Brass Balls

A Handcuffs and Lace Story

By Mia Watts

Resplendence Publishing, LLC

http://www.resplendencepublishing.com

Resplendence Publishing, LLC

2665 N Atlantic Avenue, #349

Daytona Beach, FL 32118

Brass Balls

Copyright © 2012 Mia Watts

Edited by Darlena Cunha

Cover art by Les Byerley,

www.les3photo8.com

Electronic format ISBN: 978-1-60735-480-2

Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted

work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain,

is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of

$250,000.

Electronic Release: March 2012

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author’s

imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely

coincidental.

Thanks to the Twitter ladies who know beer: @BrynnPaulin, @BeatlesJill79,

@Kris_Norris, @Terrasha79, @LadybugsAdey.

Thanks for helpin’ a girl out, yo.

Chapter One

“Fuck, the new captain is here,” Detective Sommerset declared, choking on his beer. It

sloshed as he whipped it away from his mouth and slammed it on the table a little too hard.

Oak Takala snorted. He mentally struck the verbal comma and “is here”. His body was

already on board with the idea of fucking the new captain. He glanced over his shoulder as the

bar erupted with cheers.

“And the old one,” a familiar voice said near Oak.

A heavy hand fell on Oak’s shoulder. He turned around and grabbed his old man in a half

hug. They pounded each other’s backs in the time old tradition of rough men showing rough

affection in public.

“Hey, dad. Thought you’d ring in the new regime with the guys?” Oak asked.

Former Captain of Police, now voice of the local tribe, John Takala grinned broadly.

“You know it. I’m just glad the powers-that-be took my recommendation seriously. Wyatt

Peterman’s been an asset to the department since he partnered with me as a detective.”

“I’m just glad they chose another guy from our precinct instead of bringing in new blood

who doesn’t know us. Means we’re doing something right,” Oak added.

His father squeezed his shoulder. “Means I’m doing something right that they took my

recommendation.”

“So what’s your new position like, Cap—Geez, what the hell do I call you now? Mister

Takala?” Sommerset wondered.

“Yep, that’s all I am now. A civie. The only captain Takala will be my son when

Peterman resigns.”

“No pressure,” Oak noted.

“He’s gotta be as good as his old man, first.” The new voice sent a hot crawl down Oak’s

spine.

“Captain Peterman, speak of the devil,” Oak’s dad did the back-clapping thing with his

former partner.

They laughed. John lifted Oak’s beer as though it was his own and shouted a toast to the

bar filled with off-duty cops. They hoisted their mugs and guzzled amber fluid in deep draining

pulls amidst joyful shouts.

Oak tried not to look at the captain out of the corner of his eye, but the man had so much

charisma that it grabbed hold of Oak’s attention with invisible fists. Determined not to notice,

Oak rescued his beer and drained the contents.

“Whoa! Slow down there, partner. You’re supposed to be my designated driver,”

Sommerset complained. “I’ve had way too many to take the wheel, and you just downed a

second pint.”

Oak stared into the thread foam at the base of his mug. “I think it’s my first.”

“No way. Chuckie bought you a second round just before Peterman got here.”

“Captain Peterman,” both John and Wyatt said at the same time.

“Aw, c’mon, we’re off the clock,” Sommerset teased.

“Not when it comes to seniority,” John corrected.

“Fine, fine, but he’s had two beers.” Sommerset faced Oak. “You weren’t gonna drink

Chuckie’s.”

“I forgot.” He had forgotten. Wyatt Peterman, Captain Wyatt Peterman, could make him

forget his fucking name if he wanted to. It took a look, a smile, a hit to the chest of the man’s

deep laugh and deeper dimples, to make Oak go completely tongue-tied.

Another beer appeared in front of him. He stared at it.

“Don’t even think about it, man.” Sommerset was already claiming the frothy mug.

Oak wrapped his hand around it to stop him. Sommerset’s smile disappeared. “Seriously.

You can’t drive as it is. Neither can I.”

“I know. We’ll walk,” Oak decided.

“I’ll drive you,” Captain Peterman said.

“He’s my kid. I’ll take them both home,” John protested.

Peterman shouldered in to the bar table they stood around. “You and I both know that

even off the clock, I can’t throw back beers with the guys. I can’t be one of them anymore.”

Oak could hear the smile in Peterman’s voice, and he resisted the urge to look, choosing

to take a long drink of his draft.

“The three of you will have to drink my beers for me, and I’ll drive you all home,” the

captain finished.

Four fresh mugs appeared on the table. Oak was shocked to see the beer he’d been

holding was now empty. He reached for his fourth mug. There were perks to being the former

captain’s kid and the new captain’s friend.

Sorta.

There was also a shit-ton of disadvantages. Especially when you lusted after your dad’s

former partner. It had been bad enough wanting Peterman when he came over to the house for

dinner, during Oak’s teen years and not being able to do anything about it.

Then there was growing up and joining the force. More than just his dad’s partner, he

became inter-office taboo. But no, why stop there? Why not promote the object of his desires

right into the most unobtainable position on the planet—oh, say, captain—and put him in the

same office day in and day out where Oak couldn’t help but see him. And it wasn’t as if a

captain ever left the office. No, he was there overseeing. It fucking increased the hours in a day

Oak had to pretend the man didn’t turn every one of his hormones into raging drones drawn to

the cliff of self-destruction.

Kill him now. Just kill him now. God, his life sucked. Maybe he should put in for a

transfer.

“Take it easy, kid. I think you’ve already reached your limit,” Peterman told Oak.

Peterman’s upper arm brushed Oak’s shoulder. Oak bit back a groan behind the rim of his

mug. A warm hand closed over his and pushed the mug to the tabletop. He made the mistake of

looking up into Wyatt’s dark blue eyes. Since when had the captain grown fuzzy eyes and a halo

around his head? He reached a hand up to touch the halo and patted Peterman’s head instead.

“Slow down. There isn’t a race to drain the tap,” Peterman murmured only loud enough

for him.

Ah, but Peterman didn’t realize that there was a race for drowning his libido before it

took a turn he couldn’t come back from. “I know what I’m doing,” Oak slurred.

“Sure, ya do.”

He swung his head around. The room took a minute to settle. “Hey. Where’d dad go?”

“He’s in the john,” Sommerset told him. He giggled madly. “John’s in the john. God,

that’s funny shit right there.” He laughed harder. “Shit! Ha! Funny shit in the john where John is.

I’m a fucking comedian.”

“Right, it’s time to go, boys.”

“Not done, boss,” Oak argued.

“You’re not only done, you’re roasted and served up in beer sauce.”

Oak smirked. “Maybe you’ve had too much to drink too.”

“Not a sip.” Peterman grabbed the upper arms of both men. “Let’s go before you find a

way to call in sick tomorrow.”

“I have days saved up,” Oak told him.

“So you’re going to call in and leave your partner without a wingman because you drank

like a fish one night? You aren’t who I thought you were,” Peterman countered.

“Yeah.” Bright words of wisdom from Sommerset.

“What—I mean, who—did you think I was?”

Peterman spared him a look as he manhandled them through the crowd and into the

cooler night air of the parking lot. “An officer.”

“Pfft. That’s a given captain. I have a badge and everything. It’s super shiny.”

“Mine is too,” Sommerset chimed in.

“Fantastic. Neither of you can hold your liquor, and now I’m going to have two of the

three stooges in my backseat.”

“How ’bout you join me in the back seat, hm?” Oak wasn’t positive, but he had the

sinking suspicion that he’d regret that offer tomorrow. He ran the words over in his inebriated

mind. Nope, they sounded good. Really, really good. Think of all the things they could do in the

backseat of Peterman’s car.

“Who’d drive you home if we were all in the backseat?”

“You missed the point completely,” Oak complained.

“No, I don’t think I did.”

He shoved Sommerset into the backseat, policeman style with his hand on his head to

keep Sommerset from bumping it on the way in. Sommerset sprawled, laughing as the door

closed behind him. He maneuvered Oak to the other side.

“What? You get me drunk, and I don’t even get a goodnight kiss?” Oak asked feeling a

little sloppy. The captain wasn’t standing still, was he? It was hard to tell. He glared at Oak for

several seconds, letting Oak’s request sink into his own head. Oak slapped a hand over his

mouth. Oh shit, he knew that one would haunt him later. That’s why he started laughing. Of

course, that was why he was laughing and not because he’d just come out of the closet to his

captain in a big way.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Get in.”

Wyatt planted his hand on Oak’s glossy black hair and shoved him downward onto the

backseat. He slammed the door shut after him. He took a few deep breaths before he got into the

driver’s seat. He cranked the ignition and turned up the volume of the local radio station channel.

The last thing, the very last thing he needed, was to think of kissing Oak Takala.

The man’s wide, almond-shaped eyes were so brown Wyatt could get lost in them. Hell,

he had gotten lost a time or two over the years. Fortunately, there was always structure of the

force to fall back on. He wasn’t about to mess around with his best friend and former partner’s,

kid. He certainly wouldn’t kiss the same kid’s beautiful mouth when he was drunk off his ass.

“Sommerset. Address,” he barked.

Sommerset reeled it off. Wyatt nodded curtly.

Maybe if he kept telling himself that Oak was a kid, he’d eventually believe it. He’d done

the math more than a few times. They were sixteen years apart in age. John another twelve above

Wyatt. Sixteen years was a lot. The kid was twenty-nine for fuck’s sake. Who the hell was he

kidding with jokes about making out in the backseat?

Sure, it was hilarious now, when he’d beer-soaked his brain, but just wait until that brain

sobered up and he realized that he’d propositioned another man. A superior officer on the force.

If it were any other person, Wyatt would never let him live it down. Because it was Oak, and too

close to what he wanted, Wyatt wouldn’t bring it up again.

Kissing Oak. Fuck. Wyatt would either have to resign himself to a restless night with that

image stuck in his head, or he’d have to go home and jack off a few times until he was unwired

enough to sleep. Damn, that kid. He had no idea what he was messing with.

He stopped in front of Sommerset’s house. The detective stumbled out of the car and

tripped up the steps to his house. A woman opened the front door and started yelling at the poor

fool. Wyatt shook his head, grateful that wasn’t his home.

He pulled out of the driveway. There was no need to ask Oak where he lived. His house

was around the corner from his parents. If Oak leaned to the left from his back deck and peered

through the twin pines at the back edge of the property, he could see John and Tilly’s patio. If he

stepped to the right at the corner of the deck and looked up, he’d see Wyatt’s condo balcony

through a different set of trees.

It was far too close for comfort. Yet having John’s house just as close as Oak’s had

probably saved Wyatt a lot of embarrassment. Seeing Oak’s home every morning when he drank

his coffee tempted him to take an early morning walk through the woods to see what he was up

to. Knowing John might see him kept Wyatt honest.

“Wanna come inside?” Oak asked when they got to the house.

“No.”

“I make a mean cup of coffee,” Oak tempted.

“No.”

With a battered sigh, Oak got out of the car. “Thanks for the ride, cap’n.”

“Yeah. Sober up before work tomorrow.”

Oak saluted. He shuffled backward nearly losing his balance. He pin-wheeled his arms,

righted himself, then promptly tripped over the walkway edging and took a dive into the row of

irises lining the front porch. The rail shuddered with the fall.

“Jesus,” Wyatt muttered, quickly releasing his seatbelt.

He raced to the spot where only Oak’s feet were visible. The kid groaned.

“Are you okay?”

“Fuck, no,” Oak grumbled.

“Keep talking. Let me know you’re conscious.” Wyatt backtracked to the car, turned off

the ignition and locked it up. Oak was muttering about worms and whether or not they would get

drunk if they chomped on him, then wondered what a drunken worm looked like.

Wyatt grinned despite himself. He squatted down and helped Oak into a sitting position.

Wrapping a supporting arm around his waist, Wyatt hefted him to his feet.

“Keys?”

“Pocket,” Oak mumbled. He yawned.

The porch light came on when the motion sensor caught them weaving up the front steps.

Wyatt leaned him against the side of the house next to the door.

“Which?”

“Front, I think.”

Wyatt folded his arms across his chest. No way in hell would he go exploring the kid’s

pockets for keys that may or may not be in his front pocket. Oak grinned back at him, and slowly

folded his arms across his chest too. A tiny change in his expression suggested he was up to

something. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that he wanted Wyatt to go digging.

“I can leave you propped up right here, or we can get you inside and clean up that cut on

your forehead. Your call.”

Oak frowned but slowly searched his pockets for the keys. He found them and turned to

try them at the door. Wyatt took over, slipped the key in and then hooked his arm around Oak

again to help him get inside.

“How are you getting to work tomorrow?” Wyatt asked.

