Straight to the Heart

by S. J. Coles

  “Unlock the door, please.” Hannah’s mouth twitched. “Please, Leo,” he begged. “I need to go.”

  “Okay,” Leo answered, raising his hands in surrender. “If you’re sure.” He approached with a knowing smile. He stepped close, toe-to-toe, his face turned up, eyes heavy, lips slightly parted. He slowly lifted the keys off a hook by the door then reached past James and put the key in the lock. It clicked open. James couldn’t move. Leo’s warmth was so close…too close. His blood coursed through him like fire. His lungs were filled with the smokey smell of his hair and skin.

  The younger man took another long moment to search his face, then leaned in and kissed him, tentatively to start then deeper when James didn’t pull away. He pressed the whole length of his slim body against him and James could feel the hardness of his erection through their clothing. James dropped his coat and gathered Leo to him, kissing him with abandon. He tasted so alive. His body was firm, responsive. He slipped his hands under James’s shirt.

  James growled and lifted Leo onto the edge of the kitchen counter and leaned into him, swallowing the delicious noises he made as James increased the pressure between them. A pan clattered to the floor. James tugged at Leo’s T-shirt, desperate for more. Leo yanked it over his head, grinning. James shouldered out of his shirt and dropped it to the floor. He kissed the supple skin of Leo’s neck, drinking in the feel of his pulse and the smokey and faint minty taste of his skin. Leo skimmed his work-hardened hands over his shoulders and down his arms, leaving a trail of heat.

  “You know, I do have a bed,” he said between hitched breaths. James claimed his mouth again. With a low chuckle in the back of his throat, Leo flicked open James’s fly and slid his hand down the front of his pants. James gasped into Leo’s mouth.

  “Tell me what you want,” Leo panted. James could only swear as Leo worked his cock. Leo grinned, slipped off the counter and dropped to his knees. James grabbed the edge for support as Leo took his whole length into his mouth in one smooth motion. His chest tightened so he could hardly breathe.

  “Christ, Leo.” His voice was husky. Leo made a low noise, the vibrations creating a whole new layer of sensation. James groaned, then Leo started to move. James breathed deep, reveling in the warm waves that surged through him from his groin. He ran his free hand into Leo’s hair, quivering to find it every bit as soft as he’d imagined. He forced his eyes open and watched, rapt, as the younger man sucked him, his thick lashes dark against his cheeks. He ran nimble hands up his legs and gripped his ass. James fought to keep control.

  “Leo,” he breathed. “Leo, wait.”

  Leo drew back and smiled up at him, his eyes hot and lips glistening. “You taste good, Agent Solomon.”

  James moaned and drew Leo to his feet, backing him against the fridge and kissing him again, sliding his hands up the smooth flesh of his torso, wanting to reassure himself that it was real. Tasting himself on Leo’s tongue fanned the flames in his veins and he fumbled with the fastening of Leo’s threadbare jeans. Leo unzipped his fly then James had him in his hand, drinking in the noises he made as James began to work him.

  “So,” he panted into James’ neck, “how about that bed, huh?”

  James managed a nod, and Leo guided him through the living room with a hand on his waist, keeping the fumbling kiss going. They staggered toward the bedroom, ridding themselves of their remaining clothing as they went. Leo had the slimness of someone who ate well but not perhaps as often as they should, his skin the color of someone who spent their summers on the beach. He had a tattoo on his hip, some sort of bird, and James brushed his fingers over it, delighted when it made Leo shudder.

  James just had time to make out that the bedroom was small, covered in posters and scattered clothes, then he was being pushed back onto sheets that smelled like Leo. Another low noise escaped his throat as Leo clambered on top of him and began mouthing his nipple and recommencing the steady working of his swollen cock. James arched up, surrendering to Leo’s ministrations. The pleasure mounted and rolled through him like a lightning storm gathering power.

  Leo broke off long enough to breathe in his ear, “You’re gorgeous. You know that?” His voice was gravelly and faintly disbelieving. “Fucking gorgeous.” The only response James could manage was an incoherent mumble as Leo nibbled gently at his ear and increased his pace. “Good, huh?”

