Chapter 6
Dawson had fucked up. Not even a little bit. A lot. A colossal fuck up. Delicious, and his sore, tired body told him how much he’d enjoyed it. Still a fuckup. If he turned his head, he’d get one hell of a visual reminder.
He turned his head anyway. Gideon slept in the middle, on his stomach, half spooned against Riley, whose head lay in the crook of Gideon’s neck. A lot softer in sleep. Still incredibly sexy.
Fucking hell, he’d had sex with his best friend’s brother. And that brother’s detective. The number of rules being broken right now were enough for his head to spin like he’d had another night of drinking. Who needed alcohol when he made choices like this?
He carefully slid out from under the covers, found a drawer full of black briefs—Gideon had put his clothes in the wash; they had to still be in the machine since they’d all been too busy with each other—and tugged a pair on before tiptoeing out of the room.
He went to the bathroom first and splashed his face with water in a futile attempt to wake himself up properly. Riley’s shirt hung on the towel rack, drying from Riley’s jaunt into the shower fully clothed. Please be dry. Dawson shrugged it on, sighing in relief when he found it dry. It even fit. Too snug to button up but good enough. Better than any of Gideon’s shirts would have been; Riley had more muscle tone.
Dawson navigated the open-plan living and kitchen area, stepping over kid’s toys and dodging the numerous boxes stacked everywhere. He rolled the sleeves of the shirt to his elbows and braced himself on the kitchen counter.
What the fuck would he tell Sadie? Sorry, I accidentally fell on your brother’s dick with my mouth, and it was fucking fantastic, so I decided that sleeping with him and someone that works for him was the best idea I’ve ever had? The delivery needed a bit of work.
Maybe he could write it in a letter that would only be sent when he died. A fun “surprise” that could be sprung after his funeral, when she would be the most likely to forgive him? Even if she didn’t, he’d be dead. Foolproof.
He’d put it on the list under “possible plans.”
The bedroom door opened and closed, footsteps coming closer. Dawson tensed, not turning to look. He kept his head bowed.
A hand slid under Dawson’s shirt and across his back. A soft kiss landed on his shoulder. Had to be Gideon; Riley wasn’t that soft, and Dawson doubted that it had changed just because they’d had sex.
“Coffee?” Gideon asked.
“Please.”
He tracked the detective as he got out mugs—three of them—and shuffled around the small kitchenette. “Riley?”
“Still sleeping. I doubt he will be for much longer. Sugar?”
“Two, thanks.” Dawson leaned against the kitchen counter, tracking Gideon. “How long have you and Riley been…?” Screwing seemed too crass, but how else did he word it? They’d said they weren’t dating.
“Since last night.”
“Wait, seriously?” That’s not the impression Dawson had gotten. The intense familiarity alone had drowned him.
“Mhmm. Milk?”
“Yeah,” Dawson said absently, still stuck on the previous comment. “How long have you two known each other?”
Gideon paused to think about it. “I’m… not sure? I joined the force later at twenty-three because I went to uni first. He made detective that same year—one of the youngest at twenty-one.”
That didn’t surprise Dawson. Riley had that regimented personality that likely did well in that kind of work. “You didn’t know him then?”
“We didn’t have a lot of reasons to interact until I made detective and got put under his command.”
Sydney’s a big place; seems easy enough not to run in the same circles, even with the same career trajectory. “How old are you?”
Gideon laughed and put the milk back in the fridge. “Thirty-two. Do you want my ID, officer?” he teased.
“You used to have to do that, right? Before you made detective?” Getting pulled over by someone that looked like Gideon would have made his day. How come he’d never gotten a ticket from a sexy cop? What a tragic loss.
“Still do, in fact. Riley makes us rotate every few months and do a few days on the streets to keep our skills ‘fresh.’ Not mandatory, but they certainly don’t turn away our help.”
“I bet he pops little kids’ balloons for fun. You know, like that guy in the Minion movies.”
“Gru?”
“Yeah, that one.”
Gideon laughed. “Not inaccurate. Though my partner Ange actually likes it. She gets a kick out of giving smart-mouthed youngsters speeding tickets; she’s a sadist like that.”
“Riley doesn’t rotate, though, does he?”
“Not anymore. We keep him pretty busy. But he would have gone through it. Everyone pays their dues.”
Did they still have their uniforms? Were they allowed to keep them? They’d have pictures at least, right? “He had the douchebag sunglasses, didn’t he?” Please .
“You’d have to ask him. I didn’t know him in his blues, remember?”
Right. University. A shame. “What did you study?”
“Criminology.”
“How long have you worked under Riley?” Dawson asked. “That’s not—you’re not allowed to—” He gestured between them. “It’s fraternisation?”
Gideon handed Dawson his mug and leaned a hip against the counter. “Yeah, we could get in a lot of trouble for it. Riley more than me.”
“Why’d you do it, then?”
“You’ve seen him, haven’t you?” Gideon said with a deep chuckle.
“Okay, but you’ve known him, what did you say? Five years? Why now ?”
Gideon shrugged and sipped his coffee. “I honestly couldn’t tell you. Well, I was happily married for most of that time. All of it until recently. Beyond recognising that Riley is an incredibly attractive man, I didn’t think anything else of him. Or anyone. My marriage, my kid, and my job kept me out of trouble.”
“You didn’t know you were gay?”
“I’m bisexual, and I’ve always known. I slept with a few guys before my ex-wife, Lucia. None during, and you and Riley are the first people I’ve been with since the divorce.”