“You can take me.”

“Call your dad.”

“He doesn’t work at the station any more, remember?”

“Fine. We’ll get you cleaned up, then I’m going home. I’ll be by to pick you up at seven

sharp.”

They made their way through the house to the master suite bathroom. He propped Oak

against the counter. “Where’s your first aid stuff?”

Oak lifted his chin toward the sink mirror. Wyatt opened it and found what he needed.

Then after wetting a washcloth, he carefully wiped the wound area. A strand of hair fell over one

dark brown eye. Wyatt refused to look into those eyes this close. He’d do something stupid. Not

only was he in danger of doing something stupid with a friend’s son, Oak was also a subordinate

who was drunk. Besides, as sexy as this kid was, Wyatt didn’t want to mess things up. One kiss,

one long look that suggested he might want to kiss Oak, and he threw years of trust out the

window.

He brushed the strand of hair out of the way and finished dabbing the raw skin with a

slice through it. “You might need stitches. Look at it tomorrow, and if it’s not healing, go see a

doctor.”

He reached for the alcohol rub and a tissue, because evidently, Oak didn’t believe in

cotton balls. But when he looked up to address the kid’s cut, Oak leaned forward and kissed him

square on the lips. Wyatt jumped back as if he’d been burned.

“What the fuck?”

“Sorry, was that out of line, boss?” Oak asked starting to laugh. “I see a great pair of lips

that close and I just can’t help myself.”

He’d been playing off Oak’s flirtation as a drunken man’s twisted sense of humor. But

with the kiss, he had very little doubt that Oak actually swung that way. And why not? The

complications only made sense when they kept increasing, so why not make the untouchable

subordinate son of a long-time partner and best friend gay, too?

Someone up there was laughing at him. They’d just sliced through another of those thin

little threads that kept Wyatt from acting like an idiot. Surprise, the kid you thought was straight

is gay too! There were petty Greek gods up there waiting to see Wyatt twist in the wind.

Assholes.

Damn, that kid’s mouth was soft. “Try.”

“Try to help myself?” Oak teased.

Wyatt put the alcohol and tissue into Oak’s hands. “You’re all set if you disinfect. Sleep

it off, Takala. I’ll be here at seven. Remember.”

He spun on his heel and marched through the house and out the front door. He fumbled

for the house keys in his pocket and locked Oak in. He’d be picking the kid up tomorrow

anyway.

Meanwhile there was a hot shower and some body-wash gel his cock wanted to get to

know better.

Chapter Two

Light bled across his face from the window. Oak groaned as an invisible jackhammer

worked on his skull pounding every accessible memory from last night into focus.

Oh, shit.

A wave of nausea hit him as the horror-filled look of Wyatt Peterman backing away from

him double-time sprang to his consciousness. There’d be some explaining to do. Oak winced.

What the fuck had possessed him to kiss the man? Oh, right, Smithwick’s Irish ale had knocked

him flat on his ass and sent his good sense packing.

Oak covered his face with both hands as he sat on the edge of the bed. “This is not going

to be pretty,” he muttered.

The pounding in his head only seemed to get worse by sitting up. He decided he’d have

to suffer through the shower and hope some of the hot water washed away the grit in his brain. If

it eased the building headache, he’d count that as a bonus.

It might work. He barely stepped into the bathroom before hurling his cookies into the

pot. He rinsed his mouth, gargled and brushed. It still felt sticky in there, a sure sign of alcohol

cottonmouth. Planting his hands on either side of the sink, he lifted his head to stare balefully at

himself in the mirror. He looked like shit. Warmed over, cooled off, left in the sun, rehydrated

and hatching flies kind of shit.

“I told you to be ready at seven sharp,” Peterman’s recognizable bark echoed in the too

small space.

Oak started. “What? How—?”

“Didn’t you hear me banging on the door?”

“I thought that was my head,” Oak mumbled warily.

“Shit. We’re going to be late. My first day on the job, and I’m babysitting.” Peterman

pushed passed him and twisted on the shower. “Get in, get clean, get out, get dressed. I’m giving

you ten minutes while I make coffee. Don’t keep me waiting.”

He left just as quickly as he’d entered. Oak’s booze-soaked brain registered the veiled

threat and tore off his clothes.

Eleven minutes later, he stumbled into the kitchen, not quite sure how he’d managed to

keep his feet under him on the tricky obstacle course called stairs.

“You’re late.” Peterman thrust a cup of black coffee at him.

Oak took it and the piece of dry toast he was handed next. That he wasn’t hungry or

interested in food didn’t seem to matter to the captain.

“Don’t give me that look. Eat it.”

“Yes, sir,” Oak agreed. He squinted as he tilted his head back to drink, noticing for the

first time how damn bright the kitchen lights were. Many more nights like the last one and he’d

be wearing sunglasses inside, in the dark.

“Let’s go.”

Oak drank as much of the hot liquid as he could without burning his mouth, and suffered

through the toast on the way to the car. They both got in. Peterman tossed him his house keys,

then started the car and backed out of the driveway. His lips pressed a thin line.

“Captain, about last night,” Oak started.

A muscle just above Peterman’s jaw tightened. “Nothing happened last night. If it had, I

would have forgotten about it immediately and suspected that you had too, out of respect for

your father.”

“Right. Dad,” he murmured. “But to be clear, I’m not out to the guys at the precinct. So

let’s keep what might, or might not have happened, between us.”

“What you do on your own time is no one’s business but your own. Not even mine,”

Peterman snapped. His hands tightened on the steering wheel.

“So we aren’t going to talk about that other thing?” Oak asked. Peterman appeared as

immovable as a mountain. “Because I stepped over the line last night and you might be a little

pissed and thinking about the right way to address it with my dad.”

“You became a man a long time ago. What your father knows or thinks has nothing to do

with who you are. Drop it.”

“He knows I’m gay. He’s just never had to deal with me treading on home turf before.

This won’t turn into a conversation with him?”

“Nothing happened.”

Peterman flicked a glance at him when he came to a red light. The muscle ticked. It

should have warned Oak, but it merely fascinated him. The guy had sex appeal in spades. His flat

black brows above midnight blue eyes had always appealed to him, but as Peterman got older,

his face had become more angled. Wicked little touches to his handsome face and fit body were

enhanced by time, not diminished. Streaks of white touched the dark brown hair over his ears,

more like highlights than banners of age.

So maybe sexy didn’t begin to describe him. Oak had lost the ability to put a finger on

the man’s appeal years ago. It had stroked Oak’s cock sometime in his late teens over dinner at

the house with his parents and hadn’t stopped turning him on since. The laugh, the smile, those

eyes boring into him with a sprinkle of humor, the baritone voice, the body, the quirky dark

sense of humor that most guys on the force shared, it did something to him that Oak couldn’t

describe in words.

And maybe that’s why he couldn’t let the subject slide. He wanted to talk about the kiss.

He wanted to see Peterman’s face and judge for himself if the man was offended. All he gathered

from their conversation this morning was that it wasn’t worth upsetting the status quo. The

flexing muscle in his jaw could just as well be irritation as stubbornness.

At least Oak would be sober enough to pick up on any tiny cues Peterman gave him.

“I kissed you. Full on the mouth, I planted one on you last night,” Oak reminded flatly. “I

want to talk about it. Clear the air. Whatever.”

God, maybe this was a mistake. He’d acted drunkenly and could’ve left it at that, but the

wall had been broken down by the kiss. Drunkenness didn’t change a man. It just loosened his

inhibitions. No matter what he played it off as, every cop knew that fact. Peterman was no

different. The motivation to give him that kiss had a foundation, and Oak had to deal with the

consequences either as a mouse or as a man.

He didn’t back down from a challenge. He couldn’t claim it had been the best decision of

his life to go messing with the friendship and family dynamic they had, but what was done, was

done. He wouldn’t hide from the truth now that it was out there, staring them both in the face.

Oak’s resolve firmed. The kiss changed everything, and yet admitting his feelings after

all these years made him strangely lighter inside. Like he’d been denying his nature by not

telling the one man who’d affected him most. Well, it was all out in the open now, for better or

worse. Thanks to Smithwick’s Irish Ale.

“You don’t always get what you want, kid.”

The man had a damn good poker face. “What are you afraid of?”

They turned into the parking lot and Peterman pulled into his reserved spot right in front

of the officer entrance. He twisted to face Oak and he saw something guarded lurking behind the

blue in his eyes.

“Afraid? Of a drunken kiss from a kid I’ve known since he was covered in zits and

braces? You’ve got your wires crossed.”

“Then humor me,” Oak said tightly.

“Drunk or sober, your lips won’t touch mine again. Clear?” Peterman held his gaze until

Oak backed down and looked away.

“Clear, sir.”

“Get your ass inside. You owe me time today. Stay on the clock late.”

“Yes, sir.”

* * * *

Wyatt took his time picking up messages, greeting the congratulating officers, and filling

his mug with coffee in the break room. God, it had been a long night, a longer morning, and at

the rate things were going, an eternity until he clocked out tonight.

Except there was no clocking out. His job wasn’t done until it was done which meant

staying as late as necessary until it got done. The precinct was always busy. Seemed the warmer

it got, the more activity they got. Not only was the warmth of spring in full force, it acted like a

fire heating the kettle of summertime tempers to come. The craziness brought on by the coming

of the full moon added fuel.

Peterman stepped into his office and shut the door. Dropping a hand to his hip, he lifted

the other to take a sip from his steaming mug. He looked out onto the floor through the

horizontal blinds at the busy-ness of beat-cops prepping for their shift.

The chaos soothed him. Already he could feel his heart rate calming. Until he made the

mistake of thinking about Oak.

The images the boy’s name conjured gave him pause. He’d teased John about it a few

times, but John had set him straight. John’s parents, trying to fit their Indian heritage into the

mainstream thinking, had named all their children traditional white names. John had gone back

to his cultural roots, something that had carried over into his work life and brought on his

retirement of the police force to work as a spokesperson for the local area tribe members.

Likewise, he’d refused to name his son anything that didn’t point toward their noble heritage.

Wyatt should have been thinking about that, but the word Oak only made him think of

wood. Hard, solid wood and all its connotations. And that was a mistake. Oak was strong, noble,

and handsome. And just like the tree, he was named after, stubborn and unbending. Besides,

thinking of wood only conjured images of the man naked and erect.

Add to that image the one of Oak reaching for a kiss, those soft full lips parted, the earthy

smell of him mingling with the fresher scents of beer and bar, and Wyatt almost felt like he’d

had a shot of whiskey for breakfast.

His cock stirred. Resolutely, he faced his desk and the blinking phone on it. Goddamn,

the day couldn’t get any longer, could it?

Chapter Three

Wyatt ran a hand through his hair. The short strands were starting to stand up from the

number of passes he’d made through it since the first shift had gone through and the second one

had started hours ago.

He collected his papers, clacking the edges on the top of his desk until they were aligned

in a neat stack. John had taken care of most of the files, but the ones still pending information

when he’d retired, had generated some long hours.

The phone buzzed. Wyatt glanced at the clock. It was nine. He picked up the handset and

cradled it against his shoulder as he filed things away.

“Peterman,” he answered gruffly, his voice more graveled than usual.

A warm laugh greeted him on the other end. Wyatt smiled, his shoulders relaxed at the

familiar roll of John’s voice.

“Still at the office? God, I don’t miss that job,” John told him.

“You never mentioned how much paperwork there was. I feel like the desk is riding my

ass.”

“You definitely become its bitch. You should come over for dinner tomorrow. Sheila and

I miss your sorry self. I’m even forcing Oak to take these ribs I’ll be smoking and treat them to

his singular barbeque talents.”

A niggle of guilt wormed its way into the ease that the conversation had enjoyed. He

brushed it aside. “I’m still playing catch up here. My first day and it’s after nine. Tomorrow

won’t see me caught up.”

“This weekend, then. That gives you four more days to get things in order and find a date.

Sheila’s got someone lined up for you if you. She thinks you need to slow down on the work

load and get a life.”

“You’ve been saying that for years. We both know it takes a special person to date a cop.

And we both know this job will never be fully ordered,” Wyatt joked back.

“Can’t do anything about the job, thank God. But those detective shifts aren’t keeping

you away from home anymore. You aren’t on call, Wyatt. You deserve a life outside the office.

It’s one of the reasons I was happy to see you take the position in the first place.” John’s voice

had grown more serious as he switched from teasing to concern.

“I knew you had an ulterior motive,” Wyatt said trying to regain some of the banter.

“He’s a good guy. I’ll ask Sheila to invite him over.”

Wyatt sighed.

“I know the kind of guys who turn your head. I think she may be right about this one.

