Last Line by Harper Fox

Author:Harper Fox [Fox, Harper]
Language: nld
Format: epub, pdf
Tags: Romance MM, erotic MM
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

“Why didn’t you tell me there was someone else in

your life?”

Michael started. He and John were leaning with

their elbows on the South Bank rail, a fanciful medieval

dolphin grinning down at them. For the past quarter

hour they had been watching the Thames in silence.

Outside of business and civilities, these were the first

words John had addressed to him in the three days of

their undercover. And Michael couldn’t for the life of him

think of an answer.

“If you had, I’d never have chased you round the

way I did. I must’ve been a real pain in the arse.”

John hadn’t taken his eyes off the water. Michael

turned and glanced around them, making sure he did so

with the weary stiffness of the hungry down-and-out he

was meant to be. There was no one within earshot. “He

wasn’t in my life,” he said grimly. “It was a long time

ago.”

“Three years. Or quite a bit less than that, if we’re

counting from Thursday.”

Thursday. Michael’s shoulders sagged. He was cold

beneath his duffel coat in spite of the warm June sun.

He’d wondered if John would consign Thursday to the

same pit of oblivion he himself had tried to prepare for it.

Shouldn’t

have

underestimated

him.

Michael

remembered it in scraps. A fast ride home in the BMW,

then arrival at the flat. Arguing with Anzhel in fierce

muted Russian, telling him—begging him—to go back to

the safe house and let him alone. That whatever there

had been between them was over, long dead and buried.

He had given up and gone to take a shower, feeling filthy

from the marrow out.

The door had clicked. There had been a weird, sweet

music. Then he had been burning up into violent

orgasm, with someone—Christ, with Anzhel—fucking

him hard. Blood all over the place, his skin striped by

shallow cuts. And somehow John had been in the room.

“Wake up, Mikhaili. John’s here.”

“Did you see much of that?” Mike asked miserably.

“Enough to get the gist.”

“It wasn’t…”

“If you tell me it wasn’t what it looked like, I think

I’ll chuck one of us into the river.”

“No. It was what it looked like. It’s just not what

you… I can’t explain.”

John gave up his perusal of the river and turned to

face him. “Mikey, I love you, but he had his cock up your

arse. He wasn’t in there looking for the soap.”

Michael’s mouth opened. For a long moment, he

and John stared at one another. Then pained,

involuntary laughter tore from both of them. “Don’t,”

Michael said. “It’s not bloody funny.”

“No, I know it isn’t. Is he coercing you? Forcing

you?”

Yes. Yes, surely. But when Michael had checked

himself over on Thursday night, apart from the cuts

there hadn’t been a mark on him to excuse what he had

done. And then there had been the times since… “No.”

“Are you still fucking him?”

A silence, too deep for the purr of passing pleasure

boats and the splash of the Thames to penetrate. At last

John said, with difficulty, “All right. Like I say, I just

wish—I just wish you’d told me.”

Michael studied him. Three days into their

undercover, John looked the part with startling

thoroughness. There was more to it than stubble and

Salvation Army coat. Webb tended to send John on ops

that needed dash and verve.

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