Page 42 of Shield
Shit. I exited as well. Oliver smiled at me over the roof. “Let’s go inside. If we stay out here much longer, we’ll be doing it in the front seat, and that’ll be uncomfortable for both of us.”
He was right. Neither of us were what you would call pocket-sized. I jangled my keys, took his hand, and led him to the breezeway for my small unit. We climbed the stairs to my second-floor apartment, the wail of a far-off siren mixing in with the muffled sounds of life in the city. He followed quietly, the metal stairs creaking under our weight as we climbed. Outside my door, I paused, a rush of unease creeping up my spine. I stalled short of sliding my key into the lock.
“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Oliver said from behind me.
I shook my head, eyes on the small nameplate on my door. It used to readJackson Winwood,but some punk kids had scribbled my name out and writtenOink-Oink Pig Residence,which had made me snicker. So I’d left it. Not that anyone ever came here anyway, so what difference did it make? Suddenly it made all kinds of a difference that I was mortified to admit.
“I’m not the tidiest man,” I confessed and got a little pat on the ass.
“I’m not here to look at your dusty tables, Jackson. I’m here to fuck you.”
A shiver of anticipation danced along my skin. Knowing the inside of my place was depressing as shit, I braced myself, then began unbolting the locks. Sure, people knew a cop lived here, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t rob me. Probably my status as a detective upped the chances of me being burgled.
Once the door was free, I reached around to the right, flipped on the sole light, and headed in.
“It’s a bachelor pad,” I said and got a smile. Then he stepped inside. The smile slipped for a second before he had it back in place. “Sorry. I… no one ever comes here. It’s too… well, I don’t like my place much. Just… sit down on the couch and give me… I didn’t think we’d end up here or I would have… cleaned the place?”
“Jackson, it’s fine, honestly,” he lied. I knew it wasn’t fine. The place was a rathole, and I was the king rat. Sure, I had a housekeeper who did the basics, but a fast vacuum couldn’t cover the air of no shits being given clinging to the smoke-stained walls.
“My housekeeper does vacuum and dust.” I moved around the place, picking up magazines, a few milk cartons, and a bag of old takeout. I chose to ignore the empty bottles strewn all over, even though I was sure Oliver had eyeballed them and found me lacking. “She’s not been in for a few weeks. Her son just had a baby, so she’s spending a couple of months with them.”
I booted an empty beer bottle under the sofa. Oliver moved to me, his gaze penetrating.
“I know it’s lacking compared to your house, but?—”
He closed the distance in one step. His hands rose to cup my face and his lips—oh, those sinful lips—touched on mine. Once, twice, thrice.
“Your place is fine.”
I rolled my eyes as my fingers slid around his waist to grasp his beefy ass.
“Liar,” I whispered, then licked my way into his mouth.
Worries about the sad state of my home drifted away as we made out languidly, exploring, teasing…
“Where’s the bedroom?” he asked when we broke apart.
I rolled my hips. His cock and mine met. A moan rumbled out of both of us.
“It’s right this way.”
I stole one more kiss, then gave him a soft shove in the right direction. He snagged my arm, tugging me along into my stuffy bedroom.
I stole one more kiss, then gave him a soft shove in the right direction. He snagged my arm, tugging me along into my stuffy bedroom. Again, only the barest necessities greeted us. A dresser, a bed, and a window where my dead orchid sat on the sill. Planted by my double bed, we came back together, this time with more passion. Fingers yanked and pulled on buttons and zippers. I kissed his neck, then freed him from his shirt, kissing each inch of skin revealed before lust took over. I began nibbling, stroking, palming. His dick, his balls, his tight pucker.
“Fuck, I’m too close already,” Oliver grunted when I toyed with his hole, his strong legs spread wide. “Lie down.”
“Bossy bastard. You lie down.”
His dark eyes grew hotter. I kicked off my pants and briefs, then embraced him, our cocks swaying as a moment of swordplay broke out. When he was absorbed in the battle of the dicks, I placed my hands on his pecs and pushed. He hit the bed. The headboard slamming into the wall. I had some doubts that my old frame would hold up to the workout it was about to get.
“The sheets smell like you,” he said as I pounced on him like a starving canine stumbling over a rare steak. My mouth slanted over his as he moved me to my back with a slick wrestling move. When I was looking up at him in the light of a streetlamp outside my window, I gazed at perfection. His beautiful eyes, strong jaw, thick neck, powerful shoulders…
“You’re the most gorgeous man that I have ever seen,” I whispered, awed that someone so sinfully splendid was about to lie with me. Me. Jackson Winwood.
“No, that title goes to you.”
He lowered his head to kiss me, his arms locked. I threw my legs around him, my heels resting on his ass. His hips gyrated, cock rubbing over cock, his leaking head spreading his pre-cum over my slick head. I carded my fingers into his hair, sucked on his tongue, and began saying silly things to him that I had never said to any other man. Flowery compliments about his nose, his eyebrows, his lips. We moved back and forth, him pressing me into the mattress, then me moving atop him. All the while, our dicks were throbbing hot shafts, leaving glistening trails across our thighs, bellies, and hips.
