Psychic Men_Hunter_Dane Investigation 3

by Adira August

  “If he’s dead”—his voice broke a little—“I didn’t do it. I wouldn’t. Ever.” He let his head fall back against his seat.

  When they pulled up to the house, Hunter walked Asher into the property to find Caden Gamble and have a few words with him. He thought it best to talk to him alone, as he and Cam would only remind the old man they were men who fucked each other.

  “So what did you tell him?” Cam asked when Hunter got back behind the wheel.

  “Nothing, really—sorry about the misunderstanding, you know.” He did a reverse one-eighty and accelerated down the driveway. “I just wanted him to see I wasn’t afraid to face him. Nothing to hide.” He grinned. “Old fart didn’t say a single word. He did that narrow-one-eye at me thing, jerked his head up and down, and went back to pruning bushes.”

  Cam slid a hand over Hunt’s thigh and rubbed his palm along the inside, a gesture of comfort for them both. He thought somewhere inside he should be outraged that the old man had spit at him and called them perverts and it was Hunter who’d apologized.

  But Cam was beginning to accept some things about his lover, things he admired. Hunter only cared about what worked. Whether it was work or sex or social relationships, he did what he thought would work best without giving a shit what anyone thought.

  It reminded Cam of how he was about competition skiing. Only that was snow and ice and wind and drop and drift. Hunter Dane seemed to treat the world as if it was things to negotiate.

  Cam knew if anything came of all this talk of suspicion and murder, they would need to see the boy again. In apologizing to the old man, Hunter had done what he could to pave the way.

  Hunt cruised along, looking for the dirt road that would take them toward Mount Morrison. He’d let his knees fall open when he felt Cam’s big hand on his leg—opening to Cam was instinctive for him. But Cam seemed lost in thought. When Hunt’s semi-folded dick filled in response to the close proximity of Cam’s fingers, Hunt tried to shift away from the discomfort without interrupting him..

  But Cam smirked and used his little finger to stroke the bulge stretching the fabric of Hunter’s jeans. The finger left him as the Bronco bumped onto the dirt road, and Cam squeezed his thigh hard, the edge of his hand rubbing against Hunt’s balls through the cloth.

  The road curved in around a rise and climbed up a ridge barren of vegetation, carpeted in layers of broken shale almost indistinguishable from the narrow dirt track. Hunt slowed, concentrating on staying away from the edge, not wanting the sharp-edged rock cutting into a tire.

  Cam had dug his fingertips into the creases between Hunt’s balls and thighs and was squeezing him, milking him. He couldn’t think. He let go of the wheel with one hand to adjust himself.

  “Don’t.”

  Hunt’s hand froze, his cock surged, and his jeans tightened painfully over his trapped erection.

  “Son of a—stop the car!” Cam told him, and twisted, still unbelted, grabbing Hunter by the hair, pulling him over, his other hand plastered to Hunt’s crotch, kneading, lifting, rubbing the heel of his hand along Hunt’s hard-curved erection.

  Hunt barely found the emergency brake and stomped it before the SUV bucked and stalled in the road, still in gear. Cam had lowered his seat back when he talked to Asher. Though it only went halfway, it left enough room for him to press Hunt back between the seat edge and the car door, ravaging his mouth and clawing at the buttons of his fly.

  Hunter didn’t help; he had not been told to.

  “Fucking son of a bitch how do you do this to me?” Cam’s fist tightened even more in Hunt’s hair, tilting his head back further, exposing his throat and the pulses pounding there. Cam attacked him again, forcing his mouth open, pushing his tongue in deeply, hand down inside Hunter’s briefs, finding his sac, gripping him tightly.

  Hunter moaned at the iron grip and edge of agony and shocks like electric currents humming and burning. He went limp; his legs fell apart even more.

  Cam broke away again, shaking Hunt, furious in his lust.

  “Every sub obeys. They have to. They know it, do it, or I punish them. Make them. I’m in control of every sub.” His voice thick, choked with his own arousal. “But when you - every time you - you make me -”

  Cam dove into Hunter again, rubbing his face against the rasp of unshaved skin stretched taut over chin and jaw, as if Cam would leave his own skin behind. His big, calloused hand worked Hunter’s cock, sliding over the precum he poured whenever Cam touched him.

