by L. A. Witt
“Oh.” I cleared my throat. “Sorry. I . . . didn’t realize . . .”
“It’s all right.” The cop smiled, but motioned again for us to get out. “A lot of people make that mistake.”
Sean and I exchanged glances, then headed back toward his car. The cop continued down the pier, probably searching for other trespassers.
While we walked, my pulse slowly returned to normal.
As subtly as I could, I took a few deep breaths to calm myself the rest of the way down. It had been a long time since being gay, or having someone suspect I was gay, could hurt my career. Hell, I’d been fully out since two years after DADT was lifted. The paranoia was still there, though. I knew damn well I was no longer in danger of losing my career if someone caught me with a man, but it was a habit as ingrained as saluting superiors and taking off my cover when I went indoors. Apparently it was deep-seated enough that merely being alone with a good-looking man could trigger it.
Especially when I was horny as hell and wouldn’t have said no to being more than just alone with this particular good-looking man.
I quickly tamped down that thought. Sean was being polite, not flirting. He was working, and probably not even aware he was being leered at by the much older stranger he most likely wanted to butter up for a better tip.
As we passed the entrance to the pier, Sean glanced over his shoulder, then shook his head. “You’d think they would mark this as private property if they wanted people to keep off.”
I glanced back too. “I’m sure they did. Somewhere.”
“In size ten font, right?”
I laughed. “Wouldn’t surprise me in the least.” I slid my hands back into my pockets. “Well, it was nice while it lasted.”
“Yeah, it was.” He turned toward me, and his shy smile nearly made me trip over my own feet. “Thanks again for inviting me out with you. It was a nice switch from sitting in the car.”
“Don’t mention it. Thanks for the company.”
We held each other’s gaze for a moment, then kept walking toward the car. It was a sedan of some sort. Not an actual marked cab, but I hadn’t expected one. The company he worked for was Anchor Point’s local competition for Uber, so most of the drivers used their personal cars.
He paused at the driver’s side. “You can, uh, sit up here if you want to.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” He laughed. “Unless you like talking to the back of my head.”
I blinked. Did he just go there? “Talking to the—”
From the backseat, idiot.
Heat rushed into my cheeks. “Right. Sure. Front seat.”
He unlocked the doors, and we both took our seats. Sean drove us about a block from the pier, so we were well away from the private property we’d apparently been trespassing on. At a stoplight, he put both hands on the wheel and turned toward me. “So. Where to?”
Oh, I could think of a few places. Especially after that comment about talking to the back of your head.
Christ. Maybe I did need a drink tonight. And a cigarette.
I drummed my fingers on the armrest. “I suppose I should have you drop me off at home. I’m sure you need to pick up other people and . . .”
A faint smile formed on Sean’s lips. “I’m not in a big hurry, to be honest.”
“But you’re working.”
“I know. But I . . .” He paused, and if I wasn’t mistaken, his eyes flicked toward my lips. “I really don’t mind.”
We locked eyes, and I wondered if I was imagining the glint in his. My heart sped up. Wishful thinking. Had to be wishful thinking. I needed to get my mind off Jayson, and I was in a car with an attractive—hello, understatement—guy.
Sean tilted his head slightly. “Should I be in a hurry to drop you off?”
Probably, yes. “Depends.”
“On?”
I swallowed. “What you think will happen if you don’t drop me off.”
“Maybe I’m curious.”
“Isn’t much to be curious about.” I hoped I didn’t sound as nervous as I suddenly felt. “You’re in a car with a guy who just broke up with someone.”
“Uh-huh.” He didn’t break eye contact.
“Now might be a good time for you to know you’re in a car with a guy who thinks the best way to get over a breakup is to dive headlong into bed with someone new.”
Sean gulped, but still didn’t look away. “Good to know.”
I swept my tongue across my lips. “You’re here to do your job, though. I don’t . . . I don’t want to take advantage of that. The customer isn’t always right.”
