Slow Burn (MM) (4 page)

“How about I do a set now and then I bet I get one more in before I knock off?” Brody asked.

Zack grinned. “Okay, then. Show me.”

Brody did exactly that.

Despite remaining prickly the entire time, Brody worked his friggin’ ass off. He did a few extras on top of each set, and he’d obviously done some PT at home. Dedicated and hardworking. Zack could respect that, and it made it hard not to admire the guy. Even when he was an asshole.

“I think I deserve another water for that.” Brody panted, nodding toward the minifridge.

“I’ll do you one better, Rocky. I’ve got Gatorade.” He hopped up and grabbed two lemon-limes out of the fridge.

“Rocky?” Brody wrinkled his eyebrows. “What’s that mean?”

“You know. Rocky Balboa, the—”

“Yeah, I know
who
Rocky is.” He cut his eyes at Zack. “I mean what’s with calling me Rocky?”

“Sorry, did I oh-fend?” Zack sat on the bench too.

“No.”

“I just meant, y’know, Rocky was hard core. Didn’t quit even if it kicked his ass in the process. You’re attacking your PT like that. It’s a good thing. Plus you’ve got the dark hair and all.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. Just came up with Rocky. I nickname everyone. Nothing personal.”

Brody stared at him blank-faced.

He wasn’t sure if Brody was about to laugh or punch him.

“Rocky’s fine,” Brody finally said, face still expressionless. “Bullwinkle.”

Zack’s burst of laughter bounced off the walls. “No, you didn’t. I wasn’t talking about
that
Rocky.”

It was Brody’s turn to shrug. “You’ve got the brown hair and all, long moose-like limbs.” He flailed his arms around, managing to keep his face completely expressionless, not even the smallest smile.

Zack was going to hurt himself laughing. “Fine, fine. Fair enough. I’m a moose. I’ve been called worse.”

Brody finally broke, and the faintest grin ghosted over his face. More like a curl of the lips. “Call ’em like I see ’em. But I like to think I’m a little better-looking than Stallone.”

Zack had absolutely no comment on that whatsoever. Nope.

Brody was a dangerous combo, and Zack found himself wishing the man was hideous, a slouch, or at least a humorless tool bag. A whiney quitter with a bad ’tude was better than this complicated, driven, hotter-than-seven-hells cop with a wit so dry it was a fire hazard. He hadn’t been this way with Matt, but for whatever reason, now something was alive inside Detective Brody.

Physically attractive was one thing. Zack saw good-looking men every day, and, while awesome to look at, it wasn’t everything. A hot bod, even one like Brody’s, wasn’t unusual in his line of work or out on the beach. But attractive
and
dedicated? Unexpectedly funny and dedicated to his work?

Brody was a potent and dangerous drink. And as Zack sat close enough to know the smell of Brody’s sweat and cologne, the long swallows of Gatorade making his thick neck move in a sinful arch, he knew he was about to fall off the wagon.

Chapter Four

Brody woke up with every muscle in his body hurting. “Sonuvabitch.” He rolled to his side. He didn’t even know he had muscles in some of these places. And he used to work out!

That was what happened when you were sedentary for months and then went at it like a pit bull, the way he had yesterday. He hadn’t done it to impress his physical therapist either; he’d done it for himself.

Brody groaned as he sat up. Fucking Zack the PT from hell. Or heaven. Likely both.

He should’ve stuck with Matt. At least Matt was so obnoxious as to never distract him from what mattered, and he’d never stir any feeling besides derision and
Kill!

No. That wouldn’t do either. He hadn’t been getting anywhere with Matt’s lazy-ass methods, but now he was making progress. If he kept working at therapy like this, even if he had to endure Zack’s long limbs, the high, round ass in those khakis, and that ridiculous mop of thick, shiny brown hair, he would be up and running soon.

The rigid stir in his boxers at the thought of any part of Zack made him want to punch something.

Oh, he was up all right.

“Bastard.” Brody scooted to the edge of the bed and grabbed his crutches. He wasn’t sure who was the bastard: him or Zack. Him for not being able to block Zack out—after all, he’d been blocking shit out for years, he ought to be a pro by now—or Zack for wheedling his way in with that big, unapologetic smile and boisterous laugh.

What the hell was up with that anyway? No one ever found Brody that funny, not even Lamont. He didn’t want to like making Zack double over with laughter either.

