Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Knowing Azariah had fucked him without a condom only hours after participating in a porn shoot with a stranger made his skin itch. All the risks that had made his adrenaline sing before now tormented him.
But he couldn’t say that, could he? Not if he wanted to have any kind of future with Azariah. If he’d given him any hint of what he was truly feeling, those goddamn walls would have been higher and thicker than ever before.
Azariah whined in his sleep so Connelly pulled him closer, shushing him with a kiss and a caress.
“You’re okay,” he whispered against Azariah’s temple. “I’ve got you and I’m not letting you go.”
The noises quieted but Connelly didn’t loosen his hold. He couldn’t. The urge to protect Azariah had locked every muscle. Even if he wanted to release him, his body wouldn’t allow it. It would hurt too much.
He’d handed the files over as ordered with a couple of mental middle fingers, but he and Raoul had still followed the information they’d gotten from Savage to Keller’s hideout. It was an abandoned building in the meatpacking district. It had looked like Keller had been sleeping there but they must’ve missed him. If he’d had all the NYPD resources at his disposal, he would have placed a few undercovers outside the place to catch the bastard when he returned. Now, after that fuckfest in the captain’s office, he had no support other than Raoul.
He should be out there now, waiting for Keller.
Based on what Savage had said—which, admittedly, wasn’t much—they should have been looking into Castor Stavros the whole time. By all accounts, they guy was crooked but there was no solid proof. Yet Connelly’s instincts had been ringing like a warning siren all afternoon. And now he had this new information about a pornography studio in Brooklyn.
If he didn’t have Azariah in his arms looking so small, frail and needy, he’d be following this lead no matter what the captain said. This was the break they’d needed. It just sucked that it came from Azariah. Connelly didn’t want to involve him in the case. He didn’t think Azariah had any part in the illegal activity, but it was still a conflict of interest.
Didn’t matter, he couldn’t do anything now and at least it felt good to be needed. Trusted by a man like Azariah who was so brave and independent. A man who normally had massive barriers between himself and the world. A man who didn’t want to depend on anyone.
Connelly’s chest ached and he finally closed his eyes. Azariah’s pulse matched his own. Even in sleep they seemed to be in sync. If only they could stay that way when the sun rose, but he knew that was too much to ask. There’d be a struggle in the morning. That rent Azariah had been so worried about?
Connelly had paid that without thinking, without asking, even knowing it would make Azariah mad. At the time he’d believed he’d been protecting someone he cared about, but if that was true he shouldn’t have kept it to himself. If he hadn’t, Azariah probably wouldn’t have gone to Red Hook. Wouldn’t have taken that risk.
Which was why he couldn’t waste this time with unconsciousness.
Nothing compared to his desire to just be there, in that moment, with Azariah’s trust keeping him still and warm.
Everything else could wait until the sun came up.
He turned his face into Azariah’s hair and breathed in his scent, letting the subtle notes find a home in his lungs. A place where they might live forever.
They’d both need to be tested now. If the worst occurred, what then? Even if Connelly could forgive him, Azariah would never forgive himself.
Chapter Thirty
Z woke the next day like he did every morning, hard as a rock and groggy as fuck. The only differences were the ache in his entire body and the sweat pebbling his skin. Oh yeah, and the fact that he was flush against a beautiful furnace of a man with one leg hooked over Connelly’s hip.
Connelly caressed him with a rough palm from shoulder blade to knee. Z’s hips thrust automatically, rubbing his throbbing length on Connelly’s tense thigh.
This made Connelly moan again, but it was distant and unfocused. Z peeked up to find Connelly’s eyes still closed, a tranquil peace transforming him from serious detective to innocent child. Z was memorized by that innocence. How unguarded Connelly was in sleep. Sure the faint wrinkles near Connelly’s eyes and lips were signs of age and stress, but he still seemed so young. Beauty marks freckled his right cheekbone, highlighting how high and sharp they were.
Z wanted to kiss every single one of them.
The pain from last night was hazy. Connelly had chased it all away simply by being there. By existing.
Z’s chest squeezed and he tucked his body deeper into the space Connelly made for him, resting his cheek on the man’s strong chest. He’d never believed in saviors or heroes. His life had proved time and again that no one was incorruptible, everyone had an angle. But in the past few days, Connelly had begun to change his mind. The man was steady and solid and honest to a fault.