Zane cursed when he glanced through the dark visor of his helmet and saw flashing lights in the side mirror of his Ducati. It wasn’t a black-and-white cop car, but a puke-brown Crown Vic. Which meant it could only be one person.
Detective Jack Tate.
Pulling to the side of the road, Zane removed his helmet and placed it on his lap. The vice car pulled in behind him—a little too closely in his opinion. If the son of a bitch scratched Zane’s bike, he was going to bite the man.
Detective Jackass—the name Jake had given the cop—got out of his car, walking over to Zane in slow, sure strides. It looked like he was dressed casually today. There was no rumpled suit or unkempt dress shirt. The guy was wearing jeans that hugged his body nicely and a dark T-shirt that showed off a toned-looking chest.
Zane’s eyes ran the length of the man, a smirk pulling at the side of his mouth. “Problem, Detective?”
“You were going ninety in a fifty-five zone.” The guy flashed his badge, as if Zane didn’t know who he was already. Fuck he was sexy…intense…Zane had an urge to bite.
Broad shoulders filled his line of sight, and Zane’s eyes traveled over the man’s thick chest, nicely shaped biceps, and the fuzz on the man’s jaw. He was glad his helmet was sitting on his lap or the detective would have seen just how much he affected Zane.
“I wasn’t aware detectives did routine traffic stops.” Tate was staring a little too hard at Zane, like the guy was trying to figure something out. He had knowledge in his eyes. About what, Zane wasn’t sure.
“Don’t screw with me, Zane,” Tate warned in a deep, gruff voice that held the thickness of a growl. The sound turned Zane on, making his nuts draw close to his body. “I could haul you in for going that far over the speed limit.”
“Just itching to get something on me,” Zane teased, not really worried about being taken in for speeding. He could beat that charge with no problem. “I have a few ideas about what you could get on me, but we’d have to be naked first.”
Tate did not look amused. Zane had never gone through so much trouble to flirt with someone before and was starting to wonder about his sanity. He wasn’t even sure why he was putting forth this much effort. The cop was clearly not interested in him. Zane was beginning to think that maybe it was the challenge that kept him fired up when Tate was near.
It had also been forever since anyone had sparked Zane’s interest. Unfortunately, Jack Tate was a tough nut to crack. He could feel the anger rolling off of the guy, and that only charged Zane’s blood even more. I really am psychotic for enjoying this.
“Give me your driver’s license.” Tate held his hand out, giving Zane an expression that said the cop was itching for him to argue. Zane slowly reached into his leather and pulled his wallet free. He opened the wallet and slipped the card out, handing it over.
“Don’t even think about taking off,” Tate snarled as he snatched the ID from Zane’s hand.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweet cheeks.”
With a grunt, Tate walked back to his car, slid inside, and radioed in Zane’s information. The only legit thing on the card was Zane’s name. There was no way he could put his real birthdate on there, and no one had his current address. That was just asking for trouble.
He heard the squawk of the radio as Tate spoke. Being a wolf shifter, Zane’s hearing was dead accurate, the range far surpassing any human’s capacity for hearing. He smirked when Tate cursed. The dispatcher had come back and told Tate that Zane had no priors or warrants.
He didn’t even have a traffic ticket. But that just might change if the Tate wanted to be hard-nosed. Tate got out of the car at the same time that Zane removed his leather gloves.
He was up to no good and really should behave. But Zane had never been any good at behaving. He liked living on the edge, flirting with danger, and pushing the limits. Tate walked back over to him, his eyes still gazing over Zane as if he were trying to figure something out.
The cop handed Zane back his ID, and Zane nicked the guy with the tip of a claw that he’d let slide out a fraction of an inch.
“What the hell!” Tate pulled his hand back, his eyes narrowing as he stared at Zane and then looked down at the small nick. There was a tiny bead of blood on the backside of his hand, nothing major. “I could arrest you for assaulting a police officer.”
Zane was getting tired of this song and dance. Didn’t the guy have a happy button? He probably did, but he wasn’t letting Zane anywhere near it. “For what, forgetting to trim my nails? My bad.”
Stepping closer, Tate snarled, “I don’t like you. You’re nothing but a punk who thinks he can break the law just as long as he doesn’t get caught, darling.”
Zane froze. It wasn’t so much that Tate had called him darling, as it was the way he had said it, like he knew about the creatures that preyed on unsuspecting humans. A Darling’s bite was so painful that the victim writhed in agony for hours. They were nasty, foul creatures who needed to be wiped off the face of the earth.