Sean reached for the dashboard and pressed a button. The timer on the meter froze. “Now I’m off the clock.” In the turquoise glow of the car’s gauges, he met my eyes again. “Your move.”
Well, if you’re gonna put it like that . . .
I unbuckled my seat belt. When I inched closer to him, he tensed. One hand came off the wheel, disappeared into the shadows, and materialized on my thigh.
I closed my eyes and pulled in a sharp breath. No amount of nicotine or alcohol would satisfy this craving. And no strangers from gay bars in Flatstick. As he slid his hand a little higher, stopping just shy of my growing erection, I met his gaze. Oh yes, this particular stranger was exactly what I needed tonight.
I put a hand on his leg and leaned in a little closer, anticipation tingling along every nerve ending as my heart thumped against my ribs. Sean mirrored me, leaning in as much as the console between us allowed, and tilted his head, and—
The goddamned car behind us honked.
“Son of a bitch!” I jumped back into my seat and hit the gas hard, throwing Paul and me back as the tires squealed beneath the car. How long that light had been green, I had no idea—I’d been way too focused on the green light I was getting from Paul.
“Jesus.” Paul shifted beside me, and I glanced over in time to see him adjusting the front of his pants. Yeah. Know the feeling.
The car behind us turned after a couple of blocks. Once again, it was just us on the mostly darkened street. I exhaled. “There’s like five cars out at this time of night in Anchor Point, and lucky us, one of them ends up behind us.”
“Cockblocking fuckers,” Paul muttered, and the growl in his voice went straight to my balls. If he was as frustrated as I was, there was going to be nothing left of my car’s upholstery once I found a place to stop. Which meant I really, really needed to find a place to stop.
“There’s a back road up ahead.” I pressed a little harder on the accelerator. “Unless you have any objections to—”
“None at all.” He sounded out of breath. And now that I thought about it, I was out of breath. It was probably a good thing that car had interrupted us, or we’d still be sitting at that green light, and I would be kissing him right fucking now you fucking bastard . . .
I fidgeted, gripping the wheel tighter. That back road was right up ahead, wasn’t it? I hadn’t mentally compressed twenty miles of highway into twelve feet because I was in that much of a hurry to pull over and pick up where we’d left off?
Please let it be right where I remember it. Please let me get there before Paul comes to his senses and changes his mind.
I didn’t know why, but I was convinced he was going to do exactly that. If he had enough time, or if I said something dumb, he’d realize what he’d been about to do, and tell me to turn around and take him back to the base like I’d expected to do in the first place. So the sooner I made it to that dark, barely paved road; stopped this car; and closed some of this space between us, the less likely he was to figure out it was a bad idea.
I put some more pressure on the gas pedal. Just in case.
Beside me, Paul fidgeted, but he didn’t say anything. Up ahead, the turnoff came into view, and I slowed down. When I put on my blinker, he shifted again. Then again. As I braked and started to take the turn, I swore he murmured something to the effect of, “Fucking finally.”
My sent
iments exactly.
I drove far enough that Officer Friendly wouldn’t see us if he happened to go cruising by, and nosed off the road onto the soft shoulder. I put the car in park, but didn’t even have a chance to shut off the engine before Paul lunged across the console, grabbed the back of my neck, and kissed me.
Oh God. Whoa.
Either I’d forgotten how to breathe, Paul had pulled the air out of my lungs, or both, but whatever. If I passed out, I passed out. I combed my fingers through his hair and slid my other hand up his thigh, tracing his inseam like I had right before we’d been startled apart earlier. This time, we weren’t interrupted, and I cupped his cock and balls through his pants. He groaned, gripping my hair tighter—when the hell did he put his hand in my hair?—and pressed into my palm. This was not how I’d expected tonight to play out when I’d clocked in earlier, but I wasn’t complaining.
