Daylight Again (Hell or High Water, #3)

by SE Jakes

  “You slept well, didn’t you?”

  “Not the point.” Prophet downed half the drink and smiled. “You really do think I’m easy.”

  “If the umbrella drink fits the lightweight,” Tom murmured.

  Prophet smiled and finished the rest of his drink. “These are fucking awesome. You need to learn how to make them.”

  “I’ll get right on that, boss.”

  “You can call me that for the rest of the night.”

  Before Tom could scoff at that, Prophet grabbed him, pulled him to his feet, leaving them chest to chest for just a moment. Until Prophet pushed him against the stone and wood railing, and Tom had forgotten how good it felt to have Prophet manhandle him. Because the guy was damned strong. As much as Tom trained and practiced, as violent as he could get, Prophet would always be stronger. And Tom had to admit that he liked that. Probably as much as Prophet did.

  Prophet’s hands went under Tom’s shirt, stroking the bare skin of his stomach for a few seconds before yanking the T-shirt over his head. For a second, Tom thought Prophet was going to tie him, to tangle his arms in the soft cotton, but he didn’t.

  And when Tom tossed it aside, Prophet bit his shoulder, and Tom hissed. Prophet simultaneously soothed the sting with his tongue and traced the skull tattoo on Tom’s biceps with callused fingertips that felt like bursts of electricity.

  His free hand went to the front of Tom’s shorts, cupping his achingly hard cock through the fabric. Then his hand went down the front, and he yanked the shorts down past Tom’s thighs. Tom shifted, shook them to the ground and kicked out of them as Prophet ran two fingers along the outside of his cock, up and down. It was at once too much and not enough, and Tom pushed his hips at him impatiently.

  In response, Prophet’s hand left the skull and went to Tom’s ass, trailing in between his cheeks, pressing his hole with a dry finger. Saying, Mine the way Tom had told him not all that long ago.

  Tom could only concede with a nod and a long groan that escaped, echoing into the night.

  “Say it,” Prophet commanded, his voice not overly loud but unmistakably forceful.

  Tom had been gripping the wooden rail behind him, letting Prophet have his way, but in response, he dragged a hand across Prophet’s cargo-clad ass and raised his brows.

  Prophet’s smile was nearly immediate, like he couldn’t deny it, or anything at this point. Maybe it was the alcohol, but that would only make the admitting easier. It wouldn’t make Prophet lie.

  It was another game they’d played for the last few months that wasn’t just a game, but Jesus, the thought that he owned Prophet’s ass and the fact that Prophet wanted to own his? Got him every fucking time.

  “Yeah, yours, Tommy. You know that.” Prophet eased the tip of his finger inside Tom, and Tom jolted, his balls tightening and heat flooding his body.

  “Yours, Proph . . . yes,” he managed, and Prophet immediately circled his fingers around the base of Tom’s cock, stopping any impeding orgasm for the moment.

  “Not yet,” he said firmly.

  “Yeah.” His voice already sounded spacey . . . he was ready to give himself over, to do anything. Except . . . “Proph . . . food’ll be here soon.”

  “Uh-huh.” Prophet didn’t seem concerned as his finger worked Tom open, his mouth landing on Tom’s nipple, tugging the ring with his teeth.

  “Fuck.”

  “Yes.” Prophet’s fingers started strumming over the row of ladder piercings, spinning them gently, just letting Tom know he appreciated them.

  “Want you on your knees for me, Tommy.”

  Tom didn’t protest, watched as Prophet grabbed the lounge cushions and threw them on the ground around them, and then sank to his knees in front of him. Prophet’s hand immediately sifted through his hair, then gripped, hard, but didn’t force his head forward.

  Oh God, yeah, that made Tom bare his teeth with pleasure. His stomach tightened with the anticipation and in response, he leaned in and kissed Prophet’s stomach, then bit and sucked a line down the hot skin—leaving a trail of dark red marks behind. Prophet groaned, rubbed his cock against Tom’s neck.

  Without warning, Tom licked the head of Prophet’s cock, tasting the leaking pre-cum, leaving him wet.

  “Yeah, Tommy, get me ready,” Prophet breathed, his eyes glazing.

  Tom speared his tongue into the small hole, gripped Prophet’s hips at the same time so Prophet couldn’t get away. He knew how easily that could throw Prophet over the edge, and he loved being able to do that. So he ignored Prophet’s hard tug on his hair, the moans of not-so-protesting protest.

