Page 30 of Missing Pieces (Brantley Walker: Off the Books #12)

“This does not look like the way to the high school,” Atticus stated from his spot in the passenger seat of Slade’s truck, his eyes cutting from side to side out the window.

Slade smiled. Nope, they were a few miles out for that.

And for good reason.

No sooner had they finished lunch than Atticus suggested they head over to the high school and talk to the principal.

Slade would’ve preferred to talk a bit more, but he understood Atticus’s desire not to.

After all, Slade had acted like a world-class jackass bringing up Archer.

It wasn’t the first time he’d stuck his foot in his mouth, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last. No matter what he told himself, no matter how many times he tried to convince himself that this would be different than every other relationship he’d had, Slade always managed to let his insecurities get the best of him.

While he knew Atticus would eventually forgive him and pretend that nothing happened—that seemed to be the trend—Slade knew of a faster way to get back in Atticus’s good graces.

Hence the brief detour.

He didn’t say a word, continuing to drive while Atticus pulled up the map on his phone. Slade fought the urge to laugh when Atticus held it up, turning it this way and that as though that might change the direction Slade was driving.

“The high school’s the opposite direction,” Atticus said, tapping the screen before shifting that glare Slade’s way. “Where the hell are we goin’?”

“Detour.”

“Where?”

Slade kept his eyes on the road, unwilling to share those details just yet.

Sure, he was looking to make things right, but he wasn’t above taking advantage of a situation.

Especially not when it allowed him to have some alone time with the man he could not for the life of him stop thinking about.

So, yeah, he wanted Atticus to sweat it a bit.

After all, this was partly payback for Atticus choosing him to work this case.

Seriously. A missing statue, for fuck’s sake.

Worse than that, the statue belonged to the high school.

The last fucking place Slade cared to ever return to.

Yet, that was where they were going after Slade took care of something.

Not that Slade really minded partnering up with Atticus on this case.

It was a break from the routine, one he needed in order to maintain his sanity.

It wasn’t easy uncovering every stone when looking into cold cases.

They were cold for a reason. When every available lead had been exhausted and there were no other avenues to pursue, a case went cold.

Some of those they had on their plates had been that way for years.

And despite a desperate need to find closure for the families of the victims, they often worked themselves in circles, only to come up with nothing more than what the original detectives came up with.

It was mentally and emotionally draining.

So yeah, looking for a statue was a nice break from the norm.

However, Slade figured it was the perfect opportunity to level the playing field before they got started.

“You know this is a dead end, right?” Atticus said, pointing toward a sign that depicted the road ending ahead.

“Yup.”

“And isn’t that…?” Atticus leaned closer to the passenger window. “Isn’t that the lake?”

“Two for two.”

Atticus sighed, his frustration clear.

When Slade reached the end of the road, he made a U-turn before putting the truck in Park . This way, he could see any oncoming vehicles, just in case.

He turned down the radio but left the truck running.

Atticus frowned at him. “What are you doin’?”

He unbuckled his seat belt.

“Slade…”

He pressed the button to move his seat all the way back.

“What the hell are you doin’? We’ve got work to do.”

“Technically, you’ve got work to do,” Slade told him as he lifted the steering wheel as high as it would go.

Relaxing in his seat, Slade turned his head to look at Atticus as he worked the button free on his jeans.

Atticus swallowed hard, jerking his chin toward Slade’s lap. “You want me to…?”

Slade chuckled. “Baby, I always want you to…” He let the sentence trail off the same way Atticus had.

That seemed to settle the man somewhat. Plus, seeing the heat in Atticus’s eyes relieved some of Slade’s insecurities.

“This is payback for me picking you, isn’t it?”

Slade flashed a grin. “This is me takin’ charge. And while you might be the lead on the case, I make the rules when it comes to other things.”

“What other things?” Atticus asked, his gaze locked on Slade’s hands as he eased the zipper down.

“Do you really need to ask?”

He watched Atticus watch him as he pushed his jeans and underwear down just enough to reveal the thick, swollen head of his dick.

When Atticus licked his lips, Slade’s cock kicked hard.

“Unbuckle your seat belt,” Slade ordered Atticus as he pushed his jeans lower, freeing his straining erection.

“Are you happy now?” Atticus retorted as he unbuckled the belt.

“No. Lean over and put that sweet fuckin’ mouth on my dick. Then I’ll be happy.”

Atticus did as he was told, shifting in his seat so he could lean over the center console.

