Inside the shower stall, he discovered why it was so large. It was actually the entire bathroom enclosed in the frosted glass. Vanity and cabinet at one end, toilet in the middle, and open shower at the other. Surprisingly, there was an old-fashioned lion-clawed tub opposite the shower nozzle. In the cabinet, Jack found all the supplies he could ever need. He shaved eagerly. A beard might help to disguise him, but he’d probably rather go to prison than put up with the itching.
Bypassing the tub, Jack stood under the hot, massaging spray of the shower for a long time. When he finally turned off the water and looked around, he laughed. The entire bathroom was fogged up, steam curling out over the glass walls. He padded on wet feet to the vanity, then grabbed a towel from the cabinet, dried off, and cleaned his teeth.
Another coffee later and he was feeling the effects of four days of high stress, little to no sleep, and a shitload of emotional confusion and trauma. Despite the heady swirl of caffeine in his blood, Jack found himself aiming for the bed.
It was the scent of strongly brewed tea that woke him, however long later. It had never happened before, and yet it felt normal to roll over, lift his head, and find a steaming mug of black tea on the bedside table.
Pushing himself up further, he looked around, finding clouds of steam spilling over the top of the bathroom wall.
The last curl of tension in Jack’s gut eased, and he flopped back to the mattress.
Ethan was here. He was all right.
The frosted glass, further occluded by steam, hid Ethan from Jack’s sight, but it was all too easy to recall that body. What it looked like, how it felt, the way it moved against him. How Jack’s own body responded to even the slightest hint of interest from Ethan. Rested and secure, it responded now, just at the mere idea Ethan was here. It wasn’t even the thought of him naked and wet that did it. Just that he was here and safe.
Christ. Jack couldn’t afford to think like that. It was a bad road to go down. He was already in enough trouble because of Ethan. Adding to it by giving in to his body’s wants was a sure-fire way to ruin whatever he might be able to salvage of his freedom when Ethan invariably disappeared again.
Jaw tight, Jack refused to let himself do anything stupid. Like go into the bathroom, shove Ethan to the wall, and rut against him until all the objections were ground away and the only thing left was the here and now. Immediate gratification, delaying the inevitable betrayal. Feeling so bloody good that for ten minutes he forgot all the pain.
He thought of all the unpleasant things he could to banish Ethan and his lean, supple body from his head. Thought about what would happen if Ethan was wrong.
Being accused of treason. The trial sure to follow. A stint in prison. Unemployment afterwards. His sister’s inevitable visit to simply confirm her first opinion—this was what happened when you waged war. You fucked with karma; it fucked with you.
The death of a potentially innocent person.
It worked all too well. By the time the shower turned off, Jack was out of bed, pacing between bathroom and kitchen, and incredibly angry.
Goddamn, if Ethan was wrong and whoever he’d infiltrated the Office to kill wasn’t guilty . . .
The door to the bathroom opened. Jack, hands tangled in his black hair, chest heaving in an effort to calm himself, stumbled to a stop, thoughts dying mid rant.
Pale skin damp, hair tousled and glistening with water droplets, towel around his slim hips, Ethan was everything Jack remembered and a little more, right down to the socks. Jack swallowed hard against a resurgence of lust. Those strange eyes blinked at him sleepily, mellowed by the hot shower. His mouth turned up in a small smile. The smooth expanse of his chest tapered down to the low-hanging towel, muscles so well defined Jack didn’t have to imagine too hard what it would feel like to touch them. All the scars he remembered, plus a small healing cut over his left eyebrow. As he twisted slightly to secure the towel, Jack saw the remains of the dingo-claw marks. Most of them were gone, faded over the intervening year, but a puckered red scar remained where the middle claw had dug in deeper. The wound Jack had glued closed, had held together while it dried, while he gave in to temptation and touched.
Shit. This wasn’t going to happen. Jack spun away and kept pacing.
“Jack? Are you all right?”
Grinding his jaw against the need to yell, he shook his head. He didn’t hear Ethan come up behind him, but he felt him. Could sense the proximity of his heat, smell his skin, the scent wafting off him with the steam of his shower. It happily duck-dived from his nose right down into his belly, setting about eroding every very good reason Jack had for not letting this happen.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
Ethan fell quiet, watching Jack run a groove into the hard floor.
