by Eden Winters
Time to lighten this heavy-assed conversation. “I’m real stubborn. Could take a lot of convincing.”
Bo’s chuckle rumbled in Lucky’s ear. “Oh, I know it will. Might even take the rest of my life.”
“You got that kind of time?”
“For you, I’ll make that kind of time.” Bo squirmed, getting comfortable. The hard-on Lucky hadn’t even noticed he’d sprung nudged against Bo’s thigh. And out came The Dimple. Hallelujah! “What say I take your mind off things?”
“I don’t know, Bo. Distracting me won’t be easy.”
“Want me to put my chaps on?”
Oh, hell yes.
Chapter Five
Bo tugged and pushed, positioning Lucky on his back with Bo half on and half off him, their erections sandwiched in between.
Oh yeah. Nice position. “That’s a good enough start.” No telling who moved first, and it didn’t really matter. Lips sealed together, they explored each other’s mouths, an adventure Lucky’d been deprived of for a few hours too long.
Tongue to tongue, body to body. The sweet music of desperate moans. Bo’s cock, his beautiful, perfect in every way cock, sliding against Lucky’s thigh. Heaven.
Bo wrapped his hand around Lucky’s answering hardness, broke the kiss, slithered down the bed to put his mouth to better use—and stopped.
“What’s the matter?” Lucky threaded his fingers through Bo’s hair. Not pushing. No. Thinking about it, but not pushing.
Bo placed his lips against Lucky’s belly and kissed his way back up to join their mouths.
“What the hell?” Lucky griped into the kiss.
“Tell you later.”
“Tell me now.”
“Not the time.” Bo’s kiss shut Lucky up.
Lucky’s cock seemed fine with a hand job, and when Bo squeezed and slid his hand up and down… Oh yeah. Now what was he disappointed about a minute ago?
And wasn’t he rude to lie back and let his lover do all the work? If tonight was hand job night, so be it. The extra skin on Bo’s erection made for some nice sliding, and judging by Bo’s quick gasp, he liked hand job night too.
Good Lord, could the man kiss. Deep and demanding one moment, then softening to a gentle tugging of teeth on Lucky’s lower lip the next, and abandoning Lucky’s mouth to swipe lips over Lucky’s cheek, his forehead, eyelids, nose.
Every time Lucky tried to repay the favor, Bo retreated and restarted his mission to drive Lucky insane.
Okay, time to join the game. Lucky made a mad dive for Bo’s neck, sucking the tender skin where shoulder met neck.
“Oh yeah,” Bo choked out, arching into the attention. He gasped and yanked back. “Tonight’s about you.”
No, the years before they met had been all about Lucky. “Selfish” didn’t come close to how he’d treated the men bold enough to follow him home.
If he couldn’t get Bo off, he wasn’t coming either. The concentration on Bo’s face, eyelashes sweeping his cheeks as he threw back his head, shuddering. What a gorgeous sight. And he’d open his eyes, stare straight into Lucky’s and let go. More often than not, Lucky sailed over the edge close behind, the image of Bo burned into his brain.
The memory added to the sweet torture of Bo’s stroking, joined by other memories—Bo sinking down, taking Lucky into his body, free of barriers, free of work stress—just two men, loving each other.
The moment raged closer, Lucky’s muscles tightening as he arched off the bed. “Oh damn!” He tugged harder and faster on Bo. Closer, closer. The wonderful tension built within, fogging his brain. On a long groan, he let loose, his body jerking in time with his spurts.
Through the lust-filled haze, he fought to keep his hand moving—a nearly impossible task now. His own spasms lessened and Bo tensed, wrapping his hand around Lucky’s to help keep the faltering rhythm.
Bo bucked, pushing his cock through Lucky’s fist, his foreskin bunching and relaxing. Finally, he braced his hands on the headboard above Lucky’s head and fucked Lucky’s fist.
The bed creaked and groaned. Lucky took Bo’s balls in his free hand. Oh, to pull him higher so Lucky could use his mouth.
Nah, took too much effort and functioning cells from a sex-fried brain.
Bo cried out, his thrusts growing erratic. This time Lucky maintained the beat, keeping the friction going so Bo’s approaching climax didn’t fizzle out.
