Bound to Break: Men of Honor, Book 6 (3 page)

“You need another drink?” Dash asked him.

He was intoxicated from the whiskey, its effects furthered by Dash’s efforts. He lost himself in the rhythm of Dash’s hand, his body shuddering. “Come on, fuck me.”

But Dash kept up his maddening pace, which wasn’t anywhere near fast enough for Lucky. He pushed back against the man’s hand and Dash chuckled against his ear. “So fucking impatient. Are you always like this?”

“Haven’t had anyone this good touch me in a long time.”

“How long?”

“At least a year. So hurry up and keep changing that.”

Dash turned him back around, fast, but Lucky was ready. Wrapped a leg around Dash’s hip and let the man’s cock breach him.

Dash was taller, so it worked perfectly. Lucky lowered himself a little onto Dash’s cock so he could be filled faster, and then straightened. Stilled for a brief second after the initial pain of the intrusion and then began to rock toward Dash. “Yeah, just like that,” he told the man, and Dash smiled and watched his face as he lost himself in the pleasure haze of sex.

He didn’t even realize he was climbing Dash until he found himself hanging on for dear life to the guy, both legs wrapped around Dash. Helpless to do anything but take Dash’s thrusts, and fuck, he didn’t want this to end.

Like Dash had read his mind, he slowed down, still giving Lucky the zings of pleasure he’d craved. His fingers dug in, he was sure he was leaving nail marks in Dash’s skin.

He was also sure Dash didn’t mind at all. Because the man kissed him then, and Lucky let himself be devoured, losing himself in the rough touches and the demanding kiss. And after being suspended like that, between orgasm denial and the pleasure Lucky gained from it, Dash seemed to be the one who lost control first. Lucky watched as he pulled back and slammed his hips back and forth hard, how his neck muscles corded with tension as he forced Lucky’s orgasm, his following behind by mere seconds.

Lucky let out a long, stuttered moan, mixed with Dash’s name—was pretty sure he was yelling his ass off but he didn’t care—as his entire body lost control. His cock spurted between their bodies, Dash leaned in and bit him on the chest and that only served to make Lucky’s climax last longer. Or maybe he had more than one—he’d lost track.

When he opened his eyes, he found Dash staring at him.

“You okay?” he asked, showing no signs of either pulling out of Lucky or letting the man down.

“We have to do that again.”

Dash simply smiled, picked Lucky up easily and got them both to the couch. It was oversized, but there was some maneuvering Dash did to get them both to fit. And they did fit, because they were still connected, and Dash was still on top of him.

Lucky kept his ankles locked around Dash’s lower back, urging him deeper. There was no way Lucky would come again this soon, although he felt like he could. Dash took his hips and pulled Lucky into him. Hard. Fast. The slapping sounds filled the room, Lucky’s groans keeping pace, and Dash grimaced as he came, like the orgasm actually hurt him.

He dropped Lucky’s hips, put his hands down on either side of Lucky’s head and lowered his body slowly. Lucky ran his hands over the smooth skin of Dash’s back. A shudder went through the man at the touch, and then a soft chuckle of laughter before he raised his head.

“Hope you can breathe, because I can’t move,” he admitted.

“Been a while for you too, huh?” Lucky asked.

“Holed up in Cambodia for three months. A lot of action, but not the right kind,” Dash told him, then put his head down again.

The intoxication of the sex overtook Lucky with far greater pleasure than the drinking had. He didn’t need to breathe. He simply wanted Dash to stay like that for as long as he wanted to. And then, longer than that.

The scars Dash knew he’d find were there, all over Lucky’s back and the backs of his thighs. Lucky hadn’t seemed self-conscious about them at first. Maybe because he was drunk, but more likely because he didn’t remember how they’d been put there.

But then he’d remembered them and Dash had to distract him, gently.

