I'll Be Your Last (6 page)

“This doesn’t look good,” said Mack, pulling his Glock from the holster at his waist.

“No.” Woody followed suit. He spoke through his radio to officers in the other two units. “Something’s going down. Keep your eyes open.”

Shots rang out. Woody saw the muzzle flashes directed at the windows of the SUV. “Shit! It’s a hit.” He cracked his door open, went out low, using the door as a shield.

“Police. Drop your weapons!” All the officers were out of their cars. The shooter closest to the warehouse took off around the corner, but the other didn’t have a chance to run. He was quickly disarmed, searched, and shoved to the ground.

Suddenly, the SUV took off, passing right in front of Woody and Mack’s position. The occupants obviously weren’t dead. Woody
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radioed, “We’ll take the SUV.” They slid back into the car, Mack cranked the ignition, and they peeled out, lights and sirens. Two blocks away, still in the warehouse area, Mack was able to get ahead and nose his car in front of the SUV. The other vehicle’s front doors opened, and two people popped out, running in opposite directions toward railroad tracks on each side of the street.

“Fuck.” Mack bolted out his door. “I’ll take the driver.”

“Yeah.” Woody raced after the passenger. The guy had pulled his hoodie over his head, making him hard to see in the darkness of the railroad yards. If Woody lost him, he’d probably never be able to spot him again.

“Police. Drop the gun!” Suddenly, the guy turned, lifted his hand, and aimed. “Don’t be an idiot. Put it down.” A bullet whizzed by him.

“Fuck-head!” He had no choice. He fired back, then dove, landing on top to break his own fall. Wresting the gun away, Woody rolled him over, planted a knee in his kidneys, cuffed him, and yanked him to his feet. Searching got him another Glock, a knife, and a baggie with what looked like pot.

“Come on, asshole.” He pushed the guy back toward the undercover vehicle.

Mack had caught the driver, who was already facedown over the hood. Woody reported shots fired and their location. Two marked cars drove up, and each took away a prisoner.

Back at the station, they finished their reports. It had been gang warfare. The shooters in the sedan had ambushed the SUV holding a drug carrier and his protection. Mack and Woody’s coup was running down these high-level gang members. On their persons, they were just holding pot, but the contents of the SUV was a different story. There was probably half a million dollars worth of cocaine in the back. All in a day’s work. They’d need to sweat the big boss’s name out of these guys, but any amount of drugs off the street was a good day.

They were finally off duty. Woody wondered if Mack remembered their interrupted conversation or even wanted to
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remember it. His adrenaline was still up. He knew it would take a while to settle down and get some sleep, but sleep wasn’t what was on his mind. Mack was on his mind.
Still
on his mind. Before he left the station, he looked around. Mack was not to be seen.
Okay.
Woody took a deep breath. He’d have to face reality. He hadn’t gotten through.

Trudging out to his car, he decided a shower and bed were the best ideas he could come up with. And there was Mack, out in the parking lot, leaning up against the hood of his car, arms folded over his chest. “Hey, what’s going on?”

Mack just looked at him, his breath coming shallow and rough.

Suddenly, the last thing Woody wanted was sleep. His blood was fired up, and he held his breath hoping Mack felt the same. “Mack?” He met the other man’s gaze, the intensity growing, deepening in his cobalt eyes. “You can trust me.”

“Son of a bitch.” Mack shook his head but didn’t drop his gaze.

Woody’s heart detonated. A fizzing warmth shot through him, putting him on edge. He wanted the bigger man so much. Wanted them skin to skin, bare naked, touching every part of each other’s bodies. It would hurt if Mack turned away from him now, but he couldn’t force him. The guy was a tough nut to crack, but he’d be so worth it. All Mack’s angst and testosterone would be ramming into him.

It might be simple lust, but maybe that’s what he needed to get the bastard out of his system.

“Mack?” He verbally nudged the other man. Woody nervously licked his lips, pleased to see the flash of heat in Mack’s eyes. He wasn’t immune. Good.

“Not here,” Mack said quietly, resignedly.

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“My house.” Woody wanted him there, wanted Mack in his home where it was warm and real and prepared. He had condoms and lube.

Who knew what the man had, or did not have, at home.

Mack followed Woody home in his own car, parking it on the street two houses down.

