Part Fourteen

The thunderous crash of Grant's apartment door made Paulie start in his seat. He shifted uncomfortably and stared down at the drawstring that tied at his narrow waist. Fingers toying with the clumsy bow, nervously, though his face betrayed no emotion.

While he wanted desperately to hate Lisa, Paulie knew she had every right to inform Grant about what had happened. He supposed that he was getting off easy. Lisa was allowing him to tell Grant his version of the incident, rather than spilling out the graphic details herself while crying a river tears. She could have played the victim. It would have been simple enough for her to do. Certainly, Moretti would have taken Lisa's word over his. Wasn't it true that the detective always saw the worst in him? However, Lisa had chosen another, much more dignified and merciful path. She had been vague; had only hinted at what transpired between them.

"Paulie? Ohgod...Paulie... What have you done?" Grant broke the awkward silence that had overtaken the room, once the door had slammed shut behind Lisa. Carefully, he began moving toward Paulie, his cerulean eyes stretched open with disbelief.

Paulie refused to meet the man's astonished glare. "Nothing. I just told her the truth. I figured she had a right to know who she was marrying."

"You told her about us?" Moretti stepped closer, slowly, until he was looming with menace above Paulie's chair. For the briefest second, Paulie found himself tempted to blurt out an apology - considered begging his benefactor for forgiveness. However, his pride wouldn't allow him that luxury. While Paulie was apprehensive, he would still have to play his current hand out before he could seriously entertain the thought of groveling. He wasn't that desperate, at least not yet.

His trepidation building with each passing minute, Paulie stole a fleeting glance at the other's face and swallowed hard. "Did I tell her about "us"? What was there to tell, Grant? I gave you a blowjob; it was rather meaningless."

"And you told Lisa?"

"Yeah, I did. But she demanded information. Erm. Well, sorta." Stammering, Paulie braced himself, expecting an explosion of obscenities or a physical backlash in response to his confession.

Instead, Moretti crouched down and sat back on his heels, making it impossible for Paulie to see anything but the despondent _expression on his face. The man's voice was wavering when he spoke again, losing the battle to keep his temper at bay. "And tell me, Paulie... The bruises... The torn dress... You didn't hit her, did you?"

"Ohfuckingjesus, Moretti. Come on... I don't wanna talk about this any more. Tell me what you found at my apartment?" Paulie blinked, pleading mutely with large, pale eyes -- wanting to push the wrong he had committed far out of his mind, at least temporarily. He cringed when he saw the twisting of Grant's features; heard a distressed groan erupt from the man's lips. The detective looked as though he'd just taken a blow to the gut. Disgust etched deep lines in Grant's typically smooth, tanned skin. Paulie had finally managed to repel the man. Unable to bear this knowledge, he tried averting his gaze once more, heart thumping rapidly against his slight ribcage.

Did you FUCK my fiance, Paulie?" Finally, it came. The fury that Paulie had sensed brewing somewhere deep within the other man, was finally unleashed. In one sudden motion, Grant's arm shot out. Strong fingers twined through the long glossy tendrils framing Paulie's face, and yanked his head backward.

Pain ripped its way through Paulie's scalp, making him whimper like a child, diminishing his resolve to remain strong before Grant. He cursed to himself as ot tears stung his blue-gray eyes. The assault itself was no shock. In fact, it was exactly what Paulie had expected. But the tears, they threw him. Came as an unwelcome surprise. Why the fuck was he about to cry? He'd taken terrible beatings before. Surely, he could take whatever Grant wanted to dish out. And why...why was there a distinct ache in his chest?

"Ahh shit...please...don't... Listen to me. It was stupid...we were both angry at you." Wrapping his hand around Grant's wrist, Paulie continued, "it didn't mean a damn thing and you know it."

"The FUCK it doesn't! I took you in, Paulie!? I put my career on the line for you! And this... THIS is what you do in return? You dirty, no good piece of shit." In a frenzy Moretti stood, dragging him up off the chair. Jerking Paulie to and fro, by the head of the hair, as he bombarded him with insults and curses. "You have fucking ruined my life! Do you understand? I'm going to be a laughing stock... I'll be disowned!"

Sobbing, Paulie screamed back, his voice shrill from the knife-like pain. "Fuck you, you bastard! You're not a man, you're a pussy." Although the words he spewed forth were confrontational, Paulie felt anything but. His words were hollow. There was no fight left in him, there was only remorse.

"Yeah, Paulie? Is that what you think?" The almost-gleeful tone of Grant's voice struck fear into Paulie's heart. He couldn't help but wonder if he'd pushed Grant's teetering sanity over edge, this time. "Come on, little scumbag..."

Growling, the detective marched across the room to the couch, towing Paulie along with him. On his hands and knees, Paule scrambled to keep up, his face contorted. "Owwwwww. Let go, Grant? Please... I'm so fucking tired."

At that, Grant laughed. It wasn't a laugh filled with mirth, but one of great bitterness. "Oh, I'm sure you are, Paulie. You had yourself an action packed morning - had your hands full fucking up my life... Didn't you?"

When Moretti forced Paulie's face down against the sofa's plush cushions, he put up little resistance. Let hot tears roll down his gaunt cheeks, shamelessly. What did it matter? He'd succeeded in making Grant loathe him. Couldn't go back to his apartment, and would no longer be able to make a living in the city. No matter what transpired from here on out, he knew he was fucked.