He’s a fire chief. He’s seen his fair share of the human dregs and knows what life as a public

servant is like. I think he’d be good for you.”

“I can find my own dates,” Wyatt deadpanned.

“If that were true, I’d have known about it. Aside from some very short term

relationships these past twenty years I’ve worked with you, I’ve yet to see you get serious about

someone.”

“Our job didn’t make it easy.”

“That’s my point,” John said, coming around full-circle. “Your job makes it easier now.

No more excuses.”

“John, let it go.”

The line went quiet for several counts.

“Who is he?” John asked quietly.

“Who?”

“The guy who has your brain in knots?”

“My brain isn’t in knots. It’s thinking clearly and staying far away from dating.” Well, at

least, part of that was true, he rationalized.

“Do I know him?” asked rightly not believing Wyatt.

“John. Let it go.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Don’t you have something to lobby for?” Wyatt challenged.

“Not at this time of night. And when you’re all organized, you won’t have anything else

to do either. You’ll have nothing but that quiet condo and no one to fill it with but your own

thoughts. If you won’t go after the guy in your thoughts, at least show up for the guy Sheila’s

inviting over for you.”

“Is this really why you called? Is married life so bad that you have to make sure everyone

suffers?”

John laughed. “Married life is just that great that I have to share the wealth. So here’s

what’s happening. Sheila is inviting Owen over for dinner on Saturday. You’re showing up here

at five, Oak is making barbeque, I’m fixing up the yard, and we’re all going to sit back, down a

few beers and talk about civil servant-hood.” He paused a moment before continuing. “There’s

something I wanted to talk to you about anyway. In person.”

Oak and a fix-up at the same party? That could be awkward. Or could it? If Oak was

interested and saw him with another guy, maybe he’d leave him the fuck alone. If he never had

anything but a passing interest and a kiss for Wyatt, seeing Wyatt with another man could nip it

in the bud.

Besides, he owed John his life. If he needed to talk, Wyatt wouldn’t turn him down.

“I’ll be there. I’ll bring the beer, not that piss water you like to drink but something good

for a change,” Wyatt agreed.

They hung up and Wyatt finished putting away the stuff in his office. Turning out the

light, he closed the door and locked it. It was a silent drive home. The emptiness of his car

mocked his earlier conversation with John, especially because it was a forerunner of the lifeless

condo he’d enter in a few minutes.

His keys rattled as he pulled them from the ignition. Picking up his briefcase and

climbing the stairs to his doorwell, each movement seemed to make sounds that echoed the same

chant of loneliness. It had been a long time since he’d been with someone. It had been longer

since he’d picked up a one-nighter. The lure of a quick fuck had faded with age and now he

wanted someone to talk to, who’d be there the next morning and the one after that.

He flipped the lights on and poured himself a shallow glass of ginger ale—a trick he’d

picked up years ago to make it look like he was drinking in a bar filled with other cops who were

drinking. It served to fool him, as well. It was the comfort of the act. The slow sipping, the color,

the clinking ice and the way those cubes bounced on his upper lip that he liked. Not what it held.

Wyatt opened the sliding glass door onto his balcony and leaned over the railing as he

looked into the tree-hewn darkness. Crickets had already woken to spring and were singing.

Some night birds chirped from time to time, punctuating the sky with their calls. Already

Michigan humidity thickened the air for what promised to be a sticky summer.

He closed his eyes, inhaling the greening scents and earthy ground thaw of his favorite

season.

Off to his left, he could make out the distant lights from the back of John’s house. It

flickered with blue tones signifying a television in use. He smiled, thinking of his conversation

with John again, and how John was at home with his someone, probably cuddled up on the

couch.

He loved going to John’s. It felt like home, smelled like home. It had all the finer touches

of two people having shared a full life together. His condo paled by comparison.

He gave his attention to the house through the trees, also left, but across from his

balcony. He shifted until he could see a light in an upper window. Oak’s bedroom faced the

street, so this would be a bathroom or a hall light seen through the well of a guest room. Either

way, it didn’t reveal the man who lived there.

He kept looking at it anyway. Finally, he let the thoughts he’d been holding at bay,

tumble to the forefront of his mind. The kiss, the look in Oak’s eyes, the drunken smile, the

direct conversation the next day, were all fresh but as confusing to him as if they were mix-

matched puzzle pieces from a pictureless box.

What did he do with them? Had Oak wanted to talk about it because he was confused, or

thought his job was on the line? Had he wanted to see if things could go farther? Was it just a

drunken kiss without meaning that he wanted the gay captain to know meant nothing? Did he

even know Wyatt was gay?

John knew. Sheila knew. If they were having dinner on Saturday with this Owen guy,

didn’t that mean Oak knew? Or would know? It was so damn confusing. Was the setup more like

a chance to meet this other guy and less like a date? He thought so. John had always kept his

secrets. He didn’t think that one as big as Wyatt being gay was something he’d just bomb drop

on Oak in a family setting without Wyatt’s permission.

It had to be a meeting, he decided. Just a gentle reminder that there were great men out

there he wasn’t looking at. Dinner would be interesting.

He craned his neck to see if Oak was on his deck, but there was only darkness at the

lower back level. “What am I doing?” he muttered to himself as he stood and drained the last sip

of ginger ale. “He’s just a kid.”

“Were you looking for me?” a voice asked below him.

Wyatt’s gaze darted to the tree trunks at the near edge of the condo property. Oak leaned

a shoulder against a trunk, his arms folded across his chest as he looked up at Wyatt on the

balcony. Remnants of light touched the angled planes of his face and added a shine to his glossy

black hair as a slow smile lifted his corners of his full, soft lips.

Oak’s heart kicked into a quickened beat. The only person he’d ever heard Peterman

address as a kid, was him. He’d been looking through the trees, peering into the dark. Oak had

been transfixed by the sharp handsomeness of the man who’d looked lost in thought as the filling

moon had shined down on him.

Wyatt Peterman at rest. It was a sight to behold when the stoic man let down his guard

and allowed his emotions to run freely across his features. His troubled silence had spoken to

Oak, and unable to turn away, he’d stared.

“I’m coming up,” he told Peterman.

Not waiting for a protest, Oak circled the building and climbed the stairs to the front

door, two at a time. Peterman opened the door when he got there, but only wide enough to talk

while barring the entrance.

“Go home.”

“I’d love a drink, thanks.” Oak pushed the front door. He was surprised how easy it was

to get past him. He smiled, the night looked better and better.

“Go home, Oak.”

Oak went to the small galley bar kitchenette that looked over the joint living-dining room

combination and opened the fridge. He hooked the neck of an old-fashioned Coke bottle, twisted

off the cap and drew a long swig. Peterman’s expression darkened measurably. He lowered the

bottle and grinned. “Let’s have that talk.”

“You talk. When you’re done, find your way out.” Peterman stalked toward the hall.

“If you go that way, I’m only going to follow you to your bedroom, captain.” He

plastered a cheesy grin on his face, waiting to see what Peterman did.

He stopped, shoulders tensed and slowly returned to the living room. “That’s right, Oak.

I’m your captain. You shouldn’t be here.”

“You’re also a dear family friend of John and Sheila’s. Visiting you is no different than

visiting Uncle Bob.”

“You don’t have an Uncle Bob.”

“True,” Oak mused as he lifted his drink again. When he finished, he had another shit-

eating grin on his face. He hoped. His nerves were shot to hell so he may have been a little

impaired in knowing what his expression held at the moment. He just hoped it deflected attention

from his less than steady hands. “I’ve also never sucked face with an Uncle Bob. Off the clock, I

figure you still qualify as a family friend. Or has that changed?”

Annoyance flitted across Peterman’s brow. He sat on in an upholstered chair and

motioned to the couch. “What’s on your mind? Say it quickly. It’s been a long day, and I don’t

need the badgering.”

Oak sauntered to the living room. Peterman kept his eyes trained on his face. Too bad.

Oak had it on pretty good authority that his ass was awesome. He sat at the edge of the couch

closest to the captain. “I’m gay.”

Peterman’s eyes held his for a long time. “That’s it?” he said finally.

Oak shrugged. “It would be if I hadn’t kissed you.”

His brows rose slightly as though asking him why that mattered. That’s how he chose to

take the unspoken question, anyway.

“I was out of line. I’m sorry,” Oak offered.

“It’s forgotten.” Peterman stood abruptly. “Now if that’s all, good night.”

Oak stood too. “That’s not all.” He’d been hoping for a question to open his next words,

but silence stretched between them again. Fine, he’d just say it and see what happened when the

dust settled. A man doesn’t just stand there and receive another man’s kiss for no reason. Oak

had some hope that the niggling thought about Peterman’s reaction, were motivated by

something important that seemed to thicken the air. “I think you might be gay too.”

No change in his posture, no flicker of surprise or anger. Nothing. Peterman simply

stood, his hands on his hips. “Are we done here?” he said.

Oak put down his drink. He’d been expecting a reaction. Any reaction. Bored

indifference wasn’t it. Yet the lack of anger might be his answer, he decided. He took the four

steps he needed to stand in front of his captain.

“Not done yet, captain.”

Peterman didn’t flinch. If anything, his gaze grew cool, like he was looking through Oak

instead of at him.

He wasn’t wrong. He couldn’t be wrong. Shit, what if he’d been wrong? Had the

captain’s reaction to the kiss been just surprise? It could have been, but if he were disgusted,

wouldn’t he have addressed the issue right away instead of deflecting Oak’s attempts to talk

about it? He’d been so unreadable.

But there was the lack of a panicked threat, to his family knowing, to his job, to their

relationship as it had been, that it felt…wrong, unnaturally calm. At least unnaturally angry for a

man getting kissed by another man who then showed sober interest, too.

Unless the captain wasn’t uninterested. He was just unsure.

Oak steeled himself for another try. God help him if he was wrong.

“I think the reason you jumped back so quickly is because there’s something between

us.”

A smirk curled Peterman’s lip. “That’s a bit open for interpretation, don’t you think?

Reaching for answers usually isn’t your style.”

Damn, his cocky hide! They were eye-level, Oak with his confident grin and a knowing

glint in his eyes. Letting him know he’d crawled right up under Wyatt’s skin wasn’t the way to

win this one. He held his ground, kept his expression as neutral as he could. Oak could speculate

all he wanted to about what had happened that night. He’d get no confirmation from Wyatt.

“Evasiveness isn’t yours,” Oak countered. “You’re the bluntest man I know, outside my

father. Your silence is saying more than a confession could.”

Was he right? Jesus. “It’s because of your father that I haven’t written you up for

harassment. Pull your ass together. John would flip if he could see the way you’re acting with

me.”

“Dad knows I’m gay.”

“Does he know you hit on his friends?”

“Well, no, but then you’d be the first.” There was that grin again. The one that taunted

him to make a move.

“Thank God for small miracles. I won’t tell him about this. Go on home, boy.”

“Boy? Kid? Does that help you stay away, captain?” A challenging glint entered Oak’s

eyes.

Wyatt leveled a sharp look on him. “What have I ever done that suggests flirting with me

is a good idea? What the hell makes you think that I’m receptive to this shit?”

That cocky-ass grin faltered. The gleam in his eyes looked a little less certain. Finally,

Wyatt appeared to have gained some ground. It was about damn time.

“I’m tired, kid. You can stand out here and profess your ever-loving soul to my flat

screen all night. I’m bed bait.”

“You sure are,” he murmured appreciatively.

Wyatt snorted.

Oak took another step, his face inches away. “I remember what you said. Drunk or sober

you lips won’t touch mine again. Just thought I’d mention that there are a lot of things two guys

can do that don’t involve kissing. With you, I’m a proponent of all of them.”

Jesus, the kid was a persistent fucker. Evidently, Wyatt’s cock appreciated that trait.

Oak leaned in, their noses almost touching. “Unless of course you’ve changed your mind

about your lip-avoidance issues.”

His cheek brushed Wyatt’s, just a whisper of a touch. It was enough to have him draw a

sudden breath, for his eyes to half-close as he waited to see what Oak would do next.

Determination to stay away began to melt as hot breath tickled his ear and neck. Oak rested a

hand on his hip just above Wyatt’s so that the back of his fingers touched the inside of Wyatt’s

wrist.

A hot thrill shivered up his arm. He should move. Moving would be a good idea. Wyatt

turned his face toward Oak’s temple. The soft strands of hair teased the sensitive skin next to

Wyatt’s lips and the vague scent of coconut shampoo encouraged him closer.

He tried to lecture himself, mentally chastising that by telling himself to move, he’d

meant move away, not toward. However, Wyatt’s body wasn’t obeying. Though his subtle

change in position wasn’t exactly a concession to letting Oak continue, it wasn’t a denial of

anything the other man had said about him either.

