Hold The Line: Inked 1

by SE Jakes

  And here he thought he’d be doing it just for Quinn. Hell, Quinn had known all along what Con had needed.

  “Jesus, if you’re still able to think, I’m doing something wrong,” Quinn said, and then he wielded the flogger with a vengeance, never bringing the leather strips down in the same place twice. Con was hot all over, his ass cheeks burned and his entire body relaxed into the blows.

  “More. Please. More,” he heard himself say before he could stop it. But Quinn merely complied, and Con trusted him to know when enough was enough. Because he wasn’t telling Con his safe word…because he didn’t want to end this any sooner than it had to.

  But his body had other plans—he was flying, his body throbbing, blood thrumming, and holding on was becoming impossible.

  And then Quinn told him to let go, and Con did, and found himself on the receiving end of one of the most intense orgasms of his life. It seemed to go on forever. He was aware of Quinn talking him through it, taking the vibrator out and fucking him, coming fast as Con floated and then there was just an earth-shattering pleasure.

  When he opened his eyes, he wasn’t sure if he’d been asleep or in some kind of weird, intense in-between state. He was untied and in Quinn’s arms. He felt drowsy and satiated and sore and happy, all at once.

  It was perfect. It was everything.

  And it scared the ever-loving shit out of him. For the first time since this trip started, he was grateful for his move-out orders.

  As if Quinn knew what he’d been thinking, he said, “I don’t want you to go, Con.”

  Con eyed him, heard the wariness in his own tone when he admitted, “I don’t know what to do with that.”

  Con nodded, like he knew that. “You just have to know it, okay? I’m not asking anything—I’m just sharing.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‡

  Scott and Lydia left for their honeymoon the next morning. Quinn and Con spent time with Quinn’s mom, and Con did some work on Scott’s house—Quinn’s mom had a list of improvements she’d wanted to surprise them with.

  And in between, Quinn slipped out. Made phone calls. Made plans.

  They didn’t talk about the fact that Wednesday was looming. They did everything they both could to ignore the inevitable, even as Con got quieter.

  Quinn didn’t bother him. He’d seen his dad through several deployments, and his older brother. This is what they did—they disengaged. Pulled away. They had to, for survival.

  On Tuesday, he saw Con making notes about getting his bike transported to California, to his apartment that was actually only hours from where Quinn had been living. Con made arrangements to ship out of the North Carolina base, and he’d already arranged a flight down there, even though Quinn had offered him a ride.

  He’d also known Con wouldn’t take him up on it. And since Quinn wasn’t sure he could do it without breaking down, he was almost glad.

  Now, he sat next to Con. “I’ll get your bike back. I won’t trust your prized possession to a random shipper.” Quinn glanced at him. “And now I want to show you something.”

  “I’ve seen it. Definitely impressive.”

  Quinn rolled his eyes. “Come on.”

  He tugged Con along, piled into the truck and drove to the main part of the city. The business center of town, that, for a few months of the year was snow-free. He parked and they walked along, stopping in front of a glass storefront where construction was already in progress.

  His heart thumped nervously, but he held it together. “Do you like it?”

  Con looked confused. “What’s this?”

  “I’m thinking about opening my own tattoo shop. This whole building’s for sale. I could live upstairs. Rent some of the extra space.” Quinn stared through the plate glass window.

  “You said you didn’t want to be tied down.”

  “I still don’t,” Quinn said. “But I want you to be…by me.”

  “You mean that literally, I know.” Con paused. “Do you mean it the way I’m thinking too?”

  “Yeah, I am. If I don’t have a home base, I’m okay. When you don’t, and you’re not tethered…well, it’s my job to keep you tethered. To me, it’s not enough. You need—deserve—a community. Friends. Family.” Quinn stared at the handsome man.

  Con looked…well hell, Quinn couldn’t get a read on his expression. Finally, he spoke, his eyes on the shop window. “Why don’t you just keep the bike here? I’ll grab it when I come back.”

  Quinn’s mind tried to process that. Grab it when he comes back and do what? Ride it back to California?

  Scott’s words floated in his head. Don’t pressure him. “I can do that.”

  “Thanks.”

  Of course, it wasn’t that easy, not for either of them. As unsure as Quinn was, he knew Con was worse, a quiet volcano, slowly threatening to blow right on the sidewalk. And not in the good way.

  “What’s freaking you out?” Quinn spoke calmly. Conversationally, even. It had the desired effect on Con for the moment.

  “I thought you weren’t looking at all, Quinn. Last you told me, you wouldn’t get a shop of your own, and you couldn’t wait to get back to California. All of a sudden, you’re talking about buying your own shop—and an entire fucking building—in New York. So yeah, I’m really fucking confused.”

