A Reason to Believe (26 page)

Kiernan gasped, gripping Matt’s sides with his

thighs. “Yes.”

Matt moved against him again and then again,

fleeting thoughts of pausing long enough to get

Kiernan out of his clothes lost in the rush of

pleasure. He was too ramped up, his cock so hard

it ached. The tensile strength of Kiernan’s slim

body moving beneath his made him reckless. He’d

forgotten the pure hedonistic pleasure of another

hard body against him, beneath him. He clenched

his eyes shut and moved in an instinctual rhythm,

grinding his aching cock into the answering

hardness in Kiernan’s jeans. Kiernan answered

him thrust for thrust, arching up until they were

writhing

together,

mindless,

mouths

open,

breathing loud and harsh. It didn’t take long.

“Oh, God.” Kiernan’s legs tightened around

Matt’s body. “I’m so close…”

Matt pushed up onto his hands, looking down to

where their groins were pressed together.

Changing his angle slightly, he rolled his hips in a

circular grind. Kiernan clutched him and

whimpered, his head thrown back, his mouth open.

Kiernan started to shake. His mouth fell open on

a noiseless cry and his eyes clenched shut. The

dark head pressed back into the cushions until his

neck was a perfect, hard arch, tendons standing out

down each side of his throat. They tightened and

flexed, a sheen of sweat slicking the smooth, fair

skin.

Kiernan’s hips jerked. He shuddered, crying out

as he came.

The sight pushed Matt over, and he gave in to

the allure of the pale neck, opening his mouth on it

as his orgasm crashed over him in startling bursts.

He shook from head to toe, until even his fingertips

tingled. Gripping the slender body in a strong

embrace, he held on as he rode out an orgasm so

intense he felt hallowed by the force of it.

He wasn’t aware of anything for a few minutes.

He was boneless, drained and heavy, drifting in a

lovely lassitude. When Kiernan finally shifted

beneath him, it occurred to Matt he might be

crushing him. Responding too quickly, he rolled to

the side, limbs awkward, and shot out a hand at the

last moment. He had to stiffen his arm to save them

both from tumbling from the couch to the floor.

Kiernan’s eyes were faintly dazed but also

filled with humor. “Smooth,” he teased, his voice

hoarse.

“Shut up. You’re lucky I didn’t dump your ass

on the floor.”

Kiernan’s lips twitched. “Not to put too fine a

point on it, Officer, but it would have been your

ass on the floor, not mine.”

Matt noticed a red mark on Kiernan’s throat just

above his collar. He grimaced, touching it with

unsteady fingers. No question it was going to

bruise. “Sorry.”

Kiernan stretched with a self-satisfied smile.

“I’m not.”

Matt felt unaccountably pleased. “Really?”

“Really. That was amazing.” He shifted and

wrinkled his nose. “But now I’m a mess.”

“Me, too. We should probably shower and

change.”

“Probably.” Kiernan looped his arms around

Matt’s neck and pulled him down into a leisurely

kiss. When their lips parted, Matt sighed and

pressed his face against Kiernan’s throat, allowing

his body to go limp.

“I haven’t dry-humped since high school,”

Kiernan murmured. “I’d forgotten how hot it is.”

He paused. “And mildly chafing.”

Matt huffed out a laugh. He could smell the

mingled scents of their cologne and sweat and

come, and he briefly considered getting up. But

fingers stroked his scalp from forehead to nape and

he sighed in sleepy contentment.

“We should get cleaned up,” he mumbled into

Kiernan’s throat.

“You said that already.”

Matt could feel Kiernan’s smile against his face.

“We should. Soon.”

“Yes, soon.”

The soothing motion of the fingers went on.

Satiated and relaxed, Matt drifted easily into

sleep.

* * *

remember the last time he’d wakened feeling so

relaxed. Matt inhaled deeply, arching his back, and

was instantly more lucid when the inside of his

jockeys stuck to his lower belly. They pulled

against the line of springy hair below his navel.

Grimacing, he shifted again and opened his eyes.

He was covered with an afghan, which

explained why he was so warm, and his shoes had

been removed and placed neatly side by side next

to the sofa. It was dim in his living room but for a

fire burning merrily in a fireplace he rarely used.

He pushed up onto one elbow and caught

movement out of the corner of his eye. Kiernan

was curled up on the sofa’s matching love seat and

he straightened.

“Hey.”

“Hey, yourself,” Matt answered, sounding

hoarse.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Kiernan said, gesturing

toward the fireplace. His hair was damp and

curled around his ears, and he was wearing plaid

pajama bottoms and dark socks. His skin looked

shiny and flushed, as if he hadn’t been out of the

shower long. “It was a bit chilly and the wood was

already all laid out…”

“I don’t mind. I don’t use it because I’m not here

much.” The truth was, he didn’t use it much

because Brad had been the one who liked fires. He

had laid that one, nearly two years before. Matt

had simply bitched about having to clean out the

ashes. “But it’s…nice.”

“I love fireplaces.” Kiernan came and knelt on

the floor at his side and propped his elbows on the

cushion near Matt’s shoulder. He leaned forward

and kissed him in a casual gesture, catching him off

guard. “How was your nap?”

“Um, good,” Matt answered, suddenly self-

conscious. “But why did you let me sleep?”

“You looked so peaceful…” He looked down

and his lashes were thick and dark against his

cheekbones. “Anyway, I showered, and if you’re

in anything like the condition I was earlier, you

need one, too.”