Oak’s fingers tracked up his Wyatt’s side, barely rippling over the fabric. He slipped his

hand beneath Wyatt’s arm to his shoulder blade and gently tugged him. Wyatt’s chest bumped

his. Lips trailed the side of his neck and Wyatt forgot why he was supposed to resist. It was just a

fumble, he rationalized. They weren’t kissing. They weren’t fucking. They weren’t even naked.

Was a little contact so bad?

“Fuck it,” Oak whispered. “I need to know.”

Oak’s hips nudged his. Wyatt bit back a groan at the hot proof of the other man’s arousal.

There were too many clothes between them to satisfy. His shirt bunched in Oak’s hands. The

cool air at his exposed midriff was enough to wake Wyatt from his daze.

He pushed his shirt down. “No,” he said softly.

Oak looked up at him, seeming as out of it as Wyatt had been.

He grabbed Oak’s hand and led him backward to the door. He kept his eyes trained on the

younger man, holding his attention as he opened the door and held it for him. “It’s time to go.”

“I’m not wrong though, am I?”

“Good night,” Wyatt said instead.

“Captain, I’m not wrong,” he pressed.

Wyatt lifted Oak’s chin, hoping to make his point while he reminded himself of all the

reasons this was a bad idea. “This isn’t going to happen. I’ve known you way too long, and I

respect your father far too much to entertain the possibility.”

“At some point, you live your life for yourself and quit worrying about what other people

think.”

Wyatt grinned, letting go of his single finger hold on Oak’s jaw. “Are you actually trying

to school me?”

“Just reminding you that we don’t get to package our lives in a pretty box. Sometimes

things are what they are.” He ducked under Wyatt’s arm as he moved through the entry, then

stopped and turned. “If I weren’t John Takala’s son, would you’ve turned me down tonight?”

“You’d still be a subordinate, and you’re assuming I’m an easy lay. I’m not.”

“You’re right about that,” Oak agreed giving him a slow once over. “There’s nothing

easy about you.”

“You’re making it really easy to find reasons to fire your ass,” Wyatt called after him as

Oak walked to the top step.

Oak glanced back at him with a grin and a wink. He lightly rested his fingers on the

railing. “No you won’t. There’s too much history for you to write me off that easily.”

Wyatt watched him disappear down the condo steps with a combination of relief and loss.

He shook his head to clear it of the spell he’d been under. The kid had grown into a man. He

knew it, but it still surprised him. One minute, he was a scrawny basketball player on the

Kenowa Hills High School team he and John had cheered for. The next, he was a grown man

with the assertiveness of someone who knew what he wanted, and the fearlessness of someone

who never expected to get hurt.

He’d known Oak looked up to him, but he’d always assumed it was the attention given to

a close relative. After tonight, he suspected Oak’s attentions had been a long-fostered crush. If

there was one thing Wyatt knew, it was that a crush never lived up to the expectation set on it.

Maybe part of pushing Oak away was his effort to maintain his mystique while saving his pride.

Maybe he just wasn’t as fearless.

He shut the door and locked it unsteadily. Scrubbing his hands over his face, he groaned

into them. Oak had come at him completely out of the blue, before he’d been able to develop a

solid defense against him. That meant he’d have to work double time to keep the kid away.

God help him.

Chapter Four

It was the gasp that had caught Oak’s attention. Was there anything sweeter than an

involuntary confession? Because that’s what that sound had been.

He whistled as he showered the next morning and got ready for work, reliving the night

before. His own daring had surprised him. Then again, he’d wanted Peterman for a long time,

and he’d been bound to crack eventually. Apparently, all it had taken was getting close. Really

close, to throw caution and career to the wind. In the moment, he’d figured his family would

understand making a move on a family friend, even if it got tense.

The job? The guys? Romantically, he’d like to believe they’d get over it. Realistically,

and in the light of day, it hadn’t been his brightest moment. Yet the risk had paid off. He almost

couldn’t believe it.

His guess that the captain was gay had been just that. He’d made up reasons for the man’s

reaction to the kiss. He’d been waiting to get shot down, but that hadn’t happened. His smile

widened. Never in a million had he expected the tough-as-nails detective he’d known all those

years, was a team player. Knowing the truth now made the morning especially beautiful that one

major obstacle had been hurdled.

He’d just assumed that the job made dating as hard for Peterman as it did for other guys.

Thinking about it now, it was a stupid assumption. Peterman had always been the object of Oak’s

interest. It never occurred to him that the man would be anything but his, so the fact that Oak

hadn’t seen him dating had kept Peterman in a perfect, untouched by competition, bubble, . His

personal dating life had never been a topic of family discussion when Oak was around, though he

thought that was weird considering how much time all four of them spent together over the

years. It only added fuel to the fire that his parents probably knew Peterman was gay and weren’t

addressing it because Oak hadn’t been told.

But now Oak did know. If he could get Peterman’s resolve to crumble, maybe Oak stood

a chance with him. He’d almost done it, he remembered as he started his car for the drive in to

work.

He’d dragged his parted lips along Peterman’s jaw. The stubbly texture had rasped them

pleasantly, and he’d stopped to press the barest kiss to the place a tense muscled ticked in his

boss’ cheek. He loved that spot.

Peterman’s head had turned into him; it hadn’t been much, but that close it was enough to

let Oak know he’d been right about him. Peterman was gay, and if his involuntary reactions

meant anything at all, it was that he found Oak attractive too.

The office was busy when he got there. He saw the captain but never made eye contact.

Around mid morning, Oak’s partner started to notice something was up.

“Hey princess, how about you get your stack of paperwork done today so we can catch

up on these files? I have no interest in doing both our jobs.” Sommerset folded his arms on the

desk top and looked drolly at him.

“I’m working.”

“You’re distracted. I know this shit’s boring, but do you think you can focus long enough

to get some work done?”

“Yeah, sorry.” Oak flipped open the next file, going over the case notes. He picked up the

phone and made follow-up calls to one of the witnesses, left a message at the toxicology lab, and

jotted down a list of things he still needed to look into.

“What’s eating you, anyway?” Sommerset asked between calls.

“Sadly, no one,” he teased back.

Sommerset snorted. “Sound like you need to get laid.” He lobbed a stress ball at Oak’s

chest.

Oak caught it and squeezed it a few times. “I’m workin’ on it.”

“Oh, yeah? Who’s the lucky lady?”

“I don’t kiss and tell,” he answered with a smirk.

“But you’ve kissed her? How fast do you think it’ll be before you get into her panties?”

“Sommerset. Takala. I need the Jessup file on my desk immediately,” the captain barked

from beside their desks.

A hot flush tore over Oak’s face as he realized the captain had heard them. But how

much? Fuck, he didn’t look amused.

“Yes, sir,” Oak snapped.

Sommerset muttered another affirmative and the captain moved on. “Well, fuck me. I

think the new captain has quieter feet than the last one.”

Oak laughed uncomfortably.

“Was it just me, or did he seem more pissed than usual?”

Oak noted the captain’s tight stride and the definitive slam of his office door. The glass in

the upper half trembled with the force. “Nope. It’s not just you.”

“Maybe he should get laid too,” Sommerset suggested.

Workin’ on that also, Oak silently answered.

* * * *

Wyatt had been through the gamut of emotions by the time Friday rolled around.

Between the heady interest Oak had displayed Tuesday night in the apartment, to the next day

hearing him talk about a woman he was trying to sleep with, to total avoidance of the kid where

work wasn’t strictly addressed, Wyatt was strung as tightly as a guitar string.

Oak made him fucking crazy, he decided. The kid kept him guessing with his little

games, and it had to stop. Wyatt simply couldn’t function this way—always wondering what the

other man was up to and how it applied to him.

He felt like a teenage girl. Something a forty-five year old man with more sense should

never feel, damnit.

He paced to the kitchen, opened the fridge and looked in as though it held all the answers.

His gaze touched every item inside, his mind running too fast to actually take inventory of what

he saw. He slammed it closed again and paced back to the living room. He stopped in the same

place he’d stood Tuesday night when Oak had made a hail Mary play on him. An effective one,

truth be told.

His cell rang. Oak’s phone number lit his screen.

“Shit,” he yelled at it. He accepted the call and lifted it to his ear. “This had better be

good, Takala.”

“You sound a little tense, sir. Something I can do to help?” Oak’s low voice rumbled

soothingly across the line. Or it would have been soothing, if it hadn’t been so damn suggestive.

“I don’t have any interest in games. Unless it’s job related, how about you forget my

personal cell number?”

“I called to say that Dad just told me you were joining us for dinner Saturday. He said if I

talked to you, I should ask you to bring that Asian salad you make.”

God, he was a moron. They had more history than Tuesday night. He needed to stop

assuming that Oak was trying to fuck him every time they talked. It made him jumpy. Oak made

him jumpy. Probably because the thin line between keeping his distance and giving Oak a night

to remember began fraying even before Wyatt realized it was there.

He fucking hated surprises. Especially when it demonstrated how very little control he

had over his libido. It was John’s son, for fuck’s sake. His partner’s son. Not only that, but they

had to work together and that meant a strict hands-off relationship with the kid.

He tried to focus. Asian salad. Wyatt redirected his frustration. “Asian salad at an

American barbeque?”

“Served by a family of Native Americans. Yep, you got it. We’re an international crew,

boss.”

He laughed, finding relief in the easy way they used to talk.

“So is that a yes? Mom said that if you didn’t, she’d make carrot and raisin salad.”

He could hear the shudder in Oak’s voice. “Yes, I’ll bring the salad. Tell her to hang up

the carrots. As threats go, it’s effective but way overused.”

Oak laughed too. “I will.” He voice grew serious, cautious. “She said she’s got a date for

you.”

“Your dad told me.”

“Do they know?” he asked.

“I worked side by side with your dad for almost twenty years and had dinner at your

house every week. What do you think?”

“I can’t believe I’m just finding out,” Oak grumbled.

“It’s not anyone’s business but mine. Unless your mom is setting me up with someone.

Then I suppose it’s everyone’s business,” he finished dryly.

“I’m sorry. She should’ve checked with you first. I could call her—”

“I told them you knew. You should’ve seen how fast she stopped pretending it was a

dinner with a new civil servant in the mix, and made it all about a blind date. Besides, I can

handle my own shit,” Wyatt told him. “I don’t need a kid sticking up for me.”

There was a long sigh on the other end. “Ever consider why I come on a little strong with

you?”

“What does that have to do with me taking care of myself, or everyone being clued in?”

“Not that, the kid remark. It’s like I have to prove to you over and over that I’m not a kid

anymore.”

“You’ll always be a kid to me,” Wyatt countered.

“Well, pardon me, but that sucks.”

Wyatt couldn’t help but grin. “Does it?”

“Yeah. There’s a whole lot of guy over here waiting for you to open up if you’d just give

me a shot.”

He could hear the steady tread of Oak taking stairs.

“Go to your balcony,” Oak said.

Wyatt wondered if there’d be a replay of the scene on Tuesday. Rather Shakespearean if

you asked him.

“I see you,” Oak said. “I’m in the window of the back room.”

Wyatt moved over a little more. Oak had turned on a light in the guest room. He waved a

little, but it was too far to see more than his posture and the color of his clothes from mid thigh

up. Wyatt waved back.

“It’s a crush,” Wyatt told him. “It’ll pass, and it should. Things would be tricky at work

and with your parents otherwise.”

“I can deal with my parents and with work, as long as I know I’ve got you after hours,”

Oak insisted.

“I’m flattered, but it’s not going to happen. It just isn’t.”

“Because you don’t want to or because you’re afraid to?”

“It doesn’t matter why.”

“It matters to me.” Oak put a fist on his hip, as though he were in a long distance alpha

male standoff with Wyatt. “It’s the difference between you not being interested in me, and you

being interested but worried about the fallout.”

Wyatt ran a hand through his hair. “It’s not that simple.”

“It’s exactly that simple. You’re the one complicating it. Look, do you like me, or don’t

you?”

“Of course I like you. You’re a big part of my history,” Wyatt defended.

“Dissembling?” Oak scoffed. “Do you want me? Does the idea of getting down and dirty

with me raise your…flag?”

Wyatt walked to the rail and leaned on it as he tried to make his eyes read the expression

on the other man’s face even though it wasn’t possible.

“If you were a stranger whose family I didn’t know yet, who I didn’t see every day at

work, I’d want to get to know you. Intimately,” he confessed, the words dragged unwillingly and

rough from him.

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Oak murmured.

The figure in the window rubbed a hand up and down its torso. “Good night, captain. I’ll

be thinking about you tonight.”

