A Matter of Time 07 - Parting Shot (MM) (13 page)

“Here,” I soothed him, dropping down onto the bed, carrying him with me, his weight driving him deep again. He didn’t move, just stayed there, buried to the balls in my ass, covering me, and I was still under him, sated, lying in my own come.

“You’re all used up,” he said before he kissed my shoulder.

“Yeah, it’s good.”

“I’m crushing you.”

I snorted out a laugh. “I’m bigger than you; no way you’re crushing me.”

Slowly, carefully, he eased from my body and then slid sideways, thigh still draped over my ass, hand in my hair, as I rolled my head to look at him. The softness in his eyes was like a punch in the gut. I couldn’t dance around it. I wanted to keep him.

“Oh man.” He grinned, taking hold of a corner of the flat sheet and wiping come off my abdomen. “That should not be so ridiculously hot.”

I waggled my eyebrows, as he laughed and yanked the sheet up, untucking enough so he could wad up a portion and cover the wet spot.

“Thanks,” I teased, leaning forward to kiss him.

His hand went around the back of my neck as he guided me to him, our lips locking together, melding, each inhaling the other in the frantic dance of reconnection. It was ravenous and sweet and building, but suddenly he jolted back leaving me gasping for breath.

“What?”

His hand was on my right wrist and he rolled it so the long scar was visible up my forearm. “This is new.”

“Yeah,” I agreed before trying to kiss him again.

He tipped his head away. “Why is there a scar?”

“I want to kiss you.”

“I want an answer.”

My sigh was loud. “They had to put pins in it because after it was broken I was cuffed in a stress-position instead of just a normal one so the angle jacked up how the bones lined up and––”

“Okay,” he cut me off, letting me go before tracing over the scar on my left shoulder.

I grinned. “Why’d you ask me if you didn’t want to––”

“This is a bit close to your heart.”

He was definitely preoccupied with my injuries. “But it wasn’t and I didn’t die, so can we drop it?”

“You could have died.”

“But I didn’t so could––Aaron!” The yell was caused by the pouncing, by having him all over me, pinning me under him on the bed, wrists over my head, held down tight.

“Could have lost you,” he murmured against my mouth before he claimed it, kissing me hard and deep.

All his longing, worry and pain were translated into heat and need as he mauled me, biting, tugging on my bottom lip, sucking and rubbing his tongue over mine.

His hands moved to my face and he held me immobile as he feasted. I lifted one of mine to the small of his back, the other closing around his thickening cock.

“Duncan,” he gasped. “Please.”

Grabbing him, I rolled us both over so that our positions were switched with him on his back. “Aaron.”

He shivered, and I reached for the lube and slicked my cock before sliding a slippery finger deep inside him. The way he arched up off the bed, reaching for me at the same time, made my dick leak.

“I want
you
inside,” he moaned as I added a finger, two inside, scissoring, rubbing, massaging, and then curled forward and slid over his gland.

“And I want you ready for me.”

“Always ready for you, always want you,” he rasped, almost angry. “Almost lost you and I can’t… it’s all I can feel.”

“Not anymore,” I promised, and his eyes fluttered as I added a third, a fine sheen of sweat breaking out over his neck and chest.

“Have me.”

I eased my fingers free of the grasping channel, shoved a pillow under his ass, and lifted him, grabbing his thighs and opening him wide, spreading him out in front of me.

“Duncan,” he cried as I pressed against his entrance.

He was gorgeous in his submission, out of his mind with want. He didn’t tense up when I pushed forward; his muscles sucked me in.

“You’re just massive,” he moaned but there was no pain in his voice, no complaint, simply a statement heavy with need.

I stilled even though it killed me, his muscles milking my length, spasming as they constricted.

“Take the fear away,” his voice broke.

I thrust forward, slamming into him, and his hands skidded over the smooth surface of the bed, needing something, anything, to hold onto.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I promised, leaning forward over him, and sliding my hands between his, as I slid back inside in one long smooth stroke. “And you can hold onto me.”

