Blind Spot

by Maggie Kavanagh

  “Really?” Sam asked, feeling worse for him by the minute.

  Collins took another gulp. “It’s ridiculous. I never would have…. Rodger wasn’t perfect, but he was a good boss. Generous to a fault.”

  Sam cocked his head and tried not to laugh. While he’d been infamous for his tight control over the city coffers, White likely paid Collins very handsomely to do whatever fetching and carrying he required. Losing that income would be quite a blow for someone used to living well—as the expensive watch flashing on Collins’s wrist suggested. He was on his third fifteen-dollar martini.

  Sam offered a sympathetic grimace. “I’m sorry. It must be hard.”

  “It is,” said Collins, obviously excited to have someone to talk to. “It really is. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  “Maybe you need a vacation. A little R & R.”

  “Maybe so.”

  “A trip down to Fire Island, perhaps.” Sam raised an eyebrow, and Collins smirked back.

  “Unfortunately I’m stuck here until the police no longer require me.”

  So they’d obviously told him not to leave town. Very interesting. It was possible Collins knew the identity of the killer, even if he wasn’t directly involved. Now that they’d established a rapport, Sam wasn’t sure he should mention it or press the issue. He fished out his wallet and grabbed one of his cards, then slid it over to Collins. It disappeared under his hand.

  “Call me if you ever want to talk. You’ll find I’m a very good listener. And I don’t give up my sources—to anyone.” He injected a bit of seriousness into his statement and then stood and pushed himself away from the bar.

  Collins’s hand trembled as he held the card. “Do you… maybe want to get together sometime? Socially?” he added as though he needed to clarify.

  Sam felt a pang of guilt. He didn’t want to mislead the guy. “Thanks, but I’m seeing someone.”

  The disappointment on Collins’s face was obvious but faded quickly. He picked up the martini again.

  Sam slid his stool back into place. “But I meant what I said. I’m not out for your blood, but I would like to help, if I can. Anytime day or night.”

  “Thank you.” He sounded grateful—almost pathetic. Sam left the bar doubting he’d ever hear from him and also wondering who had Barney Collins so worked up that he could barely hold himself together.

  “SO YOU think Collins knows who killed the mayor?” Nathan asked as they watched the evening news.

  “Yeah. He was obviously scared out of his mind. But it could have been because the cops are keeping an eye on him. Hard to tell.” Of course Collins could have done the deed, but Sam suspected he wouldn’t have willingly put an end to the cushy job and prestige of being the mayor’s aide. It didn’t gel with what he knew about the guy.

  “And he asked you out.” Nathan stared glumly at the TV.

  “Ahh. So that’s what’s bothering you.” Sam had almost been gleeful when he told Nathan. “But I don’t think you want to get into another conversation about double standards, do you?”

  “I guess not,” Nathan muttered.

  “And anyway, he’s not my type.” Sam parroted back the words Nathan had used when describing Eric.

  “Hmm.” The news program ended, and Nathan flicked through the channels at record speed, not settling on any one long enough to even determine content.

  “You can relax, by the way. I told him I was seeing someone.”

  “You left out that bit.”

  “Yeah. Well, making you jealous is my new favorite hobby.”

  Without another word Nathan set down the remote, turned, and tackled Sam to the couch. His dark eyes flashed dangerously. “Oh really?”

  “Yeah.” Sam’s cock hardened instantly as Nathan ground down on him. His heart started pounding like he’d sprinted a mile. Giving Nathan a taste of his own medicine was sweet, and Sam wanted to indulge. He licked his lips. “But to be honest, he’s not a bad-looking guy.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Nice body.” Truth was the guy was a bit on the thin side for Sam, and he’d never liked blonds. But he wasn’t about to admit it.

  “Yeah? Did you want to fuck him?” Nathan’s high cheekbones flushed.

  Sam didn’t answer. He arched his back to rub his hard cock against Nathan’s. His jeans were too tight, constricting his almost painful arousal.

  “That’s it. Get naked and face the wall. Spread your legs and don’t look at me. You don’t get to come tonight.”

  Sam held back the whine building in his throat. He’d pushed Nathan too far, and he was going to be punished. He deserved it. And what a painfully sweet punishment it would be.

