Six Weeks Later
Ethan Villiers’ funeral was the first time in a long time that Bax and I were not the top story on local news media. We were mentioned, of course, as suspects in this, the latest Central Park Slaying—but I tried to keep coverage of the funeral and the ongoing investigation to a minimum in the townhouse. Bax and I stayed mostly in the guest room, and even when we joined the rest of the household for meals or drinks, talk turned to other things.
At night, in the dark of our room together, I would ask Bax how he was doing. The answer, when it came to Villiers, was always the same:Fine. Until one night, when he finally added, “I know you think I’m gonna freak out about it eventually, but I won’t.”
I pulled him closer in the bed, the little spoon to my big spoon, and put my left arm around him. I liked that position because he knew sudden movements still hurt me, and so he made every effort to stay still, even when I rubbed my dick against his ass or played with his nipples, trying to provoke a response.
But on the night of Ethan Villiers’ funeral, I’d kept my hands comforting instead of arousing. “You took a life,” I’d pointed out. “That’s not nothing.”
He’d stayed quiet for a while, then said: “I killed a criminal in the course of his committing a crime.”
“Even cops have to talk to someone after they kill in the line of duty.”
“And maybe one day I’ll go lie on a couch somewhere. But until I clear my name, I’m just gonna have to deal with it.”
Even now, a month after the funeral, he was still obsessed with the idea of proving his innocence to the world. I wanted that, too. I wanted the world to know what Baxter Flynn had gone through to stop the Central Park Slayer. To know that—thanks to him—justice had been done.
But I didn’t want my lover to become obsessed. And so I’d let Villiers go as a subject, kissed the back of his neck, and moved on to my next topic.
“Tell me about them.”
As always, it had taken him a few deep breaths to begin. “This one time on vacation,” he’d started, “my—my brother, Andy, he decided we should take the boat out together before Mom and Dad woke up…”
Every night I’d been asking him about his family. The first night, he’d barely gotten two sentences out before he dissolved into sobs, and it made me wonder how deep those wounds still ran. Villiers, certainly, had used them for his own ends instead of helping. I was no therapist, still didn’t really believe in it all, but there was no denying I felt better these days after discussing Giorgio Benetti and Tino Morelli with Bax.
And so I wanted Bax to discuss his family with me. Every night I’d ask him to tell me a funny story about them, a happy recollection, and every night his responses were coming faster, and he was less hesitant, until it seemed to me that he had begun to separate out his love for them from his misery at their deaths, that his memories were finally bringing him peace rather than renewing his pain.
Sometimes I talked, too. Sometimes. And then I would bring Bax to a sweet orgasm, gentle and slow, and he would do the same for me, and then we would sleep.
Nights were special.
Mornings were my favorite, though.
It was a delectable new experience for me to wake up every morning next to a warm body, to slip from dreams right into lovemaking, to lie drowsily in bed afterwards with my arms around another person and not evenwantto get up and start the day. Some mornings, Bax even managed to coax two rounds out of me, although that tended to send me straight back to sleep for an hour after.
No one seemed to mind. No one seemed to think I was shirking my duty, althoughIsometimes felt that way. But all I received was indulgence and assurances that work could wait—even from Luca D’Amato, although I sensed there was something hedidwant to discuss with me.
For the first time in my life, though, I felt a faint resentment at the idea that I should put aside everything for work. And so I never pushed Luca to talk, to share his worries, to ask me for advice.
In the past, I would have put the Boss first.
But I had a new boss now, and his name was Baxter Flynn. And he was much more delightful to work for than Luca D’Amato—even though he worked me much harder.
This morning he’d woken me with kisses along my cock, and when I murmured encouragement, he sat up on top of me and pressed me into his ass. I wondered how long he’d been lying there awake before me, playing with his asshole, slicking it up and opening it so it would engulf my whole length in one smooth action. Just the thought of it made me harder, and I thrust up further into him.
“There you go,” he murmured with a low chuckle. “God, you feel good in me.”
We’d abandoned condoms. The tailor of Brooklyn had run a suite of blood tests on the both of us, since Baxter had been almost as covered in my blood as I was, and all had come back negative. It seemed pointless to me to keep a barrier between us when I would never fuck another man for the rest of my life. Ex-Special Agent Baxter Flynn was it for me. And if I were to believe him—and I did—he wasn’t going anywhere, either.
“You’re going to fuck me into an early grave,” I mumbled as he began to move.
“What, by stealing your precious life-essence?” he snorted, and then he began to ride me in earnest, leaning forward with his hands by my head and staring into my eyes. I’d become fond of this position because it put the least pressure on my still-tender wound, and Bax claimed he liked watching my face close-up as we made love. I wondered sometimes if he thought he could see into my soul through my eyes, he stared so intensely into them.
I didn’t mind. It would have been silly to protest when his ass was so tight around my cock, when I had a beautiful young man doing everything in his power to make me feelgood. “Slow down,” I begged at last, because it was going to end too soon.
“Nah,” he panted. “Let’s make this one a quickie. Then I’ll do you again, nice and slow.”
I loved hearing him talk like that. He was dirty as hell without even meaning to be—just utterly honest about what he wanted, what he enjoyed, and it was the sexiest thing I’d ever encountered. So I grabbed his face between my hands and kissed him while he fucked himself on my cock, enjoyed his mouth every bit as much as I enjoyed his ass.