  “Fuck, yes. Leo, Jesus.”

  “Christ, say my name again, James.”

  “Leo,” he said, his voice strangled as white heat built in his thighs, belly and balls. He groped blindly for Leo’s member, took hold and started beating him in time, drinking in the sight of his face flushing and eyes darkening.

  “Jesus, James,” he groaned. “Fuck. Fuck slow down or—”

  James drew Leo’s head down and kissed him hard. He inhaled and swallowed the taste deep into himself, drawing him in, knowing for one terrifying second that he would never be able to get enough.

  “Is this what you want?” Leo mumbled against his mouth, voice high and tight. “Is this how you want it?”

  “Stop,” James breathed as he trembled on the edge of release. Leo raised his head. His long hair hung in his face and his mouth was open, wet and swollen from kissing. His eyes were heavy, burning like molten glass. He was so beautiful that it made James ache. It took every last bit of strength he had in him to keep his hand still so as not to make him come right there just so he could watch.

  “What is it?” Leo breathed, doubt damping some of the fire in his eyes.

  “Why don’t you tell me what you want?”

  Leo swallowed. James watched the muscles moving in his throat with a kind of dizzy fascination. “Me?”

  “Yeah. You.” James moved his hand slowly, causing Leo to close his eyes and bite his lip. The thought of giving Leo what he most wanted, about what that might do to that beautiful face, swelled so hot and strong in his gut that he thought he might burst. “What do you want, Leo?”

  “Jesus,” Leo swore again, burying his face in James’ neck. “You really wanna—?”

  “Tell me.”

  Leo drew a shuddering breath. “Christ, well, if you really… James, I want you to fuck me.” James’s body trembled. Leo raised his head, his face earnest. “I swear, I would never normally go so far so fast, but, my God, it’s all I’ve been able to think about since I first saw you on that bench.”

  James swallowed, hard, his cock trembling. “Seriously?”

  Leo nodded. “Seriously. The way you fill that suit, the brooding look, the eyes, the gun. You’re lucky I didn’t jump you right there.” The sly grin turned up his mouth. “But hey, if that’s not—”

  James smothered what else he might have said by covering Leo’s mouth with his own and rolling him over. Leo let out a tight moan, like he was somewhere between excitement and disbelief, and James took hold of his knee and crooked his leg so he could get closer. Just the feel of his member pressing into the intimate space between Leo’s legs was enough to make his whole body tighten.

  “You sure you want this?” James managed to get out, even while suspecting he wouldn’t be able to stop now, even if someone put a gun to his head.

  “Fuck yes,” Leo panted, eyes closed, arching himself against James’ cock. “There’s stuff in the drawer.”

  James fumbled blindly in the bedside drawer, locating a bottle of lube and a condom by touch as he mouthed hot kisses along the younger man’s jaw. He broke away reluctantly, his hand shaking as he squeezed a little of the cool liquid onto his fingers. He bent back over Leo, took a breath, slid his hand between them then pressed in two fingers.

  Leo cried out, the sound muffled by James’ kiss. He worked his fingers in and out of the warm, tight heat, making Leo’s cries gain pitch and volume. James pressed his aching cock against Leo’s thigh, desperate for friction, and reached his fingers a little deeper. Leo flung his head back and gripped James’ shoulders hard enough to bruise. He swore, loudly and at length, and James repeated
the motion just to hear it all again. He mouthed Leo’s collarbone, tasting the sweat, his heart racing as he pressed in a third finger.

  “You good?”

  “Fuck, James. Jesus.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” he managed, then drew back long enough to wrestle the condom from its packet. The second he was done, Leo was pulling him back, kissing his mouth, his eyes, his neck.

  “Fuck me, James. Do it now. Please.”

  James drew Leo’s hips up and pressed slowly into him. The sound of Leo’s strangled response was lost in the rushing in his ears. His entire body was strung with white-hot wire. The tight heat sent thunder rolling through his gut and lightning sparking down every nerve in his body. When he was all the way in, he swore in an undertone, clutching the bedclothes and Leo’s hair like he would drown.