I inched closer to him. As close as the stupid console would allow, anyway. It had been way too long since I’d even made it this far with a guy, and Paul was one hell of a kisser. Not only did his lips and tongue tease mine exactly right to make my toes curl, but he kissed with his hands as much as his mouth—running his fingers through my hair, cradling my neck, kneading my thigh with his other hand. I loved it. I didn’t even care if we went farther than this, but I was pretty sure we would. As rock-hard and needy as we both were, I didn’t see us coming up for air until some orgasms had happened.
He tugged my hair, and when I tilted my head back, his lips went right to my neck. Fuck, he was good at this. He must have shaved recently—his chin wasn’t nearly as rough as I’d expected, but it was coarse enough to give me goose bumps. Nothing hotter in the world than a guy with stubble kissing my neck.
I tried to move even closer to him, but the damn console bit into my hip and refused to move. I swore under my breath. Then, “Think we should move to the backseat?”
“No.” His hand slid over the front of my pants. “Front seat is plausible deniability. In case that cop shows up.”
“P-plausible . . .” I closed my eyes, tilting my head even farther as he kissed up and down my neck. “How can you even . . . remember words like that when you’re this . . .” I squeezed his cock.
Paul hissed sharply, then kissed under my jaw.
“Backseat wouldn’t make a difference,” I said, slurring a little. “Anyone comes by, they’re gonna know exactly what we’re doing.”
He paused, then pulled back enough to meet my gaze in the faint light.
Wait, why are the dashboard lights still on?
Oh right. The engine was still running.
I turned the key. The engine shuddered, and then the world outside the car went dark and—aside from my crazy pounding heart—silent.
I licked my lips. “Backseat?”
“Backseat.”
We separated, got out of the car, and met again in the backseat. This time there was nothing between us except clothes, and nothing—not wild horses, not Anchor Point PD—was going to stop us. In the middle of the bench seat, we kissed and groped, tugging shirts free in between sliding hands over way-too-covered erections.
I was practically in his lap now, my leg hooked over his and my torso twisted in a way that wasn’t going to be comfortable for much longer. I pushed him back against the seat and—careful not to hit my head against the low roof—straddled him.
He stroked my cock through my jeans and damn near turned me inside out. I couldn’t help rocking against him, riding him like we were fucking instead of just making out, and despite the thick layer between his skin and mine, he had my head spinning and my spine tingling.
“You’re gonna make me come in my pants,” I murmured.
“Can’t have that,” he said, barely breaking the kiss, and suddenly he was drawing my zipper down. “But I do plan to make you come.”
I let my head fall beside Paul’s as he undid my belt.
“Of all the drivers they could’ve sent tonight,” he panted, “I am so fucking glad they sent you.”
“Y-yeah. Me . . . me too. I’m—”
Then his fingers were around my cock. Nothing separating them. Skin on skin. Stroking slowly. Squeezing gently. Words? What words? Fuck words.
Paul murmured something I didn’t understand. I lifted my head a little, and he found my lips with his, and then we were kissing again. With one hand in my hair, he stroked me with the other while we kissed, and every cop in Anchor Point could’ve surrounded us right then, lights and sirens and everything, and I wouldn’t have noticed.
Go ahead and arrest me, but for the love of God, let him finish with me first.
“Pity I didn’t bring any condoms with me tonight,” he said between kisses. “Those might’ve come in handy.”
I shivered and kissed him again. Yeah, they might’ve come in handy, but I wasn’t going to think about what we couldn’t do. Only what we could, which was making out and groping and whatever else two guys could do in close confines.
Paul nudged me gently, and somehow that translated to change positions, and somehow, even in those cramped quarters, we managed to untangle and shift around without too much effort. I had barely leaned back against the seat on the driver’s side before Paul turned onto his knees and—
Oh.
Shit.
Yes.
His lips were around my cock. His tongue was . . . my God. How did he do that?
Back arching off the seat, I combed my fingers through his hair, careful not to push on his head. Especially since he was already deep-throating me now and then, taking my cock all the way down . . . teasing with his tongue and . . . did he even have a gag reflex?
“Oh shit,” I breathed. “Oh . . . fuck . . .”
