Where Death Meets the Devil

by L. J. Hayward

  With a massive effort of will, Jack lifted himself up and, one arm hooked around Blade’s waist, hauled them both to their knees. The top sleeping bag fell off, but they were too far gone to care about the bite of the cold air. Face buried in Blade’s shoulder, Jack rolled his hips in slow, delicious circles. Blade’s head hung, enticing Jack to lick up his spine, into the locks of hair on the back of his neck. Letting out a strangled groan, Blade surged upright. Clamping Jack’s hand to his chest with his own, he arched his back, pushing hips and shoulders into Jack. His head fell back onto Jack’s shoulder, lips parted on a silent moan, long, dark lashes fluttering on his flushed cheeks.

  “Jack, Jack,” he managed between pants, “please.”

  “Yeah.” Jack found Blade’s hard dick with his free hand. “Yeah.” He stroked him in time with his thrusts, deliberately slow and shallow.

  Even as he mumbled, “Yes, yes, yes,” Blade shook his head, writhing, clearly wanting this, but needing more.

  Jack pushed in deep, straining for as much contact as he could, before he let Blade’s dick go and shoved him to his hands and knees. Blade went with a startled gasp, the sudden tension in his body dissolving into liquid surrender as Jack rubbed his hands up either side of his spine. Caught by the contrast not only between his dark fingers and Blade’s skin, but also by the white scars crisscrossing the reddened surface, Jack swept his hands from shoulders to hips and back. He slowly began to move again, utterly captivated by the way Blade dropped to his elbows, his body rippling as he pushed back into Jack, as he started to shake uncontrollably. When he reached for his dick, making incoherent pleas and shifting against Jack with frantic motions, Jack took pity on him—and himself, to be truthful—and really started to fuck. Hard, deep thrusts, fast and powerful. Jack lost himself in the furious wonder of it, of feeling another man moving so violently, so single-mindedly against him. Of seeing the blurring lines between their bodies, the contrasting skin tones twining together, chaotic and beautiful.

  Whatever control Blade had left broke, one shoulder hitting the ground, his hand working furiously on his dick, all sounds barely audible now. His free hand curled into a fist by his head and thumped on the padded sleeping bag.

  Blade was so fucking beautiful in his loss of control Jack needed more. More skin, more contact, more flavour. Pressing down on Blade’s back, he shoved him onto his belly again, the hand around his dick trapped as Jack kept up the merciless thrusting. Jack caught Blade’s other hand, curled his fingers around the clenched fist, and drew it close, wrapping around Blade, needing to hold him, encompass him, to feel him on every square inch of his skin. Mouth pressed to Blade’s neck, Jack gave in to his own needs.

  It went fast, then. Both of them straining against the other, grunting in their need to end it before they expired from exquisite frustration. Blade came first, heaving under Jack in wild throes. His orgasmic shout was muffled in the sleeping bag as his body convulsed, holding Jack fiercely until he too was coming. Jack strangled his own loud shout of pleasure against Blade’s shoulder and then collapsed, their bodies shivering together.

  “Jack?” Ethan tried again.

  “Shut up,” Jack snapped, striding past him.

  Arms crossing, Ethan frowned. “Something’s wrong. Please tell me. Maybe I can help.” After a moment, he added in a soft tone, “I’d like to help.”

  “Shut up.”

  “No. What’s the matter?”

  Jack spun around and stalked towards him. “Shut up.”

  Ethan dropped his hands to his sides, body loosening, as if preparing for a fight. “Let me help you.”

  “Shut up.” Jack kept advancing.

  It was like the night with the dingoes. Ethan retreated, keeping a wary eye on Jack, who kept coming after him, predatory and crazy with confusion. The sound of that bloody accent wasn’t helping the situation. Jack needed to make him shut the hell up.

  “Jack.” A hint of warning in Ethan’s tone now.

  “Shut up.”

  “Tell me what’s—”

  With a pleasing little gasp of shock, Ethan ran into the bed. He toppled over onto the mattress. Jack didn’t slow down, crawling onto the bed between his legs, forcing Ethan to scramble backwards or collect a knee to the groin.

