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At least this time, they made it to the bed and hadn’t just ended up on the couch like so many nights before. Falling onto the mattress, André had landed on his back and currently was gazing down his body, watching an equally naked Dante press his nose into André’s crotch. He liked it.
God, he liked it.
His cock did too. His cock was a fan ofeverythingDante. But it needed to stop. It had to. A relationship that consisted of late-night knocks on the door (followed up by the best sex André had ever experienced) and an empty spot next to him in the morning was not what he wanted.
The sex was incredible but what happened afterward made him intensely lonely.
As ridiculous as it was for a man of his age and profession—a U.S. Marshal, for godsakes—André wanted a partner. A real partner.
Dante Castone, an undercover operator for the DEA, was not the man for the job.
He wanted someone who’d stand by his side through good and bad times and vice versa. Dante was not that man. No matter how fucking incredible his lips felt as they closed around André’s cock.
“Jesus,” André groaned, arching his back.
Since a partner didn’t seem to be in the cards for André at this late stage in the game, he’d decided to settle for a job that wasn’t actively trying to kill him. He wanted to head into his twilight years like a cop onThe Andy Griffith ShoworMayberry R.F.D., giving advice to innocent kids and chatting with senior citizens who would end up having the answer to everything.
“You’re distracted tonight,” Dante rumbled as he let André’s cock slip from between his lips so he could begin licking his way up André’s body. He was heading toward André’s neck, which seemed to be a favorite place of his.
“Don’t leave marks,” André complained, his hips jerking as Dante nibbled on a sensitive nipple. “I don’t want to have to explain anything to my coworkers.”
“So many rules. You know I love breaking rules.”
Dante did love breaking rules—André’s rules, at any rate.
“Quit thinking so hard.” Dante punctuated his demand by biting and then sucking hard on André’s nipple, tracing around the nub with his hot tongue.
“Fuck.” André’s cock throbbed with anticipation of what was to come—himself and Dante—and he writhed desperately underneath Dante’s pleasantly heavy, muscular body, needing more contact, more of everything.
Tomorrow he’d tell Dante they couldn’t do this anymore. No more rule breaking.
Sometime later, André felt the mattress move underneath him as Dante rolled out of bed. He heard him pad down the hallway to the bathroom. He heard the toilet flush. And then he didn’t hear any more.
It had been a long, stressful week—hell, a long, stressful year. A major case he’d been dedicated to had finally broken wide open after over twelve months of hard work. Aldo Campos was in federal custody and the human trafficking and drug distribution ring Aldo had run with his younger brother Alonso was in the midst of being dismantled. André had been on the multi-agency team that brought him in, and now he deserved a good night’s rest.
Shutting his eyes, André slid back under the blissful blanket of slumber.
When André woke for the second time, he immediately sensed that Dante was no longer in his house. Had he left at oh-dark thirty? Or had he come back to bed for a little while? They didn’t have rules about that—even if Dante teased André about having too many.
Rarely did Dante stay—if leaving before sunrise but after the bars closed could be considered staying. More often he left. Today he was gone. The only steady rule was that André never went to Dante’s home. He didn’t even know where in Portland the man lived. Maybe he lived in Salem or Gresham? Maybe he had a family he returned to each night?
That thought chilled André to the core.
Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he stumbled to the bathroom, twisting the knobs until the shower came on. Freezing cold water was finally followed by hot, almost instantly steaming up the mirror and window. Maybe his next bathroom would have a fan.
Once he was clean and dressed for the day, and caffeine was making its way into his bloodstream, André opened his laptop to check his email. He’d put it off until he was fully awake and prepared for whatever might be lurking for him there.
The topmost email was what he’d been waiting for. Hoping for. He clicked into it and skimmed the words. Then he reread them slowly, making sure he wasn’t misunderstanding anything.
“Yes,” he said with a pump of his fist.
This email was his ticket out of the stress of the U.S. Marshals Service and quite possibly an early funeral. A byproduct of the email would be no longer being available for Dante Castone whenever the guy felt like he needed a clandestine fuck.
André had some self-respect left.
Beads of sweat broke out on his brow as he first hit Reply, then typed his response with shaky fingers.YES. Then he pressed the Send button. Without missing a beat, André pulled up the email address for his direct supervisor in downtown Portland, typed out a second email, and sent that one too. When that was finished, he leaned back in his chair, feeling lighter than he had in years.
“Cooper Springs Chief of Police” had a nice ring to it. He’d be starting in just two weeks.