Matt grimaced. “I imagine it’s somewhat

similar.”

“Yeah.” Kiernan looked up, grinning. “Except

you’ve been asleep for two hours, so you likely

have jockeys full of something the consistency of

dried kindergarten paste.”

“Unnecessarily descriptive, thanks.” Matt threw

back the blanket and sat up. He winced.

“However, fairly accurate.”

“Would you like me to put on a pot of coffee

while you’re in the shower?”

“That would be great, thanks.”

Kiernan grinned and jumped up to trot toward

the kitchen. Matt stood and stretched before going

to his bedroom. He remembered why he was too

staid for certain activities when he peeled off his

jockeys, making a face as he tossed them in the

hamper. He took out clean shorts and socks from

his dresser, and spotted a white frame on top of the

piece of furniture. He paused, picking up the eight-

by-ten photo.

It had been taken at Martha’s Vineyard three

summers before. He and Brad had been there with

friends. They’d been walking along the pier after

having seafood for lunch, and Brad had handed

their camera off, caught Matt around the waist and

said, “Smile. Just don’t breathe on me. You smell

like scampi.”

“No kisses for you, then,” he’d shot back,

looping his arm over Brad’s shoulders. Monica

snapped the picture, catching it just as Brad

pressed his lips against Matt’s cheek, and Matt had

been smiling. It was one of his favorite pictures of

them together, because they both looked so happy.

Even though his lips were mashed against

Matt’s cheek, it was clear Brad had been laughing.

His dark brown hair was windblown, his angular

face tanned by the summer sun. His broad

shoulders were clearly outlined by the white polo,

and his lively brown eyes had been covered by

those damned Ray-Bans he wore everywhere.

They’d had quite the loud discussion about those

three-hundred-dollar sunglasses.

His own light brown hair had been liberally

streaked with blond, and Brad loved it. “My

bronze baby,” he’d called him. He’d looked good.

They both had. The sun was bright off the water,

and they’d been so clearly in love…

Matt touched the frame with the tips of his

fingers and could almost hear Brad laughing. He

waited for guilt to crash over him but…it didn’t.

He didn’t feel guilty. There was certainly

melancholy for what was lost, but Brad wouldn’t

have wanted him to feel guilty. He would have

been heartily irritated with him for floundering in

his grief as long as he had.

A conversation he’d intentionally repressed

slipped into his mind. They’d been in bed, heart

rates returning to normal after a session of

lovemaking. Brad was lying against him, his face

pressed to Matt’s throat. “Promise me something.”

he murmured.

“Right now, you can have anything.” Matt

chuckled. “You name it. New Ray-Bans, a

pony…”

Brad went up onto his elbow then, dark eyes

intense. “I’m serious, Matt. I want you to promise

me something.”

“Okay.” Matt was suddenly wary.

“We’re both cops. There’s always a possibility

one of us…”

Matt put up his hand. “I don’t want to have this

conversation…”

“I know you don’t. You never do. So just listen.

If something should happen to me, I don’t want you

to dwell. I want you to get on with your life.” He

stared down into Matt’s face.

Matt knew his expression had gone mulish, but

he couldn’t help it. He hated it when Brad got

maudlin. For such a generally happy man, he had

surprising periods of introspection.

Brad touched Matt’s chin, his fingers gentle.

“Such a damned hardhead,” he murmured fondly.

“But I don’t want you to be alone, Matt. I want you

to be happy.”

“Please, just stop. I don’t want to talk about this,

Brad. Nothing is going to happen.”

The melancholy in his eyes had irritated Matt.

Four months later, Brad was dead and Matt had

blocked the memory of the conversation

completely. As he allowed the words to come

back to him and recalled the expression on Brad’s

face, he wondered if he hadn’t sensed something,

had a premonition. The idea didn’t seem as far-

fetched now as it might have a week ago.

Matt ran the tip of his index finger along the line

of Brad’s jaw in the photo. With Brad’s words

echoing in his head, he set the frame down and

went into the bathroom.

He smelled more than coffee when he entered

the kitchen a few minutes later. He found Kiernan

standing at the stove, a spatula in his hand and

grilled cheese in a skillet. He glanced up with a

happy grin. “Feel better?”

“Much. Hungry?”

“After sex? Always. You?”

Matt thought about it. “Yeah, actually.”

“Grilled cheese?” Dark hair spilled recklessly

over brows arched in question. Matt was struck by

how effortlessly handsome he was.

“That would be great, thanks.”

“Excellent!” Kiernan slipped the sandwich onto

a plate and carried it to the small kitchen table,

which was already set with two plates, cutlery and

a jar of pickles. “I make a world-class grilled

cheese. You will not be sorry.”

“Is that so?” Matt poured coffee, adding cream

and sugar to Kiernan’s. When he set it on the table

Kiernan looked into his cup and smiled.

“You remembered,” he said, sounding both

pleased and faintly surprised.

“Breakfast wasn’t that long ago,” he replied

gruffly. “Now, tell me about this world-class

grilled cheese.”

“Nope. You’re just going to have to taste it,

Detective.” He picked up a knife and sliced one of

the sandwiches in half, placing one and a kosher

dill spear on Matt’s plate. “I never divulge my

culinary secrets.”

“There are that many, are there?”

“You’d be surprised.”

Matt picked up his half sandwich, examining it.

He could see a slice of cheese and ham and

something red he couldn’t identify. But it smelled