I'll Be Your Last (5 page)

Jane Leopold Quinn

climax hit him like a firestorm, hot, thick semen splattering over his belly and chest. His breath came in heavy pants, and he could smell the musky scent of his cum, like the sexiest male cologne.
God.
He wished it was Mack’s cock inside him.

He’d just close his eyes for a moment—to savor that thought.

Slowly, sleepily, he cranked one eye open. The room was dark.

How long had he slept? Then he realized his rectum still stretched around the glass and, with the slightest movement, felt his body quivering and responding again. “Son of a bitch.” Who was he cursing out? Mack or himself? Rocking his hips, he felt the fullness of the toy deep inside his ass.

He brushed his fingers over his chest, palms flat over hard, pebbled nipples. Electricity speared directly to his cock with every squeeze of the tips. He plucked at them, wishing his fingers were a wet mouth, a seeking tongue, sharp torturing teeth. He lubed his hands to massage his still-aching, rising cock. Undulating, he ground his palm onto the head, flicking fingers of the other hand over the slit, wishing Mack’s tongue speared there. He ignored his already-tender ass and drove himself to an even more intense climax than before.

“Damn it.” It was only in his head. After that little bar scene, it seemed clear Mack wasn’t going to be a reality in his life.

* * * *

Woody hoped no one noticed his wince when he heard Fred’s orders. For the past week, he’d done everything he could to avoid Mack, and it sure looked as if Mack had the same plan. This assignment wouldn’t help their situation, but he certainly couldn’t turn it down.

Stakeout.

Undercover at the flower market had not netted the police anyone who could lead them to the top drug carriers. Those were the guys who knew who ran the coke and where it was coming from. Three
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two-man cars would watch the streets leading to the flower market.

Trapped in a car for hours. Alone. With each other. Woody didn’t think his heart could take it. If he couldn’t get Mack out of his sexual fantasies, he’d have to ask for a transfer. If Mack refused to respond, that is. If he continued to push him away, ignore him, deny him, whatever, Woody couldn’t go on like this.

Lust would pass. It always did. That’s all he could ever hope to have for the man. And Woody wanted so much more for his life. A committed gay relationship was hard to master, but he believed in love. He’d been disappointed in the past, in Brad most recently, but his hopes hadn’t changed. Bar hookups were something he resorted to when he was horny as hell or needed to blow off steam, but they were an unsatisfactory solution for the rest of his life.

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Jane Leopold Quinn

“Damn, I hate the cold.” Mack wrapped his fingers around his cup to warm them up. They’d stopped at a coffeehouse on the way.

Woody’s pick was plain coffee black and two chocolate donuts. Mack got his favorite caramel macchiato, the hit of espresso now keeping his brain active, and a blueberry muffin. He caught Woody’s smirk when he heard the order but ignored him. He had no intention of acknowledging his desire for the sweet drink.

He was heartily sick of the weather already, and it was only November. And being trapped in an automobile with the source of all his hot fantasies lately was even further torture. Was it possible that Fred knew something about them? No, he wouldn’t have assigned them together. It was just an ugly coincidence.

Every once in a while, Mack started the car to run the defrosters.

Cracking the windows didn’t help keep them clear, what with the hot coffee and hot air inside. He closed his eyes for a moment to savor the scent of his drink combined with Woody’s light cologne. Behind the flower market, he had to sit here in this torture and wait for the Flowers and Greens truck to pull out. Then each of the three undercover cars would follow it in tag-team fashion.

“Where’re you from?” Woody asked. “Somewhere warm?”
Ah, the weather. A safe topic.
“No.” Mack gave a gloomy laugh.

“Chicago.”

“Me, too. Cubs or Sox?”

Mack wanted to peek at Woody, but he didn’t think he’d be able to look away. His head on the headrest, he instead stared straight ahead.
Sports already. Also safe.
“Sox. You?”
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“The same.” Woody leaned against the passenger door. “My dad and I were in Houston for the clincher in oh-five.” Mack tapped the wheel with his thumbs, trying to settle his nerves. He was doing pretty well, even though Kane was fucking beautiful in the streetlights. Was the dark goatee on the diabolically innocent face as soft to the touch as it looked?
Gah. Romance under
sodium vapor. That’s really sad, pal.
At least sports wasn’t a threatening subject. “I was working that night and had to keep checking my phone for updates.”

