Trust in the Fast Lane Read online

  He tensed, but said nothing. Maybe he was thinking.

  I rubbed my thumb across his skin, slow and deliberate.

  More nothing from him for a while. Finally, he put a hand on my chest, fingertips dragging through my chest hair. Maybe this meant he’d reached a decision. I turned toward him, up on my side and pulled him against my body. This time we weren’t so chilled that it was all about the body heat. My cock was getting hard. I wanted him something fierce. Blond hair, green eyes, all that long, lean muscle. I traced my fingers down his spine all the way to the base and cupped a hand on his butt cheek, squeezing just enough to really enjoy that firm curve.

  There was no doubt he was aroused now. I could feel the stiff nudge of his cock on my hip. Our faces were only a couple of inches apart. His breath ghosted across my mouth. Gingerly I closed the distance, and kissed him.

  He did kiss me back but it was so tentative I figured maybe I was his first, first guy anyway.

  I’m not a total ass. I didn’t rush him. Lord, it wasn’t like we were going anywhere, probably for hours yet. Exploration could be a seriously good thing.

  Our breath mixed, a soft warmth, our lips barely touching. I kissed him again. This time he leaned into the kiss more. He wound his injured arm around me loosely. His mouth opened slightly and he groaned as we kissed with more intensity.

  Blame adrenaline. Blame that “hey-I’m-still-alive” instinct. Or blame chemistry. In another couple of minutes we were grinding against each other, hands roaming as I let him ravage my mouth with teeth and tongue. I was okay with aggressive.

  I reached between us and gripped my dick and his together with one hand. He gasped.

  “You want me to let go?” I asked.

  “No.” It was one short, strained syllable.

  I stroked us, short, fast pulls. He made a low moan as his fingers tightened on my shoulder. Thick warmth spurted between us. I kept stroking and followed him seconds later, adding to the sticky mess. I was breathing hard, him, too, as we slowed down. I half expected him to freak out any moment. He rested his head on my collar bone. I nuzzled against his temple and kissed down the side of his face.

  “Oh…God…” he whispered.

  “You okay?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I was actually a little surprised that he tipped his face up toward mine and kissed me. I’ve known a few guys who didn’t kiss at all, and ones who zipped up and walked away three seconds after the event. Of course, neither of us were walking much of anywhere for a while yet.

  He tugged a fold of one of the blankets between us and wiped up most of the jizz, then slid his good arm under me and folded me in his arms. No talking, but no freak out either. He held me. With a couple of fingers, he traced a path down my chest and back up my arm. Our legs were tangled together.

  Too much adrenaline burn in too short a time, we both drifted to sleep.

  Chapter 6: Chicago Detective Michael Branham

  Time was creeping by in weird fits. When I woke again, I had no idea if I’d been asleep five minutes or five hours. It was still dark. The only light was the glow of the kerosene heater. I thought I still heard the wind howling outside, too.

  It was surreal. I was lying half-awake in the stall of a stable. The blizzard was going full tilt outside. I was naked and cuddled up to a US Marshal. A very male US Marshal who I’d had a heavy petting makeout session with. He was still asleep in my arms, half wound around me. I’d shared a bed with a couple of cousins at my grandparents’ house growing up, passed out in the same bed with a buddy in college a few times. None of those times involved being naked or anything approximating sex. I’m not particularly uptight about sex. I’ve had a few one-nighters. All of those were with women. I’ve known a few gay guys well enough to have a drink, not well enough to have sex. I’ve looked at a couple of guys just enough to think “what if” but I never felt inspired enough to try it out…before. Was it the situation? Between the fucking car wreck and the blizzard, we might both well be dead.

  Having him in my arms felt strangely good. What the hell was up with that? Was this just a “thing”? Something to get filed away along with walking away from flipping a car? And was he gay, since he seemed wholly unflapped by touching me? And damn, I needed to pee.

  I shifted a little, trying to figure out how to extract my arm.

  Sully jerked awake. “Michael?”

