Broken Protocol Page 11

  Dante was sticking his key in his apartment lock when Luke’s cell phone buzzed. Once. Twice. There was a slight pause. It buzzed again.

  “Who the fuck’s calling you this time of night?” He demanded.

  “I’m popular.” Luke shrugged. “Anyway, they’re texting.”

  “Somebody better be dead.”

  “Cranky.” Luke pulled his phone out of his pocket. “It’s Tommy.”

  “The bartender? Why the hell’d you have to give him your number?” For a moment it looked like Dante was going to say something else, but then the door popped open. He stepped into the apartment.

  Luke had to hustle to catch up. “You’re just jealous because Tommy was talking to me and ignoring your sexy ass.”

  Dante slammed the door shut. His shoulders hunched forward. He worried his bottom lip with his teeth like he was thinking about something a little too hard. For a moment everything was quiet. “You think I’m sexy?” he finally asked.

  “Every schoolgirl’s wet dream.”

  One blue eye and one hazel eye gleamed at him in the dim light from the street coming through the living room window. Dante’s square jaw clenched. Something had changed. Whatever he’d been mulling over in his mind, he’d clearly come to a decision. For the first time all night he was in complete control.

  “What about you?” His voice was low and silky. He took one step forward then another to close the void he’d created between them, forcing Luke to move backward to keep their bodies from touching.

  Dante didn’t like touching.

  Except, for once Dante didn’t seem to notice the vanishing space between them, or if he did, he didn’t care. Like a force of nature clothed in muscle and flesh he kept on coming until Luke’s back slammed against the cool plaster of the apartment wall.

  “You think I’m sexy,” Dante said.

  This time it wasn’t a question.

  They were so damn close, but they still weren’t quite touching as though an invisible barrier separated their two bodies. Then slowly—so damn slowly—Dante’s hand reached out to brush against Luke’s hip.

  Worlds collided.

  Luke’s heart throbbed. It wasn’t the only organ that had taken an interest. The pants he’d pulled on with ease at the beginning of the night suddenly felt like they were two sizes too tight.

  Luckily, his brain hadn’t completely bugged out. “Hands off the merchandise.”

  “Why?” Dante demanded. “Everyone else got to touch you. All night long. They got to wrap their arms around you, pull you in tight, grab your ass.” There was a hitch in his breath. “Why do they get to touch you and not me?”

  It had to be a joke. Luke opened his mouth to object, but he couldn’t find the words. He was too busy remembering the look on Dante’s face when he’d first spotted him in the nightclub.

  Dante didn’t even like men.

  He was straight.

  So, why had he looked at Luke like a man dying of heat stroke who’d just discovered the ocean?

  “You’ve had too much to drink. You don’t even know what you’re saying.” The truth made his heart break. The look was just that—a look. It didn’t mean anything. It didn’t change anything. “You don’t want me.”

  “Fuck.” Dante’s laughter was sharp and bright. “I’ve wanted you for years.”

  There was no time for Luke to react. Not when Dante’s lips pressed tight against his, his tongue fighting for entry. Fingers that had hesitated a moment earlier grasped desperately, hard enough to leave a constellation of bruises on his hip. Luke couldn’t resist—he didn’t even try—not when it was Dante reaching for him.

  He tilted his head back to allow Dante to deepen his kiss, but his foster brother wasn’t waiting for permission. He was wild and primal. Desperate.

  He wasn’t the only one.

  Luke sucked at Dante’s mouth, drawing in his curved bottom lip to taste the intoxicating mix of scotch, sex, and something else—something so damn familiar it made his heart ache.

  His skin flamed. His cock was on fire, desperate to come out and play. The noise of the street vanished as instinct warred with common sense inside him. It would be so damn easy to reach for the zipper pressed against him, but Dante wasn’t just another hookup.

  Luke couldn’t afford to make the first move.

  He couldn’t be wrong.