  “Jack—”

  Jack grabbed a handful of towel and yanked. He tossed it away and, satisfied with Ethan’s position, caught his hips and pressed them into the soft quilt. Despite his shock, Ethan was hard, his body pushing up eagerly against the pressure holding him down. Jack rolled his body down over Ethan’s, catching his hands and trapping them over his head. Lips parted, Ethan looked up at him. Those incredibly long lashes dipped to his cheeks, then up again. It was impossible to read anything in those abnormal eyes.

  Ethan was too beautiful. Too damaged. This was most definitely the wrong path to take. It couldn’t go anywhere good or healthy for either of them.

  With a little shiver, Ethan freed his legs from under Jack. He wrapped them around Jack’s hips, pushing up invitingly. The hiss of cotton socks on denim was absurdly arousing as Ethan rubbed his feet along the backs of Jack’s thighs.

  Goddamn it. Whatever measure of restraint Jack still had vanished in a puff of lust so strong it wiped every thought from his head. He lowered his face to Ethan’s, their breath mingling, noses rubbing, lips tantalisingly close. Ethan made a soft, pleading noise that hollowed out Jack’s stomach and made his hands clench around Ethan’s wrists.

  To stop himself from doing something even stupider than what was already happening, Jack burrowed his face in the junction between Ethan’s neck and shoulder. He pressed his lips to the warm skin and vowed to keep them there.

  In his ear, Ethan huffed a gentle laugh. “Still not on the lips, hmm?”

  Jack lifted his head enough to mutter, “Shut up,” before resuming his place. From there, he lipped his way across Blade’s shoulder and up the quivering bulge of his biceps.

  He slowly reacquainted himself with the smooth skin, the scattered scars, the most sensitive spots. Ethan squirmed under him, submissive and obedient. So different from that first time, when Jack had had to work hard to get something honest from him. Ethan had a pathological need to be in control, a product of history Jack didn’t know—wasn’t sure he wanted to know. But this right here, the sounds and shapes of him letting that control go, was a heady concoction that boiled through Jack like a dangerous mix of alcohol and a good dump of adrenaline.

  Jack dragged his tongue, rough and hard, over one of Ethan’s nipples. The resultant shudder and gasp was encouraging, so he repeated it, adding a flick with the tip of his tongue on the end. Another involuntary shake and lower moan. Jack played, seeing how far he could push Ethan with this alone. When Ethan had to resort to broken-worded pleas for it to stop, Jack was pleased and moved on.

  After thoroughly exploring his ribs, Jack devotedly outlined each rippling shape of Ethan’s six-pack, going down one side and up the other. At the lowest point, the head of Ethan’s dick butted against his cheek, hot and wet. Jack rubbed against it for a moment, then nudged it aside and kept going. Ethan’s groan of dismay made Jack grin against the feverish skin of his belly.

  At the first, deep flick of Jack’s tongue into his navel, Ethan all but came off the bed. His spine arched into a long curve, shoulders and feet all that remained touching the bed, his stuttering yelp echoing in the cavernous space of the warehouse.

  Shocked by the powerful response, Jack clutched the trembling body tight, face pressed into the heat of his abdomen. When the assassin collapsed back to the mattress, Jack let him go and sat back on his heels between Ethan’s spread legs.

  Ethan sprawled in boneless, careless disarray. He looked spent, though he hadn’t come. Jack resisted the urge to take him then and there, enthralled by the utter vulnerability on display before him. Had anyone else ever managed to crack through the tough layers of control? Jack hoped not, because he wanted this vision of surrender before him to be his alone
. Which in turn scared Jack to no end. He’d not thought “mine” in a long time, and if he was going to start again, the seventh-ranked assassin in the world was the wrong launching-off point.

  Shaking off the unusually possessive thoughts, Jack unbuttoned his shirt, watching the man on the bed slowly recover enough wits to open his eyes and smile.

  Ethan was so damn tempting, like a deadly sin offered free with a bottle of good bourbon—all but impossible to resist. The flushed heat in his cheeks and inviting part to his lips tugged Jack back down. He poised his mouth over Ethan’s, then dipped to the side, kissed his jaw up to his ear, and puffed a breath into his hair. Ethan shivered and made a soft sound of pleasure. He found the last of the closed buttons on Jack’s shirt and took care of them. One arm at a time, Ethan shoved the shirt off and tossed it. He ran his palms from Jack’s shoulders to his chest, then down to the waistband of his jeans.

