There are good guys, bad guys, and then there’s Lucky.
Former drug trafficker Richmond “Lucky” Lucklighter flaunts his past like a badge of honor. He speaks his mind, doesn’t play nice, and flirts with disaster while working off his sentence with the Southeastern Narcotics Bureau. If he can keep out of trouble a while longer he’ll be a free man–after he trains his replacement.
Textbook-quoting, by the book Bo Schollenberger is everything Lucky isn’t. Lucky slurps coffee, Bo lives caffeine free. Lucky worships bacon, Bo eats tofu. Lucky trusts no one, Bo calls suspects by first name. Yet when the chips are down on their shared case of breaking up a drug diversion ring, they may have more in common than they believe.
Two men. Close quarters. Friction results in heat. But Lucky scoffs at partnerships, no matter how thrilling the roller-coaster. Bo has two months to break down Lucky’s defenses… and seconds are ticking by.
The door flew open and Lucky made a grab. He rammed Bo’s back against the wall, setting off an automated hand dryer. Lucky ignored the hot air wafting over his arm, slammed his mouth hard against Bo’s, and shoved his leg between the man’s thighs. They devoured each other’s mouths, no hesitant tender kiss, but a release of tightly coiled passion. Tongues intertwined, each man sifted fingers through the others’ hair, tugging closer.
Below their belts their bodies followed suit, Lucky rutting against Bo’s firm thigh in an old-as-time mating rhythm. I’m going to blow in my jeans and I don’t give a fuck.
Lucky’s overwhelmed brain yielded up a single clear warning: someone might walk in. Mouths joined, he danced them toward a stall without breaking contact. A condom machine hung on the wall at an awkward angle. A handwritten sign proclaimed, “Out of Order.” Damn it!
At this rate, he wouldn’t last long enough to wrap his meat anyway. He wrestled them both into a stall, and slammed and locked the door behind him.