Love & Loyalty (8 page)

“Since I got out of the army.” They stepped into the elevator, and Jim pressed the top number—eleven. “Almost fifteen years. Started as a renter, lived through the renovations, bought it about ten years ago.” The doors opened smoothly, and Jim gestured Griffin into the darkened loft. “Home sweet home.”

Griffin stepped out.

There was an echo.

“Should I be nervous?” Griffin asked as the light switched on. Okay, a relief—no torture chamber, just very little furniture and very high ceilings.

“Only if you fear cleanliness.” Jim stripped off his jacket and moved into the small kitchen area to the left.

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Chapter Nine

Cleanliness was an understatement; Griffin wouldn't have been surprised if you could actually perform surgery on the polished wood floor or clutter-free counter space.

He pulled off his coat and hung it neatly on the coatrack, left his bag on the floor out of the way. The cavernous space felt cool and put a kibosh on Griffin's moves for the moment. He was curious to know more of Detective Jim Shea, who lived in a sterile loft decorated by IKEA.

Jim poured them drinks; Griffin could hear the ice clinking into glasses.

He walked through the tidy living room, eyes on the lookout for pictures or trophies, mementos. Those Officer of the Year plaques, maybe. Maybe a magazine or book or selection of questionable DVDs about hot male nurses.

But nothing, not a single thing. If this were a set, it wouldn't tell anything about the person who lived here. Except that he managed to keep the place dusted at a professional level.

“Here—it's just seltzer,” Jim said, coming up behind him. “I'm outta beer—

haven't been to the grocery store in a while,” he said drily.

Griffin took the glass without comment. He wanted to ask about the lack of personalization, but really, the answer had already manifested itself in the way Jim nervously suffered through this date and Griffin's haphazard seduction.

“No problem, I think I'm buzzed enough,” he said finally, stepping into Jim's personal space with a swagger. “How are you feeling?” Jim laughed. “Weird.”

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“Decidedly unflattering.”

Jim shook his head, opened his mouth, then closed it—instead of saying anything more, he leaned forward to lay a warm kiss on Griffin's mouth.

Not a chewing, rough kiss of intent; more of a thank-you or a good-night or a welcome-home sort of kiss, one that Griffin didn't associate with a one-night stand. It weirded him out for a moment, inciting his lizard brain to perhaps bolt out of the loft in sheer terror.

Except he didn't really want to do that. He wanted to stay as he returned the gentle kiss.

Because now Griffin had a good handle on at least one of Jim Shea's secrets—he really was a romantic.

“I think I need a tour, starting with the bedroom,” Griffin said, sliding a hand around to Jim's back.

“Subtle.”

“Not going for subtle.” Griffin tried to offset the seriousness of his voice with a smile, and Jim relaxed a little under his hand.

Jim led him to the wide, open staircase near the double glass doors filling most of the back wall. Beyond most likely lay a kick-ass view of Seattle at night, but Griffin was more concerned with Jim, the romantic, shy guy who lived in a loft with hardly any furniture.

The stairs didn't take long, though Griffin had a hard time keeping his hands to himself. At the top, he peered over and spotted the exact bed he would have asked that genie for.

The huge, four-poster modern monstrosity took up nearly all the open loft space. White sheets, white comforter, piles of thick white pillows stacked at the top. All that was missing were the chocolates on the pillow.

“That's your bed? Griffin stepped past Jim, still holding on to him.

Jim laid his half-empty glass on the matching dresser to the side.

“Like it?” There was a distinct note of pride in his voice.

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“You may never get me out of here,” Griffin mumbled under his breath, following suit with his own full glass. “Where were we? Oh, right…” He didn't let Jim wander too far; he rubbed flat palms over Jim's chest and stomach to reacquaint himself with that fine body. He wanted to move to the part where Jim was naked, but the anticipation was enough for now.

“Let's lie down,” he murmured, hands moving to unbutton the other man's shirt. “More comfortable that way.” He loosened Jim's shirt and reached for his belt as Jim slowly set him on fire with a sultry look. First the buttons, then the belt, then the awkward and sexy shimmy out of his pants. Griffin ran his tongue over his lips, then mimicked the move on Jim's mouth until they both swayed.