  “Uh-uh,” Jack murmured, shoving dextrous fingers away from the button fly.

  “But,” Ethan began, and didn’t finish because Jack flicked a finger over a peaked, damp nipple and Ethan’s voice turned into a strangled groan.

  “That’s not yours to play with,” Jack said, fighting his own need to just give in, to let Ethan have his way. But he held back. Not yet. “Where do I find the gear?”

  It wasn’t quite a pout on Ethan’s lips, but it was close. “Bedside table.” He indicated the closest one with a nod.

  “Prepared, as usual.” Jack stretched out over him to reach the drawer.

  Ethan huffed a little derisively. “Where else should I keep it?” He caressed Jack’s torso as it hovered over him.

  “I don’t know.” Jack’s fingers found a foil packet and lube. “Just didn’t think you brought too many men back to your secret lair.” Gear in hand, Jack settled back on his knees.

  “All right,” Ethan admitted. “You caught me out. I did put it there when I was planning my incursion of the Office.”

  Jack shook his head. “I’m pretty sure no one else in the world considers condoms and lube when preparing to infiltrate a secret government building.”

  That made Ethan smile, slow and languid. “Oh, I don’t know. It might be more common than you think.”

  Eyes narrowed, Jack asked, “Are you saying you fuck your way into a lot of jobs?”

  All too clear he remembered what it felt like to learn he’d just been a means to an end. To have Valadian tear away his last hope with one of his brutally direct summations. Despite the desire still coiling in his gut and the pressure of his hard dick against his jeans, Jack would walk away from this bed in a heartbeat if Ethan said the wrong thing.

  Ethan blinked. “No. You know that.”

  “Do I?” It bit hard how much Jack wanted to believe him.

  Sitting up, Ethan reached for him, tentative. When he wasn’t stopped, he slid his hands around Jack’s waist and pressed his face into Jack’s chest. “I told you, Jack. What happened between us, when this happened, I hadn’t planned for it. You took me by surprise, literally and figuratively.” His lips stretched into a smile against Jack’s sensitive skin. “I know I didn’t appreciate it at first, but that was more shock than anything else. Thus the supplies in the bedside table in my secret lair.”

  Good enough? Jack’s dick said yes. His higher functions were currently wallowing in the feel of Ethan’s lips on his body and didn’t care.

  He grabbed Ethan’s shoulders and pushed him back to the mattress. The desperate drag of Ethan’s fingers down Jack’s thighs as he went sent shivers up Jack’s spine. Lifting up to his knees, Jack looked at the naked man. God. What was it about Ethan that made it so easy to take leave of his better judgement? No matter what had happened in the desert, the man was still Ethan Blade, killer for hire.

  What was Jack, though? Once, he’d thought he was a loyal soldier, but his ideas of loyalty had shifted out of alignment with what the military thought, so they’d tossed him out. Then he’d thought he was a dedicated officer of the law, until he’d been thrown amongst the snakes and shown once again how wrong his perceptions had been. All along, he too had been a killer, but for all the right reasons, or so he’d believed. Now, knowing there had been a traitor within the Office, hiding and falsifying information that was the lifeblood of Jack’s job, he didn’t even have that belief.

  So what did any of it matter?

  Deliberately, Jack ran his hand over his own chest, watching Ethan watch him. Ethan swallowed as Jack reached the fly of his jeans. With a casual flick, Jack undid the top button. Moving as slow as he dared, Jack worked his way along, popping buttons. Each little release was like a small explosion against his dick, setting off rippling waves of pleasure through his body. He sucked in a sharp breath to keep from ruining the show by ripping his jeans off and just fucking Ethan into the mattress. He’d thrown caution to the wind, so he was going to take his time and pleasure exactly how he wanted it.

  When his fly was open, he pushed the jeans down far enough to expose his dick and give himself some room to manoeuvre. He dragged two fingers up the underside of his shaft, his hips jerking forwards at the touch. Ethan bit his lip and propped himself up on his elbows, hands pressed into the mattress. Jack gripped his own dick and stroked, long and slow.

