Love & Loyalty by Tere Michaels Page B

equally good, or rather, great, and most importantly, willing.
    They were just about the same height; Griffin's boots made up any difference, and it gave him enough leverage to push a bit harder. Full body against full body, the slowing down of that initial frantic kiss when you're fitting your mouths together for the first time.
    Griffin went into leisurely mode, doing his damn best to make sure Detective Shea not only had a great birthday but also stayed on board their little project.
    He was the ultimate unselfish guy—with a fistful of Jim's lapels and his tongue doing an exploration of the detective's oral cavity. The leg slide, the imposition of his thigh between legs of steel…all the moves were working, and Jim didn't seem to want to flip him over and punch his lights out.
    It was all really good, even when Jim tipped his head to one side to suck in a lungful of air.
    Griffin half tensed, waiting for the rejection, but nothing came except Jim's hands on his face, tilting him to the perfect angle before the kissing started up again.
    Heaven.
    Griffin pushed in a little more until they were flush against each other, dueling belt buckles and burgeoning erections, Jim's hands sliding down to Griffin's ass with an impossible-to-ignore signal.

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    Not to be outdone, Griffin used whatever muscles he'd worked up in the gym and yanked Jim's hips forward—and duplicated his move.
    Jim came up for breath again and gave him an interesting look.
    Quizzical. Slightly worried. Really turned on. Griffin squeezed Jim's ass a little tighter, brushing his fingers against the seam of those equally sad gray pants.
    Jim moaned under his breath, and Griffin wished for a genie to grant him three wishes—a bed, a condom, and a bottle of Astroglide.
    “Let's get out of here—you're sober, right? Because I'm really, really sober right now,” Griffin babbled, not bothering to wait for an answer. He ducked his head and went for the spot of skin just above Jim's collar.
    “Uh, you're going to have to let me go,” Jim pointed out weakly, putting his hands on Griffin's shoulders and giving him a shove.
    They were maybe a foot apart, both breathing heavily. Griffin tried to get his equilibrium back, a vain attempt punctuated by trying to cover his enormous erection with the hem of his jacket and smoothing his hair out of his eyes.
    Stupid gel. Twenty-four bucks for a tube of that crap, and it didn't survive making out with an incredibly hot guy. He was going to write a letter to…someone.
    “Okay, let's go. Not giving you a chance to change your mind.” Jim straightened his suit with shaky hands. “What makes you think I'll change my mind?”
    Griffin shrugged. The first thing that came to his lips was so very un bold; the idea that this ridiculously hot guy would want to sleep with him was straight out of bizarre world.
    “I thought this wasn't your thing.”
    “What? Sex? Good news, I'm not a virgin.” Jim started walking back toward the restaurant, hands dug into his pockets.

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    “Dating, with a sex chaser.” Griffin caught up with another swift jog. This guy was great for his cardio.
    “Rare, but it happens.”
    “I feel honored.”
    “Or maybe I'm desperate.” Jim gave him a triumphant smirk, but Griffin just laughed and kicked his walk up a few more leg movements per second.
    “Then lucky me, to catch Detective Jim Shea on an off night.” They reached the valet in record time; Jim flipped the guy two more twenties, and Griffin whistled under his breath.
    The guy respected the bribe and pretended not to notice their rumpled state or their hurry to get into the truck and get the hell out of Dodge.

    * * * * *
“How far do you live from here?” Griffin asked, buckling himself in as Jim pulled onto the quiet street.
    “Fifteen minutes.” Jim drove slowly, with extra pauses at the stop signs.
    “Maybe twenty.”
    “My ego is wounded—why aren't you in a hurry?”
    “Because I'm a