Griffin gave Jim a tiny push toward the bed, that swagger back again. The straining erection tenting those Boy Scout tighty whities told him everything he wanted—but Jim's eyes explained what he needed. It made him feel like a god to know that so clearly, without words being said.

“No boots on the bed,” Jim said, cheeky and breathless. And ridiculously hot. Griffin felt his retinas burning as his eyes raked over Jim's muscled body.

“You're going to vacuum when I fall asleep, aren't you?”

“No. Maybe,” Jim admitted, lying back on the bed. “I might dust too.”

“Well, then I'm going to have to work hard to make sure you can't move.” Griffin toed off his boots and pushed them to the side, following with his socks and shirt. Now in an undershirt and jeans, he walked slowly to stand next to the bed.

If he thought too much, he would be overwhelmed by how this man made him feel. Jim Shea was so far out of his league that he thought this might be Opposite Day. Because in the real world, men who looked like Jim got one look at his slightly geeky exterior and pegged Griffin for a good-time bottom who would understand why they never called after that night.

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Jim Shea didn't look at him that way. His blue eyes were needy and hopeful and apprehensive, and Griffin soaked it up. He couldn't keep Jim waiting another second; he pressed his hands on the firm mattress, palms flat on either side of Jim's massive shoulders. Jim didn't move, he just sort of…exhaled…and Griffin's slow route got detoured.

He swung one leg over Jim's hips and knelt over him.

Jim still didn't move, though the energy and anticipation leaped up into Griffin's skin. He leaned down, licking his lips as their eyes held until the last second—and then that slow, sexy kissing ignited once again.

Griffin loved to kiss, loved that hungry push of tongues and teasing chase.

He loved the taste of a man—in this case, Jim was steak and coffee with a piece-of-gum chaser, exactly the way Mr. Tough Guy should taste.

All that power and strength stayed coiled, though; Griffin knew that Jim could toss him across the room if he wanted, but clearly all he was angling for right now was Griffin pressing him down on the bed.

Jim's hands came up, strong but tentative, and four seconds later Griffin was engulfed by his white T-shirt—then that was gone. The cool air made him shiver, but Jim took care of that too, ghosting his fingers over Griffin's bare skin.

Will not flinch, not ticklish right at this really perfect moment, he thought, moving his mouth off and on Jim's to catch his breath. “Feels good,” he murmured, gently reassuring Jim as his eyes drifted closed. Those callused fingers counted his ribs, diagrammed his spine, and drifted around to rub over Griffin's nipples.

“Ahhh, amazingly good.” Griffin exhaled, dropping his ass down to sit on Jim's upper thighs as his hand moved to Jim's fly. He needed relief; Jim seemed to think so too as their fingers joined together to unbutton and unzip the fly all the way down. This brought those overabused erections against each other again through dampening cotton, and both men moaned.

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And then Griffin moaned louder, because damn, that little concert sounded hot.

“We should, uh… How about me without my pants?” Griffin talked under his breath, scrabbling at the waistband of his jeans. Of course it wasn't going to work unless he stood up—a quick look revealed the ceiling fan pretty high up, and he unfolded off Jim to stand and unbutton his jeans.

And looked down to see himself straddled over Jim—who was laughing.

“Something funny?”

“No.” Jim kept smiling, though.

Griffin tried to breathe and kick off the jeans without falling off the bed.

Because he was damned if this evening was going to end with him in an emergency room.

Now sans jeans, Griffin put his hands on his hips and shot Jim his best sexy-pirate look. Jim tucked his hands behind his head and shot a sexy look up of his own.

It was all mind-blowingly perfect, like he'd written this man and date and moment himself. And now, because it was real life and not a movie set, Griffin was starting to catch a cool breeze. He dropped back down to his knees, once again straddling Jim's marble-sculpted body.

