Jack: Grime and Punishment: The Brothers Grime, book 1

by Maxfield, Z. A.

  “Oh, yeah.” Jack stretched up to kiss him again. “Yeah.” And again.

  Ryan’s palm warmed the back of Jack’s neck, and his grip felt like iron. Jack’s cock poked into the crease between Ryan’s leg and thigh, into his stomach. It nudged happily alongside Ryan’s rigid shaft, leaving damp trails on his skin even as it made the going easier for both of them.

  Jack wrapped his arms around Ryan’s neck and let him control the pace. His body hummed with every rise and fall of Ryan’s hips. His cheek warmed when Ryan’s moist breath caressed him.

  Ryan’s kisses bathed him like sunshine, like the light that wavered in from the miniblinds. Jack couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt such contentment.

  Every spontaneous, delicious. movement of their bodies was intimate and arousing. Deeply personal.

  Each wave of sensation reminded Jack of things he believed he’d lost forever. In Ryan, he caught brief illusory glimpses of those long-ago days with Nick, even if he wasn’t sure he wanted the memories back.

  Ryan hovered above him, his expression transformed by ecstasy or oblivion, by horniness or happiness or simple completion. He was fierce and yet so tender Jack wanted to memorize every feature, every freckle, every line, every bone and hollow. Ryan closed his eyes and stilled, his body so rigid Jack held his breath.

  Jack strained upward to press his lips to Ryan’s. Jack wanted—maybe he even needed—the simple emotional connection before he could let his body go wild. Ryan kissed him back without restraint, without any artifice. The pressure and pleasure of Ryan’s lips on his touched off the electric tingle of imminent climax in the base of Jack’s spine.

  Jack canted his hips in the frantic clamor for satisfaction, then spasmed all over as his orgasm swept him away. Ryan’s low cry of triumph got trapped inside their frantic kisses. A spatter of hot release warmed Jack’s belly.

  Ryan held him through a rush of exquisite sensation, exchanging laughter and kisses for Jack’s helpless grunts of pleasure. They landed back on the couch together, sweaty and sated, a loose-limbed, sticky mess.

  Jack felt Ryan smile against his skin as he unfurled on top of him, a sinewy, long stretch of man and muscle.

  “Oh, my God.” Ryan picked up his T-shirt and gave a couple cursory swipes between their bodies. He tossed it to the floor next to the couch and relaxed.

  A second before Jack could warn Ryan, Tasha sprang from the back of the couch. She landed on Ryan’s back and made herself at home in the curve of his spine.

  Ryan jumped and writhed pleasurably on Jack’s body, wringing more spunk and new waves of delight from him when he’d thought he had nothing left to give.

  Ryan gave a shout. “Oh, Christ, that scared me.”

  Good kitty.

  Light laughter burst from both of them like a dam broke, and Jack found himself holding someone entirely unexpected. Someone irrepressible and happy and inexplicably radiant. Ryan ducked his head under Jack’s chin and sighed.

  Jack stroked Tasha while he waited for his heart rate to even out. Ryan bumped Jack’s chin when he lifted his head again. “Wait.”

  “Ow.”

  “Sorry.” A slow blink of light lashes. “I need a quick nap. Can you set an alarm?”

  “I’ve got my phone, somewhere.” Jack stretched his arm to capture the jeans he’d shucked off at some point. It would have been easier to move Ryan off him, but he didn’t want to break the seal of their sweat-soaked skin or disturb the cat.

  A few Cirque-worthy feats of contortion later, and he was able to set his phone alarm.

  “Eleven thirty’s good, right? A quick shower and clothes. We could be at the cemetery by one?”

  Ryan nodded against his neck. “You’re coming with me?”

  “I said I would.”

  “I thought you said it to get out of car shopping.”

  “I did. But I’m a man of my word.”

  Ryan nodded again. “God, you’re right. Tasha’s warm, and she purrs. Secret weapon.” Ryan nipped at Jack and closed his eyes.

  After a while Jack heard Ryan’s breathing even out—soft intakes of air with no discernible snoring or high-pitched nose whistling.

