“A promise is a promise.”
True. But.
“Yeah, and I promise I’ll get Ashe’s problems wrapped up ASAP.”
Taylor felt Will’s mouth curve, maybe in a smile, maybe in acknowledgment, maybe thinking the joke was on Taylor. Will kissed him again, promised, “We’ll work it out together. He’s my client too.”
That was the Will he knew and loved. Taylor’s heart expanded with gratitude at being met more than halfway. He nodded.
Their mouths gentled, lingered, tasting—Will was peppermint-flavored with bourbon undertones—taking a moment to savor what they had. It had taken them long enough to get here.
Will traced Taylor’s mouth with his fingertips, slowly traced his cheekbones, his eyebrows, not exploration, more a slow and thoughtful confirmation. Taylor could feel each fleeting caress after Will moved on. Was that what they meant by cell memory? Because every cell in his body recognized Will’s touch; could not imagine any circumstance where he would not know Will from anyone else, everyone else. Even the first day they’d met, he’d had a sense of discovery, a feeling that this was what—who—he’d been waiting for.
Not that he’d waited—clearly—which was occasionally part of the problem for Will.
He nipped Will’s finger, and felt Will’s smile. Will whispered, “I really do love you.” There had been a time when he had struggled with saying the words aloud.
“I had an idea you might.”
But Will was serious, even earnest. “Don’t ever think I take you for granted.”
Until that moment, the thought had never occurred to Taylor, but okay.
Will lowered his head, and they kissed again. Taylor shoved up the soft cotton folds of Will’s Henley to stroke the hard, muscular planes of Will’s naked back, slid down over Will’s hips to the opening in his sleep pants, arrowing in on soft skin, hard muscle. Will groaned, reciprocating, tugging at the band of Taylor’s boxers, dragging them down, stopping as Taylor’s gulp of pleasure turned to protest when elastic band met rigid cock.
Will muttered breathless apology, still plucking clumsily at the thin cotton, and Taylor started to laugh, lifting up, allowing for less perilous access. The heady scents of body-heated flannel and imminent sex rose with him. The bedclothes floated up, ghostlike, as Will laughed too, breathlessly, wriggling to free himself from his pajama bottoms, which he did in a couple of desperate heaves.
They landed back in each other’s arms, their cocks rigid and swollen, and the laughter dried as they humped against each other, hips grinding, backs laboring, shivering and shoving against each other in that desperate struggle for release.
Always the same, always different.
Their mouths fastened once more, the kiss deeper, hotter, tongues twining, suddenly starving for each other, eating each other alive.
Taylor arched into Will’s thrust, and they found their rhythm—practice made perfect—push-me-pull-you-ing into each other’s touch, feverish with the need for connection, urgent with the necessity for the most intimate of intimacies.
Will groaned against his ear, a hot, moist gust of pained delight. Taylor pulled him closer, arms wrapping tight, licking Will’s throat, nibbling beneath his chin, moaning half-hearted remonstrance when Will sucked him back on the side of his neck, hard, wet suction that would leave a mark for sure.
Bodies writhing, cocks rubbing, muscular chests pushing against each other, moving together with the ease of practice, sex not any less pleasurable for being a familiar and reliable source of comfort and release. Will nuzzled velvety kisses against Taylor’s throat, bent his head to tongue Taylor’s nipples, reached down and took Taylor’s wet-slick cock in his hand. It didn’t take more than a stroke or two before Taylor arched, seeming to light up, his body taut and trembling, crying out.
“Jesus. Will…”
“Christ, Tay,” Will groaned from deep in his chest, and sudden wet warmth spread between them.
Taylor closed his eyes, feeling that pulse of warm seed spilling from him, waves of sweet, soft relief washing away the earlier tension and strain.
They lay there for a few moments, shattered, dazed, not minding the hot stickiness gluing them together. Just one of the things that glued them together. When they stopped twitching and trembling, they shifted a little, getting more comfortable, still cradling each other as they tumbled into their separate dreams.
Chapter Three
“In addition to increasing employee accountability, we’ve encouraged our staff members to consciously foster an environment of loss prevention…”
Was there anything more boring than department-head meetings?
Will resisted the temptation to look at his phone as yet another Webster Fidelity manager rose to defend at length why their department did not need some outsider analyzing their security risk and offering unnecessary advice.
The fact that CEO Harvey Reid had kicked off this already very long meeting by reassuring everyone present that American Eagle was not out to “get” anyone, that they were being hired as a preventative measure and solely in an effort to keep up with changing times, seemed to have no effect on “the team.”
It didn’t help that Taylor had not made the meeting.
In fairness, Will hadn’t thought he would. He appreciated that Taylor wanted to be there.
But Taylor’s absence underscored the fact that American Eagle had two consultants and WF had five locations, from San Diego to Yreka, each needing to be personally visited and assessed for possible security threats so that separate and specific contingency protocols could be created—oh, and that Harvey Reid wanted it all done before Webster Fidelity closed for the week between Christmas and New Year’s.
Maybe they shouldn’t have gone into the Private Eye biz after all, because when Will considered the list of services they ostensibly offered their clients, he felt a kind of alarm he had never experienced either in the Marines or in the DSS.
Whose bright idea had this been again?
Oh, right. His.
Also in the column of things he was not thrilled about was the realization that he was going to have his work cut out acting as a buffer between Taylor and Todd Kohl, WF’s pompous and pugnacious head of security.
Kohl was in his forties, short, pudgy, with thinning red hair which he tried to disguise by sweeping it forward