  When Dante’s body finally ground against his—big, muscular, and hard in all the right places—Luke thought he was going to lose his mind. Dante’s lips twitched up into a rueful smile. He knew exactly what kind of reaction his move had elicited. His hips rocked forward a second time.

  Danger! Luke’s mind screamed. Danger, Danger!

  Before Luke could react—pushing the other man away in a final grasp for sanity—a hand landed on the zipper of his tight jeans and flicked them open.

  Dante’s long fingers reached inside and curled comfortably around Luke’s hard erection like he was claiming a favorite toy instead of touching another man’s dick for the first time. His lips never left Luke’s as he gave one quick tug and then another.

  There must have been a faulty wire leading straight from Luke’s dick to his central nervous system because the moment Dante touched him his brain short-circuited. Heat and electricity crackled underneath his skin as he leaned into the sensation.

  Dante’s mouth drifted gently downwards, his breath hot against Luke’s neck, his teeth sharp as he nipped at tender flesh. His hand never stopped its steady rhythm against Luke’s flesh. His hips never stopped moving as he ground his own erection into Luke’s hip.

  Luke whimpered. This was actually happening. Dante Green—his Dante Green—was grinding against him like a high school jock under the school bleachers. “Fuck.”

  “Later,” Dante promised.

  Dante’s hand twisted slightly, the move capturing the delicate skin that covered Luke’s cock. The earth rolled. The world shuddered underneath Luke’s feet and then he came, gasping the name of a man he’d sworn he could never love.

  It was a wet dream come true.

  Then Dante shuddered against him—rocked by his own orgasm—and that was even better.

  Chapter Twelve

  The pounding sensation in Dante’s head dragged him gradually toward wakefulness. He skimmed a hand across a slim waist, and his morning wood pressed against a curved backside. Fuck. His eyes snapped open. It took him a moment to register the bright white walls and comfy gray-and-white linens of his own bedroom. He must have hit another club after The Golden Bow, picked up a woman, and brought her back to his place.

  Something wasn’t right.

  Dante’s brow furrowed as he tried to make out the tattoo inked across his bed partner’s back. No woman would have such broad shoulders or muscular thighs. That wasn’t the only thing that was off. No one-night stand had ever felt so right in Dante’s bed, snuggled up tight against him. Teak skin gleamed in the bright light of day. Dante reached out to smooth a familiar mahogany curl—

  Luke.

  Dante’s mind stuttered as the events of the night before came flooding back to him. Luke dancing at the bar, good enough to eat, a hundred bodies pressed against his as he worked his way through the crowd.

  When Luke had said he was going to spend the night at another man’s house, Dante hadn’t been able to breathe. Then there’d been the shared taxi ride, trapped in the back seat, so close Dante could taste Luke’s scent in the air: oatmeal soap and something darker like warm amber and spice.

  The text message from Tommy had come past midnight. There was only one reason for a text to be sent that late at night, and Luke had been smiling. Damn it. That smile had rocked Dante to his core, dislodging whatever common sense he had left as he slammed Luke back against the wall.

  The kiss.

  It was wrong. Forbidden. Charlie’d probably b
eat his ass for it, and Dante would deserve it.

  He was definitely going to hell.

  But damn, it had felt so right.

  Luke’s erection hard in Dante’s hand, his moans coloring the dark night air.

  Carefully constructed barriers built on self-control and discipline had vanished in a moment. All Dante had cared about was getting Luke off, draining him dry, and then starting all over again.

  When it was over there had been no question about Luke staying on the couch, not when he was pushing him through the apartment to his bedroom to bounce his sweet behind onto the queen-sized mattress.

  Fuck. Dante’s erection flexed against Luke’s muscular backside. Blood rushed to his cheeks as he recalled his plans from the night before. If they were only going to get one night together—they could only have one night together—then he’d been intent on burying himself inside Luke over and over again. Instead, he’d dragged him in close and snuggled him tight like a kid with a damn teddy bear.