  A breathless eternity later, he started to move. Everything fell away into swirling, hot nothingness around the dizzying feeling of thrusting into Leo over and over. The younger man lifted off the bed, meeting every thrust, clutching at James’s back and calling his name. The scent, the heat, the pressure, the sound of his voice as he lost control… It was all too much. He shouldn’t feel this much. It shouldn’t feel this good with someone he shouldn’t even be—

  “James,” he cried. “James, I—”

  James leaned in, shifted his angle and plunged deep. Leo cried out, flung his head back against the pillows and warm, sticky heat spread over James’ belly. James groaned as Leo’s muscles clamped down on him then he was falling away, heat and life and power erupting in his gut and pouring out in pulses of raw, incapacitating ecstasy.

  Chapter Six

  James drifted awake to pale pre-dawn light on his face, the sound of gulls calling and a warm arm thrown over his waist. He blinked. His eyes were gritty, his mouth dry and sour with the aftertaste of beer. The empty bottles slowly came into focus on the bedside table. Many, many empty bottles.

  He slowly became aware of the warm body pressed against his back and the steady breath shifting the hair at the base of his neck. He waited for the black, dark pit of guilt to open up and swallow him whole, but it didn’t come. In its place floated the blood-stirring memories of the night before—the taste of Leo’s mouth, the sound of his voice as he panted his name, the strong grip of his nimble hands and the smell of his heated skin. James allowed himself one long, indulgent minute of reliving it all before making himself reach for his phone to check the time. He pressed the screen, but it didn’t respond. He pressed again. Nothing.

  Swearing softly, he craned his neck and realized he’d had the presence of mind at some point to plug the charger into the phone but had neglected to plug the charger into a wall socket. He shifted gently, Leo murmuring a sleepy protest, as he scanned around for a clock, finally spotting a digital alarm on Leo’s side of the bed and swearing again, this time louder.

  “Where’s the fire?” Leo grumbled as James pulled himself from the warmth of the bed, skin goose-pimpling in the cold morning air, and started rooting through the scattered clothes for his underwear.

  “I’m sorry,” James said, meaning it. “Gibson’s plane landed a half hour ago.”

  “Gibson shmibson,” Leo yawned, leaning for a cigarette packet on the bedside table and lighting one. “You get to eat breakfast, don’t you?”

  “I’m sorry,” James said again, regret flushing through him as he took in how amazing Leo looked, his long hair tangled on the pillow and heavy green eyes burning with low heat as he watched him dress. “Really. But I should have been outta here hours ago.”

  “Naughty boy,” he said around another large yawn. “Grab yourself a coffee on the way out.”

  “I will. Thanks.” Leo leaned forward and caught the tail of his shirt as he buckled his belt. “Leo,” he warned as the young man took hold of his collar and pulled his face close. He set James’ blood on fire with another of those long, lingering kisses that had stopped him leaving half a dozen times during the night, then broke away, smiling sleepily.

  “You’ll call me, right?”

  James swallowed, not sure how to handle the feeling that suddenly swelled his chest. “Yeah. Yeah, of course I will.”

  Leo nodded, satisfied, and peered blearily at the alarm clock. “Jesus H. Christ. It’s not even seven.”

  “We work if there’s work, remember? Don’t you have work today?”

  “Course I do. I just work at civilized hours like a normal person,” he said, yawning again and stubbing out his half-smoked cigarette. “You have a good day, Agent Solomon. Go kick some criminal butt,” he said as he hunkered back under the covers.

  James finished dressing with a broad grin. He paused in the doorway. “Thanks,” he said. “For yesterday. For everything.”

  “Sure,” Leo replied, not opening his eyes, but mouth quirking in a half-smile. “Glad to be of service.”

  James shut the bedroom door softly behind him. He moved through to the kitchen, started the coffee machine and plugged his phone in to charge. He was just pouring the rich-smelling Arbuckles roast into a take-out mug when the screen flickered to life.

  “Fuck,” he cursed at the seven missed calls and two voicemail notifications. He slurped the too-hot coffee and queued up the voicemails.