  “Sorry to wake you. I need to take a leak. Any chance you saw a bathroom?”

  “No, but there’s a drain in the floor back near the truck.”

  “I guess that’d do.”

  He sat up enough to unpin my arm and I wrapped myself up in one of the blankets again, shuffling off in the direction of the disassembled truck.

  Business done, I returned to the stall. I paused by the window.

  Sully was checking the clothes, wearing a blanket toga style. “Everything’s dryer but only skivvies and socks are really dry enough to comfortably wear.”

  “The snow might be a little lighter but from what little I can see, the wind’s still a nightmare.”

  “Mmm, now might be a good time to open the door a crack and get some snow to melt on top of the heater.”

  “For the hot chocolate?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It won’t crack the cups?”

  “I doubt it. Especially if we don’t leave them to heat too long.”

  * * * *

  I sat bundled in blankets in front of the heater, drinking hot chocolate. Sully sat beside me and the normality of it made the things that had happened a few hours before have a dream like quality. Outside, there was a hint of light and the snow had slacked off enough for me to see hints of the trees a few dozen yards from the stable. Sully and I talked “shop”, a mix of things he knew about Ditweiller’s case and things I knew about the criminal underbelly of Chicago and the area around it.

  “Once it’s fully light, I wonder if we should try to hoof it back to town,” Sully said. “The coats are still kind of damp, but if the wind’s dropping…”

  “My shoes are still squishy, but yeah, I think you might be right. It can’t be more than three or four miles to the gas station I think I remember passing.”

  “If they’re open after the storm.”

  “Well, true,” I said, setting the cup on the floor. “I’m going to be filling out eighty-four pages of accident reports for obliterating the motor pool car.”

  Sully laughed. “That ranks up there with me having to tell my boss that not only did I see Ditweiller, but I let him get away. And then I have to get a new phone.”

  “Unless you’d like to dig through a couple feet of snow beside the car to try and find it.”

  “For all I know it’s in the same condition as yours. Speaking of conditions, you do need to get somebody with more of a clue than me to patch up your arm. You might need a tetanus shot or something.”

  “Thrilling. I hope not.”

  “Should we try to catch another couple hours of sleep? If that gas station is closed, I’m not sure how long we’re going to end up walking.” I looked at Sully’s profile in the faint light. He had serious five o’clock shadow going, more than mine. It blurred the dimple in his chin. It framed his mouth. Oh God I knew exactly how that mouth felt on my own. I must be out of my mind because I wanted him under me, my tongue half down his throat and my prick rubbing alongside his.

  “Yeah, maybe.” Sully drained the remains of his cup and put it down. He began to dress, everything but the shoes and the outerwear. I followed suit, somehow disappointed.

  * * * *

  It was fully light and only snow flurries were left falling. As Sully and I slogged through the foot or more of snow in what we hoped was the track of the road, I wondered if this had been a mistake. Maybe we should have waited another hour or two. Our coats were still wet-ish, shoes, too. My toes felt like aching little ice blocks. And I was worried about Sully. He seemed to be having more problems walking through the deep snow than I did.

  “You doing okay?” I asked. “Besides the obvious freaking cold and snow.”

  “The headache’s back with a vengeance.”

  “Concussion problems.”

  “Yeah, probably.”

  I kept a closer eye on his steps.

  Somewhere behind us there was noise, a steady scraping, chugging sound. I turned. Half a mile or so back down the road was a plow, a dump truck with a huge blade. I stopped.

  “Halle-fucking-lujah,” said Sully. We waved our arms at the plow and eventually it pulled to a stop about ten feet from us. The driver rolled the window down.

  “We put our car in a ditch a ways back. Can we catch a lift with you to where ever the nearest open business is?” I didn’t see any point in giving details straight up.

  “No prob. Climb in.” The driver pointed to the opposite side of the cab. “I have to go all the way back to Gershon Road anyway.”