He held on tight, his legs wrapped around my hips as I fucked him, hammering, pounding, needing him to feel it, to know that it was me who’d used him. It was beautiful the way he bowed up under me, completely lost in the sensation of what I was doing to him.

“You feel so good,” he ground out, and the tears there, welling, ready to overflow, almost undid me.

I slammed into him, over and over, my thrusts jarring, and he accepted each like a gift and begged me to not stop, never stop.

When I fisted his cock, he went rigid under me, frozen for a second before he spurted over my hand, wrist, and his abdomen.

My orgasm wrung me out a second later, and my balls ached with the force of it. When I tried to pull free, his legs tightened so I couldn’t move.

“Aaron?” I asked gently, unlacing my fingers from his, lifting my hands away.

“Just… let me kiss you,” he said, reaching for my face.

I bent my head down, and he smiled as I kissed one palm and then the other, rubbing my stubble covered check and chin on his hands.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he sighed, grabbing hold of my thick, coarse hair and tugging. “I wanna kiss you all over.”

He started with my eyes and I chuckled as I held myself braced above him.

“Lay down on me, I won’t break.”

“You must want me out of––”

“No,” he cut me off, easing me close, my face in the side of his neck. “I want you,” he murmured into my sweat-dampened hair.

I would have rolled free but he wanted me on him, crushing him, pressing, sliding together. He wanted to be wrapped around me like a second skin, wanted to somehow push inside me and live there. I wasn’t strong enough to say no to something I wanted just as badly.

When I finally slid from his body and propped over on my side, facing him, he moved fast, snuggling into my shoulder.

“What happened with your dad?” I asked because I wanted to know.

“He lost,” he said, raking his fingers through my hair, pushing it out of my face. “But he’s got a son from one of his wives; I can’t keep track of them.”

“Prentiss.”

“Oh yeah,” he said, grinning, running his thumb over my eyebrow. “Maxie told you about that, huh?”

“He did.”

“Well, so he thinks he’s going to start the whole thing up all over again, but the chairman of my board already instructed me not to concern myself. I’m in, I make money, and they know me, trust me. It’s done.”

“But what about the gay part?”

He cleared his throat. “I need to get married.”

It took me a second. “I’m sorry, what?”

“It’s weird,” he said, cuddling closer. “I have just recently found out my board is extremely progressive and fiercely traditional both at the same time.”

“How are they managing to do that?”

“By strongly recommending—and when I say that, think twisting my arm—that I get married right away.”

“To a woman?”

“No,” he clarified, his smirk just decadent. “To a man.”

My mouth dropped open.

“I know. Turns out I can be gay. That’s okay with them—they can work with that. Indecisiveness shows weakness, and that they can’t have. Unsettled playboy doesn’t play well to the board or to the investors.”

My mouth closed as I stared.

“Me, sleeping around, being seen as a playboy, that’s bad for business. I need to be settled. They want me settled. They need me to grow up, have a home, and share it with someone. They want to see the same person come to events with me, stand at my side, and be accountable for me and to me. They want to know I won’t just jet off to Paris on a whim, not because I can’t but because I’m expected for dinner.”

“They want to see you all domestic.”

“Basically, yes.”

I took a steadying breath. “You can tell them to fuck off, it’s your life.”

He nodded slowly. “I could. Luke Levin, the chairman of my board—”

“Luke Levin?”

“Yeah?”

“That’s the name of a chairman of a board?”

“Yes. Why?”

“I dunno. I just imagined chairmen of the board having names like Reginald or Buckley.”

He laughed.

“What? Levin—I had a buddy named Levin in high school. What is that, Jewish?”

He laughed harder. “He can’t be Jewish?”

“You know what I mean!”

He fell back and laughed until tears rolled down his cheeks.

After shoving him off the bed, I heard a thump and more laughing. The man was insane. I got up to head into the bathroom, scowling as I walked by, and was under the water minutes later. It felt good, the heat on my skin, and even better when I heard the snick of the glass door being opened and closed.

“So Levin,” I said, picking up the conversation. “He wants you to get married.”

“Yes, he does,” Aaron said, unhooking my removable shower head and pushing me into the wall.

