I'll Be Your Last (8 page)

Damn, thinking about those lips on his cock stirred it awake again, thick and pulsing with the sweetest desire. The rest of the night was
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going to be miserable if he didn’t get home and take care of his still-hard cock.

Mack fought the pain in his heart.
Fool. Men with the kind of life
you’ve led don’t have relationships. Don’t have boyfriends. Don’t get
to be happy.
He didn’t want those things, did he? He never had before. And even if he did now, he couldn’t have them with another cop. His only hope was to request a new assignment. He couldn’t take any more of Woody Kane.

* * * *

This was just what Woody needed—the peace and acceptance of being with his dad. He’d called him for dinner as an antidote to that fantastic night with Mack, one that changed from fantastic to being left like he was some sort of one-time-fuck boy.

“Thanksgiving is coming up,” Charles reminded. “Do you know if you’ll be on duty or not that day?”

Woody shook his head. “Won’t know for sure until the week before. But I’d rather work the day so some of the guys with wives and kids can be home. Sorry, Dad.”

His father smiled. “You’re a good man, son.”

“Yeah, selfless and all that crap,” he replied self-deprecatingly.

“You could stop in the station if you want.” Woody gave him a crooked grin. “All the bad coffee and vending-machine candy and chips you could ever want.”

Charles took a bite of his burger. “Molly’s cooking. Did she call you?”

“Yup. I said I’d try to get over there if it’s not too late. If she’s doing dinner, she won’t be able to take time out to come to the station.”

Flicking a dab of mustard off the corner of his mouth with a knuckle, Charles added, “I might have a date.”
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“What?” Woody leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Are you keeping something from me, Dad?” At fifty-one, his father still looked handsome and kept himself in shape. “Is this one a keeper?” Charles swallowed another bite, laughed, then shrugged, turning shy. “She might be.”

“What’s her name? Why haven’t you told me about her?”

“Samantha Greer. She’s forty-five and teaches grade school in the city. Divorced seven years ago. How’s that for information?”

“How serious is this?” Woody asked.

“Might be pretty serious. I’d like for you to meet her. Are you all right with this, son?”

Woody reached across the table and put a hand on his dad’s arm.

“If she’s good enough for you, then of course I’m all right with it.”

“I know it’s only been two years since your mom died.”

“I know you loved her, Dad. All I want is for you to be happy.”

“Samantha is good for me, and she seems to like me, too.” Charles shrugged.

“Why wouldn’t she? Does she have kids?”

“No. And I know she’ll love you.”

Woody got very serious, took a breath. “Have you told her about me?”

“It was one of the first things I told her. If she was going to be uncomfortable with it, then I didn’t want to see her again.” Woody tilted his head, twirled a couple of French fries in ketchup, and neutrally asked, “And was she?”

Charles gave him a big grin. “Her brother is gay, and she loves him very much.”

“Well, then, if you’re happy, I’m definitely okay with this. I’d love to meet her. You all could have your Thanksgiving dinner, and then maybe come into the station.”

“Sounds good, kid.”

Woody winced.

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“Damn, I’m sorry, son. It slipped out. Are you still having trouble with what’s-his-name?”

This time Woody chuckled, pretending to be a little more lighthearted than he really was. “Mack. He’s kind of a problem, but I’m handling it.” He stopped there. As tolerant as his dad was, he definitely didn’t tell him details about his relationships or about his sex life, especially when it came to Mack.

Oh, fuck.

Who should be coming through the revolving doors of the restaurant but his problem. Damn him. Of all the restaurants in the city, he shows up here? And Christ, did he look hot, especially without the cap for once. All that sleek, soft hair ruffled from the outside wind. Woody’s fingers curled into his palms, his eyes closed briefly with the remembered feel of those strands in his tight grip.

Mack wore a midcalf, black wool trench coat and black jeans. That was all he could see until Penchant turned around, and, like a laser sight, spotted him.

A woman bumped into Mack when he stopped in his tracks.

Woody quirked a smile at Mack’s awkward apology as he steadied her, and at his complete ignorance of her admiring gaze.
He doesn’t
swing your way, sweetie.