Both of Paulie's arms were yanked behind his back, pulled with such vigor that his scrawny shoulders strained and ached. Though he was unable to see the detective, Paulie knew what was coming next. Knew before he even heard the jingling of the slim metal chain, or the manacles clinking together. Handcuffs. Cold and heavy, they squeezed around his slender wrists. Paulie clenched his eyes shut, trying to ward off the panic that threatened to claim him. Would Grant have the balls to drag him down to the station? Or was Moretti just going to slap him around some more? Paulie prayed for the latter. Spending any amount of time in a prison cell would be a fate worse than death.

"You look good this way, Paulie. Just like you did the night I hauled your ass through my car window. Remember that? I do. God, how I wish I'd never met you... Why I ever trusted a filthy little whore, I'll never understand. But I won't make that mistake again. No sir... I sure as hell won't." The hard, polished toe of Moretti's shoe made contact with Paulie's stomach, knocking the wind out of him before making him topple down to the floor.

Coughing and groaning, Paulie curled up on his side, his lower lip quivering. He wasn't sure whether it was trembling from fear or because he was beginning to hurt all over. "Grant... Grant... I'm sorry... I swear, I didn't meant to fuck you over..."

An apology... Paulie could barely believe his own words. Had he ever apologized to another person and meant it? No... No he hadn't. But he knew that he meant it now. It was finally time to grovel. Or maybe, it was just time to tell the truth? Time to tell Grant that he'd only behaved like a horrid and spoilt child because he WANTED the detective for his own -- more than he'd ever wanted anything in his entire life. And that meant the woman had to go. Paulie had to chase her away so that he'd be less likely to lose. It had just backfired...had gone so terribly wrong... He peered up at Moretti through the strands of dark hair that'd fallen into his face. Even furious, Grant was stunning enough to make his heart skip. Could he do it? Could he be that honest? Paulie didn't know...

"Are you CRYING? Holy shit... Why are you crying? Do you have FEELINGS, Paulie? Or is it just that your body can't take another beating today?" Smirking, Moretti grabbed him by one arm and pulled him up to his feet. "Look at you...all red-eyed and snot-nosed. I never thought I'd see you break down."

"I have feelings." Paulie spoke quietly and sniffled. How fucking humiliating it was to be seen in such a state... Yet deep down, he knew it was his own doing. Knew that HE had reduced himself to this with the choices he'd made. There was no one else to blame. And Paulie hated himself for that - for what he'd become. Despised himself for wounding the one person who'd tried to help him, for having been such a monster to the woman...

"That's good to know." The other man snapped coldly, tugging at the string that held up Paulie's scrubs; loosening the waist, until the flimsy pants slipped down over Paulie's thighs and bunched at his ankles. "Don't get too excited, I'm not going to fuck you...not even if you beg for it. God only knows what diseases you might have."

More tears... As hard as Paulie tried to hold them back, they kept coming. No sarcasm, no wise cracks. He just stood there feeling foolish and rotten to the core.

"Stop that! Stop it with the fucking crying act, right NOW!" The detective's face was reddening as his temper rose. "You wanna cry? You stupid fuck... I'll give you something to cry about..."

Grant pulled him down to the couch, shifting Paulie's lithe body until it was positioned properly -- until he was bent over the detective's knees, bare ass fully exposed. Without taking pause, the palm of Moretti's hand slapped against Paulie's naked ass, the harshness of the blow turning his pallid skin a bright shade of pink -- making Paulie yelp out loud. It came again. Once more...twice...three times... Over and over again his ass was struck, until his flesh was so raw that it felt as if it were on fire.

The searing pain made it near impossible for Paulie to remain compliant. Every time Grant's hand was about to make contact with his abused skin, he wiggled vainly, frantic to escape the detective's unforgiving hand. Choking on his sobs. Each slap jostling his prone body, until Paulie became painfully aware that his cock was growing stiff against Grant's muscular thigh. "Fuck, ohfuck, stop... I've had enough, pleeeease."

His only response was another smarting whack on the ass. Paulie moaned, warmth growing in his belly. Realizing that he was defeated, he stopped begging and tried to focus on Grant's movements - letting them rock his body. Concentrating on how delicious the friction felt against his swollen cock, until finally he was moaning. Feeling lightheaded...almost drunk... What the fuck?

"You like this, don't you? You like everything...you slut... I wish you could see yourself, right now.God..." Grant was mumbling above him, the man's breath coming in quick rasps.

Then, as suddenly as it began, it was over... The spanking ended abruptly. Too abruptly. Letting out a frustrated gasp, Paulie raised his bottom brazenly, craving more. Instead, Grant smoothed one hand over his ass, even the lightest touch making Paulie's tender skin ache. "Grant?"

Without speaking, Moretti repositioned Paulie so that his body was resting against the arm of the sofa. The detective's hands wandered to the collar of his shirt, deft fingers opening the buttons briskly, as he held Paulie's glassy-eyed stare.

Still intoxicated, Paulie watched on, letting his head roll back against the sofa, as Grant shrugged the shirt off his sinewy shoulders and balled it up in his hand. The small act seemed so suggestive, Paulie's cock twitched against his belly, a string of warm cum oozing from the fat head... But he didn't care anymore. He only hoped that Grant noticed and realized how very much he was wanted. Hoped that his body's betrayal would say what he could not say with words.

