Head thrown back, eyes closed, he paused to savor the moment. Then he moved, snapping his hips in Bo’s favorite rhythm.
“Yes!” Bo hissed, rocking back into Lucky’s thrusts. Groans, moans, squeaking bed springs—Lucky’s favorite song.
He grunted, thrusting in and out, dampness breaking out on his forehead. Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn.
So fucking good.
Bowing up and grasping the back of Lucky’s head, Bo pulled him in for a frantic kiss, nearly brutal in its power.
Fuuuuuuck! Pressure began, too fast to slow down. “I’m gonna cum,” Lucky warned.
Bo flopped back on the bed, frantically tugging at his dick. “Do it.”
Once more, twice more. Lucky shoved himself inside, holding position as every muscle seized. He hovered on the brink, barely aware of Bo’s gasps coming faster and faster.
Bo squeezed around him, sending Lucky tumbling over the edge.
“Ahhhh…” Bo jerked, every muscle taut, joining Lucky in release.
Holding his weight on trembling arms, Lucky stared down into the face of his lover, his friend, his partner.
His life.
He sucked in air, heart racing. Damn, he hated pulling out, but his arms couldn’t take much more. Lucky flopped down beside Bo onto his back. They lay together, breaths ragged.
Lucky swiveled his head enough to meet Bo’s mouth, a gentle brush of lips, nothing more.
They gazed into each other’s eyes, neither saying anything. Sometimes, words weren’t needed.
At last Bo broke the silence. “I love you.”
All the reassurance Lucky needed. “I love you too.”
***
Lucky didn’t ask his plans for the day when Bo disappeared bright and early Sunday morning. Should he worry about Bo getting too attached? Sooner or later, Yolanda planned to put her child up for adoption. Seeing the boy disappear into the foster system might rip Bo’s heart out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Two cups of coffee barely put a dent in Lucky’s pissy-assed mood; growling at rookies hadn’t helped much either. Mondays sucked. Plain and simple.
“Agent Harrison. I’d like to ask you a few questions about the warehouse raid when you have time.” At least Salters’ tense body language said he realized the closeness of Lucky’s breaking point.
“Later,” Lucky barked, stalking down the hall to the cube he somewhat shared with Bo.
Johnson sat in Bo’s chair, unbothered by Lucky’s glower. “I got some damned good information from an unusual source this weekend,” she said.
She’d better have some good reason to show up this early in his cube on a Monday morning. “What?” He had no patience for guessing games, especially with a partner keeping secrets. Bo hadn’t come home until the afternoon yesterday, and never explained where he’d been, other than, “It was work-related.”
“Well, you’ve been having some concerns about your nephew’s school, right?”
“You know I have.”
Her lips curled up into a sinister smirk. “I haven’t spent much time with Rone lately, so I took him to a high school softball game.”
Shy Tyrone Johnson at a game? Did he emerge from behind his mother long enough to see the action? “What’d he think?” Lucky wasn’t asshole, or stupid enough, to interrupt a proud mama talking about her kid.
“Guess who I saw at the game?