  Not exactly erotic.

  But maybe it was for the best.

  Dante could still play the previous night’s encounter off as a drunken mistake—even if he’d only had one drink and that had more than worn off by the time they made it back to his apartment. Still, if he was lucky then he could extricate himself from the situation without causing too much damage.

  Then Luke rolled over to look him straight-on. Emerald eyes gleamed. His soft lips tipped up into a cheeky smile. The damage had already been done. Forget moving a few miles farther away or taking some undercover gig with the state police. This time he was going to have to move to the moon to get away from the younger Parsons.

  “Last night—” He cleared his throat. “It was—”

  “Amazing,” Luke said.

  “Not exactly the word I had in mind.”

  “I figured. You look like someone ran over your cat.”

  “I don’t have a cat.” In the chaos of the night before Luke had lost his shirt. Thankfully, Dante hadn’t been quite so careless. Now, nimble fingers tangled in the soft cotton.

  The heat caused by Luke’s proximity battled with the ice running through Dante’s veins. How long had it been since he’d let someone touch him? Really touch him? Completely sober with daylight streaming through the window?

  Years.

  Maybe decades.

  Luke’s fingers drifted up a little higher. He should ask him to stop, but the words didn’t come. He’d been fantasizing about this moment for years. He wasn’t about to ruin it with misplaced fear.

  Beep. Beep. Beeeep. A cell phone alarm went off.

  Luke’s smile fell. His hand fell away. “Shit. I’ve got to go. Work.” He rolled out of bed. “We’re going to talk about this, right?”

  “Sure. Maybe.”

  Luke grabbed for his clothes from the night before, lifted them up, sniffed, and made a face. He dropped the shirt first then gave the pants a second sniff. “Any chance I can borrow something from you?” He didn’t wait for an answer before yanking open the top drawer of Dante’s dresser.

  “Damn it.” Dante hauled himself out of bed. His legs tangled in the covers. He stumbled awkwardly and slammed against the bureau. That was going to leave a bruise. “You could at least try to respect my privacy.”

  “Worried I’ll find your sex toys?”

  “No!” Dante opened a lower drawer, removing a pair of navy sweatpants and a light gray T-shirt. He tossed them in Luke’s direction.

  “Forceful,” Luke said. “Is that because you don’t have any sex toys or because they’re hidden somewhere else? Under your bed?”

  “None of your damn business.”

  “Don’t worry.” Sunlight played against ropey muscles as Luke stepped into the borrowed pants. The tattoo on his back was dark and defined. Dante could see all of it now, a firefighter’s helmet over crossed axes. Luke tugged his T-shirt on. For a moment his head disappeared, lost in the pale cotton. When it reappeared his eyes glittered a bright minty green. “I’ve got plenty of toys, and I’m happy to share.”

  Sparks flared in front of Dante’s eyes. When he finally remembered how to breathe, Luke was racing down the hallway. He grabbed Dante’s favorite coat off the rack and banged open the door. Then the door slammed shut behind him.

  Un-freaking-believable. Dante didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He didn’t do either. He padded into the kitchen and made himself a pot of coffee. Once he was fully awake everything would make sense again.

  He was adding a healthy pour of milk to his cup when his cell phone buzzed in the other room. He waited less than ten seconds before going to check on it.

  It was a text message from Luke: I still didn’t get any pancakes. :)

  He put down his mug and fumbled out an answer: Next time.

  You’re not going to pretend it was all a drunken mistake?

  I’ve never been that drunk.

  It wasn’t possible. Besides, Luke deserved better than a drunken fumble. Luke deserved better than him.

  No matter how hard he tried, Dante didn’t do real relationships.

  He wasn’t built that way.

  Eventually he’d screw things up and break rule one. He’d hurt Luke, and Charlie would never forgive him.

  Three small dots glowed on the phone’s screen. Either Luke was taking a long time to come up with his next text or he’d finally made it down into the subway and the transmission was being slowed by tile, metal, and dirt.