“I wasn’t on the job yet.” Woody took a sip. “Did you at least get parade duty?”

“Crap. Not even that. I was stuck on the west side.” Mack tipped his head back and forth, hunching his shoulders to work out the stiffness. “No big deal. I watched it all again on TV. But it must have been amazing to have seen it in person.” He went back to staring out at the truck bays. Kane obviously had a different childhood than his, with a dad who took him to games.

“Yeah, it was.”

Mack leaned forward, craning his neck to look down the cross street, spotting the other police units.
Gotta change the subject real
fast. I don’t want to get into a get-to-know-you conversation.

“You were in the Marines, weren’t you.” He leaned against his door now and shot Woody a hostile glance.

“Yeah.” One-word answer. Hopefully the kid would get the message he didn’t want to chitchat.

“So you didn’t become a cop right after school, huh.”

“Nope.”

Woody sighed. “Okay, I’m just trying to keep us awake and occupied.”

Yeah, he got that. Staying awake is the plan, but he’d only talk if he could control the direction of the conversation. He need only give away as much personal info as he wanted.

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Jane Leopold Quinn

Woody took another sip of coffee and wedged his shoulders between the seat and the door. “I guess I’ll do the talking.”

“Swell,” Mack muttered.

“What high school did you go to?”

“Lake View on the north side,” Mack responded grudgingly.

“Yeah? I went to St. Rafael’s, then to Northeastern.”
Hm. College boy
.
I went to the school of hard knocks, as they say.

“My mom got sick in my senior year but was able to see me graduate, and from the academy, too.”

He’d lost his mother, too, but he bet Woody’s mom hadn’t been sick from booze. “Sorry, man.”

“Thanks. She died two years ago.” Woody took a bite of donut.

“My dad’s the best. He loved my mom, but he’s dating again, which I approve of, in case you’re interested.” Woody paused. “Apparently you’re not.”

No, I’m not.
Mack didn’t want to hear about how wonderful Woody’s life had been or how much of a survivor his dad was now that he was dating again.

“I have a sister and a niece, too. They live near my dad.” Woody continued, “How about you?”

“Me what?”

“Your folks? Are they in Chicago?”

“Nope.” He’d been alone since before he graduated from high school. “I don’t know who or where the fuck my father is, and my mother died a raging drunk,” Mack snarled.
There, that ought to shut
him up.
He was a little shocked at himself. He didn’t usually say even that much about his nonexistent family.

“I’m sorry, Mack.”

“Forget it.”

“Is that why you went into the Marines?” Woody just kept it up, asking questions, and suddenly it was like something came loose, and he had to talk. “Yeah, I went in about six
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months after high school, had two tours, and came back to join the force.”

“Were you in the Middle East?”

“It was about the only place I wasn’t in. I actually got out right before 9/11. Just wanted to join the force and move on.” Woody nodded. “I get that. I wanted to be a cop for as long as I can remember. I joined up right after college. What drew you into police work? Were you an M.P.?”

“No, but on humanitarian missions you get a taste for the rule of law and how the absence of it destroys society.”
Jesus, where did that
preaching come from? He’d already said more than he wanted to.

“Where the hell is the truck?” He leaned forward again, glancing up and down the side streets.

“So what do we do if the truck never shows up?”

“Watch again tomorrow night?” Mack took a bite of his pastry, washing it down with coffee.

“They could have been tipped off,” Woody offered.

“Fuck that.”

“Well, I don’t want to think that, either. I’m calling Fred.” Woody put the walkie-talkie to his mouth. “Fred, it’s getting light, and nothing’s happening.”

Mack absently tapped the wheel while halfheartedly listening to Woody and Fred. Damn, Woody was so pretty. Not effeminate, but still amazingly hot. Surreptitiously, he watched Woody’s lips move, narrowing his eyes and imagining the feeling of that mouth pressed against his. Then he’d know whether the beard was soft or not.

Shit. What did Fred just say?
He couldn’t let on how his cock ached, and he wasn’t listening because he was lost in his erotic thoughts.

