“Says so on my driver’s license.” Lucky summoned his best good-ole-boy grin. Walter hid Lucky’s tracks well, but if
one searched hard enough and spoke with the right loose-lipped people, there’s no telling what they might find. O’Donoghue had to sign
a non-disclosure agreement to work with the SNB. No matter what he uncovered, he couldn’t share his knowledge with the outside world.
“You’ve got ex-con written all over you.”
Don’t let him see you sweat.
Lucky barely stopped an angry comeback, toning his reply down to, “If you don’t like what you see, nobody’s paying you to
look.”
“Actually, they are.” The bastard raised his Styrofoam coffee cup and gestured toward Walter, chatting with Bo on the far side of the
room. O’Donoghue placed his mouth near Lucky’s ear. Every bit of the Bronx accent disappeared from his voice. “These
guys,” he motioned with the cup again, this time encompassing the entire room and nearly sloshing the contents onto Lucky’s shirt,
“can learn in a classroom, and out of a dozen people, a couple might be passable, another might make the grade to good. You, on the other hand,
have advantages they don’t have.”
Okay, time to play along with the crazy man. “Like what?”
“While they memorize lines and can answer as long as the right questions are asked, their college degrees mean dick when stacked against knowing
what’s on the menu at the Durham Correctional Center every Thursday night. They’re sheep in wolves’ clothing. No matter how
well they wear the disguise, they’re still sheep. You, my friend,
are
the wolf. And I mean that as a compliment, providing you stay on our
side.”
Was that a warning? The arrogant little asshole strolled off, calling out to the members of the class in his fake, late-night cop show accent.
Meatloaf. On Thursday nights the Durham Correctional Center served meatloaf, with mashed potatoes, corn, and baked apples.
***
“Next scenario,” O’Donoghue began. “Most of you deal exclusively with narcotics, but bear with me. The ability to
function while undercover takes on many forms, and you never know what role you might be called upon to play. We’re doing a vice sting, and
you’re the bait. Ms. Johnson?”
“Man, please!” the woman exclaimed. “Ain’t nobody gonna pay for this!” She waved a hand to indicate a
body built to bench press Mazdas. Chances were she’d give Lucky a run for his money in the boxing ring.
A half-smile chipped away at the teacher’s serious demeanor. “Humor me.”
The woman rose and positioned herself in an exaggerated pose laced with blatant innuendo. “Come hither, darlin’,” she taunted
Phillip, pooching out bright red lips to blow him a kiss. A couple of titters escaped the other agents.
Phillip, so soon out of college that the scent of day old pizza and beer still followed him around, approached her, a folded bill in his hand.
“What’ll twenty dollars get me?”
“Twenty dollars? For twenty dollars I’ll give you directions to the nearest ATM and you can take your cheap ass on down there and get
more money.” Johnson glared down at Phillip with all the affection typically reserved for palmetto bugs.
What style!
“Very convincing, Ms. Johnson. Next?” The teacher gestured to a student who’d bombed out on the previous day’s
exercise. “Now remember, the point of the operation is to get the client to name an act and a price, which equals solicitation. Intent to commit
a crime has to be established. And while entrapment charges rarely make it to court, they’re inconvenient, costly, embarrassing to the
department, and should be avoided. This isn’t like a drug deal. Here, the perpetrator has to call the shots.”
The young man, with computer geek practically stamped on his forehead and a
Who, me?
vibe, stepped up. He took his place, far too rigid to play a
convincing hustler. Phillip approached with a leer. Even from the back row, Lucky didn’t miss the bait’s flinch when Phillip touched
him.
“That’ll never do, Mr. Bernacky. You’re supposed to be a hustler. You make your living selling your body.”
O’Donoghue folded his arms over his chest, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “But if you slip up and you do flinch, how would
you play it off?” A blank stare answered him. “Mr. Schollenberger?”
“Yes, sir?’
“Care to show us how to play off an involuntary flinch?”
After a quick glance Lucky’s way, instead of sauntering like he’d done before, Bo sashayed across the room, hips swaying, right up into
Phillip’s personal space. Once more Phillip reached out a hand and Bo faked a flinch, neatly spinning the recoil into a haughty hands-off
maneuver. “Baby, even a touch ain’t free,” he said, in a voice dredged in innuendo and deep fried in pure sex.
The teacher clapped, letting out a wolf whistle. “Bravo! Now, Mr. Harrison, if you’d indulge us, please?” A nudge from Walter
got Lucky moving toward the front of the classroom.
