Chapter 7

"Yeah, the world might collapse if prudish unicorns mingle with slutty ones, and oh my god, let's all beware the dangerous kraken. You really gotta be careful of the ones dressed in a three piece Hugo Boss and Gucci loafers," Anderson said, the chill in his voice making them both recoil even further into the house. "How's this for a standard?" He held out his badge. "We need to ask you some questions about the recent disappearances."

The unicorns frowned. "We spoke with someone on the phone."

"And we need to hear it for ourselves and ask follow up questions," Lynn replied, stepping in close just to see them back up another step, the stupid little fuckheads. "We can discuss it here, where all your neighbors can watch, or we can go inside, or I can drag your asses all the way to HQ and ask you there. I'm sure the neighbors would love to watch you get carted away by feds. Up to you."

"We don't have to speak to anyone," the taller unicorn said, so much better than thou art in his voice that Lynn might have been impressed if the guy wasn't such a stupid fucking asshole.

The door closed in their faces, and Lynn rolled his eyes. "You know, I'm starting to think I don't fucking care if Wynn eats every last fucking one of them. The paranormal world could stand to be rid of all these assholes. The fewer bigots, the better."

"Yeah," Anderson replied, trying to smile and failing miserably.

Lynn scowled because like fucking hell were a couple of old-fashioned, narrow-minded fuckholes putting a damper on his partner. "Seriously, fuck them. Anyone with that sort of 'sex is shameful and wrong' attitude deserves the misery they make for themselves. Don't waste energy on feeling shitty like they want. If I'm going to be stuck with a sparkly unicorn for a partner, at least it's a unicorn who isn't a judgy asshole and doesn't think less of me for being what I am. The last fucking thing I need is a prissy, by-the-book partner who writes up a formal complaint every time I cuss or say something inappropriate."

"That would be a lot of reports," Anderson said with a smile. "Four and a half hours and you've stereotyped me, threatened me, and called me a slut. We'd be up to report fifty by now—probably one hundred—if I have to file one for each use of the word 'fuck."

"Fuck you," Lynn retorted, mouth twitching.

Anderson's smile stretched into a grin that reached his eyes. "Maybe I'll just buy a little notebook to keep in my pocket and start up a tally."

"Ha ha." Lynn gave him a shove down the walkway. "I don't need a smartass partner either."

"Well, too bad. You're stuck with me."

They stopped at the end of the walk, and even if he'd been capable of resisting, Lynn was pretty certain he wouldn't have bothered trying. He moved in close, baring a crooked, toothy grin. "I suppose if you get too mouthy I could eat you."

Anderson gave him an unimpressed look but didn't move away—if anything, he leaned in closer. "I can't tell if that's literal or innuendo. I'm not sure which would be lamer."

"I don't eat things that can talk back," Lynn replied. "Zero out of ten for edible: would not eat. Seven out of ten for fuckable: would bang if possible."

"Seven?" Anderson narrowed his eyes. "Why the hell am I only a seven? Don't make me rate you, asswipe. Why isn't fucking me possible?"

Pleased that all thoughts of the asshole unicorns had been forgotten, Lynn leaned down and nuzzled Anderson's cheek. His skin was even softer than it looked, and he smelled like warm sugar and fresh bread. "I learned the hard way—twice—not to sleep with my partners. I am really tired of changing partners."

"Third time's the charm? Well, changing partners, I think like what, five hundredth time's the charm?" Anderson asked.

"Seventeenth," Lynn muttered. "That I recall. Some of them didn't last twenty-four hours, so I don't really remember them."

Anderson laughed softly as his lips dusted over Lynn's cheek. "I'm not going to be a seven because you're gun shy, Wriggly."

"I'm not gun shy, Sparkleson."

"Prove it."

"Oh, fuck you," Lynn muttered and then did the very stupid thing he wasn't supposed to do but had probably decided to do the first time Anderson snarked at him. It didn't hurt he was pretty certain the assholes in the house were watching through their curtains.

Anderson tasted like cupcakes and sunshine, and Lynn would go to his grave before he ever said that aloud, but it was true. Lynn wanted more. He cradled Anderson's face in his hands and ate at his mouth, sucking and nibbling at those lush lips before licking into his mouth, tasting every crevice before sucking on his tongue. The kiss was hot, wet, sloppy, and utterly addicting. His sister would call it a third date kiss; Lynn preferred to call it a damned good reason to make it to a third date.

Not that they'd had any dates.

The reminder cooled him down enough to draw back, though one look at Anderson's wide pupils, the flushed skin, and wet, dark pink lips nearly had him diving in for round two. Anderson licked his lips, which wasn't helping matters at all. "I bet you get really interesting performance appraisals."

Lynn scowled. "Only on attitude problems and inappropriate language. I must be doing something wrong if you're thinking about work."

"I was thinking about grossly inappropriate uses of office furniture and the company car."

"Tempting," Lynn replied with a grin, though he'd much rather drag Anderson back to his condo and into his pool, shift enough to wrap tentacles around him, hold him tight, feel and taste him inside and out, make Anderson his—

And wow, it had been a long time since his blood had heated up enough to draw out that mine mine mine streak.