Reunion: Diversion Six Read online

  Blending in wasn’t happening with a woman whose fluffy hair and heels put her close to seven feet tall. Did she ever get mistaken for a drag queen? And would Lucky survive asking the question? Even in jest?

  The baddest woman in the club meandered through the crowd, Lucky in tow. Lesser beings parted to give her room. One glower and two twinks backed away from the table she’d set sights on and scurried off.

  She pulled out a chair. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

  Lucky claimed the seat facing the door. Whatever came his way better look out. No sneaking up. He idly patted the gun hidden beneath his jacket.

  Johnson took off before he could stop her, leaving him with his beer for company. At one time, he’d have scoped out a likely fuck buddy, someone to share a few meaningless but sweaty moments and then part company with a smile and no names exchanged. How times had changed.

  Now he’d trade all the bodies thrashing on the dance floor for an evening with one particular man. He pulsed fuck-off vibes at a couple of men who dared make eye contact. Not interested. Wasn’t a single one of ‘em could hold a candle to Bo.

  Where was Bo tonight? What was he doing? Had he remembered Lucky’s birthday? He hadn’t sent a card or gift, but his undercover assignment limited contact with the real world. And Lucky had growled enough at him in the past for making a big deal of the day.

  But maybe the whole birthday thing wasn’t so bad. Especially not when Bo went to great lengths to make Lucky feel special. Breakfast in bed, with bacon. Followed by hot sex. Oh well, maybe next year.

  Crap! The overly-groomed moron who ignored a perfectly aimed scowl and slid into Johnson’s chair might have been the same persistent bastard Lucky’d punched out during his last visit to the club.

  Shit-for-Brains had the nerve to smile. “Mind if I join you?”

  Wow. Teeth bleached to blinding whiteness needed a “sunglasses required” warning. “Would saying ‘go the hell away’ make you leave?” Oh, geez. The guy reeked of some kind of hoity-toity imported beer, cigarettes, and over-inflated ego.

  “Oh, don’t be like that.” The shithead wasn’t planning to take no for an answer, and settled more fully in the chair.

  Lucky sighed. “I guess not.”

  The world’s most unwanted pest grinned and leaned over the table. “What? You think I’m an ax murderer or something?”

  He liked living dangerously, huh? Lucky turned on his best evil leer. “Of course not. What’s the chance of two ax murders meeting up at the same table, in the same club, on the same night?”

  The grin vanished off the man’s face for a moment. Then he laughed and shook a finger in Lucky’s direction. If he did that again he’d pull back a nub. “Oh, you are a kidder, aren’t you?”

  Now to employ his best serious face, saved for important lies. “Not really. But the way I see it, he had it coming. See, he approached me in a bar and wouldn’t leave me alone.” Lucky leaned in, putting himself nose to nose with the pain in the ass. “I got off on a technicality.”

  The chair flew backwards. Wow! Someone pull the guy over for speeding. He nearly knocked Johnson over getting away.

  Johnson grabbed the chair before it hit the floor. “What’s his problem?”

  Lucky shrugged. “I dunno. I told him I’m with you, and you’re the jealous type. Then he hauled ass.”

  She narrowed her eyes, silently calling bullshit, but she let the matter drop and sat down across from Lucky, wriggling a bit to bend in her form-fitting dress. “I’ve got you all set up. Go down that hallway,” she said, pointing with a red talon, “and turn left—”

  “I know where the back rooms are.” Let her figure out for herself how he knew.

  “Okay. Room seven.” Johnson’s smirk grew frightening. “Have fun with Rex!”

  Rex, huh? Why’d Lucky need to know the guy’s name? Get in, let him do his thing, shove a tip in a thong, get the list, and get out. Be home by ten.

  And do what? Watch the cat and dog chase each other around the living room? Go to bed alone, or rather with only four-legged company?

  Lucky sighed, killed his beer, and slammed his glass down on the table. Time to go to work. He found room seven easily enough, slipped inside, and parked his ass in a comfy chair at the back of the closet-sized space. The indirect lighting might even raise a dancer’s looks from a possible six to an eight, or maybe an eight and a half.

  The door opened. His heart rate kicked into overdrive. His eyes adjusted, allowing him to make out a man’s shape in the gloom. The scent of leather hit his nose the moment the music started. The lights rose enough to paint the dancer’s body in shadows and light.