“What’re you doing?”

“Just shut up and take it.”

I leaned my forehead on the cool tile, widened my stance when he directed me, and enjoyed his free hand sliding over my flank. “Aaron,” I gasped.

“We need to talk.”

“We are talking.”

“No, I mean really talk, about everything.”

Christ. I couldn’t think of anything worse than that. “Really? We have to?”

“I’m not like this,” he said, kissing the back of my neck, as the hot shower spray ran down the crease of my ass.

“Not like what?”

He spread my cheeks and the water bathed my tender opening. I shivered at the sensation.

“Feel good?”

I grunted.

“Don’t move.”

I stayed where I was and heard him bumping around in the stall, opening shower gel, and then the mesh sponge was gliding over my back, down over my ass, and between my legs. He took his time washing me, making sure he missed nothing, and then did my hair, massaging my scalp until I put my head down on his shoulder.

“Let me rinse you off and we’ll go get some dinner.”

I lifted up to look in his eyes. “I actually need to talk to your brother.”

He shook his head. “No.”

“I—”

“Just let me get this soap off you.”

I closed my eyes and put my head back as he combed his fingers through my hair.

“Okay, you’re good,” he rumbled, kissing my throat. “Now get out so I can shower. You smell all clean and I smell like sweat and come.”

“I’m not complaining,” I said, my eyes drifting open. “And I should return the favor and bathe you.”

“I’m not the one who never gets any tenderness thrown his way, Detective. It should always be me taking care of you.”

“That doesn’t seem fair.”

“It is. Believe me it is.”

I found myself frozen there, unable to leave him.

“What’s with the look?”

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” I was checking.

“No, Duncan, you never hurt me.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” he sighed. “Now go already.”

I got out, dried off, ran product through my hair, put on lotion because otherwise my skin got really dry, had to hunt a minute for the deodorant because it wasn’t where it was supposed to be, and left the bathroom for my bedroom.

“You need to loan me some underwear!” he shouted.

And it should not have been hot that he was going to put on a pair of my briefs, but just the thought of it made me hard.

“Or I can just go commando!”

In a two thousand dollar suit, now that was practical. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed my phone, which I had forgotten to plug into the charger––like I was going to think of that when being mauled by Aaron––was now plugged in. He must have done it when I first got in the shower. When I checked, a call had come in, which meant he’d answered it, seen that the battery was about dead, and had hunted around to try and help me out. That part was thoughtful; the privacy part was odd.

I had on jeans and a pale-gray henley, and I was threading my belt when Aaron came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my chest. “Your skivvies are on the bed,” I let him know, twisting my head so he could reach my mouth. “But they’re just a loan. I want ’em back.”

The noise he made was a purr and moan mixed up together before his lips slid over mine. I opened for him, shifting in his arms to face him, and took his face in my hands.

Kissing the man was a religious experience. He tasted so good and I wanted more, I wanted to devour him, but my brain kicked in and I shoved him off me.

“What?” he panted.

“My phone.” I swallowed. “Who called?”

“Nick,” he coughed out, reaching for the briefs. “Your phone rang when you went into the shower, and it was him.”

“And?”

“And I made it clear he couldn’t come back over here, that he wasn’t welcome.”

“You don’t even know what I needed to talk to him about.”

“It doesn’t matter. Whatever you wanted him for, I’ll take care of it.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“Again, whatever it is, if it involves you, it’s my business, nobody else’s.”

“You just went ahead and answered my phone?” I put him on the spot, getting to the heart of the matter.

“Yes.”

“You didn’t think that was an invasion of my privacy?”

“Yeah, maybe,” he agreed. “But there was no caller ID, so I had to see who it was.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“I don’t,” I pressed even though I sort of did, or hoped I did.

“Because I don’t want you to date,” he snapped, obviously annoyed.

“I’m not dating anybody,” I fired back, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. “And I wanted to talk to Nick about work.”

“Yeah, I got that.”

“I need either him or Max to be my cover.”

“I have no idea what that means.” He exhaled sharply. “But I’ll do it instead.”