The detective leaned toward Paulie and lifted his shirt, using it to wipe at the sweat and tears coating Paulie's cheeks. Grant's hot breath puffed against his face. So close. They were only inches apart...lips near enough to kiss.

Paulie tilted his head, raising his mouth just a bit closer to Moretti's. Desperate for contact, so aroused that coherent thought escaped him. "Do you want me to beg you for a kiss? Because...I will...if you want..."

A slow, sadistic grin stretched across Grant's face, as his lips edged closer to Paulie's. Just before Paulie could capture them with his own, the detective drew his head backwards. Taunting. Blue eyes glinting coldly at Paulie's frustration. "Mmm. Look at you, all hard again...and so soon after sticking your filthy dick in my fiance... Heh."

His mouth parched, Paulie ran the tip of his tongue over his lips and glanced down at his cock, still weeping against his stomach. He was sure he looked obscene - so exposed and begging for attention, drooling all over himself like some teenaged boy... Just as sure as he was that Moretti was every bit as turned on. The detective was definitely getting his rocks off on the whole "control" thing. Wordlessly, Paulie drew one leg up, bending his knee as he spread his skinny thighs wider apart. If Moretti wanted to think of him as being dirty, then he'd give the man just what he wanted. Fuck. He'd give Grant just about anything, right now.

"What is it, Paulie? You want me to fuck you NOW? Want me to fuck that hungry little ass of yours? Finally? After all you've put me through? After all the taunting and the backstabbing that you've done?! Hrmpf." Shaking his head with disbelief, the detective dipped the tip of his index finger into the cum dripping from Paulie's pee slit. Smearing it over the spongy head, very gently, before trailing it down the soft underbelly of Paulie's shaft.

Twinging involuntarily at the lightest touch, Paulie gasped. "I'm sorry. Lemme make it up to you?"

"For someone who's supposed to be street wise, you can be so fucking stupid sometimes, you know that? You can't fix everything with your prick, Paulie." With those words spat, Moretti grabbed firm hold of Paulie's cock and gave it a hard squeeze, making him squirm uncomfortably. "Even if it is a big, hot piece of meat. Jesus Christ, where do you get off looking like this? Like every faggot's wet dream?"

Wincing, Paulie stared down at the strong fingers wrapped around his throbbing organ. The man was gripping it so tightly; the head was expanding, turning a deep shade of purple. "And you're not, Grant? Ahhgod. Shit. Please..." He raised his eyes and locked them with Moretti's, his voice cracking as he spoke. "Look at you... You're perfect."

The detective's stony glare softened for an instant, then swiftly turned to steel once more. "And you're a fucking devil... I hate you. I really do." Grant released his sore member, smoothing the hand that had clutched Paulie's cock so roughly, up over his concave stomach to his chest. Wrapping the same moist, sticky fingers around Paulie's neck. Lightly, as if debating how much damage he wanted to inflict.

"I don't hate you." Awkwardly, Paulie attempted to nuzzle Moretti, his pillow-like lips finding the other's hairy forearm. When he wasn't immediately shoved away, Paulie shifted his weight and struggled to sit upright, plodding closer to Grant on his knees, and then straddling his muscular thighs. He looked down into the detective's face. "You know I don't."

Moretti's hand remained on Paulie's throat, as the younger man got situated on his lap. He shook his head again. "You're one fucked up kid, Paul."

"I don't want to be. All I want..." Paulie took a deep breath, heart set on speaking his mind. Hoping it'd bring him relief. "I just...I just want you... Only you. And it scares the piss out of me." Jesus, he'd said it out loud. Handcuffed and red-assed, none-the-less! Part of him screamed in protest that he was being a fool, behaving pathetically... The other part just didn't give a shit anymore -- was tired of the constant charade. He wasn't unfeeling, wasn't half the things he pretended to be. In truth, Paulie waslonely, frightened, and ashamed of so much in his life that he'd done. He WAS a bitter fuck-up, and he knew it. He just wasn't quite sure how to stop it.

Grant blinked, stunned by Paulie's profession. Hastily, wanting to take advantage of the detective while his guard was down, he bent his head and pressed his mouth against Moretti's. Drove his tongue between the other's smooth, pliant lips and into the wetness beyond. A wave of electricity shot through his body, when he felt Grant reciprocate. Felt the man's tongue glide against his, hot and slick, fighting for a dominance Paulie was more than happy to allow.

They kissed, deep and sloppy, until Paulie was whimpering against Grant's open mouth. Until he was making every possible attempt to grind his dick against the golden curls that crawled up over Moretti's belly and chest.

The detective's hands clutched at his ass cheeks, kneading the muscle beneath the sore flesh - spreading him open, long fingers delving inside. Grazing his pucker now and then, teasing relentlessly. Breathless, Paulie tore his mouth away from Grant's. "Please, ohgod, come on...fuck me? I can't take this. Just DO IT."

The sultry, heavy-lidded _expression Moretti wore when he peered up at Paulie, slowly transformed into something else... Something much less desirable. What was it? Resentment? Distaste? A cool detachment? Paulie wasn't certain which, but even so, he knew what it meant. His heart sank with disappointment. No. It was more than just that, more than feeling let down. He felt utterly rejected. His tight-throated murmur was more like a plea. "Grant?"

Moretti burst out loudly with laughter, though he wore a pained _expression. "You're so good, Paulie. Really...I almost believe you give a shit. Now get the fuck off me, before I really hurt you."

