Gabriel was pleasantly shocked when Adrian pulled down his pants and slapped his ass and balls. So I was right. He’s into rough trade. His butt tingled and burned, the heat level rising with each slap and spreading down the backs of his thighs and up his abdomen. He must have been neglecting poor Brooke, too, for she grabbed a handful of his hair and wrenched his face back into her snatch.
Adrian obviously didn’t like this. The moment Gabriel started licking away again, Adrian jerked his torso upright and snapped his wrists together behind his neck with the cuffs. Gabriel’s prick stood out stiffly with the realization that Adrian, too, was experienced in handcuff use. It could have stemmed from his job or from his rough play with other men, but either way, a few drops of semen glistened at the tip of Gabriel’s erect penis now, he was that horny.
Adrian wedged the ridge of his own erection into Gabriel’s ass crack as he yanked his torso closer. Adrian’s free hand roamed over Gabriel’s abdomen, clearly turned on by tickling the ridges of his six-pack, the sculpting Gabriel was so proud of, having taken years to achieve. “You’re not touching this hot babe, you hear?” Adrian snarled, nibbling at Gabriel’s shoulder and the back of his neck.
In the dim light, Gabriel couldn’t tell if Brooke’s eyes shone wide and round for him or for Adrian. It was obviously untrue that Adrian could care less about her. He wanted to keep Gabriel away from her, and it was probably just a happy side effect that watching the two men grappling was making her hotter, too. “Why don’t we ask the lady what she wants?” Gabriel asked, reasonably.
Adrian’s hand that had gripped Gabriel’s cock at the base now stilled. Evidently, he hadn’t expected this.
“Yes,” wailed Brooke. “You doofus men are acting like such Cro-Magnons, and no one’s asked me what I want.” She swiped her hand across her labia as if to demonstrate how wet she was. Gabriel could practically feel Adrian’s jaw drop onto his shoulder, and his panting was steaming up his neck. Brooke drew down a bra cup and smeared her pussy juice over the revealed mound. She diddled her shiny nipple, as if the men needed any more stimulation. They were speechless with lust. “You said you were done with me, Adrian. You have to let Gabriel finish me off.”
“Done with you?” Apparently Adrian was so distracted by the woman he lost his grip on Gabriel, and Gabriel dove back onto his elbows to nuzzle his nose at her clit. “When did I ever say I was done with you?”
“In the treatment room,” Brooke panted, massaging Gabriel’s skull lovingly. “I told you I wasn’t done with the massage, and you said, ‘Well, I am done.’ And you ran away. Now you can barely look at me. So don’t pretend you care about my satisfaction. Especially when you’ve got your hand around another man’s cock.”
The treatment room? Was Brooke a massage therapist? Gabriel pulled back an inch, barely licking or breathing on Brooke’s pussy now, because he wanted to hear this.
Adrian’s response was to spit into his hand and smear it up and down the length of Gabriel’s cock. Gabriel groaned with the sudden pleasure. Men are better at this. We’re knowledgeable about cocks. God, that’s good. Adrian began to jack him almost absentmindedly, Gabriel’s ass in the air begging for more. Adrian lunged his pelvis against Gabriel’s backside and snarled, “Who wouldn’t want their hand around this juicy prick? Can you think of one reason why I wouldn’t?”
“No reason,” Brooke agreed breathlessly, grinding her pelvis against Gabriel’s face. She actually tasted sweet, as though she had been drinking champagne as well. She said seductively, “I can’t say as I blame you, Adrian. I don’t blame you for preferring Gabriel over me. I mean, look at him. Look! He’s a goddamned outdoorsy Adonis.”
“I am looking,” breathed Adrian.
Gabriel couldn’t tell if Adrian was truly looking at him, but he doubted it. Adrian’s fist squeezed and stimulated Gabriel’s prick, but who would rather look at his ass than at Brooke’s round, jiggling tits? Gabriel stiffened his tongue to twiddle speedily against Brooke’s bulging clitoris. Ego puffed by Brooke’s words—and by Adrian’s expert stroking—he put his all into his lapping, and Brooke fell silent, squirming her hips frantically.
