Tempt Me

by Remmy Duchene

  Gabe edged him, played with him, toyed with his lack of control, until all Jason could manage to shout was, “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

  Only then did Gabe give Jason what his body so desperately craved. He clamped his mouth against the head of Jason’s dick, lashed it with his tongue, then sucked.

  Jason fell apart, rattling the headboard with the power of his hands tugging against the cuffs. He arched upward, pushing his hardness farther into Gabe’s mouth and exploding like water that had been blocked in a tube. There were no logical thoughts, only nonsensical words. The world didn’t exist, only Gabe and his very amazing mouth. There were no wars, no peace. No dark, no light.

  Only fire.

  It was all-consuming—burning a path down Jason’s spine, then exploding throughout his body. With Patrick, Jason hadn’t felt that. No matter how many times they’d made love, it was now evident to Jason that he had only been going through the motions. He’d moaned because that was what he was supposed to do, but never once did he whimper, plead, or willingly give himself up.

  With Gabe—Jason relinquished it all.

  Jason flopped to the bed again, trying to slow his breathing. But he didn’t get time to recover. Gabe was already over him, nibbling at Jason’s nipples. He’d never had a man feast on his body the way Gabe did. Most men thought Jason was too muscular. Gabe didn’t have a problem with that. He licked the lines of Jason’s tribal tattoo, kissed the scorpion ink, then dragged his hot, wet tongue down between Jason’s pecs. Jason trembled, whispered Gabe’s name, then closed his eyes, trying to keep the bliss from consuming him.

  As he panted, Gabe stood over him, turned his back to Jason, and bent over. Weak, Jason leaned forward and licked at Gabe’s crack.

  “Jason….”

  He did it again and again until that wasn’t enough. He had to push his tongue between those perfectly muscular cheeks. It was a pleasure making Gabe mewl, then purr.

  “That’s right, Jason,” Gabe encouraged. “Make me wet for your cock.”

  The rush of Gabe’s breathing spurred Jason on until finally Gabe merely melted off his face. Jason licked his lips and could still taste Gabe on them. His cock twitched in eager anticipation.

  When Gabe finally rolled a condom onto Jason, then took Jason deep, Jason almost fell apart. He jerked his hips upward, slamming into Gabe’s body and howling in heat. Gabe’s hole gripped him and squeezed, and Jason lost his mind.

  “Fuck me!” Gabe demanded, slapping a hand against Jason’s abs. “Harder!”

  Jason groaned, but no matter how fast he moved his hips, Gabe wanted more. There was nothing sexier than an insatiable lover, and Jason wasn’t through yet. But his undoing came in the form of Gabe pinching Jason’s nipples—of catching them between his thumbs and forefingers, squeezing and twisting.

  “Shit!” Jason shouted.

  He’d learned so many things about himself since getting together with Gabe. One major lesson was that Jason loved his nipples abused, and Gabe didn’t hold back. Just when Jason thought he couldn’t possibly become any more mindless, Gabe added his teeth to the tight buds, alternating between them. Gabe rode Jason’s dick while biting, and Jason couldn’t hold out any longer. He surged up, burying himself deeply into Gabe’s body and roaring his release for all to hear.

  “Baby.” Gabe whimpered, then slumped to Jason’s chest.

  Jason knew why. Even in his passion-induced haze, he could feel the hot, sticky drops of Gabe’s cum against Jason’s body. Jason hissed softly, then moaned.

  Gabe’s hot breath bathed the side of Jason’s face as the sound of keys cut through his fog. Soon his arms were free, so he wrapped them around Gabe.

  “Damn, baby,” Jason whispered. “Where have you been all my life?”

  Gabe laughed.

  “You were all kinds of freaky, and I loved every second of it.”

  “What are you saying?” Gabe positioned himself so their eyes locked.

  “I’m saying—don’t ever change.”

  Chapter Eight

  AFTER A phone call with his brother, Gabe changed into his uniform and vest, shoved his gun into the holster, and pulled the security strap down over it. He was sitting to slide his feet into his boot when Malik entered the locker room.

  “Hey,” Gabe said.

  “Morning.” Malik yawned. “I’m exhausted. I just couldn’t fall asleep last night. My body is still sore from being out there all day yesterday.”