Walter owes me a grande from Starbucks for this. Possibly two.
Lucky leaned against the wall, toning down his “come near me and die” telepathic messages.
Phillip approached, a twenty folded between his fingers. “Twenty bucks for a blowjob?”
“Twenty won’t even get your zipper down,” Lucky smoothly replied.
“Thirty?”
“Guess again.”
“Fifty?”
Lucky grabbed Phillip by both arms, snugging him up close. “It’ll get you a whole lot more than you bargained for.”
Phillip’s audible gulp made sweet music for Lucky’s ears.
“Folks, it’s all in the attitude. And while Mr. Harrison is implying a lot, he hasn’t really offered anything.” The
teacher’s droning faded into background noise the moment Lucky locked gazes with Bo from across the classroom. Fire danced between them. Bo
glanced away first, promises for later staining his cheeks crimson.
***
“What’ll this get me?” Lucky dragged a twenty along Bo’s cheek, lips close enough to waft a breath onto the
pretend-hooker’s ear. Bo shivered. Lucky grinned.
“I believe you have to name the terms of the agreement. Otherwise, it’s entrapment,” Bo replied.
“Not necessarily. Willingness to commit a crime is established. Besides, you heard O’Donoghue. Few entrapment claims hold up in
court.” Oh shit. Now Lucky sounded like a textbook. Maybe some of Bo’s geekiness rubbed off. Not that Lucky wouldn’t like to
return the favor and rub off on Bo.
“We’re in drug enforcement, not vice. Why are we even rehearsing this?” Bo let out a weary sounding huff and crossed his arms
across his chest, making his biceps bulge. Oh yeah, in the real world, Lucky would definitely add a few more twenties.
“Work with me here. Our homework is to write a script to work on actual cases.”
A hum from the refrigerator provided a distraction. “Lucky?”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t think I’ll ever be propositioned in your kitchen by anyone I want to arrest.”
“You got a better idea?”
It started slowly, a twitch at the corner of Bo’s mouth that grew and blossomed into a full-fledged grin. “Oh, yeah. And a few
surprises up my sleeve too. Give me an hour, then meet me in the alley behind Spencer’s bar.”
***
Darkness and shadows, the perfect concealment for mischief in the making. A group of teens huddled together on a street corner, plotting how to get into
juvenile detention, no doubt. “Don’t you kids have a curfew?” Lucky growled in passing, tuning out their clumsy comebacks. No
matter what they said, he’d heard it before. He turned up the collar of his jacket and rammed his hands into the pockets. If things didn’t
turn out quite like he hoped tonight, he might be calling his boss to get him out of jail. Would Walter buy the excuse of homework?
The teens’ laughter and taunting faded with each footstep, replaced by the thrum of a bass guitar and the rat-tat-tat of drums from the bar,
slightly off-tempo. Amateur night, by the sounds of it. Extremely amateur. Lucky rounded the next corner into a concealed alleyway, the neon of the
Spencer’s Bar sign casting a rainbow glow. A dead end. Not good. And two doors opening on either side. A perfect ambush spot. Or a good place to
hide.
Shuffling footsteps and a quiet “Uh-hmm” brought him back to the here and now. Oh yeah. The reason he braved a cold night without a
proper jacket waited ahead. A shadowy figure leaned against a wall at the back of the alley, eyes glittering in the low light. A streetlight illuminated
the fog of breath the man exhaled.
Fuck me!
Lucky froze. Damn but he’d dreamed something like this before. Tousled hair, a come-out-and-play-I-know-you-want-to smile. A pair of tight jeans
emphasized a bulging crotch, and the man turned to allow Lucky a peek at a perfectly shaped ass. A denim jacket gaped open in front to reveal a bare chest,
sparsely covered in a dusting of dark hair. The glimmer of a wallet chain led from belt to hip pocket.
I’m hot and I know it
radiated from
the tip of the man’s gelled-up hair to the soles of his boots.
Holy fuck!
Lucky’s cock began to fill.
Unable to resist, he ran his fingers through the enticing wisps of chest hair. The man flinched back, biting down on a laugh. “Cold!”
he complained.
“I’ll keep you warm,” Lucky replied, stepping close enough to share some body heat. Oh, yeah, he’d light a fire to
warm them both for days.
“It’ll cost you.” Bo reclined back against a brick wall, grin gleaming in the semi-darkness. Oh fuck, yeah.