The line went dead. Wyatt kept watching as Oak continued to rub his chest and belly with

slow care. Finally he turned away from the window and the room went dark, leaving Wyatt to

imagine all kinds of naughty things that made his cock hard.

He left the balcony and shut off the lights as he dropped to the couch where Oak had sat

on Tuesday. He dragged his hand up and down his shirt the way he’d watched him at the

window. Leaning back, Wyatt closed his eyes, pretending the hand wasn’t his, but Oak’s.

He groaned, slipped his hand under his shirt to drag it over his tight abs and the light

sprinkling of chest hair, all the way to his waist band where the wiry hairs disappeared. He

imagined Oak doing the same thing—touching, wanting him.

Wyatt’s dick throbbed. He opened his button and fly, sliding his pants and shorts down

his thighs. He pulled his shirt up and over his head, enjoying the unhindered view of his naked

chest and full, weeping shaft.

He pinched and twisted his nipple, reaching down to cup his balls as he did so. Dragging

his fingers back and forth from taint to sac, he teased the embers of anticipation to a greedy

flame. He dropped his head back, gasping as he urged himself on.

Wyatt dragged his thumb up the underside of his cock. Capturing it in his fist, he began a

slow pull. He twisted his wrist as he got to the head and slicked a finger over the top. He

imagined Oak, his mouth parted over the tip, waiting to take his cum. His eyes would be

clenched, his golden skin flushed, his hands kneading Wyatt’s thighs as he begged to taste him.

Wyatt’s finger spreading pre-cum became Oak’s tongue in his fantasy. Now, instead of

kneading, his hands were trapped behind his back and Oak’s naked body kneeled poised for

Wyatt’s dick. His dick would be hard and impatient, but Wyatt would make him wait for it,

spending the minutes it took Wyatt’s cock to wake up again, in endless foreplay.

Oak liked begging? Then Wyatt would make him beg and see how he liked having the

tables turned on him.

The cries that echoed through his living room became Oak’s, instead of his own. Wyatt’s

hips lifted to his fist, pre-cum having smoothed over his palm to ease the way, yet left it still

rough enough to feel every callus from years of holding a gun.

He shouted, cum spurting onto his belly and chest as orgasm took over. He looked down

at himself, finally feeling some of the pent up tension leave him. Except that’s when the dread

hit.

Before, wanting Oak had been an undefined mess of confusion walled away. Now, after

imagining himself with the other man, he’d blown a fucking hole in that wall.

Chapter Five

Oak approached Saturday with sourness. He felt like the conversation the night before

had been something of a break through. At least the captain hadn’t hung up on him. On the

contrary, Oak had been the one to disconnect first, after wrangling the admission that Wyatt was

attracted to him.

Sure, there’d been that moment on Tuesday where he’d felt the other man’s interest, but

nerves and taboo could’ve played into that moment just as easily. A kiss was a kiss. A grope was

a grope. It felt good no matter who delivered it and though he’d hoped that’s what the rise

between Peterman’s thighs was all about, he’d been hesitant to attach more meaning to it. Then

he’d played it for all it was worth to get Peterman to admit he was gay.

Thank God, because a little curiosity was very different from out-and-out interest. Oak

was betting on it.

Unfortunately, so was his mom and the guy she was setting him up with. What kind of

dweeb was named Owen Murphy, anyway? Probably some round-gut who was too out of shape

to tie his own shoes. Thinning hair and watery eyes. Yeah, that’s what an Owen looked like.

Oak watched through the patio doors as he checked the ribs on the grill, while his dad and

Peterman laughed in the kitchen.

“This is going to fucking suck,” Oak muttered.

He plastered a smile on his face and stepped back into the house.

“How’re they coming?” his dad asked.

“Fine. I’ll start saucing in about thirty minutes,” he told them.

“Right about the time Owen is supposed to get here.” His dad clapped Peterman on the

back. “Hope you don’t mind younger men. I think you’ve got about eight years on him.”

Oak tried to catch Peterman’s eye, but failed.

Peterman smiled warmly at John. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

“If you two wind up getting married, I’m going to say I told you so,” Sheila chimed in.

“It’s a blind setup, Sheila. The chances of that are slim to none,” Peterman told her.

“Well, there aren’t many of you running around out there. You might have to take the

best guy available,” she said.

Peterman coughed through a laugh. “There are more of my kind running around than you

think.”

“But none great enough to catch your eye,” she challenged.

Oak stared at his profile, willing Peterman to look his way, give him any kind of sign that

he was thinking about him while discussing his dating prospects. Peterman gave him nothing.

The doorbell rang.

“Goodie,” Oak muttered. “He’s early.”

He wanted to get a good look at this guy before any of the others did. He stormed through

the room, edging out his dad on the way to the front door.

His dad held his hands up in mock surrender and backed away, amusement dancing in his

eyes. “Okay, okay, it’s yours. I didn’t realize you were so protective of Wyatt.”

Oak didn’t bother to answer. Protective? Not particularly. Territorial? Abso-fucking-

lutely. He swung the door open. Oak’s hopes took a dive. Owen Murphy was one smokin’ fire

chief. Cropped strawberry blond hair, clear blue eyes, and a ruggedly impressive jaw made him

downright sexy.

He was definitely younger than Peterman, more in Oak’s range, actually. Oak forced a

smile, refusing to scope out the other man’s impressive arms and lean body.

“Hi. Oak,” he said thrusting out his hand.

“Owen.” The guy offered his hand in return, a curious smile on his face. “John’s kid?”

Oak dropped the smile. “If by kid you mean his son, yeah.” He stepped aside to let him

enter.

“That’s what I meant,” he agreed.

“Owen, c’mon back. There’s someone I’d like you to meet,” his dad called.

“That’s a shame. I was kind of hoping I’d met him,” Owen said loud enough for Oak to

hear.

A slow smile spread over Oak’s face. This was almost too easy. If Owen was interested

in him, then hopefully there’d be no contest for Peterman.

A delusion which evaporated the minute Oak walked into the next room and saw the look

on Owen’s face when he held out his hand to Peterman. Peterman seemed receptive, too. Oak

took the bowl of barbeque sauce he’d made earlier off the counter top, picked up the application

brush and retreated to the patio.

Fuck it. This night had just gone to hell, and it was all wrapped up in a pretty beau called

Owen.

It was really hard not to grin at the sullen expression on Oak’s face. He didn’t pout. No,

instead he wore a look of someone who’d just had his day royally shat upon and it had all started

with Owen greeting Wyatt.

As far as blind dates went, this one wasn’t so bad. Owen seemed like a genuine sort. He

talked job as they all did, and he had a good head on his shoulders for handling his team. Those

were all traits Wyatt respected.

It was after dinner, as Wyatt shooed Sheila from the kitchen and Owen came to help, that

he finally had a minute to talk privately with his date. Oak had been suspiciously quiet the whole

evening, answering only when spoken to. Even now, he was absent as he tended to the grill clean

up with a wire brush and the garden hose outside.

“You know Oak’s got it bad for you, right?” Owen said quietly.

He turned on the kitchen sink and soaped up a sponge. “I do.”

“He’s been shooting daggers at me all night.”

“He’s a kid. He’ll get over it,” Wyatt told him.

“He might. Will you?”

Wyatt glanced at the good looking man leaning against the counter beside him. “He’s a

little young for me.”

“No, he’s not. He’s also not a kid.”

“Could’ve fooled me with the way he’s been acting,” Wyatt argued.

Owen scooted closer, keeping his voice low. “He knows you want him. That’s why he’s

struggling to hold it together today. It can’t be easy seeing you paired up with another man under

his family’s roof.”

Wyatt sighed, rinsed the dish he’d been scrubbing and set it in the drying rack. “It doesn’t

matter what he knows. He’s off limits in every way.”

“Sure, and that’s why you’ve amped up your game with me here. Look, I know I don’t

know you well, but it’s pretty clear that all the flashy smiles are meant to piss him off.”

Wyatt laughed, knowing he’d just been pegged. “You don’t mind?”

“Hell, no. It’s kind of funny. Not that either one of you aren’t a catch, but I think you and

I are too similar to work.”

“And Oak?” Wyatt asked.

“Oak’s another story,” Owen said, looking away.

He absently handed Wyatt another plate, before throwing a kitchen towel over his

shoulder. Switching sides of the sink, he started hand drying the plates.

“Oh?”

“He’s beautiful.” Owen shook his head in apparent wonder, a small smile on his lips. “He

moves like sex. A guy could wrap his fist in that inky hair and get lost in his eyes. And that

mouth—”

“Mind if I stop you there?” Wyatt asked tightly.

Owen chuckled. “Not at all. I need to be able to leave here without embarrassing myself.

Besides, I don’t have a chance with him. He’s too busy looking at you.”

Wyatt relaxed a little. He drained the soapy water out of the sink and cleaned it down.

Then he wiped the counters before rinsing out the sponge and drying his hands on Owen’s towel.

Owen caught his wrists as Wyatt began to move away.

“But if your pride won’t let you date Oak, and all you’re interested in is some—relief—

I’d be more than happy to buy you a drink some time.” Owen moved in, his lips parted as his

hands curled on Wyatt’s hips.

It had been a while since another man had expressed interest in him. In one week, he had

two. Or maybe he just hadn’t noticed before because dating didn’t seem like a viable option.

Owen was an attractive man. He had no strings attached to him that would cause drama with

John and Sheila. He also didn’t work in the precinct. He’d be a good choice even if the

relationship never really developed.

Owen’s lips feathered over his. God, help him, Wyatt wanted to be kissed. He wrapped

his fist in Owen’s shirt front and yanked. Their lips met hard and hot. Wyatt settled his mouth

better, battling Owen’s for dominance. Both men parted, tangling their tongues in a heated

exchange.

Owen clutched the back of Wyatt’s head and Wyatt reached around for a handful of

fireman ass. Wyatt’s cock had begun to fill, but he didn’t feel right about kissing Owen. He

wanted to, God, it would make everything so much simpler, but in the back of his mind he saw

Oak.

A close sound surprised him from the kiss, and he stepped away from Owen. Oak

wordlessly washed and rinsed the barbeque sauce bowl less than a foot from him.

“Can I call you?” Owen asked Wyatt as though Oak weren’t standing there.

Wyatt flushed, feeling guilty, then angry because he shouldn’t feel guilty. “Yeah, you can

call me.”

Oak walked away. Wyatt watched him go.

Oak kept walking, right out the patio doors, through the gate at the back of the property.

He wove between the trees on the wooded lot and climbed the stairs to his deck. He stared

sightlessly at his keys, willing himself to make sense of them. Finally he spotted the right one,

unlocked the door and went straight to his bedroom where he flopped backward onto his

mattress.

He felt numb, except for the aching organ which continued to beat in his chest.

His phone rang. The ringtone told him it was his parents. They probably wondered why

he hadn’t said goodbye. Or that he’d been rude to walk out on two guests instead of hanging

around to chew the fat over coffee. It didn’t matter. He was useless in conversation after what

he’d just seen.

It was a cruel mix of hot and devastating. There was nothing like seeing the man you’d

been in love with for years kissing someone else, just as you got yourself noticed. And yet,

watching him kiss, the way his mouth moved, his body reacted—that had been sexy as hell.

He stared up at the ceiling. He’d thought about the day he’d tell Peterman he wanted him.

In his mind it had gone a lot differently. In his mind, Peterman had smiled and told him he’d

been waiting for a sign from him before they could be together, waiting for him to grow up.

Reality had been nothing like that. It had been a fight from the first blundering kiss when

Peterman told him it wouldn’t happen again, to watching an oral orgasm shared with someone

else.

His phone rang again. This time it was the chorus, “I wanna do bad things with you,” that

had him rolling his eyes at his own stupid infatuation. He shouldn’t have answered it, but his

pulse had kicked up and his thumb had already depressed the call-accept.

“I got the message,” he said before Peterman could talk.

“How much did you hear?” Peterman asked after a minute.

“All the groaning, slurping details, thanks for asking.”

“Any of the conversation before that?”

Oak snorted softly. “I’m quite happy to have missed the discussion about which of you

wants to pitch first and how hot you both are.”

“You think he’s hot,” Peterman said. “That’s interesting, because he thinks the same of

you.”

Oak sat up. “I know you missed the very subtle memo to you, but I’m interested in you.

Apparently that’s something else Owen and I have in common.”

“Not exactly.”

“I’m done talking. G’night, boss.”

Oak hung up. He felt a little churlish for doing it, but he’d just had his emotional ass

kicking. His number was closed for business tonight. To make a point of that, he turned off his

cell when Peterman tried to call him again. Maybe he was just a kid. He didn’t think so. He

didn’t think any man would lay himself out for another round after the last one was so

unsuccessful.