“Ah, to hell with it.” Brody made his way up and crutched into the bathroom. He managed to take a piss, get into the shower about as awkwardly as humanly possible, and get halfway through washing his hair without thinking of Zack again.

It wasn’t until he ran his hands through his own hair, rinsing out the rosemary-scented suds, that Zack popped up uninvited.

Imagine washing and rinsing all that hair. It’d probably feel like silk between his fingers. It was a trite notion but no less true. It looked like silk. Honey brown, the perfect length to curl around his fingers, fist in his hand while that hot, avid mouth took him in all the way. The brush of his tongue along the length of Brody’s cock.

Brody knew he’d gone from rinsing his hair to fisting his own dick, but he couldn’t stop. He needed this. It’d been weeks now, since the surgery, and his body wanted the attention and release.

It’d been too long since he’d actually been with another person. Who was it last? There was the guy in Georgia, but that was in the spring. The bar girl in North Charleston. A quick blowjob in his car after last call. Dark and half-drunk, he could imagine anyone—which always worked best if he was with a woman. A mouth was a mouth was a mouth. Before that…oh yeah. It’d been a couple of months prior. In Tallahassee while doing some continuing ed work with the local PD.

Who knew Tallahassee had a big gay scene? Well, they did. And Brody was drawn to it like a fly to honey.

Two hours of arguing, telling himself not to go. His rental car veered right into the parking lot of The Castle, where he’d met the hottest redhead he’d ever seen in his life. Hot and about ten years his junior. Fuck it, the guy was stacked, and he’d made all the moves. That was good because Brody didn’t make moves. He didn’t even have moves. He’d ordered tequila and sat there. Red did the rest.

Small talk, but all the while, he was fucking Brody with his eyes. Telling him without words exactly all the things he’d let Brody do. Or do to Brody. He wasn’t about to go that far, but fifteen minutes later they were in the bathroom, pants around his ankles while Red moaned and sucked, moaned and sucked.

He mimicked the motion now, the slick of the shampoo suds making it so easy.

He would picture Red with his sprinkling of freckles and light eyes. Thick fingers that grabbed and squeezed at his thighs. He would not picture smooth, tan skin, thick brown hair, and big brown eyes to match. Long, strong fingers that he knew could take him apart, stroke by capable stroke.

“Oh God.” Brody felt the tightening in his balls at the slightest attention on Zack’s image.

He couldn’t. He couldn’t give in and imagine that man on his knees. Worse yet he could not imagine himself on his knees, giving in to Zack. Bending to his will. He had to see Zack again, he had to be able to look the man in the face.

“Fuuuuuck,” he growled, fisting himself hard, stroking faster.

No. He would picture the guy from the bar. Any of the other guys from any bar in any other state, but not Zack. Not someone he had to see again and again. Someone who might know, might figure it out, might threaten the walls so willfully constructed.

Brody forced the image of Red back into his mind. The picture was hazy, dull at best. His passion wavered and his dick softened. It pouted because Brody took away its new favorite image.

“No,” he told himself. He was not going to have a jerk-off fantasy about his PT. Hell no.

Hell yes!
his libido roared.

Brody bumped his head against the tile of his shower, three taps. Maybe he could rattle the sense back into his head. Shake the monkey of wanting men off his back. Why? Why did it have to be men?

Because they’re fucking hot!
came the answer.

He’d tried. Growing up in a house where it was clear as well-cleaned glass what was thought about men who dig other men, he’d tried like hell to be into women. Sometimes it even worked; sometimes it failed miserably with nothing but embarrassment. But he’d known. Even then. He’d always known.

“Fuck!” Brody glared at his fingers wrapped around his dick, the head of it red and crying for more.

It had to be men, and Brody hated himself for not being able to control that. He hated that he was taught to hate himself and anyone like him before he’d ever understood who he was. If not, maybe he wouldn’t be so fucked-up right now. So fucked-up that nothing worked except men.

Works for me
. Zack’s words bounced back into his head.

Of course it did. Life probably came easy to Zack. Carefree, sunny smiles, and easy laughter.

Brody wanted to hate him for it. He wanted to be able to erase Zack from his mind because of some huge fault in his personality, work ethic, morals, or anything. But he couldn’t. Zack probably had faults, but if he did, they weren’t anywhere near the size of his own.