  What the fuck? Who the hell danced to Achy Breaky Heart?

  Leather cap, chaps, thong, and boots.

  The dancer kept perfect time, swaying and stepping to the beat, head down, with the hat hiding most of his face.

  Oil and a smattering of dark hair glimmered on his muscular chest. He wasn’t too bulky, didn’t worship at the altar of barbells, but his sleek body fit right in with Lucky’s ideal. A swimmer or runner’s build.

  Something about the movements… Nah, couldn’t be.

  But yet, the curve of his biceps, the neatly trimmed chest hair. Lucky’s heartbeat sped up.

  The first verse of the song wound down and the chorus began. Holding his hat in place with one hand, the guy spun, putting the world’s finest bubble butt, framed by black leather, up close and personal with Lucky’s face.

  It didn’t matter how or why. Questions could come later. Lucky raised his hands to caress Bo’s taut flesh.

  “No touching,” Rex hissed over his shoulder.

  Okay, maybe only no touching for the customer, because the biker’s wet dream come to life whirled and straddled Lucky’s thigh, thrusting his hips and grinding. He brought his chest within kissing distance of Lucky’s lips and backed off.

  Lucky shifted in the chair. Damn his tight-assed blue jeans, choking the life out of his bound-up cock. His cock wanted out of the jeans, out of the chair, and into “Rex”.

  Bo added fuel to the fire by rubbing his hand over Lucky’s crotch. A few more rubs would solve the problem.

  “How long’s it been?” Bo nipped Lucky’s earlobe.

  “Five weeks, three days, fourteen hours.”

  “Liar.”

  “Seems like longer.” More like forever since Lucky had rolled over in the night to find Bo beside him. Forever and a whole lot of sleepless nights.

  Bo nuzzled Lucky’s neck. “Agreed.”

  Lucky owed Johnson dinner. His car. His firstborn. Whatever she wanted for giving him the perfect gift.

  Bo. Even if he only looked, couldn’t touch, and definitely wouldn’t get to take the man home.

  The song ended. Bo unwound himself from Lucky, sweat sheened, and waited by the chair. Waited for what?

  Oh. Lucky tucked the money from Johnson into Bo’s thong, adding extra contact with his fingers. No touching, hell!

  Bo bent at the waist and barely skimmed his lips over Lucky’s cheek while slipping a piece of paper into his hand. What?

  Oh. The list. So, Bo wasn’t only a birthday gift, but Johnson’s contact. Lucky stood, so close he could bring Bo to his chest with little effort.

  “Meet me out back in thirty minutes.” Like putting on a shirt, Bo rearranged his thong, donned his “Rex the Stripper” persona and swaggered out of the room.

  Lucky uncramped his dick, waited a few minutes for his raging hard-on to subside, and made his way back into the bar. Johnson shooed away a few barflies and handed him another beer. “You get the list?”

  Lucky nodded.

  “Did you enjoy your birthday present?” She grinned.

  What should he say? While he loved seeing his partner, even if for a few minutes, it wouldn’t do to make too much of her efforts. Lucky was the woman’s boss after all. “It was okay.” Better than okay. Fan-damn-tastic.

  Johnson stood. “Good. Now, let’s have some f
un while we’re here. Dance with me.”

  Lucky stared at her outstretched hand. Dance? Him? And her? When she could pick him up and twirl him like he weighed nothing?

  “I’ll take that dance.” A woman nearly as tall and sturdy as Johnson clasped her hand.

  Johnson shrugged, pooched her lip out at Lucky, and settled on the dance floor with her new admirer—an admirer who’d be disappointed if she expected more than a dance.

  As far as Lucky knew, Johnson liked men who didn’t deserve her, preferably small and blond, with Mama and Daddy issues.

  Lucky pulled his cellphone out every few minutes to check the time. Bo strutted onto the tightly-packed dance floor and wriggled out some dancing room.

  He’d added chains to his outfit and a fake dragon tattoo trailing down his arm. Folks gave him space and turned to stare. Other Stallion dancers mingled, a young one sashaying his way over to Lucky.

  Lucky peered around the guy to get a better look at Bo. Who wanted a young’un when a full-grown man danced so provocatively a few feet away?

  The way-too-young dancer pouted and skulked off. Bo commanded attention, dancing with Johnson and her partner, then traipsing off to light up someone else’s world.