  “I had some TLC,” Gabe told him. “If it hadn’t been for Jason, I’d be in the same boat you are.”

  “And to think you weren’t going to call him.”

  “You know, my best friend wouldn’t have said that.”

  Malik crinkled his nose and grabbed for his vest. “Yeah, well, you adore me.”

  “True.”

  “Can I talk to you about something?” Malik asked.

  “Sure.”

  Malik sat with a leg on either side of the bench to face Gabe. “I’ve been thinking of putting myself back into the dating game.”

  “Really?”

  “What? You don’t think I should?”

  Gabe shook his head. “No, of course I think you should get back into the game. I’m just surprised you voluntarily suggested it. I mean, I thought I would have had to blackmail, or bribe, or threaten you to go.”

  “Aren’t those kind of the same things in this case?”

  Gabe laughed and shrugged. “Semantics. What can I do?”

  “Be here if I need rescuing.” Malik’s brown eyes were serious. “I know I haven’t been the same since Heather. I had to come to the conclusion that none of that was my fault. She didn’t know what monogamy means.”

  “Finally!” Gabe threw his hands up. “Look, I’m sorry I’ve been so all about me lately. I didn’t even stop to ask you how you were feeling about that. I thought maybe enough time had passed.”

  “You’re allowed one slip-up like that, eh?” Malik winked at Gabe.

  “Next round of drinks on me?”

  Malik smirked. “Oh, you are so on!”

  After their talk, they set about their shift. Somehow the day didn’t feel right. But if he’d mentioned it to his partner, Malik would have only told him to stop waiting for the other shoe to drop. Technically, Gabe had no reasons to have a bad feeling in his gut. Jason had been nothing but spectacular, and Gabe had spoken to his brother that day. He should be flying high.

  They got through a few calls, picked up a drug dealer for a couple of their homicide detectives, and even stopped an assault on a crossing guard.

  Around one in the afternoon, as they sat together in a parking lot, eating french fries from a nearby greasy spoon, their radio crackled.

  “Calling unit Oscar Papa.”

  Malik grabbed the radio. “Go ahead for Oscar Papa.”

  “Shots fired at 463 Collinshire Road. You’re closest. Backup is en route.”

  Gabe was already starting the engine and flicking on the siren when the call came. But hearing the address sent his heart lurching. He sped from the parking lot, flipped quite an illegal U-turn, and floored it, heading back toward Warrior.

  “Don’t jump to conclusions,” Malik said. “This could have nothing to do with Jason or the bar.”

  But Gabe wasn’t so sure. He said nothing, merely kept his eyes on the road and his foot on the gas. He swerved out from behind cars that were moving too slowly, honked in frustration at others, then ran a red light. The cruiser sailed through the intersection with ease, and out of habit he glanced in his mirror to ensure everyone had cleared it. Seeing no accidents, he continued until he hung a sharp right into the parking lot. There was no sign of trouble on the outside, except the entrance was standing open. That was strange because Warrior wasn’t supposed to be open for another three or four hours.

  He killed the siren but left the light flashing, and both he and Malik entered, guns drawn.

  “Police,” Malik called. “Hello?”

  “If anyone is her
e, announce yourself!” Gabe added.

  They searched the back—office, kitchen, men’s and ladies’ rooms. They checked the private areas. Gabe was peering into the coatroom when Malik shouted for him. He ran over to find Jason lying behind the bar, blood pooling from his chest. Without thinking, Gabe reholstered his weapon and slipped to his knees beside Jason. He leaned in, cheek over Jason’s mouth and nose, to feel if he was breathing.

  Nothing.

  “Dispatch, this is unit Oscar Papa—we need a bus at that 10-71.”

  “Roger that, Oscar Papa.”

  No breath. Gabe’s heart lurched and raced painfully.

  He pressed two fingers against Jason’s neck and was relieved to find a pulse—a slow one. “Jason?” Gabe called while ripping open Jason’s shirt. He then bunched up the material and applied it to the wound. “Baby, I’m going to need you to open your eyes for me.”

  “Ambulance is coming, Gabe.”