  As he fell asleep, Ryan reached out. His fingers traced the features of Jack’s face with deft curiosity. When Jack caught his hand and kissed each finger, Ryan reacted with a sleepy smile.

  Jack tightened his hold.

  While Ryan slept, Jack eyed his living room critically. Eighties peach-colored paint and wallpaper border. Rickety glass tchotchke shelves. Dust fluttered, confetti-like along each beam of light slanting from the blinds. It floated down to blanket the furniture and floor.

  His house was shabby, filled with things either left over from his parents or handed down from friends. It looked the same as it had since he’d been born, only older. He’d played no active part in choosing anything he owned, even the relatively new big screen, which he’d won in a charity raffle.

  How come he’d never noticed he’d been living by accident, accepting anything that came his way, letting anything he might want slide because he was too lazy or indifferent to go out and get it?

  Ryan shifted his weight, forcing a groan from Jack and some fancy footwork from Tasha.

  Jack lay on the same old wilted couch with Ryan, who was undeniably new. Undeniably delectable.

  Fearless, and possibly free to enjoy a lover in the light of day.

  The thought forced Jack to come to an uncomfortable conclusion. Change is inevitable.

  Whether the seeds of change had been planted during the years-long recovery from his accident, or whether they’d been sown inside the tiny bathroom at Ryan’s house, Jack was changing, and it was bound to hurt some—at least at first.

  Ryan had come his way like everything else; he’d stumbled into Jack’s house from some wreckage of his own, and for now that was okay.

  But Jack might have to make some changes if he wanted to keep someone like Ryan in his life. He’d have to do more than accept; he’d have to invest.

  Frowning, Jack closed his eyes and let the ache of evolution pull him into sleep.

  Chimes?

  Jack reached out from under Ryan and Tasha to turn off his phone’s alarm. Tasha scattered when Ryan rose from the couch. He got up like a man who was used to rising at the last second every morning. He stood over Jack like a redwood tree, unself-consciously stretching the muscles of his perfect upper body while Jack watched with deep satisfaction, cock stirring at the attractive sight.

  “I’d give anything in the world to avoid going this afternoon.” Ryan sighed.

  Jack was less assured as he lifted his knees. Less assured and stiff as hell. Ryan sat back down at the end of the couch and picked up Jack’s foot to massage it.

  “That’s great.” Jack groaned with delight.

  “I wish I could stay here and massage your feet all day.”

  “Ah, God. Me too.” When Ryan pressed his thumb into the ball of Jack’s foot, the pain was instantaneous and at the same time arousing. Wow. That had possibilities. “Do we have to go?”

  “I’m afraid I do. Yeah. You promised you’d come with me.”

  Jack pulled his foot away and sat up, grimacing as his spine crackled into place. “Then let’s go. It’s like ripping off a bandage. Let’s just get it done.”

  “Easy for you to say. Your family won’t be there. I’ll have to face mine.”

  “It’ll be all right,” Jack said, even though he worried it might not be. “Your family’s probably classier than mine is. Our get-togethers are like The Best of Jerry Springer.”

  Ryan blew out a deep breath. “Mine’s All My Children, and today’s episode will be the one where the openly gay cousin that got disowned but still inherited all the family’s old money comes to his drug-addict cousin’s suicide funeral with the boy the dead cousin nearly got arrested for assaulting as his plus one.”

  Huh?

  “I don’t have to go if it will make things worse for you.”
In fact, I’d kill to stay home.

  “I’ve got this image in my head where we go and you hold my hand.” Ryan smiled sadly. “But I’ll let you off the hook if you don’t feel like you can do it. I’d understand if you can’t.”

  “I said I’d go.” Jack didn’t want to see any sadness on Ryan’s face because of something he promised and then reneged on.

  “No. I mean it. Breakfast was great. So was”—he gestured between them and the couch—“this, you know? But I said no strings, and I meant it.”

  “Would I blow the chance to wear a suit and carry my dashing fancy cane? Not a chance.” Jack stood and offered Ryan his hand as a preview. “Take my hand now. We’ll practice while we shower together.”

  Relief etched itself on Ryan’s face. “You’re one of the good guys, you know that?”