“What’s the matter, Wood?”

He glanced at his dad, scowling, then nodded his head toward the entrance. “That’s him.”

“Holy crap!”

“Yeah,” he ground out between clenched teeth. He tried to break their eye contact. He dimly knew his dad had said something and just needed a moment to pull himself together.

“Will he come over?”

“No!”

* * * *

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Mack had been as stunned as Woody looked when he’d spotted him in the restaurant. He was with an older man. A lover? His insides heated up at the memory of the tall, hard body belly-down beneath him, his cock, slathered with slippery lube, rammed as far up inside the kid’s gorgeous ass as it could get. He glanced at the floor, trying to contain the flash of intense need. Thank goodness he had a long coat on, because it hid the swelling of his prick. He had an irrational desire to grab the kid out of the restaurant, shove him against a brick wall, and kiss him senseless, then turn him around and fuck that sweet piece of tail again.

What the hell was he thinking? Bedding Woody could never happen again. Would never happen again. If anyone found out, it would be the end of both of them. Mack’s eyes glazed over. He’d never get a chance to burrow that glass dildo… “Jesus,” he murmured.

Obviously, the kid had moved on. He wanted to throw something through the plate glass window. Good God, he was jealous? They’d had sex once, and that was the end of it.

“There’s a place at the bar, sir.” The hostess pointed out an empty stool on the other side the room. He would not run away. Damn it, he’d come in for a beer and a hamburger, and by God he was going to stay. He ground out a “thank you” and headed to the bar, throwing himself on the stool, resting his elbows on the wooden surface.

He kept his back to the room, but the nape of his neck prickled continuously. Praying Woody would leave soon, he conversely wanted him to come over. God, wasn’t that screwed up? Mack took a swig of beer.

And then, suddenly, there was said Woody Kane, pushing himself between Mack and the person next to him, his elbow on the bar as comfy as you please.

“Just came over to say hello.” Woody’s tone was mild.

“Hello,” Mack growled back.

“Well, then, have a nice dinner.”

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Mack didn’t respond. He’d thought he was a smoother character than this, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. He didn’t want a lasting relationship with the kid, but seeing him with another man had not felt good.

“If you can truly ignore what happened and pretend it didn’t mean anything to you, then you’re a jerk bastard.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“I’m putting in for a transfer.”

A bubble of panic arose in Mack’s chest. “I thought you said I had to.”

“I don’t care who does it. I just don’t want to look at you every day.”

He gazed into the mirror over the bar. It was safest to look at Woody through that blurry distance. He glanced toward the restaurant’s door. “Isn’t your date anxiously waiting outside?” He put all the snide he could muster into that comment.

Woody’s eyes widened. He took a deep breath and said through a tight jaw, “That was my father, you nimrod.”

“Nimrod?” He huffed out a puff of air.
Shit.
Now he just felt stupid.

“What are you afraid of, Mack?”

“What the fuck do you think?”

“No one has to know.”

“You know as well as I do that someone will somehow find out, and we’ll be crucified.” Mack shook his head. He wanted Woody in every way but feared the repercussions.

Woody turned and walked away, muttering cuss words. For some reason, that made Mack laugh. It also gave him a good view of the kid’s tight ass in snug jeans.

Mack lost his appetite, at least for food.

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Woody didn’t give a good goddamn what Mack did. He was off duty. All he wanted was to hit the hay and sleep.
Shit.
Running into the guy ruined his evening. He’d make it up to his dad, though. At least Charles saw for himself what he was dealing with in Mack. He did have to chuckle at his father’s “holy crap.” That about said it all.

Leaning back against the kitchen counter, he crossed his arms over his chest and sipped a beer. He needed to wind down a little before taking a shower, going to bed, and hoping he could stop obsessing about Mack.