  “Jesus, you’ll pay for that,” Prophet promised.

  Good. He swallowed Prophet’s cock, taking as much as he could down his throat, guided by Prophet’s rough hold on his hair. For a long moment, Prophet went completely still, stiffening like he was either about to come, or was doing his damnedest to stave off an orgasm. Tom didn’t move, until Prophet slowly pulled him off his cock.

  “Jesus.” Prophet released Tom’s hair and sank to his knees in front of Tom, kissed him, then murmured, “Turn around—on all fours.”

  Tom did, shifting around and putting his palms on the cushions, settling his thighs apart.

  “Yeah, spread your legs wider,” Prophet encouraged as he ground his cock against Tom’s ass, then pulled back to spread it, to lick his hole, to thrust his tongue inside of him. Tom’s mournful cry echoed over the balcony to the walkways below . . .

  Shit. He glanced at his watch. “Prophet . . . they’ll be here any second . . . I left the door unlocked . . .”

  “Then you’ll have to make me come faster,” Prophet said reasonably. Tom heard the rustle of a condom wrapper, the snap of the lube bottle, and then Prophet’s fingers were slicking him up, preparing him.

  Finally, Prophet put a hand on his hip as he drove his cock inside of Tom, filling him halfway in a fast thrust, then pausing. “So fucking hot, Tommy.”

  Tom’s body flushed. Prophet’s hand rubbed along his spine, checking in, making sure he was all right. And he was, so he pushed back, more because he also needed to come badly than because of the threat of being caught. On his knees, he rocked against Prophet’s cock, each time taking Prophet inside of him to the hilt. As he worked faster, he heard Prophet’s strangled moan.

  And then Prophet grabbed his hips, holding him steady. Reached around to stroke Tom’s cock, but didn’t let Tom move.

  “Prophet, Christ . . .” He bit the words out, not giving a shit if anyone walked in. His skin was hot and tight—too tight and his ass burned the way he craved.

  Prophet would torture him unless he pushed, so Tom flexed his ass around Prophet’s cock, and he heard Prophet gasp in surprised.

  Prophet loosened his grip on Tom’s hips, allowing him to continue contracting and push back, harder. In turn, Prophet stroked his cock harder, and Tom saw stars as he started to climax, hot cum spilling onto Prophet’s hand. And Prophet finally lost it, cursing and crying out Tommy as he came.

  Tom was still recovering when Prophet practically picked him up, put him on the chaise, and covered him with a blanket. He yanked up his own shorts and waved inside, to where Tom guessed room service was setting up their dinner.

  “That’s fine—we’ll be in shortly. And no, you don’t need to stay for anything. Thanks.” Prophet called, then sat down next to Tom.

  “You could be a PSA against drinking.”

  “Against drinking and fucking? Ah, Tommy, you got exactly what you wanted.” Prophet furrowed his brow. “Did you order more drinks with dinner? Otherwise I’ll catch the waiter . . .”

  He was up and heading inside and all Tom could do was groan after Prophet’s laughter.

  Prophet did end up getting several more drinks. They were scattered around him like an offering as he played with an umbrella, both of them full on dinner and tired from good sex. “It’s been a long ride.”

  “Yeah, it has.” Tom knew he wasn’t talking about the s
ex. “I’m ready for whatever happens next.”

  Prophet looked serious when he said, “I need you to know you don’t have to go with me.” He held up his hands when Tom narrowed his eyes. “Not because I think you can’t handle it. Because maybe you’re going to resent me for pulling you in. We’ve gotten through a lot of shit already, Tommy. A lot. Maybe more than we’re supposed to. Maybe we’ve reached our limit.”

  “Still trying to protect me.”

  “Always.”

  “I’m going to chance it. Figure the universe already put us through hell. I think we’re meant to come out the other side together.”

  Prophet rolled his eyes. “Romantic fucking voodoo Cajun shit.”

  “That’s lovely. Anyway, what would we do with all our free time?”

  “We could go run a goat farm,” Prophet suggested.

  “You watch way too much Spartacus.”

  “You only watch those scenes,” Prophet pointed out.

  “I skim the rest. You think they’re fucking in real life?”

  “If they’re not, they should be.” Prophet lay back on the sand, arms behind his head so he could stare at the stars. “You know