  Head back, eyes closed, restrained and uncomfortably bent under the steering wheel, hip off-kilter over the console, awkward and helpless the way Cam liked him, Hunter revelled in the way Cam used him. Took him. Owned him.

  It made him feel … substantial. Connected. Real. His body dense with feeling. He felt himself unravel. Cam would hold him up.

  Cam gave Hunt’s head a jerk, to make him open his eyes. “You come fast this time. You come now.” His ice-blue eyes darkened and glittered.

  He moved down Hunter’s body, half on the floor, back hard against the door, not releasing the clutch of hair at the back of Hunter’s head. Hunt’s spine bowed, and he felt Cam’s hot, wet mouth cover him, lips sliding all the way down until his cockhead entered Cam’s throat.

  “Oh, fuck!” He cried out at the exquisite pleasure, his wonder at Cam’s order lost in the so-clever tongue and the controlled scrape of unshielded teeth. Cam had never before told him to come quickly, usually not letting him come at all without permission.

  Cam’s free hand moved up, thumb slipping into his mouth, teasing under Hunt’s slit while Cam worked him with his tongue.

  Hunter roared as he came suddenly, without warning. He emptied himself, stiffening and relaxing in a single full-body spasm. Everything tightened and released around his throbbing cock as Cam swallowed and Hunter screamed against clenched teeth as he spasmed again, helpless in the throes of total release.

  Cam had always been a thoughtful lover as well as a no-mercy Dom, and when he’d finally allow Hunter to come, he’d wait a minute for his sub’s nerves to cool before moving.

  But this time, Cam pulled off quickly, making Hunt gasp and reach for his dick. “Uh-uh,” Cam shook his head in warning. Hunt dropped his arm.

  Cam let go of Hunter’s hair. “Stretch your neck,” he grinned, pulling a packet of lube from his pocket and opening his fly to release his stiff, swollen, very red cock. He took one of Hunt’s hands and squeezed lube into it.

  “Eyes on mine,” he said and wriggled upward, pulling Hunter into him.

  Hunter didn’t need more instruction. He took Cam’s shaft in both his hands and worked the lube over and around and up. Tightening, twisting, pinching the rim of Cam’s cock in the ways Hunt knew he loved, they looked into each other’s eyes.

  It was still awkward, and they were still stalled in the center of a dirt track blocking the way if anyone else should decide to take the shortcut over the ridge instead of the long way around by the paved road. The black Bronco would be visible for miles to anyone on one of the surrounding slopes, a giant square beetle on the pale taupe hillside.

  But all there was for these two men was touch and feel and heat. Cam grabbed Hunt by the hips and maneuvered them together until his cock and Hunt’s hands pressed into Hunter’s exposed belly, where his shirt had ridden up and his pants were still open.

  Cam lowered his head and kissed Hunter in warmth and wonder, this time both tongues stroking. Cam growled into Hunter’s mouth as he stiffened and gushed hot cum between them. He pulled away, panting, and rested his forehead on Hunter’s chest.

  “Wait.” Rolling to the side, he shoved Hunt’s hip off the console, getting it open enough to feel around and come out with a handful of wet wipes.

  Hunter Dane did not keep his vehicle stocked for sudden sexual encounters. He did stock it for dealing with the aftereffects of the fast food he subsisted on during an investigation. As Cam opened the packets and wiped them bot
h down, Hunt considered he might want to restock with the “sudden sexual encounter” possibilities in mind, now that he was with Cam.

  “You have a sex obsession with motor vehicles,” he said.

  Cam grinned, tucking himself in and zipping up. He did the same for Hunt and then helped him untwist himself and get back under the wheel.

  “It’s not the vehicles; it’s the guy in them,” he said. “And we didn’t fuck this morning, which we usually do, and we’re probably going to find a dead body in about ten minutes and then who knows when I can fuck you again.”

  Hunter put the Bronco into neutral and released the emergency brake. “Murder victims kill your libido?”

  Cam reached over, took Hunt by the chin, and kissed him quickly. “No, Boss. They take yours hostage for the duration.” He grinned. “Unless I attack you in alleys.”