  “You hear that?” Gabe said to Jason. “Hang on. Give me a sign, Jason. Stay with me—please.”

  Jason muttered something, but he didn’t open his eyes. He whispered Gabe’s name but still made no move to look up.

  “I’m right here,” Gabe replied. From somewhere in a daze of adrenaline, someone gripped at his shoulder. He fought to remain with Jason.

  “Gabe, it’s the paramedics,” Malik said. “Let them work.”

  Reluctantly, Gabe moved out of the way. He tried being professional and barely succeeded. It took everything in him not to snap, especially when he thought the medics were being a little too rough with Jason. It was hard to see his lover’s face, which was usually so full of life, so pale and clammy.

  Still, he remained at Malik’s side.

  “Are you hurt, Officer?” a medic asked.

  “No….”

  “The blood?”

  “Oh….” Gabe looked down at his bloodstained palms. “Is his.”

  “You should go down to the hospital and get checked out—you know, tested?”

  Gabe frowned. “I don’t need to get tested.”

  “You were covered in blood,” the medic said.

  “I’m fucking the guy!” Gabe growled. “I’m pretty sure I know he’s clean.”

  “He will.” Malik stepped in. “Just—not right now, okay? He’s going through a lot. I’ll make sure he does go in.”

  The stunned medic left, and though it killed Gabe, he stood back and allowed the ambulance to take Jason away. As a cop, he had to remain on the scene. Malik used a bottle of water from their trunk so Gabe could wash the blood from his palms. With that out of the way, they secured the scene until the proper people arrived. Detective Jon Spiers would be the lead on the case.

  “You know the victim?” Jon asked after pulling Gabe to the side.

  “Yes,” Gabe replied. “He’s my boyfriend.”

  “I’ll figure out what happened, okay?” Jon said. “Let me work, and I promise I’ll find the son of a bitch.”

  Gabe nodded, accepted a hug from Jon, and took a moment alone to gather his thoughts. It took another few hours, but Malik was finally able to usher him away from the scene. Spiers had questions, so many questions.

  Gabe knew he should be used to it all. It was all a giant shit-show when someone was shot, but he never thought that would be directed at him. It wasn’t that Spiers thought Gabe was the shooter since he was on duty and their whereabouts could be verified. But it was Spiers’s duty to ask everything.

  How do you know the victim? How long have you known the victim? Where did you meet the victim? Did the victim have any enemies that you’re aware of?

  The urge to scream rose within him like a tidal wave that morphed into a giant migraine that pulsed behind his eyes. At one point, Gabe had to remind Spiers that the victim had a name.

  Jon had even figured out who called emergency—some guy walking by had heard what he recognized to be a gunshot. By some chance, their caller was ex-military.

  At his house, Gabe took a quick shower, changed into a pair of track pants and a graphic shirt, then had Malik accompany him to the hospital. Malik followed him to get a blood test—it was a policy for every cop who was stuck by a needle or came into contact with blood at a scene. They then made their way to the front desk.

  “I’m here for Jason Tomlinson,” Gabe said.

  “Who?”

  “The victim from the Warrior bar.”

  “Oh right. Are you family?” she asked.

  “His—um—boyfriend.”

  She smiled. “He’s on the seventh floor. He might still be in surgery, though.”

  “Surgery?”

  “Yes. Once the doctor is finished, I’ll let him know you’re here. He’ll be able to explain things to you better than I ever could. There is a waiting room right as you step out of the elevator.”

  He walked beside Malik, then rode up to the area silently. They didn’t have to speak for Gabe to feel supported. While Malik took a seat, Gabe paced the area. His mind delved from who could have done this to what he would do to the person when they found him. The cop in him wanted justice, but the lover inside him wanted pure, unadulterated slaughter. He knew he had to remain hands-off if he wanted this ass to face some serious jail time. There was no way he could become involved with the case. In that moment he figured he would let Jon work—he was the best detective in the department and no doubt would find the culprit sooner rather than later.

  “Mr. Tomlinson’s party?”

  Gabe turned to the exhausted man in the blue scrubs. “That’s me—I’m Gabe Ford.”