"No, wait... Please, just listen to me?" In a panic, Paulie rambled on, despite Grant's dismissal. "I'm not playing with you, Grant. I'm NOT. I can explain all the shit that's happened..."

"Fuck you, Paul. You think you can make it right? You can't take back what you've done, can you?" The detective's fine brow creased with anger, eyes narrowed as he grasped Paulie's shoulders. "You can't give me my life back, can you?!"

"No. No, I can't...but I can give you a new one. Something real. Something better." Aware that his voice had risen to a whine, Paulie continued regardless. "Please, just take these cuffs off me? Let's talk? Please, Moretti?"

Again, there was an explosion of laughter from the detective. It was the very last sound Paulie heard, before he was shoved backwards out of Moretti's lap and onto the floor. Once there, he curled up on his side and clenched his eyes shut. Feeling defeated and ashamed as he let tears claim him one more time.

Chapter 12

Grant didn't need any explanations, not really. Everything he needed in order to know the sickening, horrible truth was etched on Lisa's face, in her disheveled clothing. In the accusatory stare she pierced him with before she walked out the door, taking the life he had built for himself with her. Everything he'd worked for, everything he'd sacrificed for all these years, had been shattered by the scheming, soulless, painfully beautiful whore sitting on his couch. Paulie had taken it all - Grant's determination not to give in to his basest desires, the career he'd worked for, his painstakingly rebuilt relationship with his father. Even his fiance. In a matter of days, this motherfucking little shit had stolen everything that made his life livable. There was nothing now - nothing to keep him from giving in to whatever it was he felt boiling in his gut, blinding him with emotions gone out of control.

And the worst part of all, the very worst, was that Paulie didn't give a fuck. How could he have let himself be so stupid, so pathetic? He'd left the boy here, alone in his apartment, and gone out to try to help him. Strained his own morality, risked his badge, just to make things okay for a stranger whose big blue eyes had sucked him in, made him feel things he'd never allowed himself to experience before. What an asshole he was, anticipating telling Paulie the good news, hoping it would make him grateful enough to fall into the detective's arms with soft words and eager kisses. And all the while, Paulie had been plying his trade, using his charms - and if that didn't work, his slaps and wiry strength - to get his dick into Grant's woman. What better way to destroy the detective, in so many ways at once?

Paulie's taunts were just the excuse Grant needed to lose it. He wanted to, needed to, and that sensuous voice calling him a pussy was the spark lighting the fire. Pussy? He'd show Paulie who was the fucking pussy. The boy thought he was the MAN here, did he? That he could have everything he wanted, fuck everything he wanted, TAKE everything he wanted?

The contact of his shoe shoved into the pit of Paulie's stomach felt so fucking good, the way it crumpled the boy even better. That's what he wanted, what he needed - to whip every trace of smugness off that pretty face, beat it out of that scrawny body that had no right to his girlfriend - or such a big cock.

"C'mon, little scumbag," he ordered, hands twined in Paulie's long silky hair, dragging him along. The boy's whined complaints stoked his lust to inflict pain, to get back the upper hand. To get back SOMETHING. He'd show the little whore who was a man. Movements on automatic, he yanked Paulie's arms behind him, snapped on the cuffs and stripped him without even thinking. The kid was lucky he wasn't going to shoot him in the fucking head, that's what he deserved goddammit.

The first few whacks of his palm against Paulie's ass were delivered so fast he barely felt the sting on his own skin, barely registered the boy's protests. The physical exertion of raining blows on the firm flesh felt good, the sense of his own power flooding him even better. This was how it should be, Paulie slung helplessly over his knee, bare-assed, struggling. No more quick come-backs, smartassed put-downs. Moretti wasn't playing his game anymore. He wanted this to hurt, wanted it to knock that bravado right out of the boy. The tears that had streaked his face before, the detective didn't believe. But the tears that would start to flow soon, those he could trust. He wanted to see Paulie beaten - physically yes, but even more, the detective wanted to break down the self control that the kid always seemed to possess. Just like his own carefully maintained self control was crumbling.

Moretti didn't hold back. His arm was strong, and each blow reddened the pale skin of Paulie's buttocks more, until every inch was covered with angry blotches. Fuck, the boy looked hot like that, his back arched, hips wriggling as he tried to avoid the punishing smacks. His thin body shook with rasping breaths, his head pitched forward against the arm of the couch each time Grant hit him, only to be yanked back violently by his bound wrists. The muscles in his skinny arms strained painfully as Moretti held him prone. And with each slap, the detective heard his own breath expelled in a husky grunt, in cadence with the boy's ever softer moans. If anyone had been listening, it would have sounded like they were fucking. The thought hardened Grant's cock, trapped underneath the boy's squirming warm body.

Grant could feel the wet heat of the boy's sweat against his thighs, hear his pleas become more desperate, less demanding. He was winning, and he knew it. The upper hand was his, and he relished it. When he felt Paulie's lithe body begin to move in time with his blows, hips undulating with an unmistakable sensuality, Grant knew the boy was starting to get off on the pain. Losing his resolve to fight back in the intoxication of sensation. He felt the cock sliding against his thighs stiffen, knew that Paulie was squirming now not to escape, but to rub against him. How tempting it was, to part those flaming cheeks and sink his finger deep inside, claim Paulie's ass as his. But he knew the boy wanted it now, and that made him determined not to do it. No matter how badly his own body wanted to.

