Page 133 of Oddly Fine

“What now? Leave him here?” Beckett asked, because truly, they’d gone into this like rank amateurs without much of a plan.

Somewhere out there in the world right now, Hayes’ former commanding officer in the SEALs was howling in frustration that his years of emphasizing that the plan must be followed had apparently been a waste of his time.

“Not what Pashov told us to do,” Hayes said, name dropping one of the big guns in the competing Russian mob throwing their weight around in Montreal, which Matthew had discussed in some detail with them earlier. Tossing that name out there for Jovan to take back to his boss wasn’t enough to start a war, but it would certainly give the Serbians a tail to chase for a while.

“So—pack him back up and drop him off?” Beckett asked.

Hayes gave a curt nod. “Can’t have him bleeding all over the car, though.”

Beckett nodded.

“I’ll get the body bag,” he said, before motioning for Hayes to get moving.

“The what!?” Hayes called after him, momentarily confused and worried that Beckett had brought a real goddamned body bag with him for this job.

It turned out to be nothing more than a handful of white trash bags that weren’t nearly big enough to stash a body in—not unless it was cut into pieces. Hayes refused to even consider that possibility, even as his boyfriend had to use three bags to wrap Jovan’s wounded foot.

Matthew had given them a dead zone location for unloading the Serb. Just a dead-end road with no cameras or people nearby to witness the drop. They sat Jovan down on the curb, still hogtied, and placed his cellphone near his feet. When he finally broke free of his bonds, he’d be able to call for help. His right foot was still wrapped up in a plastic bag but it didn’t seem to be filling up with blood, so Hayes assured him that he wouldn’t bleed out. Before leaving, Beckett tucked the Smith & Wesson in the waistband of Jovan’s pants under his shirt. The gun wasn’t loaded, of course, but the gesture was still uncharacteristically considerate.

“Really?” Hayes said, as they got back in the car.

Beckett shrugged, but waited until the doors were shut before explaining his actions.

“The hand grip has 1978 engraved on it,” he said, shrugging. “Figured it’s a family heirloom—I already shot him in the foot, no reason to add insult to injury by stealing it.”

Hayes snorted as he started the car and drove off. They’d covered up their license plate so Jovan wouldn’t be able to track them down later. Stopping about a mile down the road, they got out to remove the license plate cover and pull off their ski masks.

Before restarting the car, Hayes looked over and met Beckett’s gaze. He was studying Hayes’ expression with keen interest.

“What?” Hayes asked, suddenly self-conscious.

Beckett shrugged. Then, he reached across the console for Hayes’ hand. His touch was light and soft. Like Hayes was precious and needed to be cared for. He ran his thumb over Hayes’ cheek with his other hand—he hadn’t shaved in two days, and his beard was noticeable now. Beckett didn’t seem to mind, and he took his sweet time just—looking.

“I’m rather fond of your face,” he said, like he’d genuinely missed looking at Hayes and didn’t get the chance to see his face as much as he’d like to.

“Just my face?” Hayes asked suggestively, because it had been several days since they’d been physically intimate—and well, the mood had shifted into something he wasn’t quite comfortable with. Being vulnerable like this—even though he was gradually becoming accustomed to the sensation—was still difficult at times.

“I love everything about you, Daisy,” Beckett said with a chuckle. “But I missed being able to read your face—” he confessed. “It’s like reading your mind—so I always feel a little off if I can’t see you.”

And what had possessed Beckett to reveal these feelings was a mystery to Hayes, but he understood exactly what Beckett was saying. He was at a loss to explain just how deeply his feelings ran for Beckett. When he couldn’t bear the silence any longer, he leaned forward and kissed Beckett, filling the silence the only way he knew how. He plunged his right hand into Beckett’s hair as their lips crashed together. It was always the same: heart-pounding, passionate, raw, and slightly rough around the edges. And yet, when they pulled apart, love was there, too—in the smile on Beck’s face, in the blush blooming on his cheeks, and in the way Hayes’ heart was beating double time. Would it ever fade? He wondered about that, if only for a moment. It couldn’t be like this forever, could it?

“Can you play lookout?” Hayes asked, and it took far too long for Beckett to figure out exactly what Hayes had in mind. By the time his brain caught up, Hayes was already unzipping Beckett’s pants and reaching for his straining cock.

Beckett didn’t need his brain after that.

There was no time to play teasing games for this round. Time was of the essence when pulling a roadside blowy, and Hayes been dying to get his lips around his boyfriend for several days now. He took Beckett down almost all the way, his right hand squeezing the base lightly, as he bobbed up and down. Having perfected his technique over the past year, Hayes had gone from rookie to seasoned professional in a single season. He’d learned all of Beckett’s tells, and as much as Hayes wanted to deny it, he lived for moments when he could get Beckett to reveal them to him, and only him.

Hayes applied firm pressure to the base while hollowing his cheeks and increasing the pressure on Beckett’s cockhead. Then, still sucking hard, he bobbed down, letting his teeth run along the top edge lightly in random patterns. God, Beckett nearly came right then, judging by the way he bucked against him. Hayes bobbed back up, pulling off completely, and sucked at the head for a few seconds, toying with the slit as his hand pumped up and down at the base. Hayes could feel it coming. Beckett braced himself for the explosion, trying to delay it as long as possible, but was quickly losing the battle. He opened his mouth to warn Hayes, a strangled, unrecognizable sound emerging, just as Hayes upped his game—cheeks hollowed, pressure absolutely merciless as he looked up at Beckett from beneath his eyelashes.

Beckett exploded down Hayes’ throat, and he swallowed every drop, smiling through it all. Beckett threw his head back as pleasurable aftershocks coursed through him. He was out of breath, dizzy with ecstasy, and Hayes basked in the sight of it.

“God,” Beckett said, as Hayes carefully tucked him back into his pants. “I—” he stuttered to a halt, seemingly at a loss.

“Beckett Thérault struck speechless—alert the media!” Hayes teased as he sat up and relaxed against the driver’s door. There was a flutter of something wild in his chest. An all-encompassing feeling of youthful, buoyant happiness that had suddenly been nursed back to life by Beckett’s essence.

“I think I forgot my own name—think you sucked it right out of me,” he confessed, huffing out a breath.

“I love watching you come undone,” Hayes said and leaned over once more to kiss him.