  “Hey there, Agent Solomon,” came the rather querulous voice of Sheriff Coyle. “There’s been a development. Can you ring me back as soon as you can?” The computerized voice stated the message had been left at six that morning.

  “Solomon, where the hell are you?” barked Gibson’s voice on the second voicemail. “I’ve rung the room and both your cells. Return my call the second you get this or, God help me, it’s your ass.” That message had been left at seven-thirty, the second Gibson would have stepped off the plane. James swore again, swallowed more coffee, then hurried from the apartment.

  Gibson picked up on the second ring. “Solomon. Where the hell are you?”

  “Sorry, boss. I got tied up. What’s up?”

  “Renford Muntz is dead.”

  James froze on the stairs. “What?”

  “Shot. Sassy Andrews called it in. Poor kid found him this morning. Sheriff Coyle is about to have an aneurysm. Get here, quickly.”

  “Where?”

  “Muntz’s trailer. Ten minutes, Solomon.”

  James got there in eight. The turning from the main road was taped off and crowded with patrol cars, the coroner’s van and an ambulance. The same green-faced officer who had stood outside Derek Benson’s office lifted the tape for him with a strained expression. CSIs, forensics and police officers swarmed the dirt clearing. The door of the rickety, rust-dappled trailer parked to the side of the scrap-strewn space hung open. The flash of a camera lit up the dingy interior. He hurried to join Gibson, who stood by the trailer talking in low tones with a grim-looking Sheriff Coyle.

  “There you are,” Gibson said, but she looked more relieved than angry. She frowned slightly as she took in his rumpled shirt and jeans but visibly wiped the expression away. “I’m not even gonna ask.”

  “What happened?” James said, eyeing the trailer.

  “Young Sassy Andrews came by this morning,” Coyle said, nodding to where a girl with hair bleached almost white and mascara running in rivers down her face sat on the back step of the ambulance, being comforted by a policewoman. “She found the trailer door hanging open and…well…come see for yourself.”

  Sheriff Coyle gestured for James to go in. The smell of blood was thick in the chill air. Magazines, plastic cutlery, tools and clothes were scattered all over the floor. All the cupboards were open, their contents spilled onto the counters and floor. What was left of Muntz was sprawled, half-hanging out of a chair. A double-barreled shotgun lay on the floor by his feet. Most of his head was spattered in a thick, glutinous spray across the splintered remains of the window behind him.

  James took it all in then stepped back out into the fresh air.

  “ME reckons he’s been dead since yesterday morning,” Gi
bson said, walking a little apart from the CSIs. “Apparently it’s his gun. We found a thousand dollars in cash in a tin in the bathroom.”

  “You think someone paid him to off Benson?” Coyle ventured. “Then killed him to keep him quiet?”

  “No,” Gibson shook her head. “It’s a lot of money to be in a tin in a bathroom, but not enough for even someone like Muntz to murder someone for.”

  “Besides, they left it behind,” James said. “They didn’t care about us finding the money. They were looking for something else.”

  “Sheriff!” A young officer called from behind the trailer. They hurried around to a small yard area with a picnic table and rusting deckchairs. The officer was poking in an old oil can that had been used as a fire pit. With his gloved hand he lifted the warped remains of a compact disk from the ash. James peered in and saw more twists of melted plastic scattered amongst the cold ashes. He scanned the rest of the area and froze solid when he saw fresh cigarette butts in an ashtray on the picnic table.

  “A thousand dollars,” Gibson was musing. “Sounds like the amount you might pay someone to swipe some security disks for you, huh?”

  James nodded stiffly, tearing his eyes from the ashtray.

  “Well, looks like I owe you an apology, Solomon,” Gibson said, watching the policeman bag the remains of the disks. “Looks like you were right after all. Muntz wasn’t our guy.”

  “It’s the same person that killed Benson?” Coyle said, eyes flicking to the blood-spattered window of the trailer.

  “Two employees of the same company shot within a few days of each other? Can’t be a coincidence.” Gibson took in James’s expression and raised her eyebrows. He quickly schooled his face. Coyle glanced between them both with a hesitant frown. “Let’s talk to Sassy,” Gibson said, still watching him. “Then we can let her go home.”