A Matter of Time 07 - Parting Shot (MM) (12 page)

“Detective Stiel.”

I turned to find a vintage Lincoln Town car parked across the street on the opposite curb. There was a man there, leaning against it. It was gorgeous, the car; definitely someone’s baby. It was in mint condition.

“Yes?” I called over to him, wary because the driver was not small. He was my age, maybe even a little older, but he was massive in comparison. Another huge red flag was using my name and me having no clue who he was.

“My boss would like a word.”

“And who’s that?” I didn’t panic or reach for my phone or my gun. I was waiting to see if he was an actual threat or not.

“Mr. Sutter.” He gave me a trace of warm eyes with crinkling laugh lines around them. “He’s upstairs in your loft.”

It was the best news I’d heard all night. Max Sutter had come to me. Now that Nick was out, I would need to convince the younger Sutter to help me. And yes, he’d have to pretend he was sleeping with me, but I was hoping he would be willing to try and pull that off for the greater good and to avenge his old friend.

“Thank you,” I acknowledged the driver before vaulting up the steps and going inside. I was surprised to see the man get in the Lincoln and pull away.

Upstairs in my loft, I made sure to announce myself when I walked in, calling for Max as I shut the door behind me and locked it. “Must be nice to be rich,” I snickered, hanging up my topcoat, then the suit jacket underneath, before loosening my tie. “People just let you—Max!”

He came up from behind and drove me face-first into the living room wall.

“What the hell are you—”

“Not Max, you stupid ass.”

Aaron.

And Aaron apparently in great need, as evidenced by the hard groin shoved against my ass, the hands tearing at my clothes, and the knee wedged between my thighs.

“Get off me,” I ordered weakly.

“Fuck no.”

He sounded frustrated and mad and, God, it was sexy.

I flattened my hands on the exposed brick and dropped my head forward, struggling to stay still and not turn and ravage him. He tugged my shirt out of my pants and lifted it, and the T-shirt underneath, up between my shoulder blades.

“What are you—Aaron,” I croaked out, because his mouth was on my skin, open and wet, sucking, tasting and kissing, and it was all I could do not to beg him for anything and everything all at the same time.

“I want you,” he said flatly, his front pressed all along my back, arms suddenly tight around my abdomen, lips at the nape of my neck. “And I know you want me.”

“Oh yes,” I agreed, my cock already painfully hard even before his hands slid down my stomach, dropping lower to my belt buckle. His intent was deliberate, and everything was unzipped and loosened, the whole works shoved to my ankles at once.

When one strong, long-fingered hand wrapped around my shaft, I jerked back against him, shuddering just from the feel of him, of the possessiveness and dominance. “Hurry.”

“Who have you slept with since me?”

It would sound like I had been waiting, but I couldn’t help that. “No one.”

“No one?” he repeated, stroking my leaking dick with his right hand, the other lifting up under my shirt to my nipple. When he pulled first gently, then harder, rolling my sensitive skin between his fingers, I let my head fall back onto his shoulder. “In four months?”

“No. Can’t you tell?” I ground out; because just the reaction, the welling lust and need, should have told him I was telling the truth.

“I can,” he assured me, his teeth tracing down the cord on the side of my neck, making my knees wobble. “And so you know—no one else for me either.”

I cricked my head to look him in the eye. “That says something, doesn’t it?”

“It says everything,” he promised, pulling back, letting me go.

I spun and had my back against the wall I’d clung to, abrading my shirt, not caring that it snagged.

We stood there, staring at each other.

“What the fuck was Nick McCall doing in front of your place?”

“It’s about work.”

He was furious with me, and it was there on his face, the anger and jealousy.

“I wasn’t gonna fuck him.”

“No?” he challenged, advancing on me, brows furrowed, jaw clenched.

“I put him in the cab. Weren’t you watching?”

“I was watching,” he said, staring at me with raw, wounded eyes.

It hurt to see him like that, vulnerable and aching, simmering with rage, all at the same time. I wouldn’t let him stand there alone, and so reached for him.

He lunged at me, and I realized he was not going to let his rage go, wasn’t going to just melt into my arms, so I twisted my head away. This was not the Aaron I remembered—instead a cold, angry lover.