  But first he needed his collar.

  THE DAYS ticked down. In some twisted, yet effective effort to keep Sam’s mind off his looming departure, Nathan kept denying him his orgasms, and Sam’s frustration was building to volcanic levels. He could hardly think. His dick hardened up at the sight of Nathan fully clothed. It got so bad he couldn’t even take a piss without getting a hard-on. He was tempted—oh so tempted—to beat off in the shower. But he resisted. Until Nathan gave him permission to come, he was determined to hold back. Even though Nathan would understand, he would know, and Sam wanted to please him. He wanted to prove no one else could please him like Sam could—certainly not Eric.

  Even so the need for release was becoming intolerable. He was a walking erection—and of course Nathan loved every minute. He was evil.

  One morning Nathan stood behind Sam as he sat at the kitchen table, trying to do research. He ran his hands up and down Sam’s chest and tweaked his nipples over his T-shirt. Voila, instant boner.

  “Jesus, I’m trying to work here,” Sam grumbled. After so many days of similar teasing, his dick should know better, but it was hopelessly optimistic. Down, buddy.

  “Am I distracting you?”

  “Yes. You’re distracting me. Quit it.” Sam was poring over the Streets Clean Gala guest list, which he’d managed to finagle from the events manager at the Hyatt. He could already tell the thing wasn’t going to help narrow down the suspect pool. Anyone who was anyone in Stonebridge and the surrounding towns had attended, and many of them had personal or political vendettas against the mayor. Sam wondered if the entire event was designed as a malfunctioning olive branch.

  “Hmm.” Nathan ignored him and kept up the torture. Until Nathan had started showing them attention, nips hadn’t been in Sam’s top erogenous zones. But once they came online, sensation seemed to travel directly from them to his cock via electric wiring. His erection pressed solidly against his fly.

  “Do you want me to stop?” Nathan bit his earlobe, and Sam shivered involuntarily. He tilted his head so Nathan could kiss his neck. The collar shifted when Nathan pressed his lips to it, and Sam started to breathe faster. He’d been wearing it around the apartment, and he knew Nathan was pleased.

  He also knew why Nathan was seeking his attention. With Eric due the next day, they didn’t have much alone time left.

  “I… mmmh.” Sam gave up, flipped his laptop closed, and turned the chair around to face Nathan. The bastard had an obvious hard-on too, but he’d been getting off at least once a day.

  Sam squeezed it, but he wanted it in his mouth.

  “You want to suck my cock?” Nathan asked huskily.

  “Yeah.” Sucking Nathan’s dick was pretty much the best thing in life. Sam loved it—the musky taste, the salty precome coating his tongue. He got down on his knees. His heart fluttered as Nathan unzipped his fly and pulled out his uncut cock. It stood at attention, a gleam of wetness at the tip. Sam looked up from under his eyelashes. The floor was hard, but he didn’t mind the discomfort. “May I taste you, sir?”

  Nathan ran his hands through Sam’s hair and drew him closer. “You may. And since you’ve been such a good boy and you’ve asked so nicely, you get to suck me however you want and swallow all my come.”

  Sam’s cock twitched in his jeans as he leaned
forward to swipe the head with his tongue. It tasted almost sweet, and Sam mouthed at it, using his lips to push back the tight foreskin. Nathan held him indulgently, not putting any pressure on him to go further.

  “Mmm,” Sam said. “Tastes good.” He slipped one hand into his waistband to tuck his cock tightly against his belly. The touch made him groan, and even though he knew he was tempting fate, he left his hand there.

  “You must be so hard with my dick in your mouth. How many days since you came?”

  “Five,” Sam panted. “Five, sir.”

  “Is that the longest you’ve ever gone?”

  Sam mouthed along the length of Nathan’s cock, making it nice and wet. “Yes, sir.” Since he was at least thirteen, probably.

  “Do you think you deserve to come today?”

  “Yes. Please. Please.” Sam nuzzled at Nathan’s fly, trying to get at his balls, which were still trapped inside. The wiry hair ticked his nose. To oblige him, Nathan reached in and revealed himself, and Sam closed his eyes and ran his tongue over the tightening skin. He heard Nathan’s breath hitch.

  “Do a good job, and I’ll think about it.”