He couldn’t think, couldn’t rationalise anything while Ethan was so close. He’d thought he could control this. They were here to finish the job, nothing else. But he just couldn’t go beyond the fact Ethan was here, happy to see him.
And that was his problem. He wanted to believe he’d betrayed the Office for the right reasons. For the chance to discover who the traitor was, expose them, and then watch justice being done.
What if that was just the excuse, though? What if he was really here because his dick liked Ethan Blade so much it was making all the decisions? It didn’t want to hear about all the lies and betrayal. It didn’t want to remember that Ethan had pointed a gun at him and pulled the trigger. Or that little display put on for his benefit in the compound, Jack tied to a chair, Ethan and Valadian before him, side by side.
All very good reasons to have left Ethan in the cell at the Office. And yet . . . here they were, and Jack had no idea why.
“Jack,” Blade choked out, close to alarm.
It kicked some sense into Jack’s head. Going still, he waited, both dreading and wanting a reason to stop this he didn’t have to find himself. All he got was Blade’s harsh gasps.
“Blade?”
“Mm.” Blade sagged.
Jack tried to let him go and couldn’t. Just . . . couldn’t. “Don’t you . . . I mean . . . I thought you wanted . . .” This was going to end in disaster.
After a stretched silence, Blade turned in the confines of Jack’s arms. His unreadable eyes were focused on Jack’s mouth with unmistakable intensity. “Yes, I want this. Just . . .” He swallowed hard. “Just not against a cold, sharp rock wall.”
“Shit.” The relief was almost enough to set off Jack’s orgasm then and there.
Blade slid his arms around Jack’s neck and his head tipped, aiming for a kiss.
Jack jerked his head to the side. Blade’s lips landed on his jaw. The relief fizzled in an instant, both of them stiffening in surprise. After a moment, Blade kissed his jaw, then trailed his mouth up to Jack’s ear. “Is this all right?”
It took Jack several seconds to comprehend the words, and then he nodded. “Just . . . not on the mouth.”
Another moment, then Blade relaxed and rocked his hips into Jack’s. “Hmm. I can work with that.”
The implicit promise in those words broke the last of Jack’s restraint. He dug his fingers into the muscles of Blade’s back, assaulting the strong line of Blade’s neck with his mouth. Blade gasped and clenched his fists in the back of Jack’s DPDU top. He pulled back and undid the buttons, but when Blade tried to push it off, Jack simply couldn’t let him go long enough to allow it.
“Jack.” Blade wriggled in frustration. “Let go. I have to . . .” He trailed off into whimpers as Jack nuzzled into his hair. “I have to . . . Oh, blast it.” He gripped the back of Jack’s DPDU jacket and ripped it right down the middle.
Face pressed into Blade’s neck, Jack shuddered with laughter. “Did you just say ‘blast it’?”
“I wouldn’t have to resort to such language if you would just cooperate and get naked.”
“You first.” Jack slid a hand between them, heading for the fastenings on Blade’s pants. Once ope
ned, he hooked his fingers into the waistbands of pants and underwear.
“Before you proceed,” Blade said, “I feel I should remind you just how cold it is.”
“Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”
One, because the heat building between them could spark dry tinder. And two, Blade had absolutely nothing to worry about from what Jack could feel of the bulge in the man’s pants.
Jack ripped the last of Blade’s clothes down in one swift move. Startled, the assassin staggered, grabbing at Jack to keep upright. Jack wrestled his boots off in record time. As he was about to reach for the socks, Blade shuffled back a few inches.
“I don’t like bare feet,” he murmured ruefully.
With a snort, Jack divested him of his pants. “Fine. I’m not really interested in your toes, anyway.”
Jack glided his hands up Blade’s tight calves, tickling his fingers across the soft skin on the back of his knees. Blade made a strangled sound and gripped Jack’s shoulders harder. Storing that one away for later study, Jack swayed forwards and kissed one lightly haired thigh, then the other, feeling strong muscles twitch under his lips.