What a rush, to see his captive raise his smarting ass for more punishment, arching like a she-cat waiting to be stroked, desperate for the touch of the detective's hand. Grant wanted to believe the boy was his, that the tears that streaked his pretty face were as much from regret as from pain. His fingers petted the boy's raised ass, smooth and soft as a babe's even after all the dicks that had surely been shoved up it, enjoying Paulie's soft hitching sobs, the way he continued to thrust against Grant's legs drunkenly. Even the way his slender wrists were hugged by the cold metal cuffs turned Moretti on, the discomfort that he knew they were causing.

Paulie hadn't fought him. Whatever game he was playing, he was playing it well. He had submitted to the cuffs, to the spanking - hell, he'd even sobbed out an apology. He must have known he'd pushed things too far, and now, in the true fashion of a whore, he was willing to do whatever he had to in order to get what he wanted. Poor desperate Paulie.

Grant lifted him almost effortlessly, pushed him onto his back and leaned him against the back of the couch. Now that he could meet the boy's eyes, his resolve wavered momentarily. So sincere, the look of anguished desire, of tortured want, in his eyes. Part of Grant wanted desperately to be tender, to give in to the impulse to rescue the lost little boy pleading for forgiveness. Sweet to wipe the tears from his cheeks, to see him raise his voluptuous lips, searching for a kiss.

But sweeter still to deny him. To see him discarded, rejected. Naked and beaten on the floor, curled up in his misery. That was where he fucking deserved to be, how he deserved to feel. He was pathetic. Sobbing like a baby, helpless.

Grant's breath caught in his throat, the lump there growing as he stared down at the boy, watching his thin sides shake with the sobs he no longer tried to stifle, the slats of his ribs obvious as he sucked in each sniffling breath.

And even like that, or maybe more like that than ever, Paulie was dead sexy. Moretti couldn't deny his desire, couldn't stop his eyes from sweeping over every inch of the boy's nakedness. The curve of his ass as he drew his legs up, still blotched and red from Grant's smacks. The bony contours of his knobby spine and slim hips, so boyish in his gauntness. In contrast was the lustrous dark hair that swept down over the back of his neck, curling slightly at the ends from contact with Paulie's sweat-soaked shoulders. From where the detective stood, he could see only the boy's profile, but even that was enough to make his breath catch. Eyes closed, long lashes glistening with the tears that leaked steadily, rolling down his nose to dribble onto the floor. His lower lip, so recently split and bloodied, trembled with each quiet sob. He looked like a kid. Some abused little boy who'd wandered into the wrong alley and gotten more than he'd bargained for.

Grant turned and fled the room, the lump in his throat growing. Paulie was not that, he told himself. He was not some helpless innocent, he was a cold calculating wordly little prick who had schemed and seduced to ruin Moretti's life. Who only wanted the detective to want him so he could get away with the almost-murder that might have sent him to prison and fucked up his sordid little world. Maybe if the detective didn't have to look at him, he would remember the truth.

As his adrenaline rush subsided (and his erection with it), Moretti sank down on his bed, suddenly exhausted. What was he supposed to do now? Everything was changed, and there was nothing he could do to make it right. The world knew he was a fake. He had nothing.

The ringing of the phone so jolted him, that Grant picked it up without thinking, mumbling an automatic hello.

"Grant?"

His stomach lurched. "Lise?"

She was composed, her voice almost sounded normal. "I wasn't going to call," she said.

Maybe he could salvage this after all, Moretti thought. The momentary hope of a desperate man. "Lisa, god, I'm glad you called. I'm sorry, god, I'm so sorry."

"Are you Grant?"

He was almost babbling in his eagerness to somehow turn this disaster around, reclaim the things he most wanted. "I am, god, you know I am, listen, let me come over there, we need to talk, please? Lisa?"

There was silence on the other end of the line. Then her eerily calm voice again. "What are you sorry for, Grant?" Each word spoken with measured emphasis.

"What for?" he repeated numbly, confused.

"Yes Grant, what for," she said again in that emotionless voice. It was giving him the worst feeling in the pit of his stomach, the way she was talking. So cold.

"For . . . for not . . . Lisa, I can explain . . . " he tried, not sure what she wanted him to say. Could he explain? Could he convince her that Paulie had been lying, with whatever he'd told her?

Grant never got time to ponder his own possible lies. On the other end of the line, Lisa's composure shattered with a screamed retort to his attempt.

"YOU CAN EXPLAIN??" she shrieked at him, so loudly that he instinctively held the receiver away from his ear, to no avail. "What can you explain, you motherfucker? Can you explain why you've lied to me for two fucking years? Why you asked me to marry you and made me believe that's what you wanted?"

"But I DO want that, I . . . "

"SHUT UP! Shut the fuck up, don't fucking tell me you want that. You don't want me, you never wanted me, never."

"I did, no, I mean I do, Lise, please," he interrupted, but halfheartedly now. There would be no excuses, he realized with a sinking feeling. That wasn't why she had called. And now he had to sit here and take it, whatever it was she wanted to dish out to him. He deserved it, didn't he?