That was one thing Slade had learned about Atticus. The man loved to be dominated. And the more forceful Slade was, the hotter Atticus got.

When Atticus leaned over the console, Slade slid his fingers into the cool, soft hair at the back of his head. But rather than guide him down so Atticus could deep-throat his dick, Slade tugged him until he was close enough that he could feel Atticus’s breath on his lips.

“I’m sorry for how I acted earlier,” he whispered.

“Don’t apologize. It’s not necessary,” Atticus said, his eyes glazed.

Maybe not, but it made Slade feel a little better.

“I want your cock,” Atticus mumbled against Slade’s mouth.

Slade hissed when he felt the soft flutter of Atticus’s fingers over his dick.

“How bad?”

“Real bad.”

“Beg.”

Atticus pulled back enough so their eyes locked. “Let me have your dick, Slade. Please.”

Fuck, this man made him crazy.

“I want you to make me come. Usin’ only your mouth.”

Atticus swallowed hard.

“If you do it well, I’ll reward you when we get home.”

Atticus’s lips parted, his eyes shimmering with heat. “How?”

“Suck me, and I’ll tell you.”

Although he hadn’t phrased it as a question, Atticus nodded his head as much as Slade would allow. Using more force than was necessary—because he knew Atticus liked it—Slade guided his head down into his lap.

He felt the moist heat of Atticus’s breath teasing the head of his dick. His stomach muscles tightened in anticipation. The soft flutter of Atticus’s tongue came next, stealing his breath and more than a little of his sanity.

“I fuckin’ love your mouth,” Slade whispered, rubbing the back of Atticus’s head. “I love when you worship my dick.”

And that was the best way to describe what Atticus was doing. The way his lips and tongue worked up and down his shaft with such exquisite precision.

He was lost to the pleasure when his phone vibrated. He glanced at the navigation screen and saw Carson’s name.

“Hello?” he answered, gripping the back of Atticus’s head to hold him in place.

“Have you seen Atticus lately?” Carson’s voice came through the truck’s speakers.

“I have.”

There was a brief pause, then Carson said, “Oh. I was tryin’ to get a hold of him. I guess he’s busy.”

“He’s definitely busy. Right now, he’s got his mouth on my dick.”

“Oh, fuck,” Carson hissed, and Slade could hear how much that turned him on.

“Where are y’all?”

“Back road. In my truck.”

Carson chuckled.

“That’s it,” Slade crooned, palming the back of Atticus’s head. “Make me come while Carson listens.”

“Maybe tonight y’all can give me a replay so I can … watch.”

Atticus hissed.

Slade knew Atticus was turned on by the idea of being watched. They’d experimented a few times in recent weeks. Probably not as much as Atticus or Carson would’ve liked, but Slade was easing himself into it. His fears still had a stranglehold on him and it usually resulted in him being an ass.

Not that he wanted to think about that now.

He tightened his grip on Atticus’s hair, but he didn’t shove his head down.

He was hanging by a thread as it was. The fantasy of the three of them together was one Slade had been entertaining far more than he should have.

He was ready to explore this. To see where it went.

The animosity he’d harbored for Carson had dissipated—mostly—replaced by need and maybe a little confusion.

It was hard for him to trust someone who’d hurt him so badly, but Slade knew he had to if he wanted to be with Atticus.

And he did. He was trying to be patient, not wanting to push too hard.

Patience wasn’t his strong suit. And his need to push too hard and too fast was likely the reason he found himself still single.

“That’s it, baby,” Slade crooned softly. “Oh, God, Atticus. Suck me. Make me come so we can fuck you tonight.”

The suction of Atticus’s mouth intensified, pushing Slade right to the razor-sharp edge where he dangled precariously for painfully long seconds.

“Ah, fuck. Swallow,” he bit out. “Swallow, Atticus.”

Slade’s cock jerked and pulsed as he came in the heated cavern of Atticus’s mouth.

He was still panting when Atticus lifted his head. Slade used the grip on his hair to guide Atticus’s mouth to his own. He kissed him. Softly at first, then indulging in the sweet surrender.

“Jesus,” Carson groaned.

Slade smiled against Atticus’s mouth as they separated. He hurried to fix his jeans while Atticus returned to his seat.

“Did you enjoy that?” Atticus asked Carson as he sat back in the passenger seat, adjusting himself before pulling the seatbelt across his body.

“Very much.”

“Good. Where are you?”

“Sittin’ in front of a client’s house. Last appointment of the day. I thought I’d see if you wanted to grab dinner tonight.”