Chapter Forty-Two
“Let’s go over this one more time,” Rick said, dropping into the chair opposite Griffin, his shoulders cutting a shadow across the steel table.
The weight of the interrogation room pressed in around them: bare walls, no clock, one low bulb casting just enough light to keep a man uncomfortable while the corners rotted in shadow.
It was designed that way. A coffin of a space where the walls closed in until a suspect would trade anything just to get out.
He kept his tone flat, worn smooth from years of practice.
The repetition always grated. That was the point.
“What were you doing at the Green Fairy on September twenty-eight?”
“Christ, again?” Griffin groaned, sagging into the chair.
Rick watched him twitch, fingers fussing at his dog tags like he could still salvage some swagger.
The bleached hair seemed almost white under the harsh bulb now, all that punk-rock charm stripped away.
He looked less like the player Rick had watched outside Inferno and more like a rat caught in the light.
“I told you, I was there with a friend. Beth Walker. She dragged me out because she thought her ex was cheating on her. Wanted eyes on him. Proof.”
Rick was aware of Ash behind him, hanging in the corner, cigarette ember a red eye glowing at the periphery of his vision. Griffin’s gaze kept darting toward him, nervous. Good. Let him sweat.
Rick slid a photo across the table. Elliot Price’s smile stared up at them—young, bright, a kid who’d thought he had his whole life ahead of him. Rick had seen that look too many times on dead faces. “And you’re telling me you didn’t know him.”
Griffin leaned in, a crease cutting through the bravado. “Never saw him before that night. He was the one Beth’s ex was with. We didn’t stick around to watch—it was enough for her to see he wasn’t with another woman. But the two of them seemed… close.”
Rick’s jaw worked as he studied him. “You’re saying your friend’s ex was having an affair with Elliot Price?”
“How the hell should I know?” Griffin’s palms opened in mock surrender. “Could’ve been an affair. Could’ve been just old pals grabbing a drink. Maybe Beth knows more. She’s still obsessed with the bastard.”
Rick let the silence stretch, the bulb’s glare scratching at his nerves the way it was meant to. He tapped one finger against the table, keeping the rhythm steady, letting Griffin hear the seconds tick by. “You willing to give us her number and address?”
“Sure, man. Whatever gets me the hell out of here.”
Rick heard Ash move then, that lazy grace he had, words sliding through the air smooth as smoke. “Can I have him now?”
Rick pushed back his chair, metal legs scraping the floor. “He’s all yours.”
Ash stepped forward into the light, crushing his cigarette in the tray before bracing his palms on the table.
He locked on Griffin with a calm intensity that never needed volume.
Rick leaned against the wall, arms folded, watching the trick he’d seen a dozen times and still found uncanny.
Ash bent closer, posture loose, almost playful.
“Relax, Griff,” he murmured, voice dropping to that velvet register Rick knew too well.
“You’ve got nothing to be nervous about. Just look at me.”
Griffin’s shoulders gave a twitch, as if he meant to recline but couldn’t quite break free. His eyes locked on Ash’s the way Rick had seen suspects lock on a gun; couldn’t look away even if they wanted to. The defiance in his jaw faltered, softened, like Ash had reached in and erased it.
“That’s better,” Ash said. He let the silence thicken a beat, then slid the blade in: “Now—are you telling the truth?”
Griffin’s pupils blew wide, breath catching like he’d been caught in the undertow. “Yes,” he whispered. “It’s the truth.”
Ash held Griffin’s gaze a moment longer, studying him with that unreadable calm. Rick wondered if he was testing how far he could push before Griffin broke. Satisfied, Ash straightened and cut his eyes to Rick. “You heard him. Would’ve saved us some time if you’d let me handle it from the start.”
Griffin slumped in his chair, muttering something about lawyers and human rights that Rick didn’t bother listening to.
“There’s still protocol,” Rick said, though the word tasted bitter on his tongue.