  Hunter started the engine, hiding his blush, recalling the time Cam referred to during the matchstick case. They were also in a car and he’d ended up in his own handcuffs. But it had cleared his head.

  Cam found the empty fast-food bag Hunt used for trash and stuffed the used wipes inside. Then he buckled up.

  As they moved on, Hunt shook his head. “I really doubt we’re going to find a body. I’m thinking transient aging hippie and con man is pawning Asher’s laptop as we speak.”

  “Are we supposed to get it back for him? I mean, if this guy is there and has it?”

  They started down the far side of the ridge, and the shale gave way to scrub brush and stunted pine. “We’ll see,” Hunt said. “If the guy claims it was a gift, we have no authority here. I’m out of my jurisdiction. Of course, if he catches sight of my badge, he might hand it over on his own.”

  “Or he might be dead,” Cam said, bracing himself against the rocking motion as they hit some washboarding. “And that makes Asher Gamble the main suspect. Or at the very least, some kind of material witness.”

  “Why’s that?” Hunter eased the car off the road and parked at the top of an outcrop of rust-colored rock.

  “Because dead fathers don’t actually come back to chat while their kids play fantasy war games. Asher predicted a murder. That means he’s involved, one way or another.”

  “I told you before”—Hunt got out of the car—“you’re assuming.”

  Cam got out and followed Hunter along the outcrop. “Assuming what?”

  “Dead fathers don’t chat with sons playing fantasy war games.”

  Hunter Dane eased himself onto his belly at the edge of the outcrop, looking over the drop-off.

  “Yeah, this is what Asher showed us on the map. There’s gonna be a cave right under us. Maybe more than one.” He sat up and pointed down the slope. “You can just see there’s a faint trail where he’s going down to the dry wash.”

  Hunt pulled his feet in and stood without using his hands, a move unconsciously powerful and inherently graceful. “It comes out behind the amphitheater parking lot.” He considered. “Could have a car down there.”

  He turned to Cam. “You want to wait up here while I climb down and see if anyone’s home?”

  “Are you just fucking with me to fuck with me?”

  “Hey …” Hunter took the few steps forward to put his hands on Cam’s shoulders.

  Cam stepped back, eyes cold and flat. “I’m assuming dead fathers don’t talk to their sons?”

  Hunt stuck his hands into his pockets and did a fast assessment. He knew Cam’s father was dead, but he also knew Cam had never seen his father in life. The man was a sperm donor, not a parent. This wasn’t a nerve Hunter could have trod on.

  “I’m working,” Hunt said. “I know it’s unofficial, but I also expected, thought I knew, you were working, too. Was I wrong?”

  Cam’s brows pulled in while his chin lifted, pushing his bottom lip up. Hunter thought of it as his ‘Don’t bother me, I’m thinking.’ expression. So he waited patiently.

  “Sorry,” Cam said. “But tell me why you aren’t assuming it. Just the game thing, it makes no sense. You can’t play a game like that, a complicated thing that takes speed and concentration and just … forget you played.”

  “Tell you what,” Hunter glanced back at the rock outcrop. “How about I convince you that you’ve had the same experience, can you let it go for now?”

  “I haven’t.”

  “Okay, we’ll make it a bet. In thirty seconds I can prove to you that you have.”

  Cam laughed. “What do I win when you can’t?”

  Hunter stepped up to Cam who didn’t step back this time. At a little over six-two, Hunt had a couple inches on Cam. But Cam was a compact mass of muscle and power compared to the lithe frame of the rangy detective. Still, Hunter took this moment to lean confidently over Cam who just looked up and cocked an eyebrow. Camden Snow did not retreat.

  Hunter was looking forward to the win.

  “You sure you want to bet against me?” Hunter asked softly, goading him.

  Cam hesitated, recalling the clash between Hunter and a bitch of a sub who’d challenged him in a matchstick game and lost. Hunter Dane was a masterful game player. But Cam knew himself.

  “What did you have in mind for stakes?”

  “I’m in control of all our intimate contact until midnight. I decide what we do, where, and for how long.” Hunter delivered the stakes with the same detachment he showed when he put chips into the pot at the poker table.

