Fated (20 page)

“Fingertips to the wall, and do not let them move.”

A harsh breath rushed from Toby’s lungs, but his back arched when Hart dragged his hand over the rumpled shirt, fabric dragging against his damp palm. A moment of tenderness came over him, and he covered Toby’s body, gently kissing the back of his neck. “If you tell me to stop,” he whispered, “I will, immediately. Okay?” Toby nodded. “I need to hear you say it, lover.”

“Okay,” Toby said. His eyes closed as he pressed his red cheek to the cool granite of the countertop. Hart straightened. With one tug he had Toby’s shirt free of his pants, then he reached around to loosen those. He only pulled them down far enough to expose Toby’s ass, leaving his cock trapped in the underwear.

“Where are the condoms?”

“Doctor’s bag,” Toby gasped, and Hart hesitated again. Was this really a good idea? But then Toby’s body undulated, like he was trying to get friction on his cock but couldn’t without breaking contact with the wall. Hart reached around, shoving his hand into Toby’s pants. He was rock hard, the underwear sticking wetly to the back of Hart’s hand. “No,” Toby cried out. “No, not yet!” He tensed up all over, and understanding immediately, Hart circled the base of his cock, squeezing hard until he stopped thrashing against the countertop.

“In control now?”

“Yes. Yes, God. I’m sorry.”

“No.” He wrapped an arm around Toby’s torso. “Don’t be sorry. That was hot as fuck.”

“Don’t make me fucking beg for it, Hart,” Toby snapped, and it made Hart grin. Quickly he turned toward the bag on the kitchen island and dug around for the condoms and lube. The thought that Toby had walked around with these all day in preparation for tonight was like fire through his veins.

“How much prep do you need?”

“One finger, lots of lube. I want to feel it.”

Hart bit his lip before he said something tawdry like,
oh I’ll make sure you’ll feel it.
Without undoing one button more than necessary, Hart pulled his cock out of his fly and snapped the condom in place. The lubrication was scentless but of good quality, the kind that wouldn’t dry up halfway through. He poured a rich amount on his palm, coated the condom, and then without warning pressed one finger into Toby’s ass. He kept very still, waiting for Toby’s breathing to even out somewhat, for the wide-mouthed panting to shift from discomfort to
more
. As soon as he felt Toby relax, he pulled his finger out.

“Do you need more?” he asked to be sure. Toby shook his head, and he lined up. The unsteady breathing told him Toby expected another shove to the hilt, so instead he went excruciatingly slowly. So much so that before he was even halfway there, his legs were shaking.

“Hart,” Toby moaned, his fingers worrying at the ledge of granite on the wall. “Goddammit, if you really want begging, I’ll do it, okay? Fuck me, you fucker,
please
.”

Instead of pushing forward, Hart hauled Toby’s ass toward him by the hips, and Toby scrambled to hold his hands in place. The pause Hart took then wasn’t for the benefit of drawing it out. Toby felt so good around him, Hart could come on the spot, just from the heat of Toby’s soft insides.

And then finally he began to move.

Toby braced for him beautifully, his back arching and rolling under Hart’s hands. He fucked Toby hard and fast, slowing down every time he could feel the contrasting tension of release strain in all of his muscles.

“Oh God, Hart,” Toby croaked, “I can’t get there like this. I need—Please. Please.” His knuckles were white where they pressed against the wall, and this time Hart didn’t change his rhythm. He kept going at the exact pace that would bring him off within thirty seconds, and right before he came, he pushed his hand into Toby’s underwear.

“Now,” he said, pulling Toby back hard against him. “Now.” He jerked Toby off with fast, short strokes, and when the strain finally became too much, when the wired tension broke and Toby sobbed in relief and spilled hotly into his hand, he himself let go, let Toby’s ass milk the orgasm from him. Hart held him until his breathing evened, but going by the weight of him in his arms, he couldn’t let go just yet. Had he gone too hard?

“You all right?” he quietly asked. Toby nodded but said nothing, tilting his head back to rest on Hart’s shoulder. Without thinking about it, he pressed a soft kiss to Toby’s temple, then to the corner of his mouth, until he turned to make it a real kiss. Toby’s eyes kept fluttering closed, so Hart reached for the paper towels on the counter, gently cleaned them up, and led Toby up the stairs. “Lie down. Are you sore?”

