PsyCop 2.2: Many Happy Returns by Jordan Castillo Price Page A

into Kenneth’s eyes and then reached up, fingering the collar of Kenneth’s shirt. He had amazing eyes, pale, pale green. “Your shirt,” he said. “It looks like a large. I would make it worth your while.”
    “You can’t have my shirt.”
    Crash cocked his head to one side, and ran a tongue stud back and forth over the top edge of his lower teeth. “Everyone’s got a price, Kenny.
    What’s yours?”
    Kenneth swallowed hard and got ready to tell Crash to go to hell--not a very festive SaverPlus farewell, but Kenneth was just a seasonal temp, after all--when Crash got a knee up onto the counter and started clambering over it toward Kenneth.
    “Are you crazy?”
    Crash grinned wide, and flashed his tongue stud.
    Kenneth almost called security. Almost. Except Crash wasn’t particularly threatening. He crawled across the return desk like a stripper, his pale green eyes fastened on Kenneth’s face the whole time. And when he oozed over the far edge of the counter, he kept on going down, sinking to his knees right between Kenneth’s feet.
    “What’s that shirt worth to you?” he said, unbuckling Kenneth’s belt.
    Kenneth grabbed the edge of the counter and tried to will his knees to stop shaking. Before he could even register what was happening, his slacks pooled around his ankles.
    “I can’t believe you’re just going to....” Crash ran his palms up Kenneth’s thighs. He had silver rings on every finger, and the metal felt smooth gliding over Kenneth’s skin, hot from its contact with Crash’s fingers. “What, no one ever ambushed you before? You’re a good-looking guy.”
    Objectively, maybe. But Kenneth had always managed to put a “don’t bother me” vibe out there that resulted in him being left alone more often than not.
    Crash tugged Kenneth’s boxers down to his knees.
    “And you’re totally hung,” he said, face so close that Kenneth felt the warmth of Crash’s breath ghosting along his balls.
    Kenneth meant to get another hand on the countertop to help hold himself up before his legs gave out from under him, but instead he found himself cupping the side of Crash’s face, running his fingers over the crunchy spikes of hair and tracing the line of silver studs and hoops in Crash’s ear.
    Crash had a hand on each of Kenneth’s thighs. He leaned in and pressed his face into the crease of Kenneth’s groin, and Kenneth felt his cock throb, getting hard, fast. It brushed Crash’s cheek, standing away from Kenneth’s body in no time flat.
    He gasped at the touch of Crash’s hot, wet tongue. He swore he could feel that tiny metal stud playing along the veins on the underside of his shaft. Kenneth’s fingers fanned over the side of Crash’s face, tracing the sinew of his jaw as his hot, wet tongue stroked its way up, and down.
    “You wanna feel the inside of my throat?” Crash asked teasingly, looking up from his crouch with his face nuzzled alongside Kenneth’s hard-on.
    Kenneth had a hard time forming a reply. Even a single-syllable word.
    “You gonna give me your shirt?”
    Kenneth nodded.
    Crash raised one eyebrow. “Then take it off.”

    Kenneth looked out over the counter. The return desk faced a hallway, mostly. A dingy hallway that hadn’t been painted in years, or redecorated in decades. He could see some of the sales floor if he craned his neck.
    And the guards had never bothered him in the past as they made their closing rounds, other than to yell, “See you later,” as they passed the hallway entrance.
    Crash’s tongue darted between Kenneth’s balls, and Kenneth had to clench his jaw to keep from yelping. “Your shirt,” Crash said, forming the words against Kenneth’s scrotum.
    Kenneth peered out over the counter again, toward the darkened sales floor.
    “What do you care if anyone sees?” said Crash. “It’ll be totally hot if they do.” He tilted his head back and fit his lips around one of Kenneth’s balls, cradling it with his mouth and teasing at