"Why did you do it, Grant? Why?" She didn't pause for him to answer, didn't expect one. "Jesus, how could I not have seen it. You're so fucking perfect, DETECTIVE Moretti, aren't you? Always doing everything right. The perfect son, the perfect cop, the perfect fianc. I was just part of the faade, wasn't I? You needed me to act out the part you wanted to play - and I was PERFECT too, wasn't I? Is that why you picked me, Grant? Not because of who I am, not because you wanted to spend your life with ME - not because you wanted to FUCK me - but because I could play the part of your wife, so nobody would ever suspect your dirty little secrets."

She paused, her composure gone, sobbing in her fury as she spit the words at him. "You're a fucking queer, Grant, and you know it. And you're a fucking coward. Pretending to be out there "cleaning up the hookers" and all the time you're just picking them up and getting your dick sucked. Bet you get off on that too, don't you? Being the big man, the one in uniform. Did all the little whores compete to see who gets to swallow your cock, huh?"

Moretti was stunned. He could hardly believe this was Lisa on the phone. This vulgar, this venomous? He found himself speechless in the face of her accusations.

"You know what the WORST thing is, Grant? The thing that hurts the most?"

"No," he said quietly, defeated.

"It's that I don't even know you. You let me fucking LOVE you and I don't even know you. Who do I love? Some cardboard cutout of a man who's been pretending to be something he's not ever since the day we met?"

Grant swallowed hard. It was true, and he knew it. How often had he been himself with her?

"You didn't trust me enough with the truth, Grant? That's how you see me - some shallow, uptight bitch who only cares about the rock on my finger and the white picket fence around the house we're gonna live in. Is that what you think of me?"

"No," he repeated lamely.

She paused, finally. He could hear her breathing rapidly. "What pisses me off the most is that I ended up trying to be someone I'm not too. You were so perfect, it just seemed like I had to be the same. What woman wouldn't want what you were offering, what did I have to complain about?"

Brow creased with confusion, Moretti struggled to understand what she was saying.

"I should have known there was something missing, something wrong between us. But I didn't want to look long enough or hard enough to find out what it was."

"You did?" he finally managed, incredulous. She'd never given any indication that she was anything but content.

Lisa continued as though she were talking to herself, ignoring his question. "Maybe if I ignored it, it would go away. Get better . . . " Her voice trailed off with a sigh, and he could hear the quavering of a near-sob. What had he done? She hadn't deserved any of this. And all this time, he'd thought he was doing the right thing.

"I'm sorry, Lise." He meant it, in more ways than he could describe.

"Fuck you, Grant," she replied, but both the coldness and the rage were spent. There was more a wistful sadness in her voice than anger when she delivered her parting shot. "You know, the best fuck you ever gave me was the night you were imagining being with him. Think about that, Detective Moretti." And the phone went dead.

Paulie remained still and silent on the living room floor, his eyes crunched shut. If he could have willed himself to stop breathing then and there, he thought he just might have given it a shot. How to make this right? Jesus, he didn't even know where to begin. He'd fucked up royally. Done the complete opposite of everything he should have. If Grant refused to forgive him, Paulie knew he'd have no one to blame but himself.

However, the fact that Moretti hadn't kicked him out of the apartment immediately, offered him a minuscule fraction of hope. Even as pissed off as the detective was, he'd stomped off into his bedroom and left Paulie lying there. For future torment? Because Grant couldn't bear to see him go? Possibly both? He wasn't sure. The only thing that Paulie WAS certain of was that Grant had thoroughly enjoyed brandishing his newfound control over him. The merciless spanking he'd just received had excited the detective. Maybe even unnerved him.

The sudden, piercing ring of a telephone cut through the air, making Paulie's heart slam against his ribs. The startling noise pulled him out of his thoughts for a moment. Could that be the station calling Grant into work? The man's infamous and unforgiving father? Lisa? Shit. Paulie had the distinct feeling that no matter who it was on the other end of the phone, it wouldn't be good for HIM. What to do...what to do... The wheels in Paulie's mind spun at breakneck speed. He knew what he DIDN'T intend to do. Paulie wasn't going to run. Not this time. He'd spent most of his fucking life running from something or someone; first his father, then Cody and the nightmare that was boarding school.

From the legal ramifications of his hustling, and even from Thad to some degree. No. He wouldn't do it this time. Couldn't. Somehow, Grant had managed to slip through the walls he'd constructed so carefully around himself. If Paulie turned his back on the way he felt this time, there was a chance it'd never happen again. Anyway, who the fuck else would want him as much as Grant did? He was a manipulative piece of shit. That much of what Moretti said, had been true.

Rolling to his knees, Paulie struggled to push himself up to his feet, the muscles in his arms burning from being pinned back for such a long stretch of time. Barefoot, he padded down the hallway toward Grant's bedroom. Listening to the man's muffled voice through the wooden door. Lisa. It had to be Lisa. Grant's voice had taken on a pleading, remorseful quality. What the hell could she be calling for? A wave of panic struck. What if she forgave Grant? Surely, if she did then he would be out on the street. Moretti would never so much as look at him again. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Paulie rested his sweat-dampened forehead against the door and sighed. He tried to decipher the low mumbling on the other side of the bedroom door, but could not. What he did hear, soon after, was the sound of the receiver being slammed into the cradle. Knowing it was rather selfish, Paulie couldn't help but feel a sense of relief. If Grant was dropping the phone like that, the conversation could NOT have ended well.

"Grant? Hey, Grant? Do you think that maybe you could take these cuffs off me, now? My arms ache. Grant? Are you listening?" His voice was shrill, but he didn't care. He wanted attention, and he wanted it now. And while he wasn't the brightest star in the sky, he knew that tantrum throwing would not work this time.