  A wave of panic caught Jack by surprise. When had he ever been a good guy? Reflexively, he squeezed Ryan’s hand. “I’m really not.”

  Ryan lifted their joined hands and pressed a kiss to the back of Jack’s. “Then keep on pretending. That’s all I need right now.”

  Chapter 12

  Jack’s first thought was Ryan wore a suit really, really well. The black, slim-cut designer deal he’d brought with him seemed engineered for his broad shoulders, trim waist, and long legs. By comparison, Jack’s “funeral suit” fit him tolerably but did nothing for him. Where Ryan wore a silky black hand-tailored shirt with French cuffs, Jack wore a new white shirt from a discount store that still had the creases in it from the manufacturer. Ryan’s subtly patterned black tie was silk, where Jack’s navy and red came from a thrift shop.

  Despite the differences between them, Ryan’s eyes gleamed with genuine appreciation when he looked at Jack. They held a warmth Jack could feel inside his gut and deep within his bones.

  Before they left the house, Jack filled Tasha’s bowls with food and water. He switched out his everyday cane for the fancy one Gabe had given him for Christmas. He didn’t fill the flask concealed inside because it only held a swallow of alcohol, and Jack was pretty sure he’d need more than that. Instead, he got his dad’s old silver flask down from the kitchen cupboard and filled it with bourbon, slipping it into his coat pocket as insurance against imminent emotional disaster.

  Ryan rested his hand at the small of Jack’s back while Jack locked the door behind them. Ryan put his shades on like a movie star and then escorted Jack down the walk as if they were heading for prom. He was careful and solicitous enough to make Jack grind his teeth.

  “You don’t have to hover. I won’t fall or anything.”

  “I like touching you.” Ryan frowned at him. “I’ll stop if you don’t like it.”

  “It’s not that I don’t like it.” Jack examined how he felt about having Ryan’s hand on him. It was nice. It was supportive. It bolstered his sense of well-being as they headed for an event he was dreading. He couldn’t come up with a single reason to stop him—in fact he had a hundred reasons why he wanted it to continue. “Actually, I’m just not used to it.”

  “Why aren’t you?”

  Jack didn’t have an answer for that.

  Instead of heading for Jack’s truck, Ryan led him to a sleek black hybrid. He opened the passenger door and then walked around to the driver’s side to get in.

  The car smelled new, and Ryan obviously kept it immaculate. As they pulled away from the curb, Ryan’s garnet cuff link winked like a red eye, peering from beneath his neatly tailored coat sleeve. Jack tried brushing Tasha’s cat hairs off the sleeve of his coat. When that proved impossible, he gripped the head of his cane nervously with both hands.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Not nothing.” Ryan glanced over at him. “You’re fussing.”

  “I can fuss if I want to.” He got out his flask and took a sip. It burned going down but warmed the tightness from his chest almost immediately.

  “Whoa, open container. Put that away.”

  “I’m sorry.” Jack slipped the flask back into his pocket.

  “Are you really that nervous?”

  Jack stopped rubbing his face to snap, “What do you think?”

  “What, specifically, makes you anxious?”

  “My parents stopped speaking to Nick’s folks after high school. I went out of town for EMT training and the fire academy.” Jack tugged on his shirtsleeves so a half inch showed at his wrists like it did on Ryan’s. “I came back when I got the gig with Fullerton Fire, but I never went to church or anything. By then, there was no reason we’d bump into each other unless their house caught fire. This will be the first time I’ve seen them since—”

  “They got old fast, trying to keep Nick on the straight and narrow.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “Everyone was so excited when he married Amy. Their first baby came along six months later, and it was like everyone heaved a huge sigh of relief.”

  “Did that settle him down?”

  “For a while.”

  Jack looked out the window as Ryan pulled onto the freeway. The memorial was to take place in the cemetery chapel. No church service for Nick. Jack tried to imagine how hard this must be for Nick’s staunch Catholic family. The older Foasbergs were true believers. They’d be gutted their son had died by his own hand.

  He tried to imagine the boy he knew with a gun in his hand and such desperation in his heart. He tried to imagine Nick hopeless. Empty. Seeking painlessness through the void of death over the life he could have had with his family.

