His erection was hot against my thigh and when I felt I could speak I told him, “Fuck me.”

“Nothing I want to do more,” he responded in that voice that caused butterflies to take flight in my belly every time.

He pinned my hips down and pushed the first few inches of his cock inside me. Ecstasy filled the room in the form of moans. He held me in place. Watched me as he thrust inside me a few more inches. Pleasure swept through me. I wanted him so much that I had to rock my hips to get more of him inside me. “More,” I breathed.

Repositioning himself, he drove his cock in deeper. My legs wrapped around him and my ankles locked together at his back. He was pulsing inside me and I loved it. My fingers went to his scalp and I pressed them against it.

The sounds of the sheets rustled beneath us. While he thrust all the way inside me, our movements were wild, wicked, out of control. Our stomachs slapping. Our eyes watching each other with such burning desire. In this moment, there was nothing else. Just him. And me. And the need to connect. To be one.

I could tell we were both close. When his breathing became ragged and he was about to come, I found myself on the brink again as well. I arched my back to meet his thrusts. He moved faster. And then he shuddered at the same time I climaxed. We were perfectly in sync and we came together in the most beautiful way. It almost made me cry.

The irony of it all was that we were made for each other, and who knew if we were going to be able to stay together. My conviction about my ability to fool Michael was waning and I knew if push came to shove, I’d do whatever I had to for Clementine.

All I could do was hope it didn’t come to that.

LOGAN

My father was on to me.

I didn’t want to have to tell him what was going on, especially now that the stakes were higher and the DEA had threatened me. His life seemed less stressful and he was 120 days sober now. I worried that telling him I wasn’t out of danger might push him to drink.

That was how I found myself speeding down the highway at seven in the morning. With Patrick put to rest since he was behind bars, I still had to investigate the Priest and Michael O’Shea, but I had to do so before and after office hours.

One of the conversations that purposely didn’t make the table last night was that Miles had looked into www.evanmarks.com and it turned out it was a male escort service. Miles had found a charge on O’Shea’s credit card from that very site. How he got the credit card number beat the shit out of me. His brilliance far exceeded my knowledge of the Internet in any capacity, but I’d take whatever he could come up with.

After verifying Michael’s identity with the male escort indicated on the credit card receipt, Miles arranged to meet with him. In exchange for divulging what had happened when he met with O’Shea, the escort wanted a twenty-four-hour stay at the Onyx near TD Garden, complete with two escorts of his choice—before he’d meet with us.

I was happy to oblige.

I hadn’t mentioned it to Elle yet because if it panned out like the last lead, it might give us nothing, and the last thing I wanted to do was burden her with more wasted shit about Michael, but I would tell her as soon as I left today. I had to. I had promised to keep her in the loop.

I pulled up to the swanky boutique hotel and tossed the valet my keys. “I shouldn’t be more than thirty minutes.”

“I’ll keep it out front then, sir,” he responded when I handed him a C-note.

That’s what I was hoping for. Time was of the essence. I had to get into the office by nine.

I pushed through the revolving door and found Miles sitting in one of the plush red chairs. Red seemed to be a theme and I couldn’t help but think I should bring Elle here. There was a red bike in the lobby, red chairs, and specks of red in the black swirled carpeting. On second thought, it looked like the devil’s haven. “Hey, man, you ready?”

Miles stood and wiped his hands on his jeans. “He’s in room 423. I called up and told him we were on our way.”

We started for the elevator. “I’m sorry if I was a dick last night,” I offered up.

Miles pushed the up arrow. “Don’t worry about it. I know you’re under a lot of stress.”

The doors opened and we stepped in. “Why are you doing this?” I asked. “And don’t say the money. I can see how invested you are.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I almost died when I was shot in the line of duty and it changed my perspective on life. I no longer wanted to fight crime on the street because I realized it wasn’t only the bad guys who were getting hurt.”

I nodded my head. He wasn’t wrong about that.

“I look at it like this—some cards that are dealt are shit and if I can help someone who deserves it get a better hand, that’s what I’m going to do.”

I offered my hand to him. “Thanks, man.”

When he shook it, I drew him close and pounded his back. I was never one for affection until I met Elle and I still wasn’t a touchy-feely kind of guy, but this just felt right. The doors opened and we dropped the contact. That was enough of that.

I glanced up and saw a hooker and a tranny leaving a room. I glanced toward Miles. “I think that’s our room.”

“And there goes what you paid for,” he huffed under his breath.

I raised a brow. “Hope he’s happy enough to sing like a canary.”

Miles laughed.

I laughed too.

Nothing was funny, but it felt good to find an ounce of humor in all this chaos.

Before the door fully closed, Miles shoved his foot in between the door and the jamb.

The dude opened the door and my eyes immediately went to the animal-print robe he was wearing.

“You Derrick?” Miles asked.

He pulled his robe closed to hide his junk. “That’s me.” He stepped to the side. “And you must be Miles.”

He nodded. I preferred no introduction and Miles kept it that way.

I stepped in and knew I was never bringing Elle here. Everything was trimmed in red, but the pillow on the bed that read “Wicked Smaht” sealed the deal. The pillows were decorated with a Boston accent?

I walked over to the bathroom and glanced in. It was empty and I gave Miles a nod.

He opened the closet. “Clear,” he said.

I nodded again.

“I’m alone,” Derrick said and flopped on the bed. “So how can I help you?”

With my arms crossed, I leaned back against the red lacquered dresser.

Miles took a seat in the chair opposite the bed. “Tell me what you know about Michael O’Shea.”

The dude twisted his lips. “The name doesn’t ring a bell.”

Miles looked annoyed as he pulled out his phone. “This guy.” He flashed Derrick a picture of O’Shea’s Facebook profile, and just the sight of his dark hair and icy blue eyes had me seeing double.

Derrick looked hesitant.

Frustrated, Miles went on. “It’s the same picture I sent you when I contacted you.”

With his blond, chin-length hair falling forward, he slicked it back with his palms. “Yeah, right, that dude. I remember him.”

Miles’s glare almost made me cringe. “You’d better. That’s why you’re here, to tell us what you know, not because we wanted to splurge on your sex life.”

He straightened his spine and gave Miles a wry smile. “By the way, thank you for that.”

If looks could kill, Derrick the dude would be dead. “Start talking,” Miles demanded impatiently.

“What do you want to know?”

“When did you meet with him?”

He scratched his chin. “It was four, maybe six weeks ago.”

“How did he contact you?”

“Through my email on Evan Marks.”

“What was the purpose of the email?”

“He told me he was looking to watch his wife get off and that he wanted to tape it.”

“He phrased it just like that?”