"Pleeeease? Come on. I am NOT going to give you a hard time. I swear." Heavy footfalls approached. Angry steps. Paulie leapt backwards, away from the door, then made a vain attempt to fling the moist strands of hair off his cheek, where they seemed determined to stick. Always the actor, Paulie averted his eyes before the door swung open. If Grant needed to feel he was controlling the situation, then Paulie would play along. He'd let the detective believe anything he needed, if it got Paulie what HE wanted.

"What?! What do you want, now?" Although he couldn't see Grant's face yet, Paulie knew those brilliant blue eyes would be ablaze with all the rage he felt. Nervously, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Daring to glance just high enough to study the other's exposed chest - the blond curling hairs, weaving a path up Grant's flat stomach to his subtly muscled chest. Fuck, he was hot. Beautiful. Paulie's stomach trembled, as he struggled to speak.

"My arms really hurt, Grant. Would you please uncuff me?" Lifting his gaze to meet Moretti's in mute appeal, he repeated the request. "Please? I won't do anything stupid."

"Hrmpf. Paulie, at this point there is nothing you can do that would hurt or surprise me. You've already done it all." The muscles in Grant's jaw tensed, his usually soft and curvy lips became a thin line.

"You didn't love her, Grant. I know you didn't. If you had, then you wouldn't have come to ME."

"Fuck you." The detective pursed his lips in thought for a moment, then spoke, his tone a bit raspy. Resistance wearing increasingly thin, despite the harshness of his words. "You're a conniver and a whore. I don't know what I was thinking."

Swallowing the bitter lump in his throat, Paulie ignored the insults that wanted to gouge holes in his heart, and continued. "True. You're right, Grant. I can be both of those things -- but I'm more than that. I've done you wrong and I'm sorry. God, can't you fucking SEE that? See how sorry I am?"

For the longest second, Moretti stood there, sizing him up. His expression remained distant. Cold. Paulie could only guess that the other man was making an attempt to gauge his sincerity. "All right. I'll take the handcuffs off you. Turn around."

As Grant's hand dug deep into his pants pocket, Paulie rotated very slowly. Hesitantly. Feeling apprehensive at having to turn his back on the other. Still he complied, knowing he'd have to take things one step at a time. Come what may.

Strong, slender fingers gripped his forearms for a moment, then traveled upward over Paulie's arms. Gently. The unexpected caress sending shivers through his body. A faint, strangled noise caught in Paulie's throat. Godyes. How he ached for this touch. Grant's fingers massaging his neck, digging at his sore muscles, combing through his hair. What fucking bliss. He arched his neck against the detective's steadily working hand and sighed.

"Mmm. How's that? Better?" Moretti's lips pressed close against his ear, voice mocking. Paulie didn't care; he nodded as if to say 'yes'. Sucking in a deep breath, as he heard Grant tug down his own zipper. "Tell me, just how do you intend to make things right by me, Paulie? Hmm?"

"Anything." Paulie huffed quickly, "I'll do anything you want."

"Good, good...I like that. I hope you mean it." With that, Moretti slipped a key into the metal restraints that held Paulie's wrists bound. Clinking faintly, they finally came undone.

Refusing to give in to the urge to inspect his damaged skin, Paulie opened his mouth, prepared to express his gratefulness. The words never made it out. In one swift motion, Paulie was pinned, chest first, against the wall. Moretti's hand clamped tightly around his throat. He could breathe, but could not speak. The best he could manage was an unattractive gurgle. For christsake, did the man mean to fucking strangle him? This was bullshit. A beating he could take, but this? He felt TOO helpless this way.

"Shhh. Relax, Paulie. Don't try to talk, just concentrate on breathing. Yeah, that's right. You got it. Stay calm..." Hot whispers bathed his ear again, as Grant crushed up against the entire length of his body. The other man's swollen cock pressed between the crack of Paulie's ass -- coarse hairs from Moretti's chest chafing his back. "Before I kick our ass back out into the street, I'm going to fuck it raw. Understand? You owe me that much. You've been teasing my dick since day one."

Though he felt the anxiety rising inside him, Paulie couldn't protest. Not with Moretti's hand still constricted around his neck. Fucker. Would he do that? Would Grant really kick him out after he had what he wanted? There was a part of Paulie that didn't want to believe Moretti was capable of such a thing. But then again, he was reluctant to hope for the best as it so seldom happened.

Teeth raked his shoulder and sank firmly into his skin, making him want to scream. He tried -- tried crying out regardless of the cop's death-choke. The noise he expelled was wretched. Tears stung Paulie's eyes and spilt down over his gaunt face. The urge to struggle almost overtook him. Hadn't he made a promise to himself? That he would never be this vulnerable again? Wasn't HE supposed to call the shots? And then, just when he thought he might snap, came tender kisses -- the long, warm strokes of Grant's wet tongue over his punctured and bruised flesh. Moretti's free hand slipped between the wall and Paulie's body, moving low, fumbling until he had Paulie's heavy sack in the palm of his hand. "We're going to take a walk into the bedroom now."