The growl that came out of him was full of frustration as he caught my jaw, his teeth grazing my skin. “Duncan!”

I didn’t look at him, and when he moved to the other side, wanting my mouth, I tipped my head away again.

“Kiss me!” The demand was aggravated and desperate and sounded like fear to me.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I soothed him, though still refusing to meet his gaze.

“Duncan!”

His voice shook and I saw that I was right. He was terrified.

“Look at me!”

When I did, he leaned in and his teeth closed on my bottom lip. He bit down, the guttural snarl not from the gentle man I knew. Our time apart, that had left me feeling unsettled and ungrounded, had done something darker to Aaron, and now he was frantic to reclaim it.

Everything about him was spoiling for a fight, and it was my place to soothe away the uncertainty in his head that I could hear and see. Wrapping him up tight, I used strength I had never shown him before and crushed him tight to my chest.

“Duncan!”

“Stop,” I whispered, bending to kiss him.

“Let go.”

“That’s what you really want?”

With his arms pinned to his sides, all he could do was tip his head up and meet my gaze.

“Aaron?”

Eyes rimmed in red were locked on mine.

“It’s okay,” I gentled him, grinning as I tipped my head to seal my lips down over his.

He pushed up, his tongue sliding into my mouth, and I met him eagerly, deepening the kiss so I could taste him.

The first led to another and another, and then he shuddered and I lifted back just enough, my lips still hovering over his. “Let it go.”

He exhaled softly, and I released his arms, smiling as he coiled them around my neck. “You think you know me so well.”

“Yeah,” I growled, rubbing down his sides, to the small of his back, and finally grabbed hold of his beautiful, round ass. When I squeezed tight, he arched into my touch. “I do.”

He nuzzled his face into the side of my neck, and then his tongue ran behind my ear and it was my turn to shiver for him. “I know you too.”

It wasn’t supposed to happen like that, that fast, that hard. No one fell like that. I didn’t believe in love at first sight, first fuck, or first anything. So why did I feel like Aaron Sutter had just been walking around waiting for me his whole life?

“Aaron, just let me have—”

“Shhh,” he quieted me, untangling himself before dropping to his knees.

“You don’t—fuck.”

My cock was not small; a lot of guys gagged giving me head, but not Aaron. He opened his throat and took me in, swallowing my length, sucking, laving, his face buried in my groin.

My fingers threaded through his thick dirty-blond hair—darker than mine, golder. I was pale in comparison to the bronze of his skin, all of me not the rich color he was. The contrasts between us were beautiful, and I noticed and relished them, savoring the feel of his mouth, his skin, and how I controlled him as he sucked my dick.

He traced over the muscles in my thighs, rising higher until his hands were on my ass, squeezing tight.

“Aaron,” I huffed, forcing his head back, breaking the suction so I could gaze down into his eyes. “I wanna do this in my bed. I’ve been hoping.” And I had, along with waiting. It was why there had been nobody else. I wasn’t ready to give up on the idea of him and me, no matter what I said out loud.

“I thought of you too much,” he confessed.

The weight of passion on him was beautiful to see. His blown pupils, flushed cheeks, swollen red lips, and rasping breath sent a jaw-clenching shiver through me.

“I don’t wanna do this next to the refrigerator.”

“I just want you, the where hardly matters.”

“It matters to me,” I said, hauling him to his feet, hands under his armpits, yanking my pants up and bumping him as I walked by. “Follow me.”

He did as ordered, and when we reached my bedroom, I rounded on him and shoved him back into the wall.

“What do you want?”

“What can I have?”

“Anything,” he promised, his eyes locked on mine.

“Get the lube,” I directed. Heart pounding, skin hot, I wanted him all over me, because I felt like I was going to fly apart if he wasn’t.

He was silent, moving where I pointed, going to the nightstand and retrieving the bottle as he yanked at his clothes with one hand.

The second he was within reach, I grabbed him and pulled him forward, going to work on his shirt, getting the buttons, and undoing them fast.

He leaned as if he was drunk, rubbed his nose along mine and then under my jaw. His hands were on my hips, fingers following the line of my pelvis, licking my collarbone even as I heard the pop of the cap.