  Last night he’d been so damn aggressive. He’d wanted Luke and he’d taken him, slamming him up against the apartment wall. If they hadn’t fallen asleep, he wouldn’t have stopped. Not before—His hands shook as he pecked out his next text message: I’m sorry if I pushed you too far.

  Don’t worry. I liked everything you did. :p

  I liked it too.

  Dante sipped his coffee and tried not to remember Luke shuddering against him, the air full of desperate moans. His cock bobbed against the thick cotton of his boxer briefs.

  Luke didn’t send another text.

  That didn’t stop Dante from waiting like a jackass with his phone in one hand and his dick in the other. Five minutes in, he figured he should probably find some other way to pass the time, so he dropped the phone on top of his bed and went to take a shower.

  It would help him clear his head. At least that was the theory, but the pounding water against his skin did nothing to distract him from Luke.

  It was like his police academy graduation all over again. He’d gone upstairs to change before the party and heard Luke giving his date a blow job through the thin walls that separated their two bedrooms. There’d been moaning and groaning followed by a stifled cry that left Dante hard and desperate. Listening to a stranger gasp and moan—imagining that Dante was the one thrusting into Luke’s mouth—had taken him from zero to a hundred in an instant.

  He’d heard those same sounds hundreds—no, thousands—of times in his dreams over the years, and then again the night before in living surround sound.

  How could he have been so wrong?

  Luke hadn’t been the one silent and muffled, giving his date a blow job. He’d been the one eking out every possible ounce of pleasure.

  Dante poured a hearty dollop of shampoo into one hand and wrapped it tight around his dick. With his eyes closed he could almost imagine he wasn’t alone in the shower. What would it be like to dig his fingers into Luke’s hip as he lowered himself to the ground? If he was the one parting his lips to accept Luke’s thick cock into his mouth, what would it taste like?

  Even while he imagined his mouth on Luke, his hand kept moving against his own length. In his mind’s eye he kissed his way up Luke’s belly and raked his fingers over silky skin. Their mouths met and their bodies pressed together in all the right places.

  The water pounded against both of them
now as they kissed and throbbed, working against each other until they achieved completion at the exact same time.

  It was a familiar fantasy, one Dante’d had countless times before, but this time was different. Now he had the private sounds Luke made in the night and the scent of his sweat to layer over his dreams.

  It would be so easy to call the brass and say he’d changed his mind. He wasn’t ready to stop going undercover after all. They could offer him an assignment anywhere—Los Angeles, the starship Enterprise—anything to get away from Luke.

  Except, he didn’t want to get away.

  Dating Luke might be against protocol, but for once in Dante’s life he didn’t give a damn.

  A fresh squirt of shampoo and he washed himself clean. He grabbed a towel from the shower bar. The cotton was rough against his hands. He dried down quickly then wrapped it tight around his waist while he walked into the bedroom to dress. His next shift wasn’t for two days. In theory, he could relax.

  His phone buzzed. A new text message glowed on the screen. We’re definitely going to talk about this.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “You filthy slut.” Alex gave Luke a broad wink as he flopped himself down on one of the chairs in the firefighters’ lounge. There was a floral couch in the ambulance bay for the paramedics’ private use, but he’d been coming upstairs more often since he started dating Troy. “Someone didn’t go home last night. Were you partying with Finn? They say blonds have more fun.”

  “Who says that?” Luke asked.

  “You do.” Alex flushed. “And all my sisters.”

  “It’s practically the family motto,” Troy said. “I think they have it embroidered on a crest somewhere.”

  Blonds might have more fun, but Luke had a thing for big sexy redheads. Not that he was going to tell Alex about it. Not when he didn’t know what it had meant or if it would happen again. It’s not like they’d sworn their troths and pledged to be boyfriends or even besties. Dante might want him for the night, but that didn’t mean their relationship had any long-term staying power. They hadn’t even set up a second date.