Zack would be a warm breeze in an otherwise frigid life.

What the hell was he thinking? He didn’t even know if the man was gay. Even if he was, it didn’t matter, because nothing would ever happen.

Never. Going. To. Happen.

Brody slapped the tiles with one hand and repositioned his fist with the other. He was focusing on Red, and that was it. Red and that black-and-white bathroom stall, the sounds of sucking and moaning, and the slippery tug on his dick.

Too bad the renewed focus did nothing for his dick.

The black and white kept swirling into professional gray. Gray carpet, light gray walls. Khaki pants and a white polo shirt, fit snug enough to drive him crazy. Tan arms, tan fingers holding his shoulder. Strong shoulder under his arm, keeping him from falling on his ass. The way those muscles felt beneath him, how they’d feel beneath his hungry fingers. How they’d feel looming over him, promising release. Deft hands unbuttoning his pants, slipping them down over his cheeks, his cock bobbing between them as Zack looked up at him, nothing but undisguised
want
in those perfect brown eyes.

“Fuck it!” Brody gave up the fight. He drew Zack to his mind, full and three-dimensional, all smiles and laughter, batting his brown eyes before he stripped Brody naked and promised to blow his world apart.

Zack chuckled, his breath heating Brody’s dick as he used his mouth to nuzzle and taunt. Tease. Of course he’d be a tease; it fit his look perfectly. Dimples and a sinful mouth curling up as he licked his way along Brody’s length and finally got down to business. Large hands cupped Brody’s ass and drew him in.

He swore as Zack swallowed him down, sucking deep, eyes closed in pure bliss and Brody felt the rumble of satisfaction from Zack’s throat as it vibrated deep into his balls. The slick heat had his knees buckling, hand scrambling for purchase and finding the breadth of Zack’s shoulders. Zack was shirtless and Brody’s fingers dug into the cut muscles of his shoulders. Tanned from the beach, tanned like the rest of him, eyes flashing as he looked up and took Brody in deeper.

Artful fingers ran up Brody’s thigh to cup his balls and give them a gentle tug. Brody tensed with his building orgasm. The bolt of pleasure rushed down his chest and into his dick with the out-of-control power of a train off the tracks. With a groan, he had to reclaim his footing or he’d fall. He imagined sliding his hands up Zack’s neck, into that mop of brown hair.

It
was
as silky as it looked. He knew it. And when Brody tugged, he thrust harder into Zack’s mouth. The man only groaned in acceptance and dug his fingers deeper into the muscle of Brody’s ass.

Brody lost it. He came so damn hard he curled in on himself with the power of it. Pumping long into Zack’s wet mouth, releasing a drawn-out moan and panting as his chest heaved with the release.

As soon as Brody managed to switch his brain back on and look down, his image of Zack was grinning up at him, deep brown eyes glinting, oh so pleased with himself and looking at Brody to return the favor.

Brody wanted to do exactly that. He wanted to see and hear the real Zack fall apart
and
be the reason why. That realization threw him headfirst back into reality.

Zack’s warm brown eyes turned into the bland white of Brody’s bathroom tiles. His release gave way to the rushing water of the shower. The dark mess of his mind barreled back front and center. The high of endorphins disappeared, replaced with self-loathing. Brody dropped his head back against the tiles and cursed himself. He thumped the tiles with his hand and let the feelings wash over him until the warm water ran cold and chilled him to his core.

He was
not
going to do this. There was no way any of what he’d just imagined would ever happen. Even if possible, he couldn’t allow it. He wouldn’t.

His father would turn in his grave; his coworkers would turn their backs on him. Deadly denial for a cop. He’d buried that part of himself for so long, it’d warped him. He could control it, he’d done so for years, and no pretty PT boy was going to screw his head up even further. Brody had a life and a career that needed him. He’d found a routine that worked, and he would not sacrifice it for passing sexual pleasure.

No. Hell no. He could go on living as he’d lived his whole life. It suited him just fine, and it worked. And if being buddy-buddy with Zack was a threat to that, then to hell with him. No more joking, no more small talk, no more nicknames, and definitely no more fantasizing. If Zack didn’t get the hint from cool disregard, then Brody had years of practice at being a complete asshole.

It shouldn’t take much to make Zack step off.

Chapter Five