“Mm,” Toby mumbled. “Little bit.”

“All right, don’t move. I’ll go make us something to eat and bring it up.” He brushed the hairs from Toby’s forehead, the ache in his chest strangely empty and warm at once. “Do you want a beer or something? Wine?”

“Just water, please,” Toby whispered. A small smile lingered on his mouth.

“Sure,” Hart whispered. “I’ll be right back.”

He took a moment to pull himself together in the kitchen. After the adrenaline rush earlier that evening, the unexpectedly intense orgasm had taken the last of his strength. It left him feeling drained and alone.

An hour later Toby was fast asleep in the spare bed, stretched out in a comfortable sprawl. He lay on his back, facing away from Hart, right hand lying on top of his belly, the other almost hanging off the bed. Hart had never seen someone sleep this peacefully. But then he’d never really put himself in a situation where he could. They’d eaten pasta, stripped and showered, and gotten into bed.

While Hart knew he wouldn’t sleep for a long time to come, Toby had murmured, “Wake me for round two,” and drifted off almost immediately.

Drawn toward the scar, Hart lifted up on one elbow and took a closer look. Yellow light from the bedside lamp gave him enough brightness to see it clearly. It didn’t look like it had been as shallow as Toby wanted him to believe. He wondered where it had happened. Had there been witnesses? Had someone helped Toby while he waited for an ambulance, or had he been discovered passed out in a puddle of blood? And this mysterious mugger had never been found.

There was something ethereally beautiful about Toby like this. Still, for once, his features unmoving to reveal the man beneath the animation. His full lips were slightly parted, and he looked fragile almost. Delicate eyelashes fanned away from his moving eyelids. Hart wondered what he dreamed about.

He stopped the deep sigh before it could make a noise and let it out through his nose. He wanted to like this man. He
did
like this man. But a worry niggled at him—a gut feeling any worthy cop wouldn’t trust entirely but wouldn’t ignore either—that Toby knew something about this case. Maybe he didn’t realize whatever he was hiding happened to be related. But then, he could have his secrets just like anybody else. Lord knew Hart had them.

The endless whirl of thoughts in his mind reached the junction that usually steered him toward a wine glass, so Hart sat up carefully. He hadn’t intended to sleep beside Toby when he accompanied him into this room, but instead of moving to his childhood bedroom, he went toward the desk where the piece of paper still stuck out like an invitation to pull it. He pried the overstuffed drawer open. It was full to the brim with documents and folders. He lifted most of it out, put it on the rug beside him, and with the lamp shining over his shoulder, he began to read.

H
ART
HAD
no idea how much time had passed when Toby groaned. It barely registered, and he only lifted his head when a shadow fell over the letter he was reading.

“Couldn’t sleep? What’s all this?”

Hart tried not to stiffen up. “It’s nothing.” He slowly began to gather the papers, but Toby put his hands on Hart’s shoulders.

“Hey.” He waited for Hart to make eye contact. “Don’t shut me out now.”

“I’m not, I’m… this might have something to do with the case. I—”

“You’re unsettled. Jesus, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. What is it?”

“There are letters. Someone wants… wanted my father’s research. From the increasing demands I’m reading here, Dad wouldn’t give it up. And these letters are stuffed in this desk like an afterthought. He kept old bills in here. There’s one for water from twenty years ago, would you believe it?”

Toby gripped his shoulders a little tighter. “Why do you think it’s important? It could mean anything.”

“They’re not exactly asking nicely.”

Toby’s gaze flickered over the papers and then the drawer. He frowned, ducked down, and let go of one of Hart’s shoulders to pull something out. “A laptop cord.”

Hart’s breath caught. “But no laptop?”

Pushing papers aside and checking the other drawers, Toby sat on his heels and shook his head. “Is that weird?”

“A bit. My dad was extremely against computers and didn’t keep one in the house. As far as I know anyway. He could’ve changed his mind years ago.” Hart rubbed at his tired eyes, and they stung. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

“Do you think… someone took it?”

“Whoever wrote these letters?” It seemed far-fetched, and surely if someone had removed the laptop from here, they’d have taken the letters too.

Hart couldn’t get the image of the two burgling kids filling boxes with notes and files out of his head. Then there was Jonathan’s possible housekeeper he’d seen no sign of so far. One thing he knew for sure, like a rock settling deep in his gut, was that he shouldn’t discuss this with Toby any further.

Toby knelt close beside Hart and touched his shoulder, sliding a hand through Hart’s hair. “Can I distract you from this? It’s the middle of the night.” He kissed Hart’s neck and dragged his lips up to his ear. “I think I mentioned a round two before I passed out on you, didn’t I?”

Hart shivered and closed his eyes. It tore him in two, but instead of responding to Toby’s come-on, he asked, “Have you ever heard of the Predator myth?”

Toby went very still. Hardly noticeable, really, if there had been more between them than the sheet he held loosely around his hips. He frowned just a second too late. “The Predator? The old wives’ tale meant to keep kids away from the Mountain?”

“Was that its purpose?” Hart asked mildly. Again the beat of silence lasted a fraction too long. The smile that followed on Toby’s face didn’t lift to its usual lopsidedness, either. Hart remained silent and, perhaps feeling the irreversible shift between them, Toby rose to his feet.

“I’ll let you—” Toby waved at the pile of papers surrounding Hart. “Do you mind if I crash in one of the other rooms? I need to catch some sleep. I can go home if you prefer, though.”

“No, please.” Hart slid the letters into a plastic folder, his heart beating a guilty, sluggish thud. This wasn’t exactly being nice like Freddie had told him to be. “Pick whatever room suits you.” By the time he looked up, Toby was gone.

At two minutes to six, Hart’s phone chimed, and he jerked awake, neck stiff, a sheet of paper sticking to his face. He plucked it off and blearily grabbed his phone off the floor.
You coming into the station today?

Freddie. Hart groaned. It wasn’t like he’d been sleeping comfortably, but 6:00 a.m.? Really? He took a moment to gather his thoughts and work the crick out of his neck, and while he was rolling his tight shoulders, he got another text.

You tied up? Should I be asking Toby instead?

Ignoring the ribbing, he replied,
Need to talk, urgent. Be there in one hour.

Hart hurried into his bedroom and slipped into a pair of tracksuit bottoms. He wondered if Toby was still sleeping, but when he went to look, there was no sign of him. The second spare bedroom’s covers were rumpled, but the bed was made. Hart silently took the stairs down to the kitchen.

Toby’s doctor’s bag was gone. In its stead lay a piece of paper.

I’m sorry to sneak out on you but I got called in.
The lie stood out so clearly it could’ve been written in red ink.
Borrowed your keys to move your car around, I hope that’s okay. I left them by the front door. Toby.

Hart knew it didn’t necessarily mean anything. Hart had pretty much turned him down flat to look over twenty-year-old bills, among other things, which was a shitty thing to do after the way he’d fucked Toby. He shifted uncomfortably. He was better than this. He didn’t love often, but when he did, he thought of himself as considerate and kind, and he’d behaved appallingly.

Still, that feeling wouldn’t leave his gut, the fear that the next time he faced Toby, it would be with the wall of the law between them.

F
OR
ONCE
Hart had the advantage of arriving at the station before Freddie. He’d stopped at a coffee shop and picked up two coffees, one as sweet as he could stand to make it. Leaning against his borrowed cruiser, Hart sipped his cup, waiting for Freddie and enjoying the cool morning air, which promised an early fall.

“What,” Freddie said when she stepped out of her Camry, sliding sunglasses over her eyes, “warranted a seven o’clock start? Is that coffee? Give me the coffee.”

She didn’t look as neatly put together as usual. Her ponytail hung slightly askew, nothing shimmered on her lips, and she wore a white T-shirt, a pair of black combat pants, and boots. A bulletproof vest wouldn’t do the outfit any harm. She looked formidable without it, especially with the holster strapped so visibly around her shoulders. He grinned. Message received.

“You’re the one who texted me at 6:00 a.m.”

“From the safety of my
bed
. I figured you’d have your phone on DND like any normal person on the flip side of a booty call.” She sipped her coffee, hummed, and looked at him. Sliding her glasses up into her hair, she squinted. “Did you even sleep at all? You look terrible, even in your fancy suit, and not in the go-get-your-boy way.”

Hart decided not to take the bait, though he badly wanted to confess his sins to someone. “Not much, and that’s why I needed to talk to you.” He jerked his head toward the cars and opened his door. “Yours or mine?”