He didn’t know why he was suddenly oddly protective of Lucky, but it gave credence to Lucky’s lack of memory. Dash wasn’t a man who was easily fooled. And while he hadn’t found any evidence that Nate, Uncle or Rex were involved in terrorist activities, he hadn’t been able to let it rest. Not while his gut had never let him believe that Josh Kent was dead.

Good to know he could still trust his instincts.

Now, while they both came down from the sex that had gone on for hours—and Dash wasn’t going to pretend he hadn’t wanted it—he glanced over at Lucky. The man was lying on his stomach, his cheek turned to the couch pillow, his eyes closed.

He wasn’t sleeping, but he was close to it. And his body was a mess of scars, and not just the ones on his back. The guy lived a rough life. Dash put his palm over a healed bullet hole, noted another slash across Lucky’s arm that looked like it had come from a knife. “Looks like this hurt.”

Lucky lifted his head to see where Dash was touching. Which was…odd, because getting shot wasn’t something you forgot readily. He pointed to the hole, and an odd expression crossed Lucky’s face before he said dismissively, “I had a rough childhood.”

“Rougher than most, looks like.”

Lucky looked like he was going to say something else, but he dropped his head to the pillow, burrowing against the pillow with his cheek. Finally, he said, “Can we not talk about that shit?”

“Why’s that?”

“Because we just fucking met, man. We’ve just fucked. I’ve already had a rough night—can’t I just continue to relax? Don’t I deserve that?”

Dash brushed a hand over Lucky’s cheek and grabbed a bottle of water from the side table to hand to him. “You can relax, but that doesn’t mean I’m done fucking you.”

“Yeah, I’m cool with that.” Lucky took a gulp of water and then drained the bottle. “I’m losing my buzz.”

“Can’t let that happen.” Dash grabbed the whiskey bottle from the coffee table and handed it to Lucky. Lucky took a long swig and handed it to Dash, who did the same.

“How long are you here for?” Lucky asked.

“Sick of me already?”

“Dude, it’s your place. Stay as long as you want.”

“Emme said you’ve been here for about four years.”

“Emme said you’ve been gone for six,” Lucky countered.

“Job keeps me moving.”

“I meant what I said—your pictures are great. I’d like to go to some of those places you photographed.”

“Like where?”

Lucky shrugged. “The ones of Malaysia are cool. I’d also like to travel around Africa more, but Emme keeps me working. Plus, it’s fun as shit here.”

Dash smiled, because Lucky was right about that. It would’ve been so easy for him to get stuck here, to hang out and tend bar with Emme and spend his nights drinking and fucking and inheriting the family business. Definitely not the worst thing to happen to a guy. “Emme likes having you around.”

“She talks about you all the time, you know. She misses the hell out of you.”

Dash shoved that guilt down and wondered how he’d allowed Lucky to lecture him when he was supposed to be the interrogator. Instead, he found himself saying, “It’s hard to pass up opportunities.”

“When you photograph a spot, how long do you spend there?”

“Why? You planning on taking my job?”

“Maybe.”

Dash angled himself, threw a leg over Lucky’s. “I don’t plan anything when I’m on a job. I find things work out better that way. I just show up, start getting a feel for the place. Sometimes, I don’t take pictures right away—I just hang out, getting the lay of the land. Checking the people out.”

It was exactly what he did, but for the CIA and not for the national magazines that ran his pictures. That second part was a happy accident when his cover story ended up making waves in the magazine world. At first, his supervisor had been pissed, but then he’d decided it was probably the best cover story ever.

It had worked for the past ten years. Dash got to combine something he loved with adventure and danger, which were other things he loved just as much. It was a win-win. What sucked was not being able to explain it to his family.

“So, you want to bartend for the rest of your life?” he asked Lucky, who groaned.

“Seriously? You’re going to give me the ambition speech? I’m happy as fuck.”

Dash slid off the couch and picked Lucky up. At first, he struggled, but when he realized where Dash was headed, he stopped. Dash kicked open the door to his bedroom—the first time in six years—and dumped Lucky onto his bed.

Lucky propped himself up on his elbows and looked around at the pictures lining the wall.