  *

  How could both their worlds flip paths so thoroughly in two weeks? Feeling this much for Quinn, when Con’d never really felt anything before…it was scary as fuck.

  “Con.” A firm hand on his neck. “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t run.”

  “I haven’t moved,” Con pointed out irritably.

  Quinn pressed a finger to his forehead. “I mean in here. I can feel what you’re doing. Fucking stay with me now.”

  Con swallowed hard and of course, Quinn caught it. “Get back to the hotel. I’m going to have to fuck you into staying.”

  “That’s an interesting tactic.”

  “And you’re not interested?”

  Con softened. “Not what I said.”

  “Good. Hotel. Bed. Naked.”

  “Then what?”

  Quinn smiled. Reached into the truck and pulled out a bag from the backseat. “Then I get to play with what’s in here.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  ‡

  Eight months later

  Con stared into the plate glass window of Quinn’s shop, simply named “Inked.”

  Quinn had been sending him updates. Pictures. Bitching about construction and every stress that went along with it. But the shop was up and running and now, eight months later—and two months later than he’d expected to be—he was standing right in front of it. He could always be called back into service for specific missions. The military had spent far too much money training him to let him go completely. But it was a small price to pay for relative freedom.

  Still, this deployment hadn’t been without issues. And Scott had to stop Quinn from storming into the overseas hospital when he’d found out Con had been there, and operated on to remove shrapnel from his shoulder.

  Now, Con had a hell of a scar, and an unfinished sleeve that needed a lot of work.

  But he stood outside the shop, feeling nervous. Vulnerable. Like an outsider again.

  He couldn’t stand outside forever, though, and finally he opened the door, hearing the bells jangle. The tall, pretty woman at the front desk looked up as he said, “Hey, I’m Con.”

  “We’ve been waiting to meet the other owner,” she said brightly before coming out from behind the desk and throwing her arms around him.

  He was about to tell her she’d made a mistake, and not just about the hug because whoa, he didn’t like when strangers touched him…not post-deployment like this. But when he looked toward the back of the shop, his breath caught. Quinn.

  Quinn, nodding. “Yes, he’s definitely one of the owners.

  Now Quinn, he let hug him. Tightly. Buried his face in Qu
inn’s shoulder for a few long moments until he felt he could look up into the man’s eyes. And then he didn’t say anything until after the grand tour, which ended in Quinn’s office.

  Finally, he managed, “How the hell am I partial owner?”

  “Because it says so on the lease.”

  “I didn’t sign any lease.”

  “You gave Scott power of attorney, remember?”

  “That’s not what that shit was for.”

  “It’s done, Con.”

  “It’s done, Con?” he repeated. “I didn’t pay you—that has to be a breach of contract.”

  “Unless I enforce it. Which I won’t.”

  “Fuck. I can’t not pay you. I have to pay you.”

  “So fucking pay me,” Quinn told him. “Come see the apartments first, though—okay, moneybags?”

  Con cursed under his breath but followed him.

  “I can show you some of the empty ones later,” Quinn called over his shoulder. He opened the big double doors at the top of the building and walked in. Con lagged behind and just stared.

  Quinn had been careful in the letters, describing the layout of the space. Emphasizing that there were several apartments. “There’s lots of room,” Quinn had said easily. Diplomatically.

  No pressure. It’d been good, but at this point, Con needed the pressure. He also didn’t know how to ask for it. “I’m not sure about… I’ve never stayed in one place very long. Even in the military.”

  “I know,” Quinn acknowledged. “Come on in.”

  Quinn knew—and was ignoring it, which could backfire, because Con was definitely shellshocked. But thankfully, Scott had given Con a heads-up about this plan. It’d given Con a little time to get used to it.

  Scott had conveniently left out the information that Con was part owner.

  Now, inside Quinn’s three bedroom apartment, with a lot of space and sunshine—and a pool table—Con almost lost it completely.

  He stared at it. And stared some more, standing stock still, and fuck…

  Next to him, Quinn cursed. “Sorry. I can get rid of it. I will—”

  “Don’t you dare,” Con said finally, his voice raw with emotion.

  That was enough for Quinn to drag him roughly toward it, yanking up Con’s shirt along the way.

  “Jesus, you could fucking make me dinner first,” Con complained wryly.

  Quinn shot him a look filled with daggers. “I’m not trying to fuck you—trust me, you’ll know when I do. I’m trying to see what happened to you.”

  “Oh.” Why did Con feel disappointed? Why was this so fucking weird and formal, like an out-of-body experience?