The hot shower only brought Mack, the nimrod, front and center in his mind. He chuckled at the epithet. Oh, boy, did it fit. The last thing he needed in his life was another man not interested in a relationship. Denial was something he was very familiar with in other gay men. He didn’t advertise it at work, but he embraced his sexuality in private, knowing he was gay from the time he was sixteen. It sounded like Mack’s life had been very different. Being an in-the-closet Marine must have been tough. He didn’t know how Mack had managed it. He must have a will of iron to hide such an important part of his life from his fellow Marines. It would undoubtedly be pretty hard to be open about being gay now after so many years of hiding it.

But he was just making excuses for Mack’s actions.

Woody groaned and slapped a hand against the shower’s cold, slippery tiles. Stroking his cock with a warm, soapy hand, he wished he had his dildo and that Mack was here to play with it. Mack hadn’t much been in denial when he fucked Woody the other night. He’d been totally engaged in their activities. His palm cruised up and down
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the smooth, hard length of his dick, squeezing, mimicking the tightness of a man’s channel. God, would he love to fuck the rugged man. Love to have him on his back beneath him, watch him massage his own cock as he, Woody, persuaded his asshole to relax and open up to a fantastic ramming.

Stroking himself to a climax in the shower, he barely dried off before heading to his bedroom for the glass butt plug. It wasn’t another man, but it would have to do for tonight. Pining for Mack kept him on a sexual cliff edge. He’d never sleep until he got his anger, angst, and frustration over the man out of his system.

In the dark bedroom, throwing open the bedside table’s drawer, he paused, a confused frown drawing his eyes together.
Where the hell is
it? It was here the other…

“Looking for something?”

The breath slammed out of his lungs in a whoosh. He straightened, completely aware of his buck-naked state and who just spoke, the voice deep, sultry, and amused.

He whirled on the man and gave him a withering glare. Opening his mouth to get some much-needed air back into his lungs, he blurted, “Son of a bitch!” His eyes adjusted to the dark, aided by soft light filtering from the bathroom. There was just enough brightness to see Mack, dressed only in black jeans, his belly and chest bare and so hard and muscular, Woody’s mouth watered. One hand held up the glass toy, the other, braced on a thick thigh, held the container of lube.

He closed his eyes for a moment to hold the electrifyingly sensual sight in his mind for all time. Big, buff Mack Penchant, every woman and gay man’s wettest wet dream, holding a glass butt plug. And he’d know how to use it, no doubt about that. Woody repressed a shudder of desire. Fresh from a very thorough shower, he licked his suddenly dry lips. Mack was here. What the hell was going on?

“How’d you get in?”

“I’m a cop. I have my ways.”

Mack’s smirk was just too sexy, damn him. Too confident.

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Woody felt his cock throb and lengthen at the thought of Mack wielding the dildo. He didn’t need to look down to know pre-cum seeped from the tip. In fact, he couldn’t look down. Mack’s intense stare held him hostage.

“What the hell are you doing here? You’ve made it clear you’re not interested and that we have to stay away from each other.” Mack took a deep breath. Placing the plug and lube onto the bed, he leaned forward, balancing his elbows on his knees. He looked down at his folded hands and slowly shook his head. “Maybe I can’t stay away from you.”

Woody grabbed a towel from the bathroom, wrapped it around his hips, and leaned against the doorjamb. If he was going to have this conversation, he needed to cover his manly bits. “What does that mean?”

“Just what I said.”

“No, you aren’t really saying anything. I’m not ashamed of my sexuality. I think you are. Ashamed or in denial. I don’t know where we’re going with this—this attraction, but…” Mack suddenly glanced up, his expression tortured. “Listen, Woody, all I know right now is that you are one hot guy. Having sex with you the other night was mind-blowing. I’m not in denial. I just don’t want anyone to have the chance to beat us senseless if they find out. I don’t do
relationships.
”

“I don’t know what to say to you. I’m not a social worker. If you’re so uncertain of what you want from me, then I’m not sure I can help you.”

Mack rose from the bed and stood in the center of the room, his hands fisting and opening repeatedly. “But I want you.”

“That’s not enough. We’re both too old for booty calls. I don’t want that in my life anymore.”

“Shit. You’re just a kid.”

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“I’m old enough to know what I want, and transient sex is not it.