  Chapter 7: US Marshal Ken Sullivan

  Twenty-four hours after we’d been picked up by the snow plow, I still had shit on my to-do list, trying to sort out the mess of losing Ditweiller, wrecking the damn car, and the rest of it. Maynard Tazewell, aka my boss, had insisted I be assessed by a doctor for the concussion. I was also immediately banned from any further attempts to go find Ditweiller for at least seventy-two hours, regardless of what the doctor had to say. Maybe it was a good thing in a perverse way. All the bruises had blossomed in full color and more than half my body hurt. The doctor at urgent care agreed I did have a concussion, but claimed the headache and intermittent dizziness would fade in a few days. I spent three hours getting a new phone and having all the data transferred from the cloud. I filed reports via my laptop. And I slept in an actual bed in my hotel room after a thirty minute shower as hot as I could stand it.

  Regretfully, all the sleeping in that hotel room was done alone. It wasn’t exactly like I had expected anything different, just…I was drawn to Michael Branham in ways I had never been to any other man. I like guys just as often as women. My track record with both basically sucks. The job is more than half the problem.

  The two of us crossed paths a couple of times in the past day, for signatures and paperwork and information, never long enough to really talk. Then again, maybe that was for the best. I came to the decision he was probably just barely open minded enough to not panic about what we did, but it wasn’t likely to happen again.

  I was in the lobby of the hotel checking out, when I saw Michael coming toward me. He had something in his hand. I turned from the counter to face him.

  “Oh, hey, I’m glad you hadn’t left yet. Somehow I ended up with this.” He held out my Leatherman.

  I had realized sometime this morning I didn’t have it and assumed it had gotten left in the stable or fallen out in the snow before we’d been picked up by the snow plow. “Oh. Wow, I thought I was going to have to buy a new one. Thanks.” I put it in the hard-sider case that held my 9mm. It wasn’t like I could keep either one with me on the plane.

  “I assume you’re off to the airport?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I have to return the car and check my gun in and all. I was about to head out to the car.”

  “I’ll walk with you,” he said.

  We left the lobby and went out into the parking garage. I put my luggage on the back seat, then shut the rear door and leaned against it. We stood there in awkward silence for a few seconds. He took a step toward me, so that we were inches apart, and his eyes searched mine, looking for…I had no idea what.

  Unexpectedly, he leaned in and kissed me. It was warm and hungry and I wound my arms around him, pulling him tight against me. It went on and on, and then it was over. I didn’t let him go immediately. “Call me if…if you want to.”

  He nodded, and stepped away.

  We exchanged one last glance and then he was gone.

  Part 2: March

  Chapter 8: Chicago Detective Michael Branham

  I laid my phone on my desk and folded my arms. My weekend was going to feature a funeral. Uncle Ned had been battling cancer for more than a year. This morning he had lost the war. I stared at the ceiling, trying to itemize the tasks that I now needed to get done in a hurry. Book a flight to DC to leave as early as possible on Friday and come back as late as possible on Sunday. Hotel reservations for Friday and Saturday, and a rental car. With luck, maybe I could do it all online in an hour or two. I also had to face the Captain and request the days off. I guess it was a good thing I had only blown a couple of sick days last month after the epic car wreck Sully and I had had.

  Sully. US Marshal Ken Sullivan. I had thought about calling him at least a dozen times, but what the hell was I supposed to say? Gee I’m glad you’re not dead? Remember messing around in the stable during a blizzard? By the way, you’re the only guy I’ve ever gotten busy with. And I can’t wrap my head around how I feel about that.

  The funeral was in a DC suburb. Sully lived somewhere in the DC area. I wasn’t sure exactly where. It was kind of like saying I lived in Chicago. Big city and a lot of suburbs.

  I went to the Captain first. Once that was taken care of I did all the booking and reservations. I waited until I got home before I seriously contemplated calling Sully.

  After pacing the floor and having a glass of wine, I finally dialed him.

  “Branham, how’s things in the great white north?” Sully answered the phone.