Humans fantasized about vampires, a myth based on the Darlings, but had no concrete proof the creatures even existed. Tate shouldn’t know them by their true identity—their real name.
Shouldn’t. But given the way he had hinted at the word, Zane had a feeling Tate was privy to that information.
Tate gasped when Zane’s hand slid down his chest. The touch was like nothing he’d ever experienced before. “What are you doing in my bed?”
Zane didn’t respond, but the air around him seemed to change. Tate started to wonder if going to the bar after Starbucks had been a good idea. His head was pounding something fierce.
“Just relax, cop.” Zane straddled Tate’s legs. The normal braid Tate had always seen the guy wear was gone. In its place was flowing black hair, silky, shiny. It was cascading over Zane’s shoulders and past his hard, naked pecs.
Where in the fuck were their clothes? Tate hadn’t gotten that plastered. He would have remembered inviting Zane to bed.
Zane leaned forward, his hair creating an obsidian veil. “Give in, Tate. Let me show you what it could be like between us.”
Tate glanced down to see that not only was Zane’s cock fully erect, but so was his. This can’t be real. I have to be dreaming this.
“So what if it’s a dream,” Zane said as he brushed the tips of his fingers over Tate’s nipples. “Why can’t you have a little fun?”
“Because I deal in reality, not illusions.” Tate’s tone was hard, but his throat was dry. Fuck, Zane was the sexiest man alive. The urge to give in, to give the guy what he was asking for, was strong.
But this isn’t real.
Tate hissed when Zane wrapped a strong hand around his cock, stroking him. He instinctively thrust his cock into the tight fist. A groan worked its way up through Tate’s throat, threatening to break free. Zane’s hand was like magic. Fucking beautiful magic.
“I can show you so much more, bring you so much more pleasure.” Zane leaned down, the long strands of his hair tickling Tate’s chest and stomach. Tate jerked when Zane sucked on one of his nipples, teasing it between his lips and teeth. Tate shuddered, gripping the sheets in a stranglehold.
“You can show yourself to the door,” Tate said, but there was no heat behind his words. He simultaneously wanted to kick Zane out and beg him not to stop.
Zane closed his eerily dark eyes and stroked Tate harder, causing Tate to forget his demand and give in. If this was just a dream, why not? It wasn’t like Zane would ever know. There would be no awkward morning after or fumbled excuses of why Tate had to rush out.
“Just you and me, cop.” Zane opened his eyes. A smile played on the man’s lickable lips. “No strings attached.”
Tate crinkled his eyebrows. “None?”
“Just a dream, remember?”
“Yeah.” Tate groaned and thrust his hips. He wasn’t having any success getting the friction he wanted. Zane was a heavy bastard. The guy’s well-muscled thighs tightened around Tate’s and Tate wondered what the man was up to.
Zane licked a long path up Tate’s collarbone and then to his right ear. He nipped the lobe before he asked, “Ever been fucked, cop?”
Tate’s pulse skyrocketed. He refused to go there. This was his dream and personal questions were off the table. That was one question he wasn’t going to answer.
Zane chuckled. “Your silence says it all.”
“It doesn’t say shit.” Tate thrust his hips upward, fighting to get off. But Zane kept him on the edge, just this side of frustrated. “Get me off or disappear.”
“Demanding,” Zane said. “But I don’t rush with my lovers.”
“I’m not your fucking lover.” Tate gripped the sheets tighter and bucked, pissed that Zane was teasing him. His cock was so hard it was damn near painful. He ground his teeth, trying to cage his raging hormones, but it was no use. Tate was too far gone and he wanted to come.
“Us naked in the bed says otherwise.”
“This is just a damn dream,” Tate argued. His head snapped downward when Zane moved off of Tate’s legs and settled between them. Zane stretched out, grinning wickedly up at Tate before mouthing Tate’s sac.
“Jesus!” Tate’s head rolled back as Zane shoved his legs further apart. Zane’s hot, lethal tongue was a weapon and he wielded it like a pro. Damn, Tate wanted to taste Zane and give the man the same pleasure he was receiving—though giving wasn’t something Tate had ever thought about before. But right now, he wanted it all. Plus, he had an unmistakable urge to bite the guy.
This was starting to feel like reality. Tate had never had a dream this vivid before. Not even when he was a teenager and masturbation had been a constant.
Zane lifted his head and swallowed Tate’s cock down his throat. Tate’s lips parted and he fought to breathe. Zane’s mouth was pure magic on Tate’s dick. He stopped fighting it and released the sheets, cradling Zane’s head as he thrust his hips.
And Zane took it.