Everything about tonight was off-book: Ash in the room, Griffin tailed without paper, hauled in without arrest, questioned without charge.
All of it hanging on Rick’s name and the weight it still carried in this station.
But that weight only stretched so far, and he could feel it thinning with every rule he bent.
Ash’s look said he knew it too. Rick held the stare a beat before pushing off the wall and stepping to the table.
“Point is, we’ve got a new lead. That’s more than we had two hours ago.”
Ash tilted his head. “So what now? Do we knock on Beth’s door before breakfast?”
The drive was draining out of Rick, leaving nothing but grit behind. Dawn pressed at the edges of his thoughts. “No,” he said. “We call it for tonight. Pick it up after we have some shut-eye.”
Ash’s mouth curved, slow and knowing. “We?”
Rick shifted his weight, gave a shrug that didn’t quite cover him, though the truth was written on his face more bluntly than he’d like.
“Your bike’s still at my place… Easier that way.
” The words were plain, practical, but he didn’t meet Ash’s eyes when he said them.
Instead, he busied himself with the folder on the table, feeling the weight of Ash’s gaze, how it burnt straight through the pretense.
“All right, Detective,” Ash said at last, a smirk in his voice. “Lead the way.”
(5:11 a.m.)
Their clothes fell in careless heaps, a trail of breadcrumbs leading all the way to Rick’s bedroom.
Ash’s mouth was on him before Rick had finished tugging the briefs down his legs, the last scrap of civility gone before the plunge into a state of primal freedom.
Teeth grazed his chest, lips soft and hungry, leaving marks that burned brighter than the weak dawn bleeding through the blinds.
Rick’s palms roamed between Ash’s shoulder blades, tracing the ridge of muscle, the sharp dip of his waist, every inch hot and alive beneath his calloused fingers.
They kissed, mouths parting, rhythm slow but unstoppable.
Ash tasted of smoke and fruit and midnight, a tang Rick knew already he’d never get enough of.
He tried to cling to control, but then Ash’s hand slid between his legs, cupping his balls, squeezing lightly as the kiss deepened.
Rick’s breath tore out rough and uneven.
“Ash…” He lifted him into his arms, carried him to the bed, fresh sheets tangling under their knees as they fell onto it. Pressed together, cock against cock, Rick groaned into the crook of Ash’s neck. “God, you’re perfect.”
Ash’s laugh came breathless, carried on a shiver. “Careful. You’ll make me believe you mean it.” He pushed Rick down flat, slid between his legs, and swallowed his cock in one slick motion.
“Fuck, your mouth…” Rick’s fist clamped in his hair, hips bucking.
“That’s the idea,” Ash smirked around his shaft, words muffled by the thick mass stretching his lips.
Rick couldn’t stop thrusting, sliding deeper, slick heat drawing him in until it bordered on unbearable.
How could a mouth feel so soft, so wet, so perfectly shaped around him?
Each pulse of his throat sent fire lancing through Rick’s limbs.
Still, he wanted more of him, always more.
The taste of Ash on his tongue, the smell of him in his lungs.
With a growl, he shifted, tugged Ash up and over until they were positioned opposite each other—Rick flat on his back, Ash straddling his chest, still working his cock.
Ash’s ass was right in front of him, spread wide, hole tight and pink.
“So pretty,” Rick muttered, spreading his cheeks wide.
He dove in, tongue dragging across that tantalizing ring before spearing deeper.
Ash moaned around his shaft, the vibration making Rick see stars. He pulled off with a wet gasp, rubbing his face against Rick’s balls. “God, Rick… Don’t stop… That feels so fucking good…”
“You taste divine,” Rick mumbled against him, nose buried in the musky heat.
He licked greedily, long strokes across Ash’s taint and cleft, circling his hole, then stabbing deeper.
The taste of salt, sweat, pure Ash filled his mouth.