  Because re-entry’s always a bitch.

  Con looked around. His voice was tight when he said, “I know what you’re trying to do.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Own me.”

  Quinn leveled him with a gaze. “Claim you. There’s a big fucking difference. You don’t know that, I realize, but at some point, I need you to trust me. I want you, Con—want to be with you in a way I never thought I’d get again. And, to be honest, it’s more—so different than I ever had with Gerry. And I don’t think that’s being disrespectful to either of you, because it’s the truth. You’ve done more for me in two weeks, in eight months… Fuck, I don’t want to own you. I’ll be honest…if you wanted to claim me, own me, I’d be so fucking happy.”

  Con’s breath hitched. “Fuck,” was all he managed to breathe at first, then, “I can’t…”

  Quinn watched him steadily. Calmly. Not worried. Just believing. Trusting.

  “You trust me,” Con said finally.

  Quinn’s face broke open in a brilliant smile. “Yeah. So fucking much.”

  Finally, without Con’s help, Quinn found what he was looking for. It was the expression on Quinn’s face that made Con realize how deeply they’d both fallen into this. One week, one night, one month…didn’t fucking matter. It had started on that first night, and snowballed into an avalanche that carried them along for the ride instead of burying them.

  They could stay on the ride now…or they could get off.

  “Con, holy hell…” Quinn was staring at his back, trailing his finger around the actual scar, like he knew it would be too sensitive, almost numb to the touch.

  Quinn knew so much.

  He tugged down Con’s shirt and yanked him into a full-body hug, the kind Con had dreams about and missed like hell. Probably for the first time in eight months, Con relaxed, stopped worrying about watching his back. Because Quinn had it.

  “So fucking glad you’re home,” Quinn murmured.

  Home. Yes. “Me too. Fuck.” Con stared at him. “This is real, Quinn.”

  Quinn nodded.

  “Then yeah, Quinn, come on and take me to bed. Our bed. Unless I don’t own all of this, which wouldn’t be fair.”

  Quinn cocked a brow. “Oh really?”

  “Really. What’re you going to do—punish me for being presumptuous?”

  “Yes. Definitely that.”

  “Then what are you waiting for?” Con smiled, then pointed to his biceps. “Is this how you lured me back, by leaving this unfinished?”

  “We’ll always have unfinished business,” Quinn told him. “And dammit, that’s a good thing.”

  “I think so too,” Con added. “But it’s okay to finish this one. I know where to land.”

  Quinn glanced at him. “Talking to Scott much?”

  “Maybe. Not a bad thing.”

  “Not at all.”

  *

  They’d been the longest eight months of Quinn’s life. He’d thought a lot during that time, about his family, about Gerry…about what he’d do if Con came back, told him to fuck off and rode his motorcycle back to California.

  When he told Con all this, Con asked, “What would you have done?”

  “I was prepared to get in the truck and follow you the whole way home.”

  “That was your strategy?”

  “You had to stop sometimes. I was planning on taking advantage of that.” Quinn smiled. “Speaking of advantage…”

  It was Con’s turn to smile…and to get naked. Quinn wasn’t prepared to draw this out and Con didn’t seem to mind that at all. In fact, within a few minutes of Quinn attempting to be gentle, Con’s voice had turned into a beg. In response, Quinn pushed in fast and fucked him hard. Neither man lasted long, and Quinn was still seeing stars when Con managed, “You’re really…here.”

  “Yeah Con, it’s real. You okay with that?”

  “Yes.” Con’s answer was quiet. His expression said it all. Wide-eyed, staring at him, lips swollen, face flushed.

  So open. So ready. “This is real. It’s right. Welcome home, solider.” He kissed Con, finding agreement—promise—everything—all wrapped up in that kiss.

  The End

  SE Jakes writes m/m romance. She believes in happy endings and fighting for what you want in both fiction and real life. She lives in New York with her family and most days, she can be found happily writing (in bed). No really…

  You can contact her the following ways:

  • You can email her at authorsejakes@gmail.com.

  • You can post to her Facebook page: Facebook.com/SEJakes

  • You can tweet her: Twitter.com/authorsejakes

  • You can post on her Goodreads Group: Ask SE Jakes

  • You can follow her Tumblr page: sejakes.tumblr.com

  • You can follow her on Instagram: instagram.com/authorsejakes

  • Truth be told, the best way to contact her is by email or in blog comments.

  She spends most of her time writing but she loves to hear from readers!

  SE Jakes is the pen-name of New York Times Bestselling author Stephanie Tyler (and half of Sydney Croft)—please go to my media kit to learn more!

 

 

  > Thank you for reading books on Archive.