“You’ve really never been in here?” Dash asked.

“I don’t invade anyone’s private space.”

“Well, now I’ve invited you. Feel free to check out the pictures. But not now.”

Lucky smirked as Dash yanked him closer, bit his neck again. Leaving another mark on Lucky, like he was sixteen and couldn’t help himself. It was like he knew his time with Lucky was limited and he was trying to live a lifetime in one night.

He tried to push the fact that he didn’t want this to be for just one night into the back of his mind. Because this was supposed to be a goddamned job. And somehow, it had turned into something else altogether.

All for the job, Dash,
he tried to tell himself and even he didn’t believe his own bullshit this time.

“Do you think that that guy’s going to come back and bother you?” he asked now.

“Not sure,” Lucky mumbled. “Hope not.”

“Does that happen to you a lot?”

“No,” Lucky told him. “Guess I have a twin somewhere.”

There was no guile in his eyes, but Dash couldn’t shake the fact that Lucky knew something big was coming down the line for him.

If Lucky did have amnesia, he’d have to know he had zero memories. And he’d have to be waiting for his past to catch up with him, maybe every day of his life.

Chapter Three

Several hours later, after Lucky had passed out, Dash stared at the clock and wondered what the hell he’d been thinking. Never thought he’d be this close to anyone from this SEAL team. Now that he was, his entire mission seemed to have taken a hard shift to the right, and he was barely holding on.

He slid out of bed, dragged on his jeans and shirt and left the apartment barefoot. Nate was waiting outside the closed bar. The retired SEAL was smoking a cigarette, held the pack out to Dash, who took one, lit it and watched the smoke float around them.

Since he only allowed himself to smoke after sex, he’d practically quit. And, since he couldn’t count using his hand for sex. If he did that, he’d have a hell of a habit.

“You checked me out?” Nate asked finally. “Because if you have that kind of clearance, you’re CIA.”

Dash didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Didn’t have to.

It didn’t matter. “I came here for vacation. Can’t fucking believe I stumbled on this shit. I’ve got enough to do,” Dash told him instead.

Whether Nate believed that or not wasn’t Dash’s concern.

“I came here to surf,” Nate said. “My other former teammate—Uncle—he’s meeting me here in the morning. Was supposed to come to surf too but…”

Dash recalled reading that the two men—Uncle especially—were excellent surfers. Uncle’s injuries to his arms had made it difficult but not impossible to continue doing so. And there was a surfing competition happening here in the next week, so it was either a brilliant cover story or the truth. Dash knew from experience that sometimes those things were one and the same. “Guess this throws a wrench into those plans.”

“Little bit,” Nate agreed. “You think Josh really has amnesia?”

“I can’t be sure of anything except for the fact that he’s definitely Josh Kent.”

“I already told you that.” Nate sounded sad and disgruntled at once.

Dash also had Lucky’s fingerprints that matched those of Josh Kent—he’d sent those to his supervisor an hour before—but he didn’t tell Nate that.

He wanted to shake Lucky, to pin him to the car and ask him why the hell he’d come here, near Dash’s family. Wanted to torture the shit out of him to get him to admit what Dash wanted to hear.

Except he didn’t know what the hell it was that he wanted Lucky to say anymore, because somehow, in the space of mere hours, he’d started feeling like Lucky was innocent. And at this point, Dash’s gut feelings wouldn’t be taken into account by the Navy, so instead of blowing his mission, he simply told Nate, “Josh’s freaked out. He didn’t come out and say it, but if he can’t remember anything…”

“Yeah, I mean, if he knows enough to realize that he’s missing memories, missing everything, that’s got to be scary as hell,” Nate said.

Dash flashed to Lucky’s face and how panicked he’d gotten when Nate had confronted him. By all accounts, including Emme’s, he wasn’t violent but rather a consistently calm guy. “Time’ll tell. If he’s playing us, he’ll reveal himself sooner or later. No one’s that good.”

“Not even you?” Nate asked.