  “Your boyfriend is a very lucky man, Mr. Ford,” the doctor said. “The bullet didn’t do much damage. It missed his heart, and we were able to remove the projectile. It has been handed over to the authorities.”

  “Jason—how is he?” Gabe found he didn’t really care about the bullet at that moment.

  “He’s being moved into recovery right now.”

  “Can we see him?”

  “He’s still out of it from the anesthesia,” the doctor said. “But sure—Recovery 705. Make it a short visit.”

  Gabe nodded. “Thank you.”

  With the doctor gone, Gabe turned to look at Malik who nodded. Rubbing his palms on his thighs, he allowed his feet to carry him through a set of double doors. Gabe followed the numbers on the wall along a corridor. When he arrived at Jason’s room, he let himself in and moved to the bed. Jason was shirtless and connected to a couple of machines that beeped and wooshed. Sitting on the side of the bed, Gabe caressed Jason’s hair back and dropped light kisses to his forehead, his cheeks, his nose.

  “Hey,” Gabe whispered. “The doc says I can’t stay. But I will be back first thing tomorrow, so you’d better be awake. I wanted to see for myself that you are okay.”

  He kissed Jason on the lips, then pulled his badge from where it was hooked on his belt. He placed it in Jason’s palm and wrapped his lover’s fingers around it. “I’ll be back for this, as soon as I can,” he promised, raining more soft kisses to Jason’s face. “And you’d better be awake.”

  Chapter Nine

  THE SOUNDS of machines filled the air and Jason’s head even before he opened his eyes. He groaned and tried moving. At first, his mind was hazy. The first thing to come back was the sound of Gabe’s panicked voice. He held his breath, fighting to figure out why Gabe would be so terrified. Then it slowly began dawning on him. Each painful, heart-shattering memory floated into his mind and he winced.

  Muttering a profanity under his breath, Jason opened his eyes and looked up at the foreign ceiling of the hospital. It took a second to really focus on much of anything else, but something hard brought his attention to his hand. With his vision still a little hazy, he gritted his teeth and forced his brain to cooperate to lift his hand.

  When he managed it, Jason smiled.

  That meant he hadn’t been alone—that Gabe had been there with him. He held on to the badge as if it was a flotation device. He would keep it safe since
he was pretty sure Gabe shouldn’t have done that. The quiet in the room didn’t last very long, however. Soon, nurses floated in and out—poking at him, prodding, asking questions. Next came the doctor—more questions, bright lights in the eyes, in the mouth, questions, pokes against the edge of the wound on his chest. Jason gritted his teeth and allowed it all—all the while clutching the badge.

  When they finally left him alone, a man walked in. He was dressed in a pair of black jeans, a dress shirt tucked into the waist, and running shoes. Though he had yet to speak, Jason knew him to be a cop—he had that look about him.

  “Detective Jon Spiers,” he said, holding up a badge. “Can I ask you a few questions?”

  “Where’s Gabe—Officer Ford?”

  “He is outside the room,” Detective Spiers said. “He cannot be in here at the moment. Conflict and all—you understand.”

  Jason understood, but he still didn’t like it. “I know what you’re going to ask, so let’s make this short.” His mouth tasted as if he’d been sucking on sandpaper all of a sudden. “Yes, I know who shot me. His name is Patrick Montgomery. If you can find my cell, you’ll see I have his number blocked. Yes, we dated—four years—yes, we broke up almost two years ago. Yes, I have proof. Every camera in my establishment works and is all backed up in a private location off-site. Yes, I will give you access. Yes, Gabe and I just started seeing each other. Anything I’m missing?”

  Detective Spiers smiled and shook his head. “Why are you so defensive?”

  “I’m not defensive. I’m in pain. And no offense, Detective, as handsome as you are, your face isn’t exactly the one I wanted to see first thing.”

  “I understand.” Jon laughed. “If you could tell me where your surveillance is stored and allow me access, that would be cool.”

  “Sure thing. Paper?”

  Detective Spiers handed over a notepad and pen, and Jason scribbled down the address to his hard-drive company. Once he handed it back, Jon read it before closing the book.

  “Look, I’d like to think Gabe and I are friends,” Detective Spiers said. “He’s a good cop and a great person. He’s really cut up about this.”