He couldn’t get enough. Above him, Ash took him to the root, throat clenching, and Rick bucked helplessly, groaning into that slick, twitching ring.
When it threatened to break him, he grabbed Ash and rolled him over, desperate now.
Ash straddled him with liquid grace, cock flushed and dripping, and reached behind to guide Rick inside.
Rick groaned the second his head breached, then pushed deeper, sliding all the way until he was buried in the furnace of Ash’s body.
“Fuck… so tight,” he gasped, clutching Ash’s hips.
The silky heat was unreal, squeezing every inch of him, milking him as if Ash’s body had been molded just for him.
Ash sat fully, bottoming out with a hiss of pleasure. “God, you fill me so deep… stretch me so wide,” he moaned, palms pressed to Rick’s chest. He spread his fingers through the dark mat of hair there, combing slowly, nails dragging enough to make Rick’s eyes roll back.
“Yeah, touch me,” Rick rasped. “Love your hands on me.” His chest arched under the caress, pecs flexing, cock twitching inside the hot clench of Ash’s gut.
Ash began to move, slow and sinuous, rolling his hips like they had all the time in the world.
Each rise and fall squeezed Rick, every slide pulling sparks through his nerves until he was a mess of groans.
He gripped Ash’s ass, guiding him down harder, but Ash kept the rhythm unhurried, torturous, savoring.
“Look at you,” Rick muttered, voice rough. “Riding me like you own me.”
Ash leaned down, lips brushing his ear. “Maybe I do.” He bit lightly, then whispered filth Rick couldn’t catch, just heat and promise pouring straight into his bloodstream. His sweat-damp hair fell across Rick’s cheek, tickling.
Rick turned, caught his mouth, kissing him hard, teeth clashing, tongues tangling.
Every roll of Ash’s hips drove him deeper into molten heat, narrowing the world to nothing but sensation: the clench of that hole around his cock, the rasp of his chest hair under Ash’s fingers, the sharp taste of him on his tongue.
The pressure built, slow and inevitable, a tide pulling higher with every thrust. Not the frantic blaze of lust from before, but something inexorable, sensual, burning through him from the inside.
Rick let go of thought, of control, body and mind stripped bare under Ash’s weight, lost in those shimmering eyes gone unguarded in the half-light.
“Gonna come,” Rick groaned, nails digging into Ash’s hips.
Ash gasped, riding harder now, his own erection slapping wet against his stomach. “Yes, Rick… give it to me…”
“Take it, baby, take my load… Aaaahh!”
The climax tore through him, a growl ripped from his chest as he spilled deep into Ash’s body.
Ash collapsed onto him and cried out against his throat, convulsing as he painted Rick’s stomach with hot spurts of his own seed.
They clung to each other through it, both shuddering, kissing blindly, hearts hammering together.
After, Ash stayed draped over him, chest slick with sweat, breath ragged against Rick’s skin.
The room was thick with the scent of sex, heat rising off their bodies in waves.
For a while, there was nothing but the sound of them coming down, the quiet hush of the city waking outside, dawn pressing at the blinds.
None of it reached them here. The bed felt sealed off from the world, a warm cocoon where time slowed and nothing intruded.
Rick’s arms wrapped tight around him, instinctive, protective.
Ash nuzzled closer, lashes brushing Rick’s collarbone, a soft exhale ghosting across his chest. His weight was soothing, grounding, his body still clinging to Rick’s cock, keeping him buried in a snug warmth that pulsed faintly with every sleepy breath.
The closeness was almost unbearable in its sweetness, a tether holding Rick fast even as drowsiness pulled at him.
Ash’s breathing evened, slowing into the cadence of sleep.
Rick lay there beneath him, holding him, inhaling the mingled scent of their cum on their skin, and felt the last of his strength ebb.
His cock softened inside Ash but stayed sheathed, a quiet bond that lulled him deeper.
The heaviness of his own languor finally broke over him, and in that dark, hushed haven, Rick let himself slip under.