“Ah…” Bo closed his eyes.
Wait for it… He reopened his eyes, the fiery heat of his gaze coming close to sending Lucky off and running again. His cock throbbed in Lucky’s hand, sending thick droplets raining down.
Bo shuddered and collapsed onto the bed, his and Lucky’s come pooling on Lucky’s stomach.
They returned to the Jacuzzi. Lucky put a foot in barely warm water. “Wait!” Bo hadn’t drained the tub. “You’d planned for us to need the water again.”
Bo’s lopsided smile ought to be illegal. “You said you wanted distracting. You’re hard to distract if you’ve got your mind on something.” And yet he’d succeeded.
Lucky folded his arms over his chest and mock-glared. “You fight dirty.”
“Clean is for wusses.” Bo grinned, showing a flash of The Dimple. An appearance of The Dimple could win any argument. So could an eyeful of his perfect bubble butt.
Or just him being Bo.
A man who’d strip, a job he’d hated, to help pay for the operation to save Lucky’s dad.
When Bo strutted and showed off his assets to strangers, was he dancing on stage or was it the Rex guy he’d played at the club? Would Rex ever take Bo over like Cyrus had on their last big case? The darkness could have Bo over Lucky’s dead body. But who’d save Bo from himself with Lucky gone?
“Um… Lucky? You still with me here?” Bo waved his hands in front of Lucky’s eyes.
Lucky startled out of the horror story his mind insisted on writing. “Lost in thought, I guess.”
One side of Bo’s mouth lifted. “That’s because—”
“Don’t you dare say ‘because it’s unfamiliar territory’.”
Bo lifted his hands. “Wasn’t gonna.”
“Then what were you going to say?”
“That it’s because I screwed your brains out.”
Well, they hadn’t exactly screwed, but one lesson Lucky learned from his partner was to pick his battles. If he didn’t, he’d be fighting every minute of every day. Of course, baiting coworkers didn’t count as fighting, did it?
“Lucky? Silence isn’t a comforting thing right now.”
“Oh, what?”
“I said you couldn’t think because I’d screwed your brains out.”
Not the best save in the world, but better than poking fun at Lucky’s lack of higher education. “I didn’t have much upstairs to begin with.”
Bo scooted across the tub and cradled Lucky’s cheeks in his hands. “Who said that to you?”
Where had those words come from? Oh, yeah, right. “My asshole of a brother, Bristol.” Not to mention Victor’s assorted kin. Them Lucky learned to ignore. His brother had been more vocal. And while he’d never bested Lucky in a fist fight, the weasel learned to use words as weapons.
Bo peered into Lucky’s eyes clear down to his soul and snarled, “If and when I ever meet him, I’m opening the biggest can of whoop-ass the South’s ever seen. Got that?”
“No need to humor me. I know I’m not as smart as you.” Or Bristol, with his college education, big house, and fancy bank job.
Bo gave Lucky’s head a little shake. “A stupid man wouldn’t have survived years working for a drug trafficker as ruthless as Victor Mangiardi. And he wouldn’t have tracked down more traffickers to avenge a sick girl. And he wouldn’t have survived the bullshit in Mexico to bring down Stephan.”
But a smart man wouldn’t have gotten involved with the likes of Victor and Stephan in the first place. “C’mon. Let’s get clean and go to bed since my brain’s no longer working.”
Luck
y locked up while Bo fought to convince their pony-sized dog the bed belonged to the humans, finally tossing a chew toy on the rug to help Moose understand.
Cat Lucky settled between Lucky and Bo. Cats did as they pleased. If they locked him out of the room, he’d yowl all night and keep them awake. Picking battles. Yeah. And picking cat and dog hair off everything they owned.
Lucky spooned against Bo’s back in their bed as much as the cat allowed. “What did you mean when you said you’d tell me later?”
No answer, huh? The squirmy worms feeling began in Lucky’s stomach. Bo let out a sigh and rolled onto his back. “We’ve made it through our six-month window after the needles and blood exposure, but sometime soon a doctor might start asking you some very personal questions, if he hasn’t already. I don’t want you to have come this far to be turned down as a donor for having had unprotected sex with another man. Now I’m glad I stayed in character and used a condom that night at The Stallion.”