  Sam looked up to watch. Nathan closed his eyes, and his mouth fell open as Sam went to town. He used one hand to guide Nathan’s cock deep and nearly choked as he took it down to the root. Instead of rearing back, he fought his gag reflex and let his muscles work around the intrusion. He began to move slowly, bobbing his head as he held Nathan’s balls firmly in his grip. On the off slide, he swirled his tongue under the thin, suede-soft foreskin, and Nathan gasped. Sam was always envious of how sensitive he was there.

  It didn’t take much longer for Nathan’s dick to harden even further and start to pulse—and Sam swallowed every bit, loving the way Nathan shuddered and groaned as his flesh became too tender to touch.

  After one last lick to the slit, Sam sat back on his haunches with his head bowed and his hands behind his back.

  “Stand up,” Nathan ordered.

  Sam did, his stomach twisting with desire.

  “Now get your cock out.”

  Sam fumbled with the zip fly of his jeans, almost scarring himself for life in the process. His angry, dark red cock jutted from his groin. Nathan gently lifted his chin, encouraging Sam to meet his gaze. He looked sated and, Sam hoped, altruistic.

  “Kiss me,” said Nathan, leaning down to capture Sam’s mouth. “You can use your arms.”

  The kiss rocked Sam from head to toe, and he stumbled into Nathan gratefully, sliding his tongue deep into Nathan’s mouth. He clung on as Nathan stroked his cock in a slow, steady rhythm, unable to stop thrusting his hips. His balls tightened, and his belly quivered with the impending release.

  The doorbell rang.

  “Shit,” Sam panted out. He was so close he felt ready to cry with the ruined orgasm. “Please, please, please, no.”

  “Shh, it’s okay.”

  With one swift movement, Nathan sank to his knees and took Sam’s cock into his mouth. His full lips stretched, and he started sucking Sam with vigor, bringing him right back to the edge. It was a gorgeous sight. His beard made him look even more masculine and sexy as he swallowed. The doorbell rang again.

  “I… I… can’t.” He needed to come so badly.

  Nathan pulled off him with an obscene pop. “Yes you can, baby. Give it to me.” And then he was down again, ruthlessly working Sam’s erection.

  Legs trembling, Sam held Nathan’s head. He wasn’t even in control of his own movements and he couldn’t think about anything but coming. His orgasm crested and rolled over him with incredible force, shocking him with its violence. It seemed to go on forever, and Nathan sputtered as he tried to swallow it all.

  Sam collapsed half on Nathan, half on the floor as the doorbell rang a third time. He was pretty sure his bones had dissolved.

  Nathan glared at the sound and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Who the hell is here?” He stood and buttoned up his jeans with a “do not fuck with me” look on his face. Then he swooped down and planted a kiss on Sam’s forehead. “I’ll be right back.”

  Not even moving to zip himself up, Sam stared up at the ceiling as his pulse started to slow and postcoital lethargy threatened to pull him under. He closed his eyes and willed the stupid solicitor away.

  “I know I’m not supposed to get in until tomorrow” came an unfamiliar voice from the living room. “But I caught an earlier flight. Figured we could use the prep time.”

  Eric. Sam’s eyes popped open, and he tucked his softening dick into his boxer briefs and did a quick check to make sure there wasn’t any come on his jeans. Dignity restored, he found himself incredibly grateful for the wall dividing the kitchen from the living room.

  “Yeah. Well you ever hear of texting or calling first?” Nathan grumbled.

  Eric laughed. “I did, my man, but you didn’t answer. What did I do, interrupt something? You do have a well-fucked look on your face.”

  Sam rounded the corner and took in the scene.

  The guy stood around six foot two, Nathan’s height, though he probably outweighed Nathan in muscle mass. He wore a sleeveless shirt to show off sculpted, tattooed arms, and his dark hair was cropped military style. The overall effect didn’t exactly scream submissive, but Sam knew better than to typecast. He was definitely not the kind of guy you wanted to get into a bar fight with—probably why Nathan selected him as a partner in the first place. On the safety front, at least, Sam felt a little more at ease.