If there was nothing left to lose, then what better course of action than to concentrate on the gain. Take what he could get. That's what had started this whole cataclysmic chain of events, that's what had taken his life apart bit by bit and left it in charred ruins. Nothing remained to be salvaged. But there was still this --- what he'd wanted from the moment he laid eyes on Paulie. The boy's slender oft-defiled body, that skinny whore's ass so ready for fucking, and the big hot cock that looked out of proportion to the rest of him, fat and hard at just the suggestion of desire. Isn't this what he'd sacrificed his entire career for? His entire fucking life?

Well then, he was gonna have it. And nobody was gonna stop him, least of all the boy who'd cost him so much.

Grant was barely thinking as he shoved Paulie up against the wall, his hands moving automatically in a novel combination of instinct and training. He knew just how hard to press, just how much to construct the fragile windpipe in that delicate throat. Oh, and what a rush to feel the boy's rising panic, to hear his strangled attempts to beg for mercy. Paulie's helplessness was intoxicating, and Grant felt his own dick harden as he kept the boy still, made him acutely aware of the vulnerable position he was in. Handcuffs or not, Grant was in control. And relishing it. He pressed against the boy's supple back, almost groaning as his cock slipped between the smooth cheeks of Paulie's bare ass.

Overwhelmed by the unmistakable masculinity of the body he held helpless, Grant gave in to the urges overtaking him. The knobby feel of the boy's spine against his chest, the adam's apple struggling in vain to swallow fear against his hand, the intoxicating scent of maleness, so different from the body he was used to holding. Animal, primal, to want this boy so badly, to want to consume him and possess him. Grant's mouth opened on Paulie's thin shoulder and bore down with passion, breaking the skin, making the captive body tremble and cringe with pain in his grasp. And just as quickly as the urge to hurt had taken him, Grant wanted to excite, to soothe, his tongue working over the boy's small wounds, the taste of him like some fiery elixir in the detective's eager mouth.

The boy was his. How better to prove it? Grant's long fingers roamed slowly down Paulie's heaving chest, grazing the hollows of his hipbones, before gathering the boy's balls firmly in his hand. One hand controlling his breathing, the other gripping his most vulnerable parts, Grant knew Paulie was his for the taking. That knowledge --- and the warm weight of the boy's balls as he palmed them eagerly --- made the detective almost frantic with arousal.

Paulie stumbled ahead of him as they made their way to the bedroom. No need to rush now, Grant told himself, trying to stay calm. Make this last, this one fuck-to-end-all-fucks. Grant didn't even want to think any further than that, than this moment. He took Paulie by the shoulders when they reached the dimly lit bedroom, spun the boy around to face him. Paulie wavered, still dizzy from the effects of Grant's choke hold, and instinctively the detective reached to steady him, his hand closing around the boy's arm tightly.

Paulie jerked his head up at the gesture, and for the first time their eyes met. Fuck, the boy was beautiful. No wonder he'd gotten caught up in this madness, hypnotized by the surreal beauty of that sculpted face, those deep blue eyes. The tears that trickled down his cheeks did nothing to mar his appeal, the red bite marks on his shoulder only added to the allure of what had been forbidden. And that mouth, so full, so inviting. Grant didn't want to kiss him, had only wanted to violate him, take his pleasure and discard him. The detective told himself to shift his gaze, ignore the impulse to tug the boy against his chest and claim that voluptuous mouth.

"Grant?" Paulie's lower lip began to tremble before Moretti could turn his eyes away. The emotion swirling in those sapphire eyes was undeniable, the boy looked on the verge of crumbling. Grant felt his own chest clench with feeling, a wave of longing and regret washing over him, threatening to bring a sob to match the boy's. "I want you, Grant." Voice still quavering, soft.

NO. Moretti forced himself out of his own reflection, in an instant furious with himself for falling under Paulie's spell again. The kid was like a fucking siren, pulling him under again and again, making him confuse physical beauty for goodness, the vulnerability of that boyish body for the tenderness Grant so wanted to believe was underneath. "NO!" he bellowed, shoving Paulie backwards half with the grip on his arm and half with the force of his thundered denial. "I don't fucking care if you want me, you little piece of shit, I don't give a damn. Don't turn those baby blue eyes on me, give me your practiced come-on look, it won't help you. I don't need you to want ME, I don't need you to like this one bit, you understand? I only care about my own pleasure --- that's something a whore like you should understand, right?"

Paulie blinked, forming wordless protests as he backed up against the bed. One small shove from the detective and his knees buckled, sending him sprawled on his back on the bed. Grant stood over him, staring down not at his face this time, but at his pale scrawny body. Taking his time, making Paulie wait to see what his intentions were. The boy was quiet now, didn't dare try to plead for anything more. Moretti liked that. He raked his eyes over the thin chest still rising and falling urgently as Paulie tried to catch his breath. The shadowy outline of his ribs clear under the white skin, pointed rose-colored nipples a stark contrast. Slowly, a dangerous smirk forming on his full lips, Moretti followed the midline of the boy's body downward, over the concave belly, into the thick curls below. Drawing in his breath as a stab of lust shot to his own cock at the moment he allowed himself to stare at Paulie's, flung sideways against his skinny thigh, substantial even when he wasn't hard.

"What, you can't get it up now, little whoreboy?" Grant rasped, voice dripping with disgust. He leaned down and wrapped his fist around Paulie's dick, giving it a rough jerk until the boy squirmed and yelped. "Well that's fine with me," Grant insisted, releasing his grip and tossing Paulie effortlessly over to his stomach on the bed. "I just need your pretty ass."

continue...