Woody dropped his hands back to his lap and seemed to settle in again. “We’re staying put a little longer.”
Okay.
Mack rubbed his eyes.

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Jane Leopold Quinn

“What’s the matter. Your macchiato thingy not keeping you awake?” Woody didn’t hide the amusement in his voice.

Mack snapped a sharp look his way. “We were having a good time. Don’t spoil it, kid.”

“A good time? Is that what you call it? Getting any conversation out of you is like pulling the proverbial hen’s teeth.”

“Well, I’m not a conversation kind of guy.”

“No kidding. What kind of guy are you?” Woody’s eyes were on him like laser beams.

“None of your fucking business.” Mack glared back, feeling suddenly out of his depth. He’d tried keeping things shallow up to this point, and he’d be damned if they’d change now. With every word, Woody showed he was smart and seemingly well-grounded. He represented so much of everything Mack hadn’t had in his life. More importantly, Mack’s teeth ached with the desire to plug him, nuts to butt, but he couldn’t risk it. He’d never screwed a coworker, and he never would. Besides, Woody was so different from him that he’d never understand what made Mack tick.

He rubbed shaking fingers across his brow. He didn’t want to think about how Woody’s childhood compared to his fucking miserable one. There’d never been any warmth from his drunken mother. Life had always been a struggle. He was just so used to it. It seemed right. Hearing Woody was at the World Series clincher with his father hurt him more than anything. Even if Mack’s father had ever been around, he’d have rejected him once he knew what Mack was. Did Woody’s father know he was gay?

“I thought we’d put some of this to rest the other night. I don’t know what you have against me, but I’m getting sick of it. One of us should ask out of the team. I just transferred in. It wouldn’t look good for me to leave so quickly, so maybe it should be you.”
So, that was what this little heart-to-heart talk was leading up to?

“I’m not going anywhere,” Mack grumbled.

“Well, I’m not either, so get used to me,” Woody said softly.

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“Does your dad know you’re gay?”

“Jesus, Mack. You go from avoiding me to getting right to the point, don’t you?”

“Well?” Mack bowed his head, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

“What exactly do you want to know, Mack?”

“Does he?”

“Yeah.”

“He accepts it?”

“Uh-huh.”

Mack shifted his gaze outside the car again so Woody couldn’t see his expression. “The department knows?”

“No. I’m not
that
out. What about you, Mack? Are you?” Mack felt his heart thud hard, choking him.

“Come on, you started this.” Woody’s voice turned husky.

Yeah, he’d stupidly started this. He couldn’t believe he was discussing this on a stakeout on the job. The department didn’t need to know. It had nothing to do with being a good cop. He flexed his jaw, tightening his fingers on the steering wheel. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply. He wanted to lie, to say he wasn’t out because he wasn’t gay. But in case the kid harbored any questions, he added,

“I’m not out. I don’t do relationships, commitments, whatever you want to call ’em. No one knows, and it’s going to stay that way.”

“So it’s not so much that my age threatens you, it’s my sexual orientation.”

Mack felt like his head would explode.

“Are you attracted to me, too? Is that another problem?” He didn’t do commitments, and he didn’t do friendships with other gays. “Just shut the fuck up.”

* * * *

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Jane Leopold Quinn

He must be attracted, or he wouldn’t be quite so angry.
“I’m sorry, Mack. I just wanted you to accept that I’m not a kid. This conversation went places I don’t think either one of us wanted to go.”

“You’re right about that,” Mack snarled.

Mack, in profile, all sharp lines and angles, stubborn chin, sensual lips, fell silent. He seemed to be looking outside the car, probably wishing he’d never gotten involved in this conversation. “Mack?” Woody tried again to reach him. He had a bad feeling that if they didn’t talk now, they never would again.

“Did you see that?”

“What?” Woody followed Mack’s gaze toward the loading docks.

“A dark SUV just pulled around the corner down there.” He pointed to the far end of the market.

“Yeah, I see that.” Woody radioed in the presence of the SUV. “Is it one of ours?”

“No. We’re not using that kind of vehicle for this surveillance.” Just then, a nondescript, four-door sedan drove in behind the larger vehicle. The front doors opened, and a figure crept out from each side.