Yes. Perfect.
I wanted this to last.
Ken’s cries sent Brady’s hand between his body and the car so he could feel the slick proof of his lover’s climax.
So responsive, he crooned silently. So good, baby.
After he recovered enough, Brady kissed Ken’s back and unwound his belt, helping him to stand. He turned him around and fell to his knees, pausing to clean Ken’s wet cock with his tongue. Ken shivered as Brady lingered over the thick head to savor the salty taste of his release. He was still shivering when Brady pulled up his pants and slipped his wallet back into his pocket.
“Are you taking care of me?” Ken asked softly, his lashes lowered over his eyes almost shyly.
“That depends. Do you like it?” Brady stood up and pulled him close, burying his face in the crook of Ken’s neck.
Ken leaned into him. “I think so. I’m not used to it, but I think so.”
Brady closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. They were one hell of a pair. “Let’s get you home.”
“That sounds good. Take me home, Officer. It’s the least you can do after that thorough cavity search. I’m not sure I could drive.”
Lifting his head, Brady smiled down at Ken before reaching for his shirt and slipping it back over his head. “I take my job seriously.”
He drove them back to the warehouse in silence. He knew every bend and curve and warp in the road, and Ken’s eyes were closed as if he’d fallen asleep, so he let his mind wander.
That was a little more than their usual round of rough sex.
A little?
Okay, it was a hell of a lot more than sex. Brady hadn’t felt like himself. He’d done things—tying Ken up with his own belt—that he would never think to do when he was clear-headed.
Maybe he was making too much of it. They’d both been impatient to get home and, on impulse, they’d given in to a harmless fantasy. Sexy cop and the traffic stop with a happy ending.
Only it hadn’t felt harmless.
Ken sensed it too. Brady had seen it in his eyes. Had he crossed some kind of invisible kink line? Should he apologize for going too far? For making the decision to pull over without asking first?
He seemed to recall Tasha talking about rules at the club. About being safe, sane and consensual. There were a lot of rules, but those were the easiest to remember. And they sounded normal enough. Everyone wanted that.
But he wasn’t sure that they’d been any of those in the last few days. He glanced over at Ken and revised his statement. Ken was all about being consensual, no matter what Brady did. He never turned him away and never turned him down. But one out of three still didn’t sound like that great a track record.
There was a part of him that wanted to apologize. Even wanted to be ashamed of himself—the way he’d been after he watched Ken shower. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
It was Ken. It was hot as hell, dirty as fuck, and it was Ken. His body was still recovering from how good it was and he’d be willing to do it again. Nothing with Ken Tanaka felt wrong.
If Brady was guilty of anything, it was of being wrong about what he did and didn’t find arousing. There was no way he could have known he had this in him. That he wasn’t as vanilla as everyone—including himself—believed. He didn’t know he had another flavor. No one had ever made him feel kinky. Well, kinky enough. But Ken did.
What about Ken’s kink?
Brady frowned. It hadn’t come up. So far everything had been about him, about what he wanted. Was Ken okay with that because he wasn’t expecting this to last? Or was he hoping for more give and take? He hadn’t said anything, hadn’t mentioned anything about it since their fight in the gym.
He needed to stop thinking about this. He didn’t want to waste a minute of tonight worrying about rope and kink and whether or not commitment was on Ken’s radar.
A lot depended on what happened tomorrow. If everything went according to plan, the day after would be for reunions and celebrations. And the day after that? If Ken gave him a chance, Brady promised himself he would tell him how he felt.
He wasn’t backing away again.
Chapter Eight
Brady did his best to blend into the wall as he waited for Cal Grimes to finish his phone call. The club was so loud he’d had to take it outside, leaving Brady alone as an out-of-place extra in a Rob Zombie movie.
From the outside, the nightclub looked like a nondescript furniture outlet off the highway. An ordinary building, with a few oddly dressed club kids smoking near the entrance. Brady had been imagining an old church on a desolate stretch of road or a private high rise with no escape, but this was a populated area. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad. He’d started to relax until they’d pushed through the large metal doors and the atmosphere had shattered his illusions and punched him right between the eyes.