Page 37 of Capturing Perfection

Shit! He was supposed to be counting? “Five?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Sir. Five Sir.”

His hands gripped the bar of the bench frame. His ass throbbed and his cock was the hardest it had ever been, trapped within the confines of his jock. The material riding against the sensitive flesh was part agony, part bliss.

Clay spread Logan’s cheeks, and a sudden coldness had him arching back with a cry. Two of Clay’s fingers breached his hole, and another smack landed on the lower curve where his ass met his thighs. Clay’s fingers pumped inside him as more slaps landed on the burning flesh of his rear.

He was going to lose it. It was only a matter of minutes. Make that seconds! He prayed for mercy when Clay’s fingers found his prostate, nailing the gland. Another finger slid inside, and Clay scissored his fingers within the confines of Logan’s body.

“Clay!”

The fingers left his body and emptiness prevailed until Logan felt the head of Clay’s cock press against his opening. Clay claimed him with one deep plunge of his thick tool. Logan had never been a good bottom before. He'd struggled with letting himself be vulnerable to his lovers. However, he’d come to not only love the feel of Clay inside him, but crave it. He craved the closeness, the completion, the overwhelming sense of tranquility he experienced with Clay's possession. And when he rode Clay's cock? Logan fucking loved exploring his power bottom skills. His everyday world was such a jumble of partial sounds and frustration that every moment of peace in Clay’s arms became crucial to maintaining control of his sanity.

Clay’s hips pummeled him as they pumped deep. Over and over. Clay’s balls slapped against Logan’s ass. The long, thick cock repeatedly slid across his prostate when Clay changed the angle of his thrusts. Strong hands gripped Logan’s shoulders for leverage, fingers digging into the soft tissue on the opposite side.

The stimulation was too much, and Logan cried out as an orgasm barreled through him, rising from the depths of his soul. He screamed Clay’s name as his cock exploded, soaking the seat beneath him with jets of cream. His grip on the frame of the bench was so tight his nails left scratches in the paint. Clay’s cock continued to fuck him relentlessly, each thrust feeding Logan’s climax, until with one last shove, Clay froze, and Logan heard his name being screamed as Clay erupted. The hot seed from his love filled him, soothing the ache of his expertly used tissues.

Logan felt Clay collapse against him. The damp skin of Clay’s chest met the still spasming muscles of his back. His cock quivered, and the pressure of the bench became uncomfortable.

“Umm, Clay? Can you…?”

“Sorry, honey.” Clay quickly sat up and removed Logan’s blindfold.

Logan pressed against the bench so he could stand, but his legs had the consistency of Jell-O, and his knees buckled. Clay caught him before he ended up doing damage to his nether bits on the equipment. Clay’s arms surrounded him from behind, and his head lolled on Clay’s broad shoulder.

“I’d say we both need a shower. Wanna get wet with me?” Clay asked.

Logan nodded. “Then bed? I’m done in for the day.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

He turned and kissed Clay. Their lips lingered as they held each other. All was right in Logan’s world when Clay kissed him, and he clung to his lover, seeking the solace Clay’s love provided.

Chapter Fourteen

Logan looked at the calendar with some sense of shock. He couldn’t believe how fast the last year had gone. Today was the one-year anniversary of his implant surgery. Aside from Clay, the processors were his constant companions. After his discharge, he’d become a shell of a man, angry, anxious and prone to panic induced flashbacks. Today, he found a reason to smile every day, and the once forgotten sound of his laughter was music to his ears. He slept snug in the arms of his love each night, and the passion they shared only grew stronger with each day. His hearing would never be normal, never be what it was, but the surgery had, without a doubt, given him the freedom to move forward with his life. He loved his work at the crime lab. Doing his part to put away scum that terrorized and destroyed other’s lives was challenging and fulfilled a sense of purpose he’d never thought to regain after leaving the Rangers.

He sat at the microscope, humming a little ditty, when out of the corner of his eye he saw one of the CSIs run past the plate-glass wall of his room.

Wonder what that’s all about?

He shrugged and went back to examining tool marks on a mold from a victim’s cause of death injury, trying to recognize any minute detail that would help him identify the weapon. Another officer, this one a lieutenant from District C-6 he’d met a few months ago at Clay’s office, ran past in the same direction.

Okay, that’s a bit odd.

Granted, crazy stuff happened around him all the time, but those pounding feet had a distinct feeling. He scooted away from the worktable and went to the opening in the glass wall of his area. He poked his head out and caught Trevor’s eyes across the hall in the audio/video lab.

“What up?” he asked.

“Not sure. Think we should check it out?”

“Nah. I’m sure if the building was on fire they’d tell us—they would tell us, right?” he added, smiling.

“Sure, they would. Right after everyone stood outside in the freezing cold and wondered where ‘those two guys’ were. Of course, by then, we’d be a couple of crispy critters.”

“Right … So what you’re saying is we’re on our own.”

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