  Someone’s “Woot!” snapped Lucky’s attention to Bo grabbing the back of a chair and lowering himself down over a laughing man’s lap. Totally in his element. Owning the moment. Had he lied to Lucky about hating stripping while earning his way through college?

  Bo glanced up and winked, his smile falling for a moment.

  Still his Bo. Holy shit! Lucky’s lover, turning on other men on while making eye contact with him nearly got him off.

  Thirty minutes finally ended. He shot down the hall. The timeclock by the backdoor held a few dozen cards, one for “Rex, T.” Hardy har har. Trust Bo to use the nickname he’d hung on Lucky for his stripper name.

  Lucky slipped out the back into an alley. Heh. Seemed like old times. Him, Bo, an alley, the scent of barbecue from the restaurant across the street, and a heavy bass beat.

  The door screeched open. “I don’t have long. Sooner or later, someone will figure out I lied about cops staking out this alley.” Bo smashed his lips down and invaded Lucky’s mouth with his tongue.

  Lucky’s “Mppph” of surprise melted into a satisfied hum. He rubbed his hardening cock on Bo through a layer of denim. The black leather thong barely kept Bo’s bulge in check.

  Both his hands full of firm ass, Lucky finally got to hold his man the way he’d wanted to.

  Bo slammed Lucky against the wall, dropped to his knees and fumbled with the zipper on Lucky’s jeans. Moist heat. Bo’s tongue. The familiar rhythm of two lovers with years of practice. And yet every tongue stroke, every little bit of suction, every moan, seemed sweet and wonderful and new.

  Lucky plopped Bo’s hat on his own head and worked his fingers through Bo’s hair.

  Bo here, sucking him off, working undercover, and doing all right.

  It had been a long time. Too long. “I’m gonna blow.” Lucky gritted his teeth.

  Bo pulled off and rose to his feet. “Not yet, you’re not.”

  Oh. Commanding. Yes.

  Bo grasped Lucky’s wrists and pinned them against the rough brick wall. Oh damn. The heat in his eyes…

  And the Bo Lucky knew whispered, “Is this okay?”

  “Oh hell, yeah.” Mouth to mouth, body to body. Held in place, like Lucky often wished for.

  He registered the snick of cuffs a moment before the metal grasped his wrists. What the fuck? Bo grinned, raised Lucky’s arms up high, and hooked the chain on something, freeing his hands so he could stroke Lucky’s straining flesh.

  Bo grabbed Lucky’s shoulder and spun him around. Lucky kissed the wall, and night air brushed his bare ass. How had Bo gotten his jeans down so fast? The hat tumbled to the ground.

  The club’s thumpa, thumpa beat pounded the wall pressed so tightly against Lucky’s chest. The muscles in his arms strained, and the cuffs tightened on his wrists.

  Restrained. Completely at Bo’s mercy.

  Fucking A.

  Cellophane ripped, a sound Lucky never wanted to hear again. But when Bo sank into a character, he sank deep, like he now sank his slick fingers into Lucky. Hell yeah!

  Lucky pushed back as much as possible, but the handcuffs and unyielding brick kept him upright when Bo slid inside.

  He closed his eyes. Nothing gentle, nothing sweet. Brutal. Honest. Two men completely caught up in the moment and each other.

  The whole department suddenly showing up wouldn’t change a thing. No way to stop. Too amazing to end.

  Bo wrapped his mouth around Lucky’s shoulder muscle. Snapping his hips faster, he moaned low, a familiar sound sending shock waves through Lucky.

  Lucky bucked back, urging his partner on. Hard, fast, rough.

  Sex.

  With the hottest man on the planet.

  Perfect.

  Bo stiffened and jerked. Nothing else existed. Lucky. Bo. The throbbing of Bo’s release deep within.

  And the wondrous pressure inside vanished.

  Bo turned him and knelt. Lucky stood with his back to the wall once more, his cock engulfed in heat, Bo gripping his thighs and making good use of the leverage. Oh, God yes! Lucky let go with a shout. Pulse after pulse, straight into Bo’s mouth. Who cared who heard his cries?

  Bo rose, wrapped his arms around Lucky, and held on. Lucky collapsed against the solid comfort of Bo’s chest, the steady ka-thump, ka-thump of Bo’s heart keeping time with the thumping from the club.