He got up, pulled off his shirt and threw it in the clothes basket. Kicking off his shoes

first, he then took off his socks and dropped them in too. He unbuttoned his jeans and stopped to

look at himself in the mirror.

“You look tired,” he told his reflection.

A noise downstairs caught his attention. Had he locked the back doors? He couldn’t

remember anything beyond getting home and going upstairs. He listened again. Oak moved

silently to his dresser and withdrew his gun. Cocking it, he eased down the stairs, careful not to

hit the squeaky step.

He turned the corner, ready to shout police, when he saw Peterman standing in the lower

hallway. Peterman’s gaze raked over him slowly.

“Good form,” he murmured.

“Fuck,” Oak clicked the safety on and tucked his gun in his back waistband. “I could’ve

shot you. Haven’t heard of knocking?”

“I knocked. You didn’t answer. I also called and got hung up on.”

“I turned off my phone. Most people recognize that as a clear hint to piss off.”

Peterman smiled the captain smile. The one that said he’d just delivered an assignment he

knew the guys would hate, but they’d have to do it anyway.

“What do you want? Oh, wait. I know. You’re out of condoms.” Oak said.

He reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet and retrieved a foil packet. He

raised his brows and held the small square up between his first two fingers before flicking it at

Peterman’s chest.

Peterman caught it. “I came to talk. I haven’t done much of that and I think I’ve been

unfair.”

Oak lifted an eyebrow. He folded his arms across his chest, using one of the captain’s

favorite stances when he waited for an explanation.

“We could sit down,” Peterman suggested.

“Or stand here. I think it encourages a speedier resolution and keeps you from getting too

comfortable when I’d rather be alone.”

“Would you? I could leave,” Peterman offered.

Oak frowned.

“That’s what I thought,” Peterman said. He continued. “Owen and I aren’t together. I

know what it looked like, but that was just a kiss.”

“Some kiss.”

“He was suggesting a hook up. It’s tempting. He’s a great-looking guy, and there aren’t

any complications with him.”

“This is going to feel like less of a taunt in a minute, right?” Oak wondered.

“I should start over.”

“So I can hear how stimulating Owen is again? No, thank you.”

“Stop snapping long enough to hear me out,” Peterman barked. “I wasn’t expecting you,

ya know. You kind of came out of left field. One minute you’re John’s kid—kinda cute, a little

scrappy, a total snark-ass. The next minute you’re this man I’ve known forever who’s kissing me

and asking me to risk everything. You didn’t give me a lot of adjustment time.”

“A snark-ass?”

“Shut up,” Peterman told him. “I’m talking here, and until I’m done, you’re going to hear

every word I say. Got it?”

Oak stubbornly stood his ground, glaring at the captain in stony silence. Oak really

wanted him to leave and let him sort out his thoughts. The kiss with Owen had been a stinging

reminder than the captain didn’t want him.

“Yes, sir, captain.” Oak pressed his lips together to keep from saying more. He wanted to

make the captain squirm. As apologies went, he wasn’t sure this was a good one. It sounded a

hell of a lot more like a permanent dismissal.

God, how many years had he been crushing on Peterman? Since he was sixteen and just

figuring out that girls didn’t make the cut? It had been one of those moments of realization that

sounded like a romantic movie scene, the kind tough guys didn’t admit to having.

Peterman had been over for the weekly dinner. He’d passed a bowl of mashed potatoes

and their hands had brushed. It had actually felt like little electrical currents tickled his nerve

endings. Oak had looked up, but Peterman had been oblivious. Busy talking to Oak’s dad and

laughing, he’d missed Oak’s reaction.

Oak had spent the rest of the night shooting him sidelong glances, finding reasons to

linger downstairs with the adults and then he’d listened at the top step out of sight as the man’s

heady baritone said goodnight.

“Forget it,” the captain said. “I shouldn’t have bothered. It’s evident you’re in no mood to

listen.”

“You dragged me down here as I was getting ready for bed. Say what you gotta say and

then get out.”

Peterman’s hands dove into his pockets. He was probably clenching his fists to keep

calm. Oak had seen him do that before. He knew every unconscious movement the man made.

After this many years, he ought to.

He’d gone to Peterman as an advisor and friend when he had trouble talking about things

with his friends. He’d interviewed him in college for his criminal justice class. He’d squirreled

away pictures of him in his bedside table—something he’d only stopped doing when he came

back from college because it felt creepy.

Infatuation? Okay, sure. Crush? Uh huh. In love? Oak thought so. There’d never been

another man he knew better or another man he wanted to get to know better on a more intimate

basis. He thought he’d finally caught a break when he realized Peterman was gay. Was that only

a week ago?

“Say something,” Oak snapped.

Memories crashed around in his head. He could already feel his resolve softening and it

pissed him off to be so weak. He wanted to turn off his attraction to the man who’d been best

part of his family friendships, his mentor. But he couldn’t. He could only love him and wish

Peterman loved him back and storm through his own frustration that whatever it took to make

Peterman want him, wasn’t under Oak’s control.

What had been unattainable before was suddenly made more unattainable because they’d

kissed, however briefly, and Oak had still been shot down. At least thinking the captain was

straight had divided them with a virtual razor wire of a do-not-cross zone. A week ago that fence

had been taken down and yet Oak couldn’t get any closer to the man than he was right now

because of the very history that had woken Oak up in the first place.

“No,” the captain said quietly as wariness became firm determination. His jaw tightened.

Oak had seen that expression before, too. It made him want to rage against the emotional

wall he’d just put up, crack it a little. See if the man would rise to the bait and just fucking say

what he’d come to say. His chest already stung with loss, why not crack it open and rip out what

remained of his beating heart? Once and done, damnit. Finish it for all time and then leave Oak

the fuck alone.

Chapter Six

Oak looked ready to fight, Wyatt noted. He stilled his thoughts long enough to study the

other man. He’d been ready to come in here and set Oak back on track as the kid of his former

partner. But it wasn’t a kid standing in the hallway glaring at him. It was a man with a full range

of emotions hiding behind his gorgeous eyes.

His throat worked. “No?” the younger man rasped.

Oak rarely got angry. He’d seen it only a handful of times in almost twenty years. Mostly

Oak played things off with a joke, a smile, a lighthearted camaraderie he’d always been a little

envious of. To have all that charisma distilled into tight warring emotion and directed at Wyatt

made his heart slam.

He’d seriously underestimated Oak.

Here he’d been thinking the kid was enjoying the game, a prod at his captain because of

his familiarity with him, testing the waters to get under his skin in a new half-hearted prank

revolving around sex play. From where he stood now, Wyatt decided it had been a lot more than

that.

Nothing he’d wanted to say addressed it. He’d come, prepared to give Oak all the reasons

he should stay away from him. The words had been skimming through his mind, wrapped up in

his emotional panic that Oak’s persistence might melt his resolve and end up ruining a lifelong

career as an officer as well as his years-long friendship with the Takalas.

What he found was a man half-dressed in his hallway, holding on to his dignity after a

major embarrassment. It shut him right up. Sobered in the face of Oak’s pain, he realized none of

the words were meant to help Oak. They’d only make that look deepen. Wyatt had been selfish.

“It can wait. Tonight’s not a good night,” Wyatt explained.

With a shout, Oak charged him, shoving him against the wall. Wyatt flipped him and

wrestled until he had Oak’s arms pinned and his bare chest shoved against the cold plaster

instead. He removed the gun from his waistband and tossed it to a near table.

Oak tried to twist away. Wyatt held him.

“That’s wood. You’ll scar it by throwing my gun on it,” he grumbled.

Wyatt shoved harder, leaning in to speak directly into the man’s ear. “I. Don’t. Care. You

just tried to punch me. I could have your badge for that.”

“You’re messing with my head, asshole.”

Wyatt let him turn, barely giving him enough room before grabbing the man’s wrists and

holding them over his head against the wall. Oak was baring his teeth and grunting his frustration

at being helpless.

“Really?” Wyatt began. “Because that’s what I thought you were doing, or wasn’t that

little late night visit to my apartment to see how far you could go?”

“I owed you a thank you and an apology.”

“Yet you stuck around and got in my face to see if I’d crack?” Wyatt pressed. “Not

likely.”

His heart pounded like it wanted to be let out of his chest. In the tussle, Oak’s longish

hair had fallen loosely over his face. His brown eyes had widened, and he hissed breath through

his teeth. This close there was no denying that Oak was all man. Every trace of the kid had been

transformed into bold Potawatomi Indian bone structure.

“I wasn’t sure,” the younger man defended.

“About what?”

The nostrils of Oak’s narrow nose flared with annoyance, and he lifted his chin defiantly.

There was a delicacy in the man’s features and in the smoothness of his skin. The rest of his

body was no different: sculpted in muted bronze, hairless, and utterly perfect. His gaze dropped

below the beltline because his pants were undone and open, teasing Wyatt with a glimpse of

black hair and flat belly. The muscles on his hips had arrowed a path to the hidden bulge still

covered by jean.

He remembered clearly how Oak had looked entering the hall, and that memory coupled

with the realization that Wyatt practically leaned against him, brought his cock to full

wakefulness.

“If you were gay. I hoped, but I didn’t know.” Oak twisted his wrists in Wyatt’s grip but

the fight had dimmed.

“You’d hoped,” Wyatt repeated, wanting clarity without actually phrasing a question for

it.

Oak pushed his chest out, bumping it hard against Wyatt’s with another frustrated grunt.

“The kiss, for fuck’s sake. I’d kissed you. I may have wanted to before, but I never did it. Then I

got stupid-drunk, kissed you, and you didn’t take a swing at me.”

“I don’t hit drunks.”

“You didn’t hit me the next day when I tested the waters, either,” Oak challenged.

“I’ve known you and your impulsive streak long enough to know taking the bait in an

argument will draw the thing out and become a game for you.”

Oak’s gaze darted over Wyatt’s face. His brows must have drawn up because Oak looked

slightly hurt.

“You’re denying it?” Wyatt snapped.

Defeat lowered his eyes. “No. Not in the past. That time was different.”

“Why?”

Oak dropped his head back and closed his eyes. A huff escaped him. “Because if you

didn’t mind the kiss, there was a chance of another one. I just needed to let you know I was

interested.”

“You definitely did that, but it also felt like a joke to you.”

His eyes popped open. “It wasn’t. Okay? Are you happy now? Will you let me go and let

me climb upstairs and wallow in my embarrassment?”

Embarrassment was the last thing Wyatt had been pushing for. Although right at this

minute, he wasn’t sure what he’d been pushing for. The come-to-Jesus he’d intended to deliver

had nothing to do with shoving Oak up against a wall and battling wits a few inches from his

lips.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” Wyatt told him.

“Sure,” Oak snarled. “That’s why you chose to plumb each other’s throats in my parent’s

kitchen with three people a room away. You wanted to get caught. You wanted to make damn

sure I got the message.” His hurried breaths puffed some of the dark strands off his cheek.

“Guess what, Captain? Message received. Now let go of me and let me gather up my dignity if it

still exists.”

This time when Oak bumped his chest out, Wyatt flattened him bodily to the wall. Air

slammed out of Oak’s lungs and spilled over him. Torn between what he wanted to do and what

he should do, Wyatt gave in to the stronger desire.

He took Oak’s mouth, crushing it with his own. The other man tensed at first but it didn’t

take long for his lips to soften and move with Wyatt’s. Wyatt heard his own needy groan. The

whisper of dread that John or Sheila might see, or might not approve, lingered at the back of his

mind flavoring the kiss with the forbidden.

Oak’s lips pulled back and he bit the tip of Wyatt’s tongue before sucking it hungrily.

Wyatt’s dick throbbed at the suggestion. He pushed their hips together, smiling when a soft cry

came from the other man. It must have irritated Oak because he arched his neck, taking power of

the kiss as though they were waging a war. Hard tooth scraped hard tooth. The edges caught his

bottom lip and tugged.

Wyatt let go of his arms and held Oak’s face still, determined to wrangle a satisfying kiss

from the man. He only managed to amp up his lust when kiss after kiss wasn’t enough to return

him to his senses and make him want to stop.

He didn’t remember making the conscious choice to touch Oak. Nevertheless, his hands

smoothed over his ribs and torso.

Oak seemed to have a better grip on himself, because he pried their bodies apart and

shoved Wyatt back.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? You couldn’t leave me alone? You had to go

and pull a douchebag move to prove how much I want you?”

Wyatt’s head swam. “I do want you.”

