They had their thirty-minute conference, then Denis opened the door and motioned the bailiff over. “Tell the judge we’re ready.”
Ten minutes inside the courtroom and the charges were dropped, Cherry released. While the bailiff took him to get his property, Denis took a chance and made a call. “Carole, get a hold of impound’s supervisor. Tell them the judge dropped the charges, and Mr. Palant’s bike isn’t evidence.”
“Might be hard to get confirmation to them this late. It’s nearly midnight, Denis.” Carole’s voice didn’t hint at fatigue or annoyance, just straight to work. “But I know someone I can use as a runner first thing in the morning. Don’t count on getting it out tonight.”
“Okay. Thanks.” He paused, grinning, “Carole, tell your boss he’s not paying you enough to still be at the office this late.”
“Who said I was at the office.” The line clicked as the call disconnected, and Denis chuckled.
They walked out together, shoulders rubbing. Denis slowed and turned, asking, “What else do you have planned for the night?”
Cherry shrugged. “You said I can’t get my bike out of impound until tomorrow.” He thumped his phone against his leg before shoving it in his pocket. Denis noted how the leather vest with the club’s name across the back rode his shoulders as if tailored to fit. “Phone’s dead, so I can’t even call for a ride. I’ve got nothing pressing. You?”
Denis crowded a little closer. “I was just thinking.”
“Yeah? About what?” Cherry’s grin was playing around the corners of his mouth. “I assume you do lots of lawyerly thinking.”
Denis see-sawed one hand, then placed it in the center of Cherry’s chest. “I was thinking we could go back to mine. Get some sleep.”
Cherry laughed and leaned into Denis’ touch. “I could be convinced. If you’re really offering, that is.”
“Oh, I’m more than offering.” Denis pressed closer. “I’m insisting.”
***
Cherry
Cherry didn’t know what hit harder, the sharp creak of Denis’ bedframe under their weight or the way the man’s breath hitched when Cherry’s hands found his hips. The room was dark, save for the slash of streetlight cutting through the blinds, painting Denis’ bare chest in silver and shadow.
They’d stumbled in from the courthouse, shedding clothes like old skin. Cherry had folded his vest with normal reverence before losing his shirt, then pulling at Denis’ tie, a trail of fabric marking their path from living room to mattress. The air was thick with the musk of sweat and want, and Cherry’s pulse hammered in his throat as Denis sprawled beneath him, eyes dark and daring.
“Condom’s in the drawer,” Denis murmured, voice rough, one hand sliding down Cherry’s chest, nails grazing ink and muscle. “Lube too. You’re driving tonight, Cherry.”
Cherry’s gut clenched, heat pooling low. He’d been here before...well, nothere, not like this, but the mechanics weren’t foreign. Women, sure, back when he was still trying to play the part, but this was different. Denis was all hard planes and stubble, with a body that met his strength with its own, and the thought of sinking into him, of claiming that heat, made Cherry’s hands shake as he fumbled for the nightstand. Denis grinned, lazy and wicked, propping up on his elbows to watch.
“Nervous, biker boy?”
“Oh, fuck off,” Cherry growled, but there was no bite in it, just a laugh, low and unsteady, as he ripped the foil with his teeth. He slicked himself up, the latex cold against his throbbing cock, then coated his fingers, meeting Denis’ gaze. “You sure?”
Denis arched a brow, spreading his thighs wider, one hand tugging Cherry closer by the waistband of his still-open jeans. “Been sure since I saw you dancing in that club. C’mon, gorgeous. Show me what you’ve got. Don’t make me wait.”
Cherry leaned in, kissing him hard. There was no finesse to the kiss, all teeth clashing, tongues fighting, all while his fingers slid down, circling, pressing. Denis groaned into his mouth, hips bucking, and Cherry pushed in slow, one finger, then two, feeling the tight heat give way.Fuck, it was good. Almost too good.With Denis’ gasps, the way his head tipped back, stubble glinting in the half-light, it all conspired to drive Cherry’s need higher. He worked him open slowly, each movement deliberate, studying every flicker across Denis’ face, every shudder that said he was doing it right.
“Now,” Denis panted, gripping Cherry’s wrist, guiding him. “Fuck me, Cherry. Now.”
Cherry didn’t need asking twice. He lined up, one hand braced on Denis’ thigh, the other gripping the headboard, and pushed in, slow at first, inch by inch, until Denis’ heat swallowed him whole. The sound Denis made was half-growl, half-moan, and it lit Cherry up like a flare, and he rocked deeper, finding a rhythm of in and out. Denis met him thrust for thrust, hands clawing at Cherry’s back, nails biting into skin, urging him on. It was messy and raw, a collision of need that drowned out the world. Nothing left but Cherry’s grunts, Denis’ curses, the slap of flesh, and creak of springs.
“Harder,” Denis rasped, locking legs around Cherry’s waist, pulling him in tight. Cherry obliged, hips snapping, losing himself in the burn, the stretch, the way Denis’ cock leaked against his stomach, untouched and begging. He shifted, angling, and Denis arched, a ragged “Fuck, right there” spilling out as Cherry hit that spot again and again.
It built fast, a savage pressure coiling tight in Cherry’s spine, and he reached between them, wrapping a fist around Denis, stroking rough and quick. Denis came first, breathing out on a choked shout, the cum hot and wet across Cherry’s hand, and the sight of those dark eyes, pupils blown wide, mouth slack, it all worked to shove Cherry over the edge. He buried himself deep and ground harder, trying to climb inside Denis, groaning low as he spilled, the world blurring into heat and Denis’ ragged breathing.
They collapsed together, a tangle of sweat-slick limbs, Cherry’s face pressed to Denis’ neck, tasting salt and the heat from a ragged pulse. Neither moved, just breathed, the aftershocks humming between them. Denis’ hand found Cherry’s hair, threading through it, and Cherry let himself sink into it, the weight of the night settling like a brand on his soul.
Denis stirred, and Cherry shivered as a finger trailed across the tattoos on his shoulder. “What’s this one for? Why a bulldog?”
Cherry chuckled. “Not every tattoo has a story behind it.” He shifted and looked at his shoulder. “Sometimes it’s just about having extra money. But this one does have meaning. It’s a memorial, see the dates?” He worked the condom off his wilting cock and tied it off, dropping it on the floor at the side of the bed.
Denis angled his head to look at the tattoo closer. “I do now. Is it for friends you’ve lost?” His hand covered the tattoo, the touch warm and certain.