  Ethan jumped as if it were him in Jack’s hand. His hips shifted in sympathy, breaths coming in short pants. The sight of Ethan was doing more for Jack than the strokes on his dick. His plans for a good ten minutes of torture flew out the window. He dropped the lube onto Ethan’s belly.

  “Prep yourself.”

  Complying with almost amusing eagerness, Ethan lubricated two fingers and reached between his legs. He lifted his hips for better access, delivering as good a show as Jack was giving. It didn’t take long before both of them were close to losing it, touching themselves, watching the other and hungering.

  “Jesus,” Jack hissed when Ethan pushed a third finger into himself.

  Jack let his dick go before things got explosive, then fumbled for the condom. Ethan, making nonsensical but positive noises, grabbed the lube. Between them they got Jack out of his jeans, gloved up, and slicked in record time. Unable to wait any longer, Jack held Ethan’s thighs to his chest and, his knees spreading to either side of Ethan’s hips, eased in.

  Spine curling, Ethen threw his head back as he moaned. The length of his exposed throat made Jack lean over and lick across his Adam’s apple. Ethan whimpered as Jack began to move. Slow, gentle thrusts, bodies moving together as if it had been only moments since the last time, not twelve months.

  Christ. Jack thought he’d remembered what this was like, but memory was a pale, shallow substitute for the reality. For the feel of Ethan against him, around him. For the heat radiating between them. Every inch of his skin ached with the need to touch Ethan, to press so close even the distinction between their colouring blurred into nothingness.

  Jack released Ethan’s legs. They snapped around his waist, knees clamping to his ribs, ankles locking together over the base of his spine. Jack moaned hungrily as he pressed back down, belly to belly, chest to chest. The hard shaft of Ethan’s dick pushed into his abdomen. Ethan wound his arms around Jack’s neck, bringing him closer, cheek to cheek.

  “Jack.”

  The whispered breath of his name shivered across Jack’s neck. Something warm and bright bloomed in his chest. He buried his face in Ethan’s neck, breathing in deep of his soap, warm skin, and that particular musk that was purely Ethan. Jack’s strokes inside him were controlled for now, long and deep, but the tension curling through his guts and tightening his balls was escalating at an alarming rate.

  Under him, Ethan shuddered and groaned. “Jack,” he managed, voice husky and low and desperate. “Please, Jack . . . I . . .” He fisted one of his hands in Jack’s hair, the other grabbing the back of his thigh, strong fingers digging into the straining muscle. “Ngh! Jack . . . I need . . .”

  The broken pleas snapped Jack’s restraint. He needed too. Braced on
knees and one hand, Jack rocked his hips harder and faster, driving deep. Ethan bucked, hands pulling at him, mouth open on near-silent gasps. His heels pushed into Jack’s arse, hips rising to meet each thrust.

  He was so wild and beautiful Jack wanted it to last forever. To witness this precisely controlled man so undone he was incapable of forming words, his aim so affected he grabbed Jack’s ear instead of his hair. Wanted to keep him poised on the edge for as long as possible, just to feel how his body shook, to have that deadly strength clamp around him and hold him tight. The instant Ethan came, though, his dick stimulated between their rubbing bellies, Jack forgot everything. All he knew was this man, this moment, this overwhelming surge of heat and connection, and how it all made him come so hard his vision whited out.

  When Jack felt steady enough, he pulled out of Blade and slid off him. He quickly took care of the condom, then rested his hand on Blade’s back, feeling the other man struggle for air as much as he did. Little shivers racked Blade’s body. He clenched his hands into fists in the sleeping bag, head turned away from Jack.

  Jack stroked his back. “Blade.”

  Blade reacted with a hard shudder, which turned into a roll of his shoulders that knocked Jack’s hand off. Swiftly, the assassin rolled over, taking the sleeping bag with him. Tossed the other way, Jack hit sand. Blade curled up, sleeping bag wrapped tight around him.

  Shit.

  Jack rolled to his feet, brushing off the sand. He tried to not be bothered by Blade’s reaction. He obviously hadn’t been as okay with fucking as he’d said he was, but this was a good thing, surely. In any other circumstances, after experiencing a fuck like that Jack would have tried for another. One orgasm usually left him initially sated, but still energised, wanting more. Right now, though, the presented back helped reinforce his “once only” decision.