Cut & Run (Cut & Run #1)(53)
Author: Abigail Roux

And it went on and on, both of them struggling for breaths as they strained against each other.

“Ty…,” Zane finally managed hoarsely as he felt his body tighten in warning. But Ty couldn’t answer, his breath coming in gasps and each thrust forcing a groan out of him as he took the pounding.

Zane gave a hissed curse as he went over the edge, hips losing rhythm and jerking erratically as the heat and press of Ty’s body dragged the climax out of him.

Ty moaned long and loud as Zane rode out his orgasm. He tightened every muscle in his already tense body and fisted his hands in the sheets, toes curling involuntarily in sympathy of the pleasure. Zane cried out—a tortured rasp, really—as he was caught by the pressure. The heat washed through him and he shivered, drawing a shaky breath before pulling out and heaving himself up on his knees. Ty remained where he was, face pressed into the mattress and eyes closed as his shoulders shook almost imperceptibly.

Zane shifted to sit heavily at the other man’s side. “Ty,” he breathed, looking at him, seeing him tremble. He leaned onto his side, tucked his head under Ty’s chin and kissed him. “Let me,” he whispered against Ty’s lips, one hand burrowing under him to reach the straining erection trapped against the bed.

Ty groaned and lifted up, then immediately pushed his hips against Zane’s hand as he kissed him hungrily. Zane curled his fingers around Ty’s c**k and tightened his fist as his mouth gave way to Ty’s demand. His sore wrist ached with the motion, but he didn’t give a damn just then. Ty jerked into his hand and gave a muffled moan. He raised his arm to pin Zane under him like a large dog would do to capture a cat, and he rocked against him, never breaking the kiss. Several more slow thrusts, and the tight coil of pleasure in Ty’s groin snapped. His fingers tightened in Zane’s short hair and he groaned plaintively as he came in Zane’s hand.

Zane sighed against Ty’s lips as he relaxed; the heated slick of Ty’s come dripping over his fingers assured him of Ty’s pleasure taken. His back stung, his wrist ached, and his bruised fingers hurt like hell, adding a bit of an edge to the overwhelming satiation that threatened to send him to sleep right then and there.

Ty nearly collapsed against him, just barely managing the energy to flop to the side instead of just down on top of him. “Fuck,” he offered weakly, eyes closing as he rolled to his back.

“Yeah,” Zane agreed. His eyes were blurring, so he just closed them.

“We shoulda done that in your bed,” Ty finally grumbled.

“Priss,” Zane murmured sleepily.

“Hmph,” Ty responded without moving.

“I’m cold,” Zane strung together, voice thick.

“Like I care,” Ty grunted softly as he finally forced himself to move.

He rolled off the edge of the bed and thumped loudly to the floor, then stood and slid liquidly under the covers all in one graceful motion.

Zane grumbled and turned to his hands and knees, backing off the side of the bed and standing up. He disposed of the used condom and cleaned up with one of the dirty towels in the corner. He ran both hands over his face and through his hair, and then looked down at Ty.

“What?” Ty questioned as he burrowed under the covers.

“I want to sleep here with you,” Zane admitted petulantly.

“What’s stopping you?” Ty challenged with a small smirk, curious as to what Zane would do.

Well, he’d been afraid Ty would stop him. Zane pulled the sheets down on the side to Ty’s left and slid into the warm cotton, his legs stretching out easily. He pulled the pillow under his head and rolled to his side, facing Ty. He opened his mouth to say “thank you” or “good night” or “please touch me again,” but instead there was nothing.

Ty lay there looking at him expressionlessly. Finally, his hand slid under the covers and onto Zane’s hip, pulling him closer as he gently caressed the skin of his hip and waist. He scooted closer, until finally he had his arm draped around Zane and his other arm under Zane’s neck to support his head.

He wedged his face between Zane’s and the pillow. “This in no way means I don’t still hate you,” he muttered as he nuzzled his nose and mouth against Zane’s temple and closed his eyes.

Zane smiled, his lower arm shifted so he could place his palm over Ty’s beating heart, and his top arm curled over his waist. He drifted to sleep, feeling amazingly comfortable, listening to Ty’s steady breathing.

slim woman in uniform with her dark hair pulled back into a severe bun stopped next to Detective Steve Pierce’s desk. “Got some Amessages for you, Detective,” she said, holding out a few pink pieces of paper.

Pierce glanced up. “Thanks, Branson. I’m putting in another work order on that voice mail,” he promised her.

“Sure thing, sir. It’s no problem, unless we’re booking,” she answered before taking herself back to the front counter across the large squad room.

Detective Steve Holleman glanced up at his partner from across their connected desks and raised an eyebrow at him. Pierce leaned back in the creaky chair and flipped through the pink slips. He scowled at one in particular and stared at it hatefully.

“Care to share?” Holleman finally prodded.

“Goddamn Feebs again,” Pierce muttered, tossing the pink slips on his desk. “About the serial.”

“What else is new?” Holleman muttered as he went back to the report he was filling out.

“It’s from that Henninger guy. There’s a new team here,” Pierce said, picking up his coffee with one hand and spinning his computer mouse with the other to wake up the monitor.

“Well, yeah,” Holleman huffed as if that should be obvious. “The last ones got themselves killed.”

Pierce slanted a displeased look at his partner, but didn’t tell him off.

“I still think they need to check their own house.”

“Tell them that. Shit, one of those guys almost went nuclear when one of the uniforms mentioned that at the last crime scene.”

“Yeah, I know. We’d probably react the same way, though. I just hate that they can march in and do whatever the hell they want. That’s why this 156

thing hasn’t been solved yet. Too many fingers in the pot, screwing with the soup.”

Holleman plunked his pen down and looked up at his partner with a frown. “You’re not starting with the food analogies again, are you?” he asked flatly.