He needed more, right now. Jack brushed his mouth along Blade’s hard shaft. Blade’s moan shivered down Jack’s spine and encouraged him. Licking up the underside of the thick dick, he looked upwards and found those strange eyes fixed on him. They showed nothing of the man’s emotions. However, the slightly parted lips, the flush on his pale cheeks, the heaving of his smooth chest, all shouted lust. Blade’s fingers tightened in Jack’s hair, which reminded him of the waterfall and hair washing and a bloody good orgasm. Mouth watering, Jack slid his lips over Blade’s dick.
Abandoning himself to the pleasure, Jack drowned in the glory of hearing Blade gasp and moan, revelled in those long, dextrous fingers curling in his hair. God, he tasted so good, all salty musk, blood-heated skin, and an unclassifiable spice that was purely Blade. Jack could have so easily taken him all the way, sucked and licked and kissed until Blade came in his mouth, but for the fact Blade was shivering in the chilly air.
Jack reluctantly pulled back. Rising from his knees, he wrapped as much of himself around Blade’s naked body as he could. Even as he dug into Jack’s warmth, Blade growled, “You stopped.”
Chuckling, Jack shrugged off his DPDU jacket to sling it around him, but found a gaping hole from collar to hem. Both of them looked at it for a moment, then at each other, before laughing.
“Get the sleeping bags.” Jack pushed Blade away.
With a wicked snicker, Blade obeyed. Jack stripped while watching his tight, lean body, entranced by the silky-smooth flow of skin and muscles as Blade arranged the sleeping bags. When he was down to his socks, Jack took a moment to drink in the vision of Blade waiting for him.
He lay back on the sleeping bag, propped up on his elbows, knees drawn up, feet spread. Jack had to squeeze his dick to keep things from exploding way too soon. It was unfair just how beautiful this man was. Lean, finely sculpted, all but bursting with deadly potential even as he squirmed under Jack’s appraisal. It was all too easy to remember Blade whipping through the small army at the torture shack or mowing down the scout team. It was, however, even easier to imagine how he might move against Jack, how he would sound and feel.
Jack lowered himself into the inviting embrace. Blade pulled the second bag over the top of them, using it to draw Jack down. Enclosed in the warm bags, cradled between Blade’s thighs, he felt the rest of the world slip away. All the second and third thoughts about having sex with this strange, dangerous man vanished. The need to find Valadian and finish this cursed job evaporated. Even the faint tug of caution warning him this could be a trap turned into the conviction that everything leading up to a possible betrayal would be worth it.
Jack tested every inch of skin he could reach for sensitivity and reaction, liking the way Blade shivered and arched and squirmed. The way he moaned and growled and both pushed Jack towards his most tender spots and wriggled away from the sensations he created.
Within the dark confines of the sleeping bags, the disparity between their skin tones was reduced to shades of grey. It was both liberating and frustrating, and Jack found himself sliding back into the light to see how his brown hands were perfectly framed on Blade’s paleness, even as the barriers between their bodies dissolved in a mix of heat and passion.
Blade heaved and rolled them over. “My turn,” he insisted, though any protests Jack might have had were surrendered when Blade ground his hips against Jack’s.
Jack groaned, bucking under him, wanting more. Blade straddled his groin and rocked, stoking an already combustible situation with volatile friction. He kissed and licked Jack’s chest, gun-roughened hands dragging over nerves sensitised to unbearable levels. His appreciative hums and purrs vibrated through Jack’s already singing skin. The scent of their bodies, sweat and musk and a hint of blood to give it depth, intensified, caught within the shield of their warm cocoon. When Blade lifted his hips enough to slip a hand around Jack’s dick and stroke slow and firm, Jack let out a low, rumbling growl.
He could be so bloody happy to rut and rub and come like this, feeling Blade all over him, his hand so amazing, his hips driving his dick into Jack’s thigh. He grabbed Blade’s arse and pulled him in tighter, harder, and Blade nodded frantically. They would come together. They’d dress, take turns on watch, and tomorrow finish what they were here to do, and it would be done. Because Jack was determined that when this was over, that was it. No more. Never again.
Which meant he wanted it all now. Not just this, as amazing as it was. He wanted to feel Blade under him, around him, writhing against him as Jack thrust into him. Yet, they were in the middle of God-forgot-where with no condoms or lube. Those restrictions weren’t quite enough to kill the absolute need, though.