  “Hello there,” said Eric in a deep, drawling voice, the origin of which Sam couldn’t quite place. He extended his hand, and Sam took it, offering a firm shake. “You must be Sam. Nathan’s told me so much about you. Eric Duquesne at your service. But my best friends call me Duke.”

  Sam nodded. “Good to meet you.”

  Eric whistled. He didn’t let go of Sam’s hand right away. “I should have known it’d take a pretty thing like you to bring him ’round to the right side.” He pronounced “thing” like “thang.” When Eric’s eyes latched on to his throat, Sam realized he was looking at the collar. He flushed and pulled his hand back as a mixture of pleasure and nervousness rushed through him. It was the first time anyone else had seen it.

  “Careful, Eric,” said Nathan.

  “Understood. Understood.” Eric winked and grinned devilishly. In spite of himself, Sam smiled back. This guy was trouble. He swung down the army green rucksack off his back and dropped it on the floor, and Sam noticed a worn US Marine Corps patch on the side. “What’s a guy need to do to get a drink around these parts?”

  It was only 11:00 a.m.

  Nathan crossed his arms. “We don’t keep alcohol in the house.”

  “Ahh.” Eric seemed to get the message. “Well, I guess I’ll survive. Coffee?”

  Nathan went to grab a cup while Eric sat on the couch and stretched his long legs in front of him. He raised his arms and rested his head back against his interlaced palms. A few crisscrossed scars marred the brown skin on one of his arms, and two letters—FP—were tattooed on his bicep.

  “Nice digs,” said Eric.

  Sam followed his gaze. The apartment was furnished in a tasteful, masculine style, thanks to Nathan’s more sophisticated aesthetic. But bits and pieces of Sam had crept in over the last few month—books on new media and changing journalism practices, favorite ’80s DVDs, a crappy painting of a hot naked guy that he found at a garage sale. Nathan didn’t want to hang it at first, but Sam insisted they display it as a conversation piece. After all, he’d spent ten bucks on the thing, and it was terrible art. Generally Nathan let him do whatever he wanted. He offered to give Sam money to buy some new things, but Sam refused it. He already relied on Nathan far too much.

  It sometimes bothered Sam that he didn’t have more stuff. He lost most of his possessions in the fire, save some childhood things stored along with old family possessions in a small rental unit. He had never cared for material goods, but sometimes he wished they coul
d get a new place and start fresh as equal adults. It was a moot point, since there was no way he could afford it on his salary.

  Maybe one day, if his hard work paid off. If they were still together.

  “Thanks,” he said simply.

  “So, how long have you two known each other?” Eric gave him another appreciative up-and-down, and Sam finally placed his accent. Louisiana Creole.

  “A while, but we’ve only been together a little over a year,” Sam said. “I used to do landscaping for Nathan and Emma.”

  “You don’t say? Damn shame what happened to that gal. She was a real sweetheart.”

  “Yeah. She was.” Sam glanced toward the kitchen. He didn’t want Nathan to overhear them talking about Emma, but Eric seemed happy to change the topic on his own.

  “Gotta say it’s strange being up north again. But it’ll be good to work with Nate.”

  Sam smiled tightly. Maybe they should talk about the weather. “How long have you known Nathan?”

  Nathan reentered the room with the coffee and a glass of water, and Eric leaned forward and took both drinks with a smile.

  “Thanks, bud.” Eric raised his occupied hands and waggled his eyebrows. “Double fisting, my favorite. So you never told your boy here about how we met?”

  Nathan grimaced, obviously not fond of the story.

  “Well, I’ll tell you—first time I met Nate at the academy, he’d never even fired a gun. When was that now? Eleven years ago? I was a new recruit too, but I’d been through hell and half of Georgia already. This guy, he was so proper, almost like royalty. We thought there was something huge lodged up his ass—”

  Nathan raised one mildly irritated eyebrow. “Ah, come off it, Eric. I wasn’t that bad.”

  Sam was still trying to process the information. “Wait a second. You trained together?”

  “Yep.” Eric polished off the glass of water with a few large gulps. “Soon as I left the corps, the Feds swept me up. Been with ’em ever since.”

  The conversation continued, and Sam learned about a Nathan he’d never known. Eric was filled with stories about the academy—including pranks the new agent trainees used to play on one another, like stealing each other’s clothes during shower time.