard time believing that, after years of nothing more than petty crime, arson, accidental death, and other nonmurderous offenses, we suddenly have two completely separate homicides and they both end up in Hidden Harbor Marina. I’m going to go back through Chastity’s file and make a list of everyone we talked to, and we’ll go interview them all again.”
“That means talking to Martin Reynolds,” Birdy reminded him.
“It does. We’ll do him together.”
Because talking to Martin Reynolds was always the highlight of Mat’s day. The man was useless, yet dangerous. He, Mat knew, believed wholeheartedly in QAnon, spending days at his computer tracking down conspiracy theories. He was also violent and volatile.
“We could ask him to come here—or, he’s back working at the Hook again,” Birdy said. “We could stop in there.”
“Is he in today?” Mat asked.
She nodded. “I saw his car parked in back on my way in.”
Since Martin was just up the street, they decided to start with him. Besides, interviewing him first would get it out of the way.
Birdy preceded him into the local greasy spoon. They’d decided for casual. If there was space, they’d sit at the counter and have coffee. Martin wouldn’t be able to avoid them, and he might feel less like they were confronting him. Probably not, but then again, Mat didn’t really care what Martin thought.
Just as they walked in, two stools opened up at the counter. The waitress, a new girl named Brenda who Mat didn’t know—she was probably not from the island—approached them to take their order, her little paper pad tight in her grip.