“You wanna… I need…” Griffin fumbled for a moment, sucked dry of proper word usage as Jim surged up against him. They were face-to-face, and Jim didn't look so amused anymore. He looked starving.

“Left nightstand, top drawer,” he answered, quick and quiet. Griffin nodded, then leaned forward for a kiss, twining his hands together at the back of Jim's neck, rubbed his palms against the tense cords of the other man's skin.

He lost himself again in Jim and the kiss, open mouths and quick, darting tongues.

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“Just so you know, I'm a product of the eighties and a latex king. Very clean,” Griffin managed between kisses. Jim nodded and pulled Griffin down on top of him, pushed his knees up so Griffin's weight was heavy on his chest.

It was the perfect position for kissing, the ideal angle for rubbing dick against dick, their respective pairs of underwear both a hindrance and a help to keep from popping off too soon; Griffin supposed it might be where he'd like to live forever.

The urge to fuck was still there—very strong, very much so—but Griffin felt contentment spreading through his bones, thick and hot. Jim didn't seem in a hurry either, hands tangling through Griffin's hair and down his back.

Another deep stroke of his tongue and Jim bucked upward; Griffin felt a fire pumping up in his blood and pressed his palms against Jim's shoulders.

He held him down and kissed him and tasted the breathless moans, and the urge to fuck roared back.

He attacked Jim's granite jawline and down his neck, running his teeth over the sharp pulse. Vampiric urges swelled up as he tested the strength of his teeth against Jim's skin until he felt the…give…until he felt that he could burst through and taste Jim and yeah, taste him—he wanted to taste him.

“Put your legs down,” Griffin ground out, shimmying down until he could kneel between Jim's spread-open knees, looking up at that vast landscape of man—desperate, hot, wanting man whose expectation made Griffin smile wickedly.

“Hold on,” he said as he grabbed the waistband of Jim's underwear and pulled down.

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Chapter Ten

Jim grabbed handfuls of the cool comforter beneath him as Griffin pulled his underwear off. They went sailing across the room, and Jim arched his back, unable to even pretend this wasn't exactly what he wanted. Embarrassment made him turn his head to one side, to find a hiding space in the folds of the pillow behind his head.

“Oh no, no hiding,” Griffin said, his hands dragging down the insides of Jim's thighs and pushing his knees apart again. “Come on, just enjoy yourself.

Happy birthday and all that junk.”

There was a cajoling humor to Griffin's voice that he could neither ignore nor resist. Jim blinked and looked up at the other man, at the pleased smile and amused eyes, and nodded.

He'd let it happen. He'd have a good time. He'd let this very likable young man give him what he wanted and not feel guilty or weird. Happy goddamn birthday to him.

His body relaxed the slightest bit, and Griffin apparently took this as a sign to go; he leaned down to rub a wet kiss on the lower part of his abdomen.

Jim exhaled.

“There you go,” Griffin muttered, sweeping to the side and focusing his kisses on the inside of Jim's left thigh. His dick throbbed in anticipation, but he didn't get pushy, didn't get demanding. He let himself take a second to enjoy someone enjoying
his
body.

The left knee got some attention, then the right, then up to the crease where leg met torso. Every muscle Jim worked so diligently in the gym received 64

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some of Griffin's warm mouth, mapping his body like there was a quiz later and he was determined to get an A.

Jim babbled appreciatively under his breath as he tried not to twist with need under Griffin's ministrations. Foreplay? Did he remember foreplay? Did he remember this much? The ceiling drew his attention up as Jim tried to zone out on the unmoving blades of the fan.

“Goodfuckinghell” flew out of his mouth suddenly as all his attention was brought back to the here and now as Griffin surprise deep throated him in one admirable move.

Jim's eyes went down, locked into the very pleased visage of Griffin Drake, who swallowed him down until his eyes rolled back in his head.

“Um.” Jim wheezed, forcing his hips to stay on the bed. It didn't last long as Griffin pulled back slightly, just enough to raise himself up and push Jim's legs open wider. He was exposed, open and shaking with eagerness; shame would have sprung further into his mind, but Griffin didn't give him the time.