Woody’s heart beat so hard and fast he was afraid he might be sick before they could even do anything. It was strange and unnerving to be heading into his house, heading for what would undoubtedly be hot sex in the bright light of morning. Their walk was sedate on the outside until the door slammed shut. Mack shoved Woody’s shoulders against the wood and took his mouth in a violent firestorm of a kiss.

Yes!
This
was what he’d wanted from the very first. He wanted all that considerable masculine, testosterone-driven passion. He wanted Mack’s strong, sure tongue exploring his mouth. Sliding his fingers under the knit cap, he flipped it off, his gaze settling on the thick, black hair. Putting palms to hard chest, Woody pushed away, his voice cracking. “I wondered what was under that cap. Thought maybe you were bald.”

“No, not bald.” Mack sounded confused. He cradled Woody’s head, thumbs at his jaw joints controlling his movements. His lips tantalized, their smooth surface demanding surrender, Mack’s tongue spearing combatively against his as if this was war.

He might have sounded confused, but he sure knew how to kiss.

Mack’s voice wended its sizzling way through Woody’s body. He tunneled frenzied fingers through the surprisingly soft hair—it looked unkempt but was shiny clean—lifting it off Mack’s scalp, gripping the
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strands tightly. When Mack groaned in response and re-angled their heads to take the kiss even deeper, Woody tightened his fingers and yanked sharply, adding a groan of his own. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

“No. What?”

“Never mind.” Placing a palm on Mack’s chest, he pushed. Tried to, anyway. Woody couldn’t take his eyes off him. Here, in the privacy of his home, he could finally focus on the harsh, rugged, gorgeous face surrounded by the wealth of thick, black, disheveled hair. Mack looked primitive, caveman-like, and mesmerized Woody with the stunning depths of his deep-blue eyes. He yearned to start at the top and explore every inch of the man all the way down to his toes. He shook his head and snorted at the thought of sucking Mack’s toes. Not his favorite body part.

Mack abruptly slid away and strode into the living room.

Removing his outer jacket, he laid it neatly over the back of a chair and headed for the bookshelves. Woody’s heart squeezed with anxiety.
Oh my God, he’s staying.
He’d been anticipating Mack running for the hills, but how could he possibly after that blistering kiss?

“Nice place.”

“Thanks.”

“Looks like you read a lot.”

Mack turned to him, his gaze full of both confusion and arousal.

Thank you, God.

Woody knew he’d have to take control of the situation. Mack might be older and probably more experienced, but apprehension flowed off him in waves right now. He looked scared and, at the same time, distinctly ravenous.

His mouth turned to dust and his limbs to lead, but he forced himself to step closer. “Take this off.” He pulled Mack’s T-shirt out of his pants but, in sudden nervousness, got everything—T-shirt, plaid shirt, and arms—all tangled up together. “Sorry, sorry,” he murmured
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nervously while pulling it all off and tossing everything to the floor.

He gasped, almost lost his breath at the sight of a magnificent, lovely, firm chest with pecs layered in thick, black hair. Woody sighed, eyelids dipping for a moment. His stomach clenched. His heart beat hard.

He’d known Mack’s chest would be this masculine. “God, you must pump iron. I’ve never seen such an amazing…” Woody’s voice faded away.

Mack actually chuckled. “You can keep admiring me while I do this.” He trapped Woody’s neck between big palms, lips drifting over his throat and into the open collar of his shirt.

All Woody heard was Mack’s harsh breath. All he felt was hot puffs of air bathing his skin, skin still cold from the outside but heating up quickly. The kisses turned to sharp, fast nips that would leave marks for sure. Woody wanted the marks, maybe needing the proof later that this really happened.

With quick, sure fingers, Mack slid Woody’s jacket and shirt down his arms and dropped them with a
plonk
onto the floor. They stood there, staring—almost glaring—into each other’s eyes, bare chests bumping and heaving for air. Mack’s blue gaze darkened with increasing arousal. Woody dropped to his knees to the place of real importance. His mouth was at belt-buckle height, but there was no belt. Just a snap and zipper, the hiss of it lowering agonizingly loud over their heavy breathing and Woody’s wolfish growls.