“God. I think I need to fuck you.”
Blade went motionless, and Jack thought it really was over. As in he-might-become-an-Ethan-Blade-victim over. But then Blade lifted his head and gave a single firm nod.
Before Jack could comprehend the meaning of that, Blade rolled off him and slid out from between the sleeping bags.
“Please don’t ask me why,” he said as he rummaged through his pack. “If you do, this stops here and now.”
Jack frowned until he saw what Blade produced. A foil-wrapped condom and sachet of lube. Holy shit. He had to ask. Needed to ask. Why the hell was Blade carting fuck supplies through the desert? His dick, however, put up a good counterargument.
“I don’t care.” Jack realised it was true as he said it. “Just get back here.”
Blade settled on his belly beside him, trembling. Hopefully with uncontrollable lust, but just in case it wasn’t, Jack gently took the packets from him and nuzzled into his neck.
“I’ll make it good, but if you don’t want to . . .”
Blade relaxed. “I do. It’s just . . . been a while.”
Laying a line of soft kisses along his jaw, Jack whispered, “We’ll go slow.”
“Not too slow, I hope.”
Jack chuckled. “Crazy bastard.”
“Half right, Jack.”
Jack opened the lube and squeezed it onto his fingers, then slid them downwards. At the first hint of gentle pressure, Blade ducked his head into his arms, shoulders shuddering. Then, with a forceful sigh, he relaxed. Jack’s finger slipped in.
Jack ground his steel-rod dick into Blade’s hip to ease the overwhelming desire to just get on top and drive in before Blade was ready. Even when he had three fingers gliding in and out, he waited, torn between his desperate need to be inside him and wanting this to last as long as possible.
There came the inevitable moment, though, when he couldn’t hold back any longer. Jack hastily rolled the condom on, then spread the lube with a couple of firm pumps. Sliding over Blade’s back, Jack guided himself against his hole.
Slow, he’d promised to go slow. That thought firmly in mind, Jack pushed in. Slick
pressure and warmth combined to send a shot of pure joy through Jack’s dick and balls. It licked up his spine as he gently rocked into Blade until he was buried deep. A tremor rocked through Blade, tightening him around Jack, both of them groaning at the sensation. Braced on his arms, Jack began to move. Slow. Deep. Maddening. Wonderful.
So good. Jack sank into the incredible feeling of Blade under him, around him, against him. It had been so long and Blade was so hot and tight, Jack lost himself in the sensations. Lost himself so much it took him several strokes to realise the other man wasn’t with him. Oh, Blade was there, under him, moaning with each thrust, but he wasn’t moving, wasn’t reacting. Hands curled loosely around the sleeping bag, head buried face-first in the soft padding, he was simply . . . receiving.
Jack was thrown out of the moment. Where was the man who’d moved on Jack to his own purpose, who’d taken as much pleasure from Jack’s body as he’d given? He’d vanished, leaving behind this passionless vessel. Jack wanted that first man back, the one who gave up his control, who let the wants of his body move him. The one who’d driven Jack to the brink of orgasm with just the sheer beauty of his desire.
Determined to get that man back, to make this one and only time worth the potential fallout, Jack pulled out almost fully. Waiting a couple of seconds got the expected disappointed sound from Blade. It changed into a deep-throated groan when Jack thrust forwards, fast and deep. Jack repeated the move several more times. At first Blade only whimpered in response. Then his shoulders began to tremble, his spine arching. Jack increased the tempo, and Blade resisted only for a handful of rapid, hard strokes before he started to move. He squirmed and gasped, pushing his face into the cushioning of the sleeping bag as his thighs spread even further. His hips lifted in an unconscious plea for more.
Christ. This was it. This was what Jack had wanted, needed. He lay himself down on Blade’s back, kissing and biting his tight shoulders as he pumped his hips as hard as he could. Every sense was flooded with Blade starting to let loose, the taste and scent of his heated skin, the sight of his long neck straining against Jack’s weight, and the feel . . . Oh hell, the feel of him—hard and solid, smooth and satiny. When Blade started pushing and shifting for the angle he wanted, the pressure he needed, Jack nearly lost his mind.
Where Death Meets the Devil Page 22