“We have to wait even longer?” No, no, no, no, no! “What damned business is it of the doctor’s?”
“Charlotte may have some pull since she’s representing the family, but the doctor might make a big deal out of you being gay as it is.”
Good point. A sore one, based on the opinions of idiots. “And we can’t let anything stop us, right?”
“Who else is there if not you?”
Who else, indeed? Being someone’s only hope put a lot of pressure on a man. “So, we’re back to gloving for the loving?” Damn it. They’d come so far, gotten over Lucky’s weird-assed hang-up about barriers between them, only to have to use condoms again. The waiting period was over! Now they’d have to wait again?
Bo nodded. “I’m afraid so. We could both take PrEP, but I’m not so sure if the doctor will accept that. We won’t give him any reason to turn you down.”
Once more, Bo talked sense when Lucky didn’t really want him to. Parts of his body might not be his much longer. It wasn’t just himself he made decisions for. “Okay, but when this is over, I don’t want to find another damned condom in this house.”
“Yes, sir.” Bo snickered. “Now, get some sleep. You need your rest.”
Easier said than done.
The clock read eleven, then twelve, then one… Lucky wrapped a towel around his waist and headed back out to the deck.
No use keeping Bo awake. He needed his sleep too.
Chapter Six
What a long day, especially running on three hours’ sleep. Lucky got off the elevator and staggered down the SNB hall toward the gym. Couldn’t let Bo know he hadn’t slept last night.
Lisa sat at the reception desk, typing on her laptop. She stopped and glanced up with wide eyes. Well, he’d spent years cultivating his asshole reputation, even if she’d been to his house and witnessed his softer side.
Oh, who was he kidding? He didn’t have a softer side unless one counted Bo. Best to keep up appearances, at least while asshole Keith leaned against the wall by the reception desk.
Keith frowned at Lucky and barked at Lisa. “Are you finished with my report?”
Do what? Lucky growled. “Agents are required to type their own reports.” Because if they didn’t, he’d have Lisa work on all of his.
The department’s resident jerk turned a sneer on Lucky. “She’s helping me work through a backlog. When you handle as many cases as I do—”
“Blow as many cases as you do, don’t you mean?”
Lisa shoved a manila folder between Lucky and Keith’s ever-closening noses. “As promised.” She sat back, wringing her hands.
Keith brandished his folder and stalked off without so much as a word of thanks.
“Thank you,” Lisa whispered.
Lucky kept watch until Keith vanished around a corner. “For what?”
“For sticking up for me. I get so tired of doing his work for him, but what can I do? He’s a senior agent, and I’m only a receptionist.”
She didn’t need to know Lucky defended her by accident while trying to get a rise out of his mortal enemy. “Anytime. He gets you to do all his reports?”
Lisa’s sigh sent her bangs flying. “Yes. For some reason, he considers me his personal assistant.”
If the SNB started handing out personal assistants, they’d better give Lucky one first. Only, who in their right mind would want to work for him? He barely registered approaching footsteps.
“Is there a problem?” Bo gave Lisa concerned eyes, and narrowed those eyes Lucky’s way.
“Oh hi, Bo!” Lisa’s attitude suddenly changed from gloom and doom to sunny. “Lucky here was saving me from doing Keith’s job.”
Bo’s wide-eyed disbelief might be worth a hit to Lucky’s asshole character. He looked from Lisa to Lucky and back again in a quick whiplash. “You’re doing his work?”
Lisa nodded. “For the last year.”
“And Lucky told him off?” Bo arched a brow in Lucky’s direction.
Nobody did smug like Lucky. “Sure did.”
A furrow appeared between Bo’s eyebrows. “Is your counselor giving you meds?”
“Hey! I resent that. Why’s it so hard to believe I done a good thing?” Ha! Let Mr. Politically Correct answer without putting his foot in his mouth.
“It’s not. You do good all the time. You just won’t admit it in public.”
Oh, fuck. Lucky better get a grip before he ruined his hard-earned asshole reputation all on his own.
Bo brightened and slapped Lucky on the back. “Good job. You seem to have this under control. Lisa, why don’t you tell Walter about Keith?”