Good thing he hadn’t known that beforehand. He didn’t want that kind of pressure when performing. He’d been good, hadn’t he? They’d all come multiple times. That had to count for something. He definitely wasn’t asking for a scorecard, just in case.
“I can see your brain moving,” Gideon murmured against the rim of his mug.
And Dawson could see his little smirk. “It’s always thinking.” Or more accurately, “always on.” He didn’t do a lot of thinking. If he did, he wouldn’t be here in the first place.
“I have noticed that. Don’t worry, you were better than good.”
“That’s—good.” Dawson cleared his throat. It had been a little while since he’d had sex himself. Not that the mechanics had changed. And Riley and Gideon had made it more than easy to get lost in it and not worry about whether he’d been doing it right or not.
Riley made an appearance, looking like he’d quite literally rolled out of bed. He wore his pants, no socks.
“Coffee?” Gideon asked, nodding at the kettle.
“Thank you.” Riley eyed Dawson’s outfit. “Explains why I couldn’t find my shirt.”
“You want it back?” Dawson asked, straightening to shrug it off.
“No.” Riley’s gaze was like a physical touch as he blatantly checked out Dawson, all the way down his legs and up again. “It looks better on you.”
“Someone call the press: Riley Sinclair just complimented me.”
“You’ll never get me to admit it on paper.”
Dawson’s phone rang where he’d left it on the counter the night before, and he scooped it up, checking the name. Shit. “It’s Sadie,” he said, frowning. He apologised silently and sent her to voicemail. “She’ll be wondering why I didn’t come home last night.”
Riley stiffened. He turned away, rinsing his mug. Convenient excuse to ignore him, Dawson thought. He couldn’t just pretend that the connection wasn’t there. He’d known it last night before he’d fucked Dawson, and it certainly hadn’t changed in the last twelve hours.
“Why would she wonder that?” Gideon asked.
“Did you tell her you were here with us?” Riley asked, hands braced on the sink, still not turning around despite having finished with his mug.
“Afraid I might have?” Dawson had gone straight past mad to furious in point two seconds. “That she might know that I had her brother’s dick in my mouth yesterday? That I had his dick in my ass last night?”
Riley’s knuckles went white. “She’s not—”
“She’s my best friend and your sister, whether you like it or not.”
Riley finally turned, and Dawson immediately wished he hadn’t. Those eyes were fucking glacial.
“Is that the reason you came here in the first place? Butter me up, get a little pillow talk in? Then try to convince me that I need to give your friend a chance? Do you think you have a magic dick that will make me change my mind?”
“Are you serious?” Dawson said. There hadn’t been any pillow talk; they’d all passed out pretty much instantly, and what even the fuck was pillow talk? “I went to the station the first time because of Sadie. The second time I went to apologise, which you suck at, by the way. And I came this time because Gideon asked me to. I know you’re looking for an ulterior motive, but there isn’t one. I didn’t have sex with you because of Sadie. That’s fucked up.”
Sadie had been the last thing on his mind from the moment they’d propositioned him. He didn’t need to make his poor decision worse by making it weird.
“No more than your motives thus far.”
Dawson drained his coffee and tried to smile as he straightened. Unsuccessfully. He’d had sex with this asshole, and he knew he would again if the opportunity came up, and what kind of person did that make him? He’d never been led by his dick before, not like this.
“You are an extremely unpleasant person.” He yanked off Riley’s shirt and dropped it over a dining chair. “Stupid fucking hot, unbelievably sexy, with one hell of a dirty mouth, and I kind of still want to suck your dick. But fucking hell, your personality sucks. Thanks for the coffee and the fuck,” Dawson said bluntly. “I’m gonna head off. Let’s not do this again.”
He couldn’t storm out and do the cool door-slamming thing because all he had on were briefs—that weren’t even his—and he needed to find his clothes. Were they still wet in the washing machine? What the fuck would he wear?
“Clothes are in the dryer,” Gideon said quietly.
“Thank you.”
He easily sifted through the clothes to find his own and tugged them on with angry, jerky motions. His shoes were in the living room, and since he had never grown out of the bad habit of not untying his laces, he easily shoved his feet into them so he could make a quick-ish getaway. He made sure he had his keys, wallet, and his phone on him and headed for the door, not glancing in their direction. Didn’t need to add to his embarrassment or his anger.
Riley slammed a hand down on the door before Dawson could open it. Dawson didn’t move, closing his eyes as Riley crowded him from behind. An involuntary exhale left him, shuddering at the man’s nearness. Why did he affect Dawson so much, when everything about him should have turned him off?
“I’m sorry,” Riley said softly, breath tickling the back of Dawson’s neck. “That wasn’t right for me to say.” He kissed the same spot, soft lips caressing his skin. A hot flush ran through Dawson, raising his temperature.
“Maybe you don’t suck that much at apologies.” Not if he kept doing that. The physical aspect of their communication didn’t need any work.
“No?”
Dawson tilted his head, breath hitching when Riley slid a hand under his T-shirt. “N-no.”
“You and I aren’t friends,” Riley said, kissing his way up Dawson’s neck. “I don’t want to talk about her, and if you really are here for something other than trying to convince me that I’m doing the wrong thing by turning her away, then you’ll respect that.” Riley cupped his dick and massaged. “You’re physically appealing to me, and if you want to do this again, I won’t say no.”
Never mind. That was the worst apology in the history of apologies. So why did Dawson turn around and kiss him? Why did he wrap arms around his neck and greedily take what measly scraps Riley offered?
Because he was screwed. That’s why.