Page 3 of Never Stay Gone
Was one night too much to ask for?
Dakota ignored the vibration of his cell phone in his jeans pocket as he backed the sexy little twink into the darkness. His lips found the younger man’s, and he seized them, biting down on his lower lip. He teased with his tongue, dipping into and out of the younger man’s mouth before sucking hard, like he wanted to suck his cock.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
Damn it, they were calling again. The fifth time in an hour.
Sighing, Dakota broke the kiss and pushed his forehead against the twink’s. The young man was panting, his hips grinding against Dakota’s, his arms wound around the back of Dakota’s neck. Dakota squeezed his narrow hips, dug his fingertips beneath the low-slung waistband of his skinny jeans. Maybe a quickie—
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
“’M sorry,” Dakota growled. The bass from the club pounded down the hallway, making the floor tremble. “I gotta go.”
“What?” Slowly, the twink’s eyes focused on Dakota. He blinked, blinked again. “What do you mean? Go where? We were just getting started.”
“I wanna stay.” He couldn’t help it—he stole another kiss, plundering the younger man’s mouth until he groaned, arched into Dakota, and pulled him closer. “But,” Dakota said, tearing his lips away, “duty calls.”
“Duty? What are you, some kind of cop?”
Dakota softly kissed his nose, then his lips. “Yeah, somethin’ like that.”
Sighing, the twink let his arms fall to his sides. He rolled his head back against the wall, his expression twisting into frustration. His gaze traveled up and down Dakota’s body, lingering on his waist, then his chest. “You’re pretty hot for a cop.”
“You’re fine yourself. You won’t have any trouble findin’ someone else.” Dakota grinned as the twink smirked, his eyes already sliding back down the hallway to the club. “Another time?”
“Sure.” Another long, lingering look, this time zeroing in on Dakota’s crotch. “Anytime, in fact, officer. Just make sure you’re off duty, because I’m going to want more than a quickie fromthat.”
Dakota laughed, took hold of the back of the twink’s neck, and dragged him in for another hot kiss, more tongue and teeth than lips and tenderness. The twink’s hand slid down his chest, past his waist, past his belt. Slipped down the front of his jeans and wrapped slender fingers around—
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
Dakota peeled himself away. “I gotta go.” Fuck, he didn’t want to. And this guy wanted him to stay, too, which still felt like a novelty sometimes. He wrestled for another few seconds, wondering, wishing, hoping that he didn’t have to take the call.
But of course he did. He cupped the twink’s round cheek, thumbed his swollen lip, and thought about a lifetime’s worth ofif-onlys.
Then he turned and shoved his way out the back of the club.
Darkness swallowed him up, the dim shadows of the alley lit only by the back-door lights from the line of bars fronting Sixth Street and an old sodium lamp at the alley entrance. He fished his cell phone and a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, answering the seventh call just before voicemail would have clicked in and lighting a cigarette at the same time. “Yeah?” he grunted. “What’s up?”
“An emergency,” the brisk, clipped voice said. “We need you.Now.”
He straightened. “Yes, ma’am.” He started to jog, sucking down his cigarette faster, heading for the street. “Where? The office, or—”
“The house.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m five minutes away.”
The call ended. Dakota cursed, shoved his phone in his pocket, and sucked down another long drag of smoke. The house. The governor’s mansion, five blocks away.
He cursed as he jogged, cutting up the alleyways behind Congress before turning east. The mansion rose before him in the dark Austin midnight, blindingly white plantation-style columns and a wide front porch dwarfed by the massive Texas capitol looming behind the old two-story home. He stubbed out his cigarette as he crossed the street, waving to the Texas state trooper stationed at the turnoff to the governor’s private access road.
“Evening,” the trooper called. He was used to seeing Dakota at the governor’s mansion. Maybe not this late, but Dakota was a familiar presence.
Eleven months ago, Dakota had woken up in the hospital with a bullet in his hip and a medal on his bedside table. The governor of Texas herself, Amanda Riggs, had been sitting by his side. He’d never met her before, but she stayed for two hours, talking to him like they were old friends.
Even weirder, there wasn’t a camera in sight.It wasn’t a publicity stunt. After that, she came back every day, checking in, and seemed, in a way, to care for him.
It was a strange series of events in an overall strange life. Nothing—not a single damn thing—had turned out the way Dakota had imagined when he was a kid.