  He swayed a bit while Bo tucked his sensitized cock back into his now-way-too-tight jeans.

  Without a word, Bo retrieved and returned his fallen hat to his head. “I know it’s not until tomorrow, but Happy Birthday. I’m sorry I’m not home to spoil you.” A few clicks and the cuffs dropped free.

  Lucky rubbed circulation back into his wrists. “What about…”

  Bo placed a finger over Lucky’s lips, gave him a sad smile, and disappeared into the club, twirling his handcuffs and whistling.

  Time to go, folks. Show’s over. Lucky crumpled back against the wall, rubbing his abused wrists and still feeling the rasp of bricks against his chest.

  Gradually, his racing heartbeat slowed, and he recovered a few of his senses. Too cold to stand in a dark alley wishing Bo would come back.

  He plodded to the car. Alone.

  Damn it.

  Johnson leaned against the Camaro. Her smile fell when he approached. “Did I do a bad thing?”

  He couldn’t blame her for arranging his few minutes with his lover. She’d never understand how badly leaving without Bo hurt. Unlocking the car and sliding behind the steering wheel kept Lucky from having to answer.

  Johnson settled in beside him and glanced out the side window. “Clear on my side.”

  Lucky pulled out of the parking lot and aimed the car downtown.

  For too many years he and Bo had slaved away for the Southeastern Narcotics Bureau, going undercover, putting themselves at risk for the greater good. The job started as a death wish. Lucky wouldn’t have cared if a drug dealer’s bullet put him out of his misery. Why did he deserve to live?

  After a while he got his thrills from taking down the bad guys. Being smarter. Proving his worth to himself, if no one else. Then he’d met Bo. Let his guard down. Let Bo in. Now his former adrenaline rush kept him up at night. What if something happened to him? To Bo? They’d made a life together. Bought a house.

  Hell, they were as good as married.

  Married. Crap. A few years ago, such a commitment wouldn’t even have crossed his mind. Who would’ve thought marriage equality would ever come to the South and open doors for men like him to get all legal?

  Marriage. Lucky’s parents’ marriage had lasted over forty years, and they seemed to be happy. At least they’d been the last time Lucky laid eyes on them. Walter and his wife married fifty years ago and still doted on each other. His sister’s marri
age crashed and burned, but she’d married young, while still gullible enough to believe a lowlife shithead’s promises.

  But Bo and Lucky. Married?

  Johnson broke the quiet. “You okay?”

  Not at the moment. “I’m not sure.”

  “Well, if I did wrong by bringing you, I’m sorry.”

  “Was he really your contact all along?” How far had she gone to bring Lucky and Bo together?

  “No. I originally met with a guy named Ricky, but he worried he’d been made, so we brought Bo in.”

  “What the fuck?” Lucky whipped his head to the right at a red light. “You put Bo in danger?”

  Johnson snorted. “He may have gone through a rough patch with the whole Mangiardi case, but you know as well as I do there’s no better undercover agent in the bureau. Besides, he’s been tending bar here for weeks as part of his own case.”

  Yeah, Lucky did know. He’d been the best undercover agent not so long ago. Not anymore. Bo became one with whomever he pretended to be, and barely managed to separate the two after assignment. Which made him good at his job, but might wind up taking his sanity. “You didn’t see him after Stephan shot him up with drugs for weeks.” The vision of a broken Bo still haunted Lucky’s dreams on occasion. “I worry he went back undercover too soon.”

  Johnson patted Lucky’s thigh. “Of course you do. You love him. But Walter’s not the type to send someone out who’s not ready.”

  Yeah. Lucky loved Bo, and Walter never deliberately endangered his team. And he wouldn’t have sent Bo out against his will. “You didn’t see him, Rett. What it did to him.” The image never strayed far from Lucky’s mind. Bo, a defeated man, doubting himself and all he’d tried to accomplish.

  “It’s not like he took drugs on his own. Motherfuckers made him. And remember, I saw the bastard who hurt him, Lucky. Took all my self-control not to tase his sorry ass right then and there. Or worse.”

  Damned Stephan Fucking Mangiardi! Lucky used to want to bring him back from the dead to kill him all over again. Now he’d bring the bastard back and let Johnson go all South Texas on him. “What mattered to Bo was starting over on his sobriety.”