Lucky reached down to rearrange his highly interested cock. “How much?”
“Depends on what you want.” Bo ran a hand under his open jacket and slid it slowly down his body.
“What’re you offering?”
“Everything.” The barest tips of Bo’s fingers dipped under his waistband.
“What’s everything?” And did it involve getting naked in a filthy alley?
“You know. Ev-er-y-thiiiiing.” Bo plunged his hand into jeans so tight it was a wonder anything besides the man’s ample
package fit.
Two could play that game. Lucky leaned in and wafted a breath across Bo’s jaw. “No, I don’t know. Why don’t you
tell me?” A tongue flick elicited a gasp. Lucky grabbed Bo’s wrist and forcibly removed the hand from his jeans, then palmed the
fascinating, denim-covered firmness he found there. Oh yeah, the little hellcat enjoyed this too.
Undercover Cop and the Rent Boy
became
Lucky’s new favorite fantasy.
“Tell me what you want,” Bo murmured.
“Tell me what you’re offering.” Lucky latched his mouth onto Bo’s exposed throat. Bo tilted his head back in
encouragement, pulse throbbing against Lucky’s tongue.
Bo’s inhibitions vanished with a moan, and he thrust up against Lucky’s hand. Their mouths met in a clash of teeth and a whirl of
tongues. Bo stumbled and would have fallen if not for Lucky holding on tight.
A recessed doorway offered the perfect concealment and, knowing what kind of clientele Spencer’s catered to, they probably weren’t the
first to make use of the privacy.
Lucky shoved Bo into the depression face first, plastering himself to a denim-covered back. “I want to be buried to the balls inside you, feel
your heat around my dick.” Lucky pressed tighter, giving Bo a feel of hardness. “I want to hear you moan, want you to buck against me,
to be as desperate for me as I am for you.” He rose on his toes, ramming himself more firmly against Bo’s amazing rounded ass, and
snaked a hand around front to run up and down the solid length trapped inside skin-tight jeans. “I want to take you in my hand, stroke you, feel
your muscles straining. I want to pound into you so hard you beg me for release. And when I’m good and damned ready, I’ll give you what
you need.” A quick nip and sucking Bo’s earlobe into his mouth earned a whimper. Sweet. “What do you say?”
In answer, Bo rubbed back against Lucky’s erection, teasing and then pulling away. The jeans cradled his ass perfectly, accentuating the rounded
mounds. Oh, damn. To have him naked. Here in an alley.
“I say, ‘that’ll cost you two hundred bucks,’” Bo’s cheeky comment earned him a swat on the
butt.
He glanced back over his shoulder, catching Lucky’s gaze. They both froze, the game ending and the
real
beginning.
The cold no longer mattered. Lucky fumbled with the zipper on Bo’s jeans.
Bo’s hands joined Lucky’s in sliding denim down his legs. Lucky groaned, clutching the sweet flesh of Bo’s ass in his hands.
His heart pounded from an odd mixture of excitement and fear of discovery. He dropped to his knees on the filthy ground and pressed his tongue against
Bo’s hole, adding a wetted finger. They both moaned when the digit breeched defenses far more easily than anticipated, gliding into an already
stretched and lubed passage. Oh fucking hell. The little minx came ready. Lucky visualized Bo’s preparations, the dildo he kept in his
nightstand, imagined him slicking up and thrusting the plastic phallus inside.
Nope. Gotta stop thinking like that or I’ll never last.
“Do you like it like this? Out here where anyone can find us?” Lucky asked, resting his face against the swell of Bo’s
glutes, more to distract himself from impending climax than to role-play at this point. One touch. Just one touch from Bo’s hand and
he’d blow like a horny teen.
I’m going to fuck him, right here in this alley, where anyone could step out of the bar and find us.
Damn, how Lucky’s cock
throbbed. He worked a finger in and out of Bo, thrusting in to massage his gland.
A breathy “Yes” answered. The pounding beat from the bar nearly drowned the word.
Lucky ran his free hand under Bo jacket to tweak a nipple. “Right now you’re exposed to me, open. I can take whatever I want. Do you
like being totally at my mercy?” He lightly bit one of Bo’s full cheeks.
Again a garbled “Yes” reached his ears.
“That’s right, I’m paying, and you’re mine to do whatever the hell I wanna do.” Lucky rose and punctuated
the words with some hip-thrust action.
“Yesssssss.” Bo arched his back a little deeper, his ass offered up like a gift.
“Do you know—”
“Lucky?”