She seemed to be holding her breath. That was when Gabriel knew he’d urged her back up to that cliff’s edge, that rim where women hovered for the briefest second before their orgasm came crashing down around them. Her clit bulged against his tongue and his jaw muscles were beginning to ache as Adrian palmed his cockhead.
Adrian was dry-humping him now, one hand coaxing an explosive orgasm from his prick, the other tweaking his nipple. There. Gabriel gasped and nearly lost his pussy-licking momentum when his own orgasm surged up his prick and burst against the car seat. Brooke, for her part, uttered one high, excited horned owl sound, digging her nails into the seat’s leather—and Gabriel’s scalp. Her hip pumping gave way to shuddering.
“Oh—oh—oh!”
As much as he wanted to let go and dive into the mindless ecstasy of his own, Gabriel had to concentrate on her orgasm. Adrian cradled Gabriel’s back to his torso, leaning over him and murmuring, “That’s it. That’s good. Come all over my hand. You like this, don’t you? She tastes good. I can smell her from here. Lap it up, Gabriel. Lap up her juices.”
After about a minute of her convulsions, Brooke moved her hand from his scalp to his shoulder and gave him a sharp shove. “Enough!” she whispered weakly.
Adrian’s hand still squeezed and clutched Gabriel’s prick. He still spurted droplets of semen, and he was so light-headed he could barely raise himself on his elbows, like a man pulling himself from a war-torn trench. The truck’s windows were so steamed the moisture painted striped rivulets down the panes, and the bright orbs of someone’s headlights nearly gave him a blinding headache—
“Poacher!”
Adrian was the first to shout the obvious. He dropped Gabriel’s cock and like a shot was out the truck door. Gabriel tried to jerk up his pants while ordering Brooke, “Don’t move. Stay in the cab. There’s no reason for you to get out.”
“Oh, I’ll stay,” Brooke said unconvincingly as she pulled her sweater over her head.
By the time Gabriel lamely managed to buckle up his duty belt and get his ass out of the steamy truck, Adrian had already accosted the poacher. That’s real good, Verona. Let the marine confront your suspect for you while you pull up your fucking pants and stuff your cock away. Adrian had wisely waited until the suspect had jumped from the truck to check the trap before allowing himself to be seen.
“Wildlife Resources,” Adrian called out. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”
How did Adrian know the protocol? Gabriel knew Adrian had worked overseas, in Afghanistan some of the time, so maybe he was accustomed to arresting people. He had claimed to have experience in ISR, so that was likely.
Gabriel instantly recognized the bugged-out eyes of a meth head as the guy backed up to the cage, spotlighted by Adrian’s flashlight. He wore one of those chullo hats with earflaps, and even from twenty feet away Gabriel spied his Aryan Nation neck tattoo, a red lightning bolt signifying he’d committed a violent crime against someone else.
Gabriel took over from here, lowering his flashlight so as not to blind the poacher. Hand on hip, he displayed his badge and asked the rote question he already knew the answer to. “How long since you checked your trap?”
The guy’s eyes bounced from Gabriel to Adrian, then back again. As was customary with tweakers, he had a horrible case of pizza face, and his teeth were so corroded they looked about to crumble. “Uh, forty-eight hours ago. Yeah. Forty-eight hours.”
So he knew the law, at least. “That trap isn’t tagged,” said Gabriel conversationally.
“It isn’t?” The guy turned around to look. “Maybe the tag fell off?”
“How many of these traps you got around here?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Three? I check all of them every forty-eight hours,” the skinhead repeated.
Gabriel was close enough now to see the gu
y also had a homemade “88” inked to his temple. H was the eighth letter of the alphabet, so “88” stood for “Heil Hitler.” “Well, someone saw a cougar in this trap around five o’clock Tuesday evening. It is now one in the morning on Friday.”
The guy twirled around again. “A cougar? What? Where’d it go?”
Gabriel closed his eyes patiently. “We released it, starving and dehydrated. The point is, dumbass, the cougar was suffering in there for over forty-eight hours. Can I see your hunting license, please?
The white supremacist slapped his jacket pockets. “License? Sure…”
Gabriel glanced at Adrian while the poacher pretended to look for a nonexistent license. “How’s about a driver’s license?”