“Keith’s a senior agent. I’m entry level.” The receptionist who took way too much shit off a major asswipe swung her chair back and forth.
“Doesn’t give him the right to dump work on you. If it happens again, I want you to let me know.” A world of hurt for Keith flashed in Bo’s eyes.
Lisa darted a glance from Bo to Lucky and back again. “Okay. But I don’t want to start any trouble.”
No way Lucky couldn’t add his opinion. “Someone told me ‘don’t start nothing and there won’t be nothing.’ Keith started it.” How many times had Lucky spoken those three words over the years?
“If you’re sure.” She stopped biting her bottom lip long enough to smile. “Thanks, guys.”
“Anytime.” Bo strolled down the hall, clutching his gym bag, pausing to take a barely perceptible glance over his shoulder.
Lucky followed, grin widening with each step. Nothing worked better than showing up an enemy while impressing a lover to renew a man’s strength.
***
Lucky stared in the direction of the bedroom ceiling. Occasionally a car passed on the road outside, and the open blinds let in enough of the backyard security light to watch the ceiling fan spin for a turn or two. Working his ass off and spending an hour at the gym hadn’t helped him relax. Nor had the spaghetti dinner Bo fixed for him.
Beside him Bo let out a snuffle, rolled onto his back, and snored. Let him sleep. Lord knew he’d lost enough shuteye in the past few years.
Moving as little as possible to avoid waking him, Lucky rose and felt his way out of the bedroom and into the living room, where he collapsed onto the couch. The fake leather cushion stuck to his naked butt.
Moose padded in behind him and dropped down on the rug by his feet. After a few more moments, Cat Lucky wriggled his way into Human Lucky’s lap. Lucky pushed the feline to one side. The varmint wasn’t going to knead and sink a claw into Lucky’s tender bits.
That the animals came with him meant they knew, of him and Bo, he most needed a close watch these days. Or they hoped he’d wander into the kitchen for a late-night snack and share the wealth.
If he didn’t give his dad a hunk of liver, the old man might die. If he did give a hunk of liver, he could die. The doctor said severe complications didn’t happen often, but karma owed Lucky a few dozen bitch slaps.
Not too long ago, death would have been a relief. No one gave a
rat’s ass about him back then. Okay, Charlotte had. And maybe Walter. No one else but possibly Victor, and at the time Lucky believed the man dead and himself to blame.
Nope, not going there. No amount of logic could make sense of Lucky’s old life. Now? Now he had a life worth living. Someone he loved. And someone who loved him back. Thank God for the man’s bad judgement if he found Lucky interesting enough to keep around.
Dying didn’t scare Lucky. Much. What might happen to Bo? Well, more than a heavy dinner kept him awake tonight. When he’d bought the house without Bo’s knowledge, Charlotte shook enough sense into Lucky to put Bo’s name on the paperwork to protect him from greedy vultures like Bristol.
Bristol never cared for Lucky. Without Lucky, he’d have been the oldest of the Lucklighter boys, and for some unknown reason, the guy never could stand having two older siblings. Who was Lucky fooling? Bristol never gave a happy damn about anyone but Bristol. He sure didn’t seem to care enough about their father to try to save the man’s life.
And while Bristol probably crowed with glee when the folks gave up on the family black sheep, not a chance in Hell he’d pass on a chance to get at any assets Lucky might leave behind.
Adding Bo’s name to the mortgage ought to help some. But what about insurance? And did Bo even know he’d been added as beneficiary?
Was there any way for Bristol to make life rough for Bo? Waste money in court fighting? What if something happened and Lucky wasn’t dead, but not in any shape to make decisions for himself? Bristol would tell the docs to pull the life support if Lucky slept too hard.
No. Way. In. Hell.
Bo dreamed of the house with the white picket fence and kids. Lucky wanted to stay out of prison and free to be his own man.
Bo didn’t stop him from being his own man. He made Lucky a better one. Lucky scrubbed a hand down his face, stubble scraping against his palm.
Time to do the right thing. What he should have done the moment Bo got out of rehab. Or the second they got back from Mexico. Or when Bo rescued him when he’d hobbled around the woods with a busted ankle.