Final Gravity (Trouble Brewing Collection)

Unfairly Good

And so was the prosecutor himself.

In the way he’d put aside whatever lingering awkwardness still existed between him and Jamie to be here for Aidan today, same as he’d been there for all of them the past year through one roller coaster after another.

In the way he looked in that light gray suit and silvery blue tie, the monochromatic fabric making his eyes glow icy blue.

In the way he argued in a courtroom or with Cam about their cases, beer, or sports teams, their back-and-forth exhilarating—and seductive, even now as Nic argued him into a corner with the uncomfortable truth no New England Patriots fan ever wanted to admit.

Certainly not one as devoted as Cam.

“I’m sorry?” Nic said, hand cupped around his ear for dramatic effect. Rubbing it in. His gotcha smirk was as attractive as it was infuriating. “I didn’t hear your answer.”

Cam forced it out through gritted teeth. “None.”

“Right, none,” Nic said. “And Brady lost to who? Oh, that’s right, twice to Eli Fucking Manning and once to a fucking backup.” He looked unfairly good even taunting him with his arms spread wide, pretending to be a fucking bird. “Fly, Eagles, Fly.”

Or maybe that was just the beer and whiskey talking to Cam.

Definitely his dick.

In any event, he needed to stop Nic from talking. And there was something he was unfairly good at too.

Turnabout was fair play.

“Is that the Manning Face you’re—”

Two strides across the elevator and there was no more talk about football, quarterbacks, or birds. He grabbed Nic’s chin and put his mouth to better use, prying open his lips and plunging his tongue between them.

And fuck, why did he have to taste good too?

Cam’s favorite beer combined with a taste that was uniquely Nic, that with one swipe of his tongue Cam knew he’d never be able to shake from his senses. Just like the groan that rumbled from somewhere deep in Nic’s chest, a sound straight out of Cam’s fantasies.

Wanting more of those sounds, wanting his senses overwhelmed by Dominic Price, he shoved him back against the elevator’s mirrored wall and dove deeper, exploring every corner of his mouth, every new flavor and every wanton moan that reverberated around his tongue.

Every inch of Nic’s hard body pressed against his.

Arguing hotter than they ever had before.

And because Nic was better at arguing than anyone Cam had ever met, he effortlessly turned the tables—making Cam melt with his hands in his hair, his tongue thrusting into his mouth, his dick grinding through layers of material against his.

Owning him.

Because Nic was that fucking good.

Cam contemplated shoving down their pants and taking their dicks in hand together, the only opening he had for winning this argument, but before he got the chance, the elevator dinged.

A forced time-out.

He ripped his mouth from Nic’s, gasping for breath and grasping for words. A lick of his lips, the taste of Nic and his beer still on him, brought a threatening few to mind. “If you ever accuse me of having Manning Face again, I swear I will turn a keg of your best beer green.”

Nic’s blue eyes danced with heat and amusement, a devastating combination.

Distracted, Cam barely heard his words—“I believe this is your floor, Agent Byrne”—and left himself vulnerable to the former SEAL’s maneuvers.

In a blink, Nic was behind him, palming a handful of his ass before shoving him out the door. “Later, Boston.”

Cam could play the torture game too, grinning over his shoulder and adjusting his aching dick without an ounce of shame. “Sooner, Price.”

In his fantasies, as soon as he got back into his room.

In reality before long, that kiss winning the motion and moving their case to trial. Cam couldn’t wait to argue with the prosecutor some more.