Michaels was glad she tried to hurry up and throw that tidbit in for good measure, but he didn’t think Judge cared one way or the other how everything had started, only that Michaels didn’t end it quickly.
He picked up his icepack and rag and headed upstairs, deciding to ignore the storm standing and brewing directly over his head. By the time he got upstairs to the guestroom door, Judge was right there, pushing in behind him and slamming the door shut. Closing them tight into the semi-dark room.
“Hey, Shhh. Don’t slam the door.” Michaels frowned.
Judge’s huge arm was around his neck and over his throat in the blink of an eye. He dropped his icepack and wrestled with Judge’s strong forearm that was just barely constricting his airway. Judge spun him, pushing him chest first into the wall. Michaels could feel Judge’s heartbeat thundering against his back. He understood the guy was mad, but he didn’t have to take it so far. “Let me go,” Michaels croaked.
“What’s with you, huh?” Judge’s hot breath panted against his ear. “Cops are supposed to keep the peace.”
“Fuck you.”
Chapter Eighteen
Judge pushed until there wasn’t an inch of space between their bodies. Michaels’ cheek was pressed against the unyielding wall, his bloody hand splayed out against the dull white surface, trying unsuccessfully to push Judge off of him; but Judge wasn’t budging.
“Leave it to God to send me out here with a fuckin’ loose cannon.”
Michaels’ chest heaved, pressed against the wall. His breathing was ragged and erratic. “You gonna run and tell my superior you can’t handle me? From what I’ve heard, your methods are a little unorthodox, too.”
“Difference between me and you sweetheart, is that I know when I need to fight.” Judge kept his arm around Michaels’ sweaty chest and reached down with his other hand and gripped the large bulge pressing against those hard jeans. “And I know when I need to fuck.”
“Ahhh, shit. Stop.” Michaels damn near begged.
“No.” Judge rubbed that rigid length harder, keeping it slow, letting it build. He knew the wildman needed it, whether he wanted to admit it or not. His own eyes fluttered when he got a good feel of what Michaels was packing in those sexy jeans. A cock just as thick and long as his own. Fuck. He needed to feel it. Shit. This was supposed to be about Michaels… not him. Michaels let loose a seductive moan that had Judge growling, popping open the button on those pants and yanking the zipper down. He roughly dug inside the tight boxer briefs and freed Michaels’ scorching cock, suppressing his urge to spin the man around and drop to his knees for a better view. Silky smooth skin that burned in his large fist. Why was he so fucking hot… literally?
“Damn you,” Michaels hissed, pushing his hips forward.
Judge pushed more of his weight against Michaels’ strong back, driving his own erection against that firm ass. “Damn you too… now, come,” Judge said, through clenched teeth. He spit in his palm and rubbed the moisture over the head of Michaels’ dick and stroked him with purpose. Setting an aggressive rhythm.
“No.” Was Michaels’ half-moaned, half-growled response.
“Do you think I can’t make you, wild one? I promise I can.” Judge licked behind Michaels’ ear, drawing a strangled breath from him. He took his sugarcane out and tossed it away. “Cuz if not, I’d love the challenge.”
“Get off me. Is this a joke?” Michaels snarled.
“Does it sound like I’m laughing?” Judge ground himself against Michaels’ ass again, content with taking a little for himself too. “Does it feel like a joke?” His dick was hard and aching behind his own zipper. It was torturous and dangerous. Honestly that shit was getting exciting. He was pissed at first about the fight, but things were getting interesting. The fiery detective had many layers to him that Judge was going to enjoy unveiling little by little. Judge slowed his stroke. Relished the length and girth Michaels was blessed with. No wonder that punk bastard was begging in that email. Goddamn. It’d been a long damn time since he’d enjoyed a thick cock up… No. Fuck no!
Michaels bucked in his arms, jolting Judge out of his thoughts. Squeezing tighter, Judge worked him from base to tip, twisting the cap before going back down and repeating over and over. Michaels shuddered and cursed in his arms, letting his head fall back on Judge’s shoulder. If he turned his head, he could kiss that coarse cheek; run his mouth and nose all the way down that alluring smell of testosterone, sweat, and bitterness that clung to Michaels, and bite him hard on that stubborn jaw he liked to jut out in defiance.
He could feel how close Michaels was. Liked how he’d accepted defeat in this round. His hands were still braced against the wall, those swollen, bruised knuckles a testament that he’d put up a good fight, but he was no longer pushing. His taut body had gone lax and his jaw slack, panting in rhythm with Judge’s stroking. Oh god, the expression on his face… frowning in deep concentration to take what he needed.