He ran a hand through his hair and whirled away. He paced several steps and turned to

face Oak again. Anger at himself welled up inside him. It had been a douchebag move.

Oak still leaned heavily against the wall. He narrowed his eyes on Wyatt disbelievingly.

“That’s the fucking problem, Oak. I do want you.” With a self-loathing grunt, he briefly

linked his fingers behind his head before dropping them to scrub over his face. “I’d have been

fine if you’d never done anything. If I’d figured it out eventually, it would have been something

that I thought about in passing and ignored. But you didn’t let me. You got in my face and made

me see you, damn it! What the hell am I supposed to do with this?”

“This?” Oak croaked. “Can we just be clear on what you mean? I don’t want to assume

anything here.”

“This!” he shouted gesturing between them, then lower at their cocks. “This!”

“Oh, that. I have a few ideas,” Oak returned, the beginnings of a smile playing about his

lips.

“Jesus, that’s not what I mean.”

“Really? I dunno because you were pointing at my dick, man. I’m pretty good about

figuring out what to do with my junk.” An edge of something harsh flashed behind Oak’s humor.

“You’re getting defensive again,” Wyatt noted.

“And why the hell not, boss?” He flung his arms wide and stood away from the wall. “Do

you like what you see? It’s yours, you know. I wouldn’t fight you even if I knew it meant

nothing to you. Do you know why?”

Wyatt shook his head.

“Because even a one night stand is more than I’d ever hoped for when it came to getting

horizontal with you. Because even if you go about business tomorrow like I’m John’s kid, I’ll

remember every second of what you’d feel like in me. Because there aren’t enough years left on

this planet to keep me from thinking of exactly how you taste, Captain. That’s why.”

“Don’t call me that. Not now.”

“Captain?” When Wyatt nodded, Oak continued. “Fine, Peterman. Or am I allowed to

call you Wyatt.”

Wyatt’s cock uncomfortably pressed his fly at the sound of his name on Oak’s lips.

“Wyatt’s fine.”

“Awesome.” Oak continued in strutting form. “Then forgive me for my insubordination,

but when it comes to explaining how wrong we are together,” he broke off, positioning his hands

on either side of his open fly, like a lewd bracket. “Why don’t you just suck my cock, instead,

huh? How does that sound.”

“Pretty damn fine,” Wyatt decided.

He crossed the short width of hallway, shoved Oak to the wall again and dropped to his

knees.

Holy fuck! Wyatt was going to do it? Stunned, Oak could barely make sense of the

kneeling man in front of him. What had been issued as an insult had turned into a bizarre fantasy.

Wyatt took hold of Oak’s waistband and looked up at him. Wyatt’s clear blue eyes

regarded him unwaveringly. Oak sank his fingers into the man’s thick brown hair afraid a word

would either stop him or start him toward the intended goal.

His cock wanted this, but should he? “What about Owen?”

“I explained about Owen.”

“Not exactly.”

“I thought you wanted this,” Wyatt said, his voice roughened with the same desire Oak

saw in his steady gaze.

“I want a lot of things. You on your knees is a highlight.”

Wyatt smiled, an almost shy, playful grin tinged with heat. The broad shouldered man at

his knees had been anything but timid the entire time Oak had known him. This intimate twist

gave a flip to his belly.

Wyatt yanked Oak’s pants down. “I’m going to hell for this,” he murmured. He lowered

his gaze to Oak’s swollen shaft. “I’m gonna enjoy the trip.”

He placed a kiss on the moist tip. Oak cracked his head on the wall. He pushed his hips

forward, wanting to watch every minute of the captain’s mouth on his dick. Wyatt seemed to

know it too, because he took his goddamn time rubbing those lips back and forth on the

mushroom head.

Oak’s ass clenched. His groin had tight flutters warming the secret parts of his pelvis all

the way to his spine. Wyatt’s tongue flicked out over the top, tasting the drop of moisture he

found there and humming approval.

Oak thought he might explode. The culmination of years of crushing, lusting after this

man who’d been out of his reach and way too sexy for his own good, had ended with the object

on his knees tasting him like a dessert plate. The whimper was surely a manifestation of that and

not his desperation to get fucked in the ass by the same guy.

By the time Wyatt’s mouth wrapped around the top, and his eyes lifted to Oak’s, he

thought his legs would give. One of Wyatt’s huge hands flattened on his belly and slid higher,

matching the slow progression of his mouth down the length of Oak’s shaft. He pulled off just as

slowly.

“So pretty,” Wyatt murmured, his lips dancing along the side of the needy rod as he

spoke.

“Wyatt, you’re killing me.”

“You want this as much as I do. Might as well take you to hell with me.”

Oak fisted his hair, trying to tug the other man back into place. Wyatt chuckled, but took

the urged suggestion.

“I’ll suck you,” he promised. “Later I’ll take my time exploring every inch of your tight

body. Understood?”

Oak nodded in jerky movements then butted his tip to Wyatt’s smiling lips.

Wyatt opened and threw delicacy to the wind as he took him in one quick swallow. Oak

shuddered on a bone-deep groan. Wyatt’s lips rubbed up and down his dick, cheeks hollowing on

each withdrawal. Oak sank into the sensations, the sight of the man he wanted more than

anything going down on him, the friction, the heat—his head swam with it.

Wyatt slipped the side of his hand lower, coasting over the hidden entrance several times

before pushing a finger in. They both groaned at the same time. He plucked the tight ring of

muscles as he increased the rhythm on Oak’s cock.

Oak didn’t resist the urge to thrust, though he held himself back from the fucking he

really wanted to give. Wyatt didn’t seem to mind. He swallowed deep and held. With his other

hand he pulled Oak tight to his face while he constricted his throat.

Dear God, Oak would explode. Any pretense of consideration flew the coop. He grabbed

the man’s head in both hands and slammed his hips in, rocking hard as he fucked Wyatt’s face

with every pent up fantasy he’d had.

Wyatt took it. His eyes watered, yet he stayed in place, adding a second finger and

popping the anal ring. Suddenly he pressed in three fingers and hooked them rapidly over Oak’s

prostate.

Cum erupted from him. Stinging in its speed, pleasure emptied his balls into Wyatt’s

throat. He pulled out enough to let him breath before rocking out the final squirts along his

tongue.

Chapter Seven

Wyatt got to his feet. This was a bad idea, he knew it, but he no longer cared. Not now,

maybe not later. He’d deal with it then, if his conscience got the better of him. He took the

wrappered square out of his pocket, smiling that Oak had provided him with the item they’d need

moments later.

He undid his pants and pushed them just below his balls. He didn’t have time to undress.

He needed to be inside Oak. Now.

Fumbling with the condom, he managed to get it rolled over his length before he hooked

one of Oak’s legs and lifted it. Wyatt spat into his hand several times to wet the condom. In a

matter of seconds he was blissfully balls deep. Oak grunted, offering no other complaint.

The glove-like heat of his partner’s son pulsed around his dick. This was wrong, so

wrong. He’d never felt anything more perfect. He kissed Oak, taking precious time to feel his

mouth. No longer in a rush to prove how much Oak got to him, he settled in to a slow rhythm

and soft, layered kisses.

Oak got under his shirt, touching him everywhere, wrapping around him and holding him

close. Lips, tongue, shuddering breath wove together in a spell.

“I shouldn’t be fucking you,” he murmured between kisses.

“Yeah, you should.”

“Your dad would kill me.”

“Don’t ask his permission,” Oak countered.

Wyatt gave a breathy chuckle. Every slow slide enveloped his cock, teased him closer.

He wanted this to go slowly, didn’t want it to be over too soon even though it meant denying

himself a badly needed finish.

“I’ve loved you too long to let what they want worry me,” Oak whispered.

Wyatt stilled. “Loved?”

Realization widened the other man’s eyes as a flush tinged his cheeks. “Don’t stop.

Please,” he rasped.

Loved? Did he want that, Wyatt asked himself. Was that wise? He started up again,

giving an additional lift to hit Oak’s sweet spot on each thrust.

“Don’t think about it,” Oak told him.

“Too late.”

Oak took his face in his hands. “Look at me. Feel me. Think about that.”

He did, staring deep into those rich, earthy wells filled with emotion and heat. For him.

Knowing he created that kind of longing in his lover, made Wyatt’s chest feel swollen with a

different kind of pleasure. He wasn’t stupid. He recognized that it meant something. He just

wasn’t prepared to examine it with his cock buried in another man’s ass.

Yet he was unable to close his eyes away from it. So his gaze held. Then it cherished

every line and passion-softened curve. Then he kissed those planes and valleys, the eyes that

spoke nuances that words didn’t have and the lips that parted on a sound of pleasure. His chest

stayed full and his cock needed more than the slow pace he’d established.

Wyatt pressed another soft kiss to Oak’s lips, and hooked his other leg, pressing the

man’s back to the wall for support. The new position opened Oak’s hole to him without

obstruction. Wyatt took him then, pounding his ass unapologetically.

Oak’s brows drew together in the middle. His hardening cock lolled against his belly.

“Jack yourself,” Wyatt insisted.

Oak rubbed firmly over his own cock, cupped his balls. Wyatt watched him get harder,

hard enough for Oak to wrap his fist around himself and tug.

“Open your mouth,” Wyatt commanded.

He did as he was asked. Wyatt licked the inside of his upper lips, looked into the moist

well, felt Oak’s fist occasionally bump his belly while he pumped himself, and Wyatt grunted as

the first swell of orgasm raced up his cock. Cum immediately followed, letting loose the coil of

lust that had been building in his balls until wave after wave hit him in sharp, shooting spurts.

After a minute he let Oak stand. The man’s cock flopped drunkenly, half filled, half

flaccid. Wyatt cupped a hand over it. “We’ll take care of that.”

“You aren’t leaving now?” Oak asked cautiously.

“I wasn’t planning to. Unless you want me to leave.”

“No. I want you to stay.”

Wyatt slipped his arms around Oak and took his time kissing those beautiful lips.

It was Oak who pulled back first. “I’m not complaining, but I need to know if this is a

one-off for you.”

“I thought it didn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t.”

Wyatt tilted his head as he scanned his face. He’d been a cop too long to not be able to

read expressions and know Oak was hiding something. “It matters to you,” he countered gently.

Oak’s smile was bright and false. “Only because I want to know what I’m getting into.”

“Don’t hide from me. Don’t ever hide from me. You’ve never doubted you could trust

me before. Did sex change that?”

“No.”

“This was more than sex,” Wyatt deduced.

“I can separate the two like any guy who needs to get laid,” he quipped.

“Maybe, but you didn’t, did you?”

“You aren’t supposed to be thinking about it.” Oak moved away toward the stairs after

picking up his discarded gun. “I’m going to put this away.” He glanced back at Wyatt. “Whether

or not you come upstairs is up to you. I won’t judge your decision either way. I promised one

night would be enough. I won’t go back on my word.”

“Your word was given before either of us had a chance to figure this out,” Wyatt said.

“It doesn’t change anything.”

“Yes, it does. You’ve made it clear that you have feelings for me. Before, you were

offering—however unwisely—a fuck. Maybe a crush-fuck, but a fuck. But there’s more to it

than that, isn’t there?” Wyatt asked.

Oak leaned against the wall of the stair well. “There’s more,” he admitted roughly.

Peterman took a step toward him. “And that more comes with a responsibility I don’t

want.”

Oak’s eyes looked troubled, loaded with questions fighting to be asked that couldn’t find

voice.

Peterman tried to explain. “A fuck is a fuck. Fucking a man who wants more, and

knowing he wants more, leads him to believe there’s a chance when I’m not sure there is.”

Oak nodded. Bitterness twisted his lips tightening his next words. “Ah, I see. You don’t

want me the way I want to be with you, and you’re afraid you’ll break my heart. Which is

hilarious, really, because you had to know how I felt before I caught you making out with Owen

tonight. You had to know when I risked everything to touch you that night in your apartment.

And you sure as fuck had to know it when you went down on me just minutes ago.”

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Then why did you, Captain? Was that a pity suck? Is a blowjob less committal than

putting your cock in my ass and riding me all night long? Let’s hear it, boss, because I really

wanna know. I mean, how is fucking me in my hallway less important to a lovesick whiner than

really working it out of your system between the sheets?”

Oak turned and climbed the stairs out of sight. Wyatt ran a hand through his hair.

Following Oak after that exit, meant more than just an all-nighter. He wasn’t sure if he was ready

for that. It came with complications like how they handled themselves at the office. The way the

precinct reacted to their relationship could be a career-ender, especially since he’d just been

promoted to Captain. It wouldn’t be easy for Oak either. He’d be in the trenches with the guys,

hearing the gay jokes first hand and either defending it or suffering because of it.