  “Less white than when you were here.”

  “That sounds like an improvement.”

  “I…I’m going to be in DC over the weekend. I have a funeral to go to. Actually the viewing is on Friday night and the funeral’s on Saturday,” I said. “I was hoping maybe you had time to get together for a drink.”

  “Absolutely. I’m kind of in between cases at the moment, so unless shit hits the fan in the next couple of days, it shouldn’t be any problem.”

  “Good. If I’m going to be on that side of the country, I didn’t want to miss a chance to say hello in person.”

  “Send me your hotel info and all, so I know where to meet you. We can grab a drink in the hotel bar and then maybe go somewhere for dinner.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll see you in a few days.”

  When I hung up, my heart was pounding. I’d called him, and he seemed genuinely pleased to hear from me. Thank God.

  * * * *

  Sully and I swapped a few texts in the next few days. With my family commitments, it was going to be easier to meet Saturday evening than Friday. By the time six o’clock on Saturday evening rolled around I was very much in need of a drink and some socializing with someone who wasn’t family.

  I walked into the hotel bar and scanned the area. Sully lifted a hand. He was sitting at a table over by the wall. As I crossed the room, he stood up.

  “Good to see you.” He shook my hand and squeezed my shoulder with his opposite hand. “You look a little frazzled.”

  “Family. I love them, but they make me crazy. And funerals…not my favorite set of circumstances.”

  We sat down. A waiter came by and I ordered an Irish coffee. Sully had a beer in front of him.

  “Seems to me we had a discussion that involves Irish coffee back in the middle of that blizzard,” he teased.

  “It’s my poison of choice when the stress hits. I don’t know what that says about my coping techniques. Probably nothing good.”

  “Everyone needs a release valve.”

  The waiter came back with my coffee and I took a sip. “So how’s the job been going since you got back?”

  “The boss made me take a full week of leave to make sure my brain wasn’t still rattled from the concussion, then it was back to business as usual. Three arrests, eight days of babysitting a witness, the never ending paperwork, a flight to Seattle to escort a prisoner.”

  I laughed. “Sounds like life is never boring.”

  “Says the man who didn’t spend those eight days listening to the guy whine about having to stay somewhere that wasn’t a five star hotel.”

  We spent another half an hour chatting.

  “So, you still interested in dinner?” Sully asked. “There’s a sushi place down the street and a Greek place if you’re in the mood to walk. If you want decent steak or something else, we’d probably have to drive.”

  “Greek sounds good. And I have done way too much flying and driving in the past two days. I could do with a walk, but my coat’s upstairs. You want to hang out in the lobby while I go get it?”

  “I’m not in a hurry, I’ll go up with you.”

  I wish I could say I knew for sure what he meant by the offer, but I couldn’t tell if it was an innocent, casual response or had some other meaning. “Okay, cool.”

  In the elevator, he leaned against the back wall, his own coat in his hand. We didn’t talk. At the door to my room, I jammed the key card into the slot and opened it. “Give me about ten seconds to grab my coat.” I headed in the direction of the desk chair where I’d left it hanging. By the time I turned and started back toward the door, Sully had dropped his coat to the floor and was standing there looking at me with a hunger like I was filet mignon and he was starving.

  I stopped directly in front of him. The temptation was too great to resist. I kissed him hard. In seconds, we were tearing clothes off and stumbling toward the king sized bed. I was out of control. I wanted his skin against mine. I pushed him down on the bed, and lay down on top of him. We had a skirmish involving lips and teeth and tongues that left arousal raging through me. I’d never had a partner that there wasn’t always a lingering question in my head about whether I might inadvertently hurt her because I was bigger and stronger. With Sully, that was not an issue. Six feet tall and two hundred pounds of heavy muscle, he was perfectly capable of defending himself.

  A case in point, he grabbed my wrists and stretched them over my head as he nipped at my throat. He rolled us so he was on top. “I wanna blow you.” His voice was a rough, low murmur near my ear.