Not Fade Away (Hell or High Water, #3.5)

by SE Jakes

  Tom put his cheek down on the sheet. “Good. Then I surrender.”

  “I guess you don’t need to come.” But as he spoke, his tone was low and soothing, and he rubbed hard between Tom’s shoulder blades. Hard enough to make Tom groan with pleasure.

  “Just keep touching me.”

  Prophet did, one hand stroking, the other moving between Tom’s legs. “Come on. Push up on your knees again.”

  Tom did, his shoulders and face pressed to the mattress, his ass spread and vulnerable.

  He didn’t bother to protest, not when Prophet was sliding a finger along his ass, brushing his hole. Then he inserted a lubed finger inside him, pressing hard.

  Tom jolted. Was rewarded with a second finger and a third followed quickly. They twisted and stroked and pushed and he heard himself cursing. He’d ache in the morning from pulling so hard against the ropes, but he was good and bound . . . Prophet wasn’t letting him go anywhere.

  And for a second, just a second, that scared the fuck out of him, the way it was supposed to . . .

  But he was safe. Didn’t matter how bad the clamps burned. He could tell Prophet to stop all of it, and Prophet would. But the best part was that Tom would never have to do that. Prophet knew him too well . . . would always keep him safe, even as he pushed Tom’s boundaries.

  Prophet licked up the side of his neck. Tom shuddered again. “Killing me.”

  “And you love it.” Prophet put his face down next to Tom’s.

  “Yeah, I do.”

  Prophet smiled, a sleepy, contented-as-fuck smile. “Me too, Tommy. Me too.”

  And finally, Prophet slid inside him, skin to skin—and that never got old. Tom tensed at the first burn—Prophet was careful but not easy—and goddamn, it would be so easy to just come. He bit the comforter hard enough to make his jaw ache in an effort to stop himself. Prophet slapped his ass twice—firm swats that made him want to come even more, the fucker.

  And then Prophet took the clamps off simultaneously, and holy fuck, the rush of blood back to the nipples was a feeling so fused with his pain craving that it hit every single nerve in his body, like they were all ricocheting off his abused nipples. The pain forced Tom to move, and the only thing he could do semieffectively to get a feeling somewhere else besides the giant ache in his nipples was to rut back against Prophet until he heard the bed creak threateningly.

  “If we break this bed . . .”

  “I’ll buy you a new one,” Tom managed, because he was already seeing stars. “I just need you. Lije . . .”

  At that, Prophet came in hard, hot spurts, his body shuddering, his fingers digging into Tom hard enough to bruise. “Now, Tommy . . .”

  Tom didn’t have to hear it twice, came with a fierce orgasm that he knew would knock him out in seconds, his entire body one giant throb.

  It was surrender, complete and utter.

  It was everything.

  When he finally floated back to earth, Prophet was there, concern on his face . . . but also a look of contentment.

  All Tom could do was tighten his grip on Prophet’s hand—their fingers were already threaded together anyway and Tom was untied. He was still so floaty that he didn’t register the pain from where the ropes had burned him—his own fault for pulling against them—but he could see the marks. And he loved them.

  Prophet would worry about them, of course. And it was only then Tom realized that Prophet was looking at him in that way he had when his eyes had become blurry. Usually it was coupled with a barely veiled—if veiled at all—panic.

  Now, there was none of that. Just Prophet, sitting there, holding his hands and watching Tom through the blur and shadow.

  “You really liked that,” Prophet asked after a long moment.

  “Fuck, yeah.” Tom’s voice was raw and hoarse. Prophet reached around to the night table without looking and handed him a cup of water. Without spilling.

  Tom didn’t ask about his eyes, took and downed the water and then handed the cup back. “Intense. Couldn’t do that a lot.”

  “That’s another difference you and Mal have,” Prophet told him, even as he reached into the nightstand drawer and pulled out moisturizer. He leaned forward, feeling for Tom’s wrists, and began to rub the lotion into the sore parts, which made Tom smile and tear up at the same time. “Mal doesn’t do it a lot, but he could.”

  “I can see that. Be good if he could find someone to do that all the time. The same person.” Tom thoughts immediately went to Cillian. Tom had no clue if the guy was kinky or not, but he definitely didn’t want to think too hard about it. Guess Cillian didn’t mind public sex.

  But all Prophet said was, “Everyone meets their match eventually.”

  Tom knew their hunger wasn’t something that would level off. No, it was the opposite—it kept rising, twisting, feeding on itself . . . burning stronger, hotter. It wasn’t going to change, partly because of their unpredictability.

  They were quick to anger. Quicker to forgive.

  There was so much they still had to go through. Times like this would be few and far between for the next months. But eventually . . . they’d have this again. Hotter than ever. “That’s what I am—your match?”

  Prophet smiled. Blinked a little, then looked serious. “You don’t know that?”

  Tom managed to move closer to Prophet, touched his newly pierced nipple, and whispered in his ear. “I like to hear you say it. That’s all I need.”

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  Thanks to the usual suspects—my amazing (and patient) editor, Sarah Frantz, my publisher, Rachel Haimowitz, Alex Whitehall who always saves me with copy edits and proofs, and L.C. Chase, whose covers, we can all agree, are completely and utterly gorgeous. And to Riptide as a whole, because they are generally awesome.

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  As always, to my family, because they let me go into my fictional world and are always waiting with hugs—and meals—when I return. I love you.

  Havoc Motorcycle Club

  Running Wild

  Running Blind (2015)

  Running on Empty (2016)

  Hell or High Water (EE, Ltd.) Series

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  Long Time Gone

  Daylight Again

  If I Ever (October 2014)

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r

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  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 . . .

  SE Jakes is the pen name of New York Times best-selling author Stephanie Tyler (and half of Sydney Croft).

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  Table of Contents

  About Not Fade Away

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Dear Reader

  Acknowledgments

  Also by SE Jakes

  About the Author

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