Wyatt went to the bathroom off the hall to clean up. When he was finished, his feet

carried him to the bottom step.

A hetero relationship in their position would be hard enough, but a gay one? Geez, the

banter alone would get tedious. If the public got wind of it, and they would, it added yet another

dimension of scrutiny. That was a media blitz waiting to happen.

Then there was John and Sheila and how they might react to their son sleeping with

Wyatt every night. If the relationship didn’t pan-out, tension could hurt the entire family and

permanently strike him as a friend. And if it did work? Who was to say that John and Sheila

would be comfortable with the arrangement?

They knew he was gay. They knew Oak was gay. Separately, they seemed able to handle

it. Those two truths together may be more than they were prepared for.

Yet a relationship with Oak—the words alone quickened his pulse and spurred him with

excitement. Could it be possible? Was it worth all the risk?

Oak was a grown man now and he could make his own decisions. Still, Wyatt felt he

needed to give him the opportunity to really think it through. Wyatt also owed it to himself to

consider every angle carefully.

He passed another long glance toward the stairwell, then at the sliding doors to the deck.

Not sure if he was making the right decision, Wyatt turned off the downstairs lights and went to

the glass doors.

Oak waited nervously. He strained to hear and wondered what was taking so long. He’d

made the offer to join him as pain-free for Wyatt as possible. He heard him in the bathroom and

there were a few steps on the creaking hardwood floors. Oak stood in his doorway. He smiled

and shook his head to himself at the surprising caution that the confident captain had shown

tonight. It endeared him all the more.

Oak leaned his shoulder against the bedroom doorframe. His cock hardened as he waited

and for the fulfillment of Wyatt’s promise that he’d take care of it.

He heard steps again, the glow of light went off downstairs and a thrill of anticipation

fluttered in his gut. His smile broadened. Wyatt turning off the lights to come upstairs meant

he’d stay all night. God, where had the lump in his throat come from? He almost laughed he was

so happy.

But the steps never hit the stairs. Cold spilled through the joy in stomach as the sounds

wended through the kitchen and the unmistakable, shook-shook of the glass sliding doors opened

and closed.

Wyatt had left.

Was it a joke? Oak waited several more minutes, hoping Wyatt only needed fresh air, or a

supply of condoms. He should have shouted out that he had a box before he’d gone, he decided.

He took the opportunity to shower so he’d be fresh when Wyatt came back.

Ten o’clock became eleven.

He went to the window of the darkened guest room. A light in Wyatt’s living room went

out. Ten minutes later, the bedroom one did too. Oak stayed at the window a little longer, hoping

to catch a glimpse of him trekking back through the woods in the dark.

By midnight, Oak felt numb. He had the vague sense of heat on his face, in his throat, and

something in his chest ached. He barely made it to the bathroom before he started heaving. He

brushed his teeth and went to bed.

He knew the symptoms of shock well enough to know that tomorrow the pain would

start. He closed his lids over eyes that felt too dry and hot. He wouldn’t cry. Real men didn’t cry.

Even gay men. He’d have to remind himself of that again in the morning.

Chapter Eight

“What the fuck did you do to my kid?” John yelled in Wyatt’s face.

Wyatt paled. Jesus, how had he known? Had Oak told him about Saturday night? “Are

we discussing work?”

“Hell, no, and you damn well know it!”

Shit, this wasn’t how he’d ever wanted John to find out. Not that he had wanted John to

find out. But evidently he did and he wasn’t happy.

“I fucked up,” Wyatt said, deciding that confession was the best route.

John stormed the short space in Wyatt’s living room. It had been nearly two weeks and

Wyatt had successfully avoided all contact with Oak, though it hadn’t been easy. In fact, it had

been laden with several instances where he had to keep from walking through the woods to pick

up with Oak where he’d left off. Oak had been right. After all the years he’d known Oak, it

wasn’t wanting him or loving him that was the problem. It was being sure that Oak wanted him

as much as Wyatt did, and being ready for whatever ridicule resulted in them becoming a couple.

Oak wasn’t talking to him either, and it made Wyatt miserable. He’d gotten used to the

drop bys, even before the first kiss. He missed seeing his face and hearing his voice. He missed

just about goddamn everything about the guy and it was his own stupid fault for not admitting it

as boldly as Oak had.

“You fucked my son, Wyatt,” John bellowed, not yet out of steam.

“I know this doesn’t make it right, but I wanted him,” Wyatt explained.

“Want? You couldn’t keep it in your pants because why? You were thinking with your

dick?”

Wyatt winced. “It’s more than that. You know me better than to think I’d screw around

with him lightly.”

“I thought I did. You proved me wrong.” John swung around, his eyes bulging with piss

and vinegar.

Wyatt swallowed his pride. “Oak,” his voice rasped over the name, “is special.”

“Is that why he’s being a surly ass? Because you think he’s special? Fuck you, Wyatt and

fuck your damn heat-seeking cock that went after my son!”

He’d had enough. He could apologize and he should, but being berated because he’d

fallen for Oak? That was plain stupid.

“Give him some more credit than that, John,” Wyatt snapped. “Oak’s an amazing man.

He’s a cop with more integrity than most of the force. He’s kind, generous, and loyal to his

friends and family. He’s got a mind of his own and knows how to use it. He’s funny, smart, sexy

as hell, and damn you right back if you think that all it took to get me interested was another gay

man’s ass. Fuck you!”

John’s jaw tightened. “Did you tell him all that?”

“What? No.” What was he on about? This was the most confusing argument Wyatt had

been in for a long time.

“Why? Why doesn’t he know you’re in love with him?”

“I’m not,” Wyatt protested.

“Yes, you are, but you’re a sorry sonofabitch who doesn’t know when it hits him.”

“I don’t—what the fuck are you talking about?”

“Did you think I hung up my detecting skills when I retired? Did you think I didn’t know

he was in love with you and that you were more than a little attentive to him? I’m not a moron.”

Wyatt stilled. John might not be a moron, but apparently Wyatt was. He stayed quiet

while he tried to process John’s accusation.

“C’mon, would you have fucked my son for any other reason than because you’re in love

with him?” John shot him an impatient look, like he was speaking to a child.

“But I did have sex with him,” Wyatt admitted quietly.

“I know. It’s written all over both of you and your sulky-ass faces.” John grunted with

frustration like he’d heard many times over the years. “Even Sheila knows you two should be

together, and she had the hardest time with Oak’s homosexuality.”

They both stared at each other for a few moments.

Wyatt broke the silence first. “But she set me up with Owen at dinner that night.”

“We kind of thought there might be some chemistry between you and Oak. Sheila

thought that having another man there might get one, or both of you, to make a decision. It

worked until you messed everything up.” John’s voice had quieted. “I don’t need details, but you

hooked up with my son. It didn’t last because otherwise the two of you would be all kissy-face

and a couple. So why the hell aren’t you two kissy-face and a couple? What did you do?”

Wyatt dropped his gaze. “I walked away.”

“Why?”

“Because, John,” he said, frustration getting the better of him again. “Because I know

what I’d be getting into, and it’s scary as hell. He needs time to really think about it before he

makes some rash, life-changing decision.”

“Bullshit!”

“Oh, you don’t believe me?”

“No,” John insisted. “You just got through telling me how smart and pretty and wise and

shit he is. You can’t go back on your story.”

“Interrogation tactics? Really?”

“If they bust the right balls, then I’ll fucking pull it out of my hat when I want to,” John

defended gruffly.

Wyatt groan-laughed. “Of course you would.”

“So?” John’s anger dissipated as fast as it had come on. It was proof that he wasn’t

actually furious at Wyatt for what he’d done, just confused and pissed that he was confused.

“I froze up,” Wyatt admitted quietly. “I froze up and didn’t check in with what I was

feeling for Oak.”

“Don’t go all Oprah on me. Just make it right. You got that? Tell him this touchy-feely

shit, not me.” He wrinkled his nose with distaste. “If that means exploring your inner gay, then

do that. Just be honest with him. Be honest with yourself, for fuck’s sake, before you ruin

everybody’s life.”

Wyatt smile ruefully. “Got it.”

“Do you? I don’t want to storm over there with Sheila, but I will. I’m sick of her whining

about our boy’s heart breaking. But if you make her cry again, I’m damn well gonna make you

fix her.”

John was shaking his finger at him now. Wyatt laughed, grabbed the digit and nodded.

“Yeah, I got it.”

* * * *

The next morning, Wyatt knew what he had to do. He called the Chief of Police first out

of courtesy. Then he called human resources. By mid-morning he’d received all the assorted

warnings. He pushed away from his desk and wove through the maze of desks to Oak’s.

“My office. Now,” he barked.

Oak exchanged looks with Sommerset. Sommerset shrugged. Wyatt left, expecting Oak

to follow and pleased when the door to his office shut a moment later.

“Captain?” Oak asked.

Wyatt walked back over to where he stood. “Your parents know.”

Oak’s face remained stony. “I don’t know what you’re referring to, sir. I don’t discuss my

cases with anyone outside this precinct.”

“Us, Detective. They know about us.”

Oak’s eyes flashed. “I was under the impression that there is no us.”

“Do you want there to be?”

He seemed to mull the question. “I’ve stuck my neck out one too many times to answer

that one. Sir.”

Wyatt got right in his face. “Listen closely. Are you listening?”

A tightening of the other man’s lips was all Wyatt got for an answer.

“Good. I’m about forty-five seconds from kissing you in full view of the office. There’s

only one thing that’s going to stop me.”

Oak’s gaze darted to Wyatt’s lips. “What’s that?”

“You, saying no.”

“I’m not out to the crew,” Oak told him.

“Neither am I. Ten seconds.”

Oak’s eyes lifted to his again. He thought he saw hope. “Wait. You’d better be sure you

want this, Captain. Don’t let me walk away then refuse to follow me again.”

Hurt laced Oak’s words. Wyatt filled with regret. “I’ll follow you anywhere, if you’re

game.”

A small smile lifted the corner of Oak’s lips. He clasped his hands behind his back.

“Resume your count.”

“Two, one,” Wyatt murmured.

He closed the gap, taking his time to test the resilience of Oak’s mouth. When it was no

longer enough, he tipped his head to the side and traced Oak’s lips with the tip of his tongue.

Oak opened for him, tangling his tongue with Wyatt’s.

Wyatt’s knees felt weak, but he smiled as they parted. “Do you want to look first?”

Oak glanced out over the office. Startled faces quickly averted. Some stared unabashedly.

“I guess we’re out.”

Epilogue

Four months later

…

Wyatt climbed the steps of the deck with the last box. He grinned at Oak as he passed the

doors, and Oak closed them.

“It’s official?” Oak asked.

“Yeah, this was the last one.” Saying that, Wyatt let it drop to the floor. He grabbed Oak

in a bear hug. He pulled back to look at his best friend and lover. “We aren’t moving too fast for

you?”

“Hell, no. You’d have moved in the first week if it was up to me.”

“The lease.”

“Yeah, the lease. I know.” Oak grinned. He nuzzled into Wyatt’s neck and gave him

several wet kisses.

“Keep playing like that, and I’ll bend you over the table.”

Oak opened Wyatt’s pants, reaching in to grasp his cock. “I’ve been wearing a butt plug

all day. We aren’t waiting on me.”

“I’m sweaty,” Wyatt protested.

“I don’t care.”

Fondling became stroking. Wyatt’s eyes wanted to cross it felt so damn good. “I’m going

to come if you keep that up.”

Oak fished a condom out of his pocket seeming to have prepared for just such a

seduction. Wyatt pulled of his cotton shirt while Oak dressed his cock, then made quick work of

his own clothes. Wyatt finished undressing.

He spun Oak around. “Grab your ankles, boy.” He gave a swat to the hard round ass in

front of him.

Oak bent in half, he parted his legs giving him full access.

Wyatt cupped the dark orbs between his lover’s legs, stroking a thumb back and forth

across them, then up to circle the blue wedge blocking his hole. Oak shivered. Wyatt teasingly

tugged on the plug a few times before extracting it. Then without further delay, he pushed in,

sinking his cock as far as he could go.

Oak moaned long and low, a sound that echoed Wyatt’s thoughts exactly.

“God, I love you,” Wyatt rasped.

“God, I’ll never get tired of hearing that,” Oak teased in the same tone.

Wyatt slapped his ass.

Oak laughed. “I love you, too.”

About the Author

Mia makes her home in Grand Rapids, Michigan, where she divides her time between a job and

spying on people. Mia enjoys long walks in Como Park, daisies, dancing in the snow...(Delete

prior sentence, meant for personal ad)...

Mr. Perfect may apply in person for a thorough evaluation and trial. All others will be towed.

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