The guy did have that, and it identified him as Thor Biswell, twenty-three years of age, at an address closest to Bird in Hand, fifteen miles away. “Keep your hands where we can see them. Adrian, check the truck.” Gabriel had to return to his truck to run a license check on old Thor—if Gabriel was lucky, he could pick him up for an outstanding warrant. Brooke would not be pleased, but it was his job. He could drop her off at the Triple Play on his way to the station in Monticello.
“Some kind of neo-Nazi,” Gabriel told Brooke as he typed the driver’s license number into his laptop. “He’s already lied to me about four times. I’m certain he’s our poacher.”
“Yes,” said Brooke, “he’s got a swastika in his rear window.”
Gabriel thought he looked mighty manly looking for outstanding warrants in his official federal database, but Brooke had cracked the driver’s window and was leaning her chin on her fists, propped on the edge of the window. She was mooning out the window at Adrian!
“He just walked right up to him while you were still getting dressed.” She sighed, lust-crazed. “He’s not even armed! He’s not even the police officer. You are.”
Gabriel scoffed but tried to sound light. “Hey now. I’m the one who just gave you a mind-blowing orgasm.” It was gut-wrenching that she looked misty-eyed at Adrian, who had done nothing to earn her love. I suppose that’s how it goes. People are just going to love who they are going to love. He couldn’t feel bitter, but it made him strive even more to win her heart.
Perhaps realizing her manners, Brooke turned to him. To her credit, she did wear a look of gratitude. “You were fantastic, Gabriel. How’d you know it was mind-blowing? Because it was. Believe you me. The crowd I used to hang around in Charleston? Those guys could care less about a girl’s orgasm. We were just all automatically expected to desire them when they did nothing to warrant it except look cool and rich.”
“Well,” Gabriel admitted, “looking cool and rich certainly gives them a leg up. Hmm. Nothing outstanding on this guy. Can’t believe it. Must be a fake ID.” He ran the name through the Wildlife Resources hunting license database and discovered that Thor did have a hunting license, obtained using his fake ID. This time he’d listed an address much closer. The hunting season had ended November tenth, and Gabriel assumed Thor had gone way over his one cougar or one deer limit.
But he had no proof, unless Adrian had found anything in the truck, so Gabriel returned the skinhead’s license to him. Adrian shook his head at Gabriel to indicate he hadn’t found anything incriminating in the truck. There was an empty gun rack in the cab window.
“I’m going to have to confiscate this trap,” Gabriel told Thor, “and cite you for hunting out of season, not tagging your trap, not checking it every forty-eight hours, and not having your hunting license with you.” These were all misdemeanors and nothing he could haul the asshole in for, so Brooke would be happy tonight.
While Gabriel wrote, Adrian struck up a friendly conversation with “Thor.” “You sure like your white supremacy propaganda. Got a magazine in your front seat about it.”
Thor stood proud. “Ain’t nothing illegal about that.”
“Well, actually, there is,” said Adrian. “Hate crimes.”
“I ain’t committed no crimes. I’m not a goddamned terrorist. Hell, you look like you’d understand, sympathize. You’ve got an Irish accent.”
“I do,” Adrian conceded. “But every man with an Irish accent doesn’t hold your same beliefs, buddy.”
“I don’t want to see you again,” Gabriel warned the skinhead before they got back into their trucks. However, once they were safely trundling down the dirt road, Gabriel said, “We’ll see him again. I’m going to get a warrant to search his house. I’m sure we’ll find a boatload of evidence there.”
“He was definitely flying on meth,” Adrian agreed. “His truck had that burned plastic smell, like nail polish remover.”
“Acetone,” said Brooke. “Some people in my crowd smoked meth. People who are detoxing smell like cat pee.”
“Right,” said Gabriel, “and this guy obviously wasn’t detoxing. We’ll get him somehow.”
“Let me come with you to serve the warrant,” said Adrian enthusiastically. He bounced up and down on his seat like a little kid. “That was fun just now. I like taking down criminals.”
“Yes,” said Brooke, staring googly-eyed up at Adrian. “You behaved so manly just now. It was a thrilling rush to watch you.”