  “I never asked.” Jack’s lungs contracted with new fear. “Did Nick leave a note or…”

  “Not that anyone found.”

  “So no one knows exactly what led to him—”

  “Not exactly. No.”

  God. Nick. What were you thinking? How could you believe you had nothing left to live for? Even in my darkest hours, even when I lost my job and nearly my life, I never felt that bad.

  The parking lot was half-full when Ryan pulled in—even thought they were late, thanks to traffic. Jack wondered if there would be a lot of mourners. Addicts usually burned through their family and friends before they died. If Nick had stolen from Ryan, he’d probably done it before, with others.

  He’d probably isolated himself from his wife, his kids, but of course they’d be there along with his parents.

  Ryan and Jack entered the chapel and took a seat at the back. Nick’s family—his parents and his wife and children—were in the front row, far enough away that if even a ripple of indignation sparked among the people directly around Ryan and Jack, they probably wouldn’t notice.

  Some people turned away, taut-shouldered, because as he’d promised, Jack held Ryan’s hand. He continued holding it as the memorial meandered along on its course, even though the woman in front of them glared and hissed something to her husband Jack couldn’t quite make out.

  Ryan stiffened and let go. He leaned over to whisper, “I’m cool. Don’t worry.”

  Jack offered his hand again and whispered back. “I’ve been thrown out of nicer places than this one.”

  Ryan stifled a laugh, but he gripped Jack’s hand tight.

  Noticeably absent from Nick’s service were those mourners who would normally speak on the deceased’s behalf. No one spoke for Nick except a nondenominational minister, and when he was done, Nick’s immediate family got up dry-eyed and exited the chapel. Everyone except Nick’s kids seemed relieved.

  Am I relieved? Jack closed his eyes. Is there a name for what I’m feeling right now?

  Everyone filed out after the family, and by then holding Ryan’s hand was second nature. Ryan took Jack to greet his parents. The light frost of their general demeanor turned into a blizzard of icy disdain as soon as they caught sight of their son. It was over in a few brief seconds, with barely twenty words exchanged. They turned away from both Ryan and Jack and closed ranks to keep them away from Nick’s parents, his ex-wife, and their kids.

  “That’s
pretty much what I expected,” Ryan said as his parents walked away. “I did what I had to do. When my folks stop circling the wagons, I’ll go make my condolences to my aunt and uncle.”

  As far as Jack was concerned, the cold shoulder was a big win. He was about to tell Ryan exactly that when he turned and—oh, Christ—found Dave Huntley standing right behind him.

  Dave’s gaze traveled from Jack’s eyes to his and Ryan’s interlaced hands, then back up again in a microsecond. He gave a polite nod. “Jack.”

  Jack felt the blood drain from his face. “Dave.”

  “Detective Huntley.” Ryan dropped Jack’s hand to shake Dave’s warmly. “Nice to see you.”

  “Nice to see you too.” Dave glanced between them, still smiling his most pleasant smile. He wore a suit that fit his thickly muscled physique perfectly and—Jack knew—still left room for a concealed weapon.

  Jack tried to interpret Dave’s expression without success. He might have been wearing mirrored shades for all Jack could read him.

  “Your mother’s been so nice. She gave me a freezer full of food.” Ryan looked around, presumably to see if Dave’s mother was there with him. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “I knew Nick in high school,” Dave answered, staring straight at Jack.

  You came for me? Jack turned away, eyes burning.

  “Are you all right here?” Ryan asked Jack. “I need say something to Amy and the rest, and then we can go.”

  “I’ll be fine. Go ahead.”

  Jack and Dave watched Ryan walk away. Dave arched an eyebrow. “I guess you weren’t kidding when you said you were thinking about making plans.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “What’s it like?” Dave asked. “You’re holding hands with Ryan Halloran at his cousin’s funeral. Can’t get more out than that.”

  “If you recall, I’ve never been in.” Heat crackled in Jack’s words. Did they have to have this conversation here?

  “You’ve never been with someone, out,” Dave countered. “Are you two in a relationship now?”