  Cam caught his lower lip. Like a lot of Doms, he, himself, couldn’t abide the idea of restraints or humiliations. But as sure as he was that life ended when it ended, he was more sure that Hunter loved him, even if he didn’t expect to ever hear the words from him in the future.

  “Okay. And if you can’t, you teach me to shoot and I get to carry a gun when we’re working.”

  That statement elicited a satisfying chin drop from Hunter. High stakes. Hunt closed his mouth and nodded.

  Cam eyed him suspiciously. “Define the bet.”

  “I’ll prove to you that you’ve successfully engaged in a complex task needing your full attention while being unaware you were doing it and were unable to remember the time afterward.”

  Cam looked for a loophole. “While fully awake doing something I intended to do.” Hunt nodded again. “You’ll do it in thirty seconds?”

  “Unless you interrupt me.”

  Cam’s cell was in his hand. He opened the stopwatch app. “Ready? … Go.”

  “You drive your R8 at almost 100 miles an hour regularly from here to the club and back. You use gears instead of braking and shift through three of them, at least, while you cut in and out of traffic and take ramps at highway speeds.” He paused. Cam nodded.

  “And I’m betting you have more than once realized you have no memory at all of driving a section of at least one—and probably several—of those trips.”

  Now Cam’s chin dropped.

  Hunt’s smile was warm as he raised Cam’s chin with one finger and kissed him gently. “So, you want to wait here while I go see if there’s a body?”

  “I’m not letting you go alone, but you can look first.”

  “Okay,” Hunt slipped an arm around Cam’s waist and walked him along the outcrop. “But you aren’t a fan of death and gore, so why can’t I go alone if he might be dead?”

  “Because he might not be.”

  2:23pm - Spelunking

  * * *

  Cam looked dubiously at the narrow strip of dirt that ran almost vertically from the top of the outcrop to a semi-flat apron in front of the cave entrance, twenty feet below. Hunter crouched next to it, pointing to shallow depressions at regular intervals that cut into the barren soil and stone.

  “These are man-made,” Hunt said.

  “They’re barely depressions, what good-”

  Hunter dropped over the side, finding purchase for his toes and fingers in the hollows. He descended easily, taking a quick look inside the cave mouth, then waving at Cam to c
ome down.

  Telling himself he’d descended scarier slopes than this at speed, Cam slithered over the side on his belly and felt around for the holds.

  “Right foot a couple inches to the left … other left,” Hunter called up.

  With coaching, Cam managed the descent, only free-sliding the last five feet. Hunt caught him around the waist, lowering him carefully to the ground.

  “We’ll make a cliff dweller out of you, yet.”

  Cam cast Hunt a rueful look, brushing off the dirt that stuck to his abs when his shirt rode up. He opened his pants and looked down at himself. “Feels like there’s rocks down there.”

  Hunter kept a perfectly straight face. “I certainly hope so. Would you like me to check?”

  “Not unless you want to collect on your bet right here.” Cam felt around, coming up with a few sandy pebbles. He straightened his clothes, peering into the black mouth of a four-foot high opening under an overhanging terrace of red and tan rock.

  “You check it out, yet?”

  Hunter nodded. “A quick look. No one home.” He led the way inside.

  The cave opened out to the right where a camp stove was set up. A large backpack on a frame rested against the wall with an unrolled sleeping bag next to it.

  While the cave did get wider, it only extended into the hill about fifteen feet, sloping down at the back.

  Both men squatted, examining their surroundings. The light from the entrance allowed Hunter to read the name ‘Jason Furney’ inside the cover of an old paperback with a taped-together cover he found on the ground: The Holographic Universe.

  Cam flipped over a corner of the sleeping bag to reveal a laptop underneath. He didn’t touch it. “It smells good in here,” Cam said. “Like clean dirt.”

  Hunter nodded.

  “Why doesn’t it smell like dirty clothes and B.O?” Cam asked. “Why is there a stove to cook on, but no food?”

  “Food attracts things,” Hunter said. “Insects. Coyotes. Bears.”

  Cam sat all the way down, extending his left leg, absently rubbing his thigh. “I go to photoshoots. They find spaces like empty lofts or alleys. Put me on a broken chair or a pile of wood. Arty shit. That’s what this reminds me of. A set.”