Gabriel glanced aside and saw that Adrian was actually smiling down at the woman. What about me? I’m the goddamned police officer here. Not him. He’s just a goddamned marine. “Sure, you can come. I have absolutely no backup out here, unless I convince Julian to accompany us. He doesn’t seem inclined to take his old job back, which is fine with me. He’s actually told me we might be able to both stay here since there are fifteen hundred square miles to cover. We’ve certainly got enough work for two.”
Brooke finally turned to Gabriel, but it was only to talk about Adrian. “Adrian is a POW. He spent a month in Damascus in captivity being tortured. He’s mighty tough.”
“How…” It was difficult to tell by his tone how Adrian felt about this public revelation. “How’d you find out about that?”
“My sister Xandra. I guess Nathan told her. I’m sorry if I wasn’t supposed to know about it. But it does explain your scars.”
So he’s not into rough trade. At least not by choice. “It’s all right, buddy,” Gabriel said soothingly. “You can come with me. A change of venue will help you forget Damascus.”
Adrian sighed. “That was the idea,” he said distantly, staring out the window into the blackness.
It would be good to have a partner again. Out here there was no one he could call on for backup. His old partner Donovan in the Southern Region had been his constant companion, and he’d been missing that. It would be good to have someone to ride with again.
Chapter Seven
“So what is this Quantum Healing?” Brooke asked the neatly coiffed, middle-aged woman.
“Have you heard of chi? As in tai chi?”
“Of course.”
“Quantum Touch works with chi. When animals are sick or upset and they receive extra life-force energy, it allows them to heal themselves.”
Brooke’s stepbrother Doug Ostrovsky butted in. He was a gangly, ill-put-together guy who seemed to always be tripping over his shoelaces, as though he’d never grown into his thirty-year-old body. He had worked at the lodge for over ten years, and Xandra had recently given him the cattle ranch, probably feeling guilty that she’d been bequeathed the entire lodge when she’d never set foot there until recently, or met the deceased owner Wanda Burns, whom Doug had worked for so long. “What about wild animals? Horses? Cattle? I own the cattle ranch connected to this here Triple Play Lodge. I get sick beeves all the time.”
“Certainly,” lied the pet psychic. “I heal horses quite often. It’s a gift I give to the animals.”
“Bullshit.” The lodge’s lawyer, Sol Greenspan, was suddenly standing behind them at the booth. When Brooke had first met Sol she had thought him hilarious, with his comb-over and loud polyester ties, but he had a real affection for the lodge and its workers. He jabbed a forefinger at a flier on
the psychic’s faire table. “What’s this, then? Dowsing? Animals aren’t made of metal. You cut a coat hanger in two and wander around dowsing for the lost animal?”
“Actually,” the psychic said sunnily, “that’s exactly what we do. We can gain access to the animal’s consciousness that way, and reunite them with you.”
Sol rolled his eyes. “All right, Emo McFarlane. So you’re reading the animal’s mind from hundreds of miles away. Don’t the minds of the other two hundred thousand animals in between get in your way, like static?”
“Not if you tune in correctly,” the psychic said serenely.
“Right,” barked Sol. “Go into the light, Emo.”
He grabbed Brooke by the arm and hustled her down the row of tables. Signs proclaimed the chance to have clairvoyant readings—pets weren’t allowed in the Triple Play ballroom, so customers must bring a photo of their pet. There were boutiques and raffles, wheels to spin to determine a pet’s area of sickness, women who swung pendulums over maps, and oodles and oodles of pet clothing and treats. It seemed as though every skier and cowboy within a two-hundred-mile radius had come to gawk at the Harmony House for Cats booth and the animal massaging tools. It was a fun event, and there was probably merit to some of it, Brooke thought, if only the cat chiropractic tool. And the critter tarot cards looked cute.
She protested, “I’m just wondering if some of this might not help Adrian and his poaching problem.”
They came to a stop in front of a gal who made astrological charts for pets. Sol folded his arms and was all set to lecture. “First of all, toots.” Sol called Xandra “toots,” too, so Brooke didn’t take offense. It was the older man’s way of showing affection. “Adrian isn’t the one with the poaching problem. Old Opie’s a marine—”
“Former marine.”
“And hopefully is returning soon to his marine ways back east. He only came out here to help Nathan with a case, and I don’t even know why he’s stayed so long already.”
Woman on Top [McQueen Was My Valley 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 6