“No condom.”

“No,” I agreed. I didn’t plan on there ever being anyone else. And it was stupid romantic bullshit, but I felt it in my heart, and I could barely stand it.

Slick fingers slid between my cheeks, two at once, no gentle opening but instead the immediate press inside. The familiar burn and the sound that came out of me—pleading, begging—was, but wasn’t, me. It was strange because before the man putting bite marks all over my skin came into my life, I had never sounded like that. I had no idea I would want to submit so often. With the nameless twinks in the bars, I only topped. And when I had been with Nate, I had fought to fuck, not be fucked. But Aaron inside me, moving, filling, stretching, was something I would beg for.

“What do you want?”

I scrambled away from him and gasped when his fingers were gone, spun, and braced my hands on the wall, bending forward, the invitation clear.

“I thought fucking in bed was what you wanted?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me,” he said, hand around the back of my neck, guiding me to the bed. “You need to see that I—” He wiped his other hand on his leg, the lube stain glistening. “You’re not simply some trick, and I’m not leaving after.”

My heart hurt looking at him.

“Come here,” he said gently, drawing me forward, pulling my shirt and T-shirt up over my head and off.

“My feet—” I chuckled because they were still caught in my pants.

His smile was warm, loving. “Get on the bed, Stiel.”

I went face-first down onto it and pulled off my shoes and socks before he unbunched the slacks gathered around my ankles. “Just fuck me.”

“No,” he growled, and I vibrated under him when he kissed along my spine, sucking the skin inside his mouth, his hands reassuring and tender as he stroked over my sides. He was soothing all the fight out of me, the tension, and the worry.

I lifted to my hands and knees, arching my back for him.

“You have to stop,” he warned me, hands on my hips, holding tight. “You’re way too much of a temptation, and I want to go slow and show you I’m serious in this, and I don’t care what anyone—”

“Tell me later, fuck me now.”

Instantly, he was reaching for the lube he’d dropped on the bed, and then his hands were on my ass, grabbing me roughly, spreading my cheeks before his cock pressed against me. “Duncan,” he said, his voice low and husky. “I have things to say after.”

“Yes. After.”

His breath caught, and it was nice that I was doing that to him, and then the push, the breach, left me the same way, holding, not moving, frozen there on the bed, feeling him, thick and hot, inside me.

Sex isn’t supposed to fix anything. It’s an act, a primal one. There’s no emotion tied to it, and I had always been able to separate it.

“Fuck,” Aaron moaned as he pulled out only to drive back in, harder, faster, the lube allowing for the slide but not lessening the pressure, the clenching of my muscles around him. His hips against my ass, his thighs pressed to mine, his hands digging into my shoulders as he held on, all of it so needed and craved, I knew whatever he wanted or asked, I would do. “You should see your hole stretch around my cock, baby,” he groaned. “It’s so beautiful.”

The words,
his
words. No one else’s had ever mattered in bed, but his flushed me with prickly heat as my balls tightened, the first throb of orgasm rippling through me.

“Duncan,” he uttered; his hand slid between my shoulder blades, pressing me down, his cock grazing my prostate with the new angle as I fisted my hands in the blankets. The pounding was endless; he pistoned relentlessly, and I could hear him panting, rough and hoarse. “I don’t want anyone else to see you like this,” he almost snarled. “Just thinking about it… swear!”

I had to think? He wanted me to form words and make promises?

“It would kill me,” he let slip, taking hold of my cock at the same instant.

It was too soon, too fast, but I had been dreaming about him, missing him, wanting him, and trying to be rational about moving on and practical about the reasons. But always, in my heart, there’d been hope because I couldn’t let go of Aaron Sutter. And now, he was there, in my bed, with me, saying the best things, making promises because he felt all the same things I did. He was my reward for living and not giving up and holding out for what was real.

Heart, head, and body all aligned––finally––at once. He annihilated me.

I spurted into his hand seconds later, my body giving me no warning, just the rush of euphoria, the release, my world washing white for a moment, the pleasure too much not to shout his name through.

I came apart.

“Duncan!” he cried out and then emptied inside me; my muscles spasming around him as he kept up his hammering rhythm, not stopping, wanting it to last.