He moaned. The vibration of his voice drove me insane. It was probably a good thing I couldn’t move much in this position—the temptation to thrust my hips and fuck his mouth was almost irresistible. As quickly as he bobbed his head on my dick, and as far as he took me into his throat, he probably wouldn’t have even minded. Hell, maybe he would’ve liked it. Maybe he was the kind of guy who liked when the dude he was blowing took over and—
And just like that, just thinking about Paul on his knees and loving it while I fucked his mouth, I came. I didn’t make a sound. I couldn’t. I couldn’t breathe in or out. I fucking came, shuddering and jerking as Paul kept my orgasm going, and going, and going . . .
“S-stop.” I released his hair, wondering when I’d grabbed on to it so tightly, and sank back against the seat. “Fuck . . .”
Paul sat up. I couldn’t really see him—it was way too dark out here on this back road—but I’d already memorized his features. He leaned in but hesitated, like he wasn’t sure if I’d be willing to kiss him, so I pulled him in and made sure he knew without a doubt that yes, I would absolutely kiss a man after he’d sucked me off.
We were both panting, gripping clothes and hair in between pawing at each other and leaning to one side, then the other, like we couldn’t decide if I was going to push him onto his back or if he was going to pin me against the seat. Somehow, we stayed right there in the middle, upright and kissing while my head still spun from that orgasm.
I traced his inner thigh with my fingertips, and when I cupped his dick, he broke the kiss with a gasp.
“Fuck.” He pressed into my hand.
I grinned. “Turned on, are we?”
“Of course I am.” He ground his fully erect cock against my palm. “Jesus fucking Christ . . .”
“Maybe I should return the favor, hmm?” I didn’t wait for a response, and started unzipping his pants. He fumbled with his belt, and between the two of us, it was only a matter of seconds before we’d freed his very impressive cock.
I couldn’t wait. Shifting around as much as the backseat allowed, I leaned down and took him between my lips. God, it was just as well he’d already gotten me off, or I’d have needed one hand on my own cock. Probably because it had been too long since I’d sucked dick, but the ins
tant I tasted the salt of his skin, I started getting dizzy and turned on all over again.
Paul exhaled hard, kneading my shoulder almost like a cat as he squirmed against the seat. It had definitely been too long since I’d done this, and way too long since I’d been with someone who enjoyed it as much as he apparently did. I loved the sounds he made, and the subtle little responses—his breath hitching whenever I changed what I was doing, how he moaned and swore when I ran my tongue around the head, how his whole body tensed when I added a slight twist to my strokes.
And I loved the way he ran his fingers through my hair. Maybe other guys had done it before and I hadn’t noticed, but I noticed it now, and it turned my insides to liquid.
He’d deep-throated me a lot, so I did the same to him and was rewarded with a full-body shudder.
“Jesus,” he moaned. “That’s . . .” I did it again, and he gasped. “Oh God.” Another low groan escaped from his lips, and it fell to a soft whimper as his hand tightened in my hair. “Oh, that’s good,” he breathed, fingers twitching against my scalp. “Just . . . just like that.”
I kept doing exactly what I’d been doing—stroking him, teasing him, deep-throating him—and his cock got even harder between my lips. He whispered curses, each a little less formed than the last, and then he gasped, and ground out “Shit!” a split second before hot semen flooded my tongue. I kept going until he stopped me, then lifted my head. I couldn’t help grinning as he ground out, “Jesus . . .”
I sat up, ready to fire back a comment about my name being Sean and not Jesus, but Paul immediately grabbed me and kissed me. Forget snark. I wrapped my arms around him and melted against him.
Was this really happening? This was really happening. Maybe an hour ago, I’d picked up an all-too-quiet guy who’d apparently just broken up with someone. Now we were kissing in the backseat of my car, pants undone and belts jingling every time we moved.
How the . . .?
Hell. I wasn’t looking this gift horse in the very, very talented mouth.
At some point, we pulled apart enough to fix our clothes. Or at least make a half-assed attempt. Then we were back to kissing lazily.