Woody unclipped Mack’s gun and holster, and his, too, while he was at it, laying both on the coffee table. Then, he palmed Mack’s hips, pushing his jeans down. Commando. Oh, the pure, intoxicating rapture of
that
. Then a glorious erection jutted right in his face. “God, Mack.” He groaned at the beautiful, thick, pulsing cock begging for attention. He couldn’t resist flicking out his tongue and licking the rounded head with its leaking drop of seminal fluid, the musky perfume of sex filling his head.

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“Suck me,” Mack ordered gruffly, flexing his hips. “Suck my cock, kid.”

Woody jerked back, almost knocking Mack over. He stood, fists clenched at his sides, and lashed out in fury, “I’m no kid, and you know it. Call me that once more, and your dick can just stay dry.”

“I’m tired of standing. Where’s your bedroom?” He glared daggers at Mack, his breathing roughening in his struggle to keep from belting the guy. This was bad. The feral expression on Mack’s face did nothing short of amp up his arousal.

This was going to be so good, so fucking raunchy.

Woody would prove he was no goddamned kid. His nostrils flared in excitement, and he wasted no time in shoving a stumbling Mack toward his bedroom. They’d need to be there eventually for round two. Might as well get there now.

He shoved Mack onto the bed, yanking his shoes, socks, and finally, jeans off, tossing them all on the floor. At Mack’s carnal and surprisingly vulnerable cobalt gaze, he froze at the sight of the beautiful naked body, the broad chest, narrow hips, flat belly, and muscular thighs stretched out on the white sheets. Roughly, he lifted and spread Mack’s knees, crawled between them, and stopped. His heart seized at the intimacy of seeing the balls and pucker on display, the asshole he’d dreamed of taking. He liked being fucked, and he liked doing the fucking. And this was one man he really wanted to fuck.

Narrowing his gaze, he taunted, “Does a kid do this?” Leaning down, he licked the thick head of Mack’s cock, rolled his tongue around, getting him all wet, probing the slit, nipping at it, scraping his teeth over the sensitive flesh.

Mack groaned, and his penis swelled longer and harder, apparently responding to the rough treatment.

With a lavish lick at the salty drop slithering from the hole, Woody glanced up and, lifting an eyebrow, challenged, “Huh? Am I still a kid to you?”

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Mack grunted, and, with an evil smirk, he thrust his erection toward Woody’s lips. “Suck me off and swallow it, kid. You do that, and I’ll call you a man.”

“You son of a bitch!” Woody used Mack’s hard thighs as leverage to push himself to his feet and back away. “You’re just here for a blow job? I don’t need to suck you off to prove I’m a man.” He’d never been this furious before in his life. “I’m not playing games with you. Get the hell out of here.”

With all this testosterone and adrenaline working, he should have realized Mack just wanted a physical outlet. It would mean nothing to Mack. Woody would mean nothing.

* * * *

Mack realized instantly he’d gone too far. “This isn’t a game.” He grabbed Woody’s arm and yanked him down on the bed beside him, gripping his jaw—
oh yeah, his beard’s soft
—and slinging a thigh over his legs.

Woody’s long lashes rested on his cheeks. Then his eyes opened, his gaze intrigued and eager. Woody didn’t want to stop this any more than Mack did.

Their kisses had been much more addictive than he’d imagined possible. Woody’s lips held firm against his, the short hairs of his beard tickling. Mack licked, roughly working his way inside his mouth. Then Woody was his. Pressing his hairy chest on Woody’s hard one, the warm, sleek skin a comfort all its own, he took his mouth, scraped his teeth with the flat of his tongue, teasing the tip across the roof, suckling Woody’s tongue.

It’d been a long time since he’d felt this out of control. Breaking the kiss, he pushed up. “Where’s your stuff?” He was frantic to fuck the kid. “I want inside your ass.”

Woody’s expression was dazed. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Drawer.” He pointed in the direction of the nightstand.

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“You can’t be fucked with your jeans on.” Mack gripped Woody’s snap, lowered the zipper, and shoved the pants down long legs, leaving him in gray boxer briefs stretched snugly around lightly furred, muscular thighs. Muscular just like his. His heart stuttered with desperate need. Woody’s body was everything he wanted in another man.

The tight knit of the boxers barely hid Woody’s sizeable cock, erect and ready to bust out of the soft material. Mack yanked the shorts off and wrapped his fingers around Woody’s shaft, caressing his cock from base to tip. His eyes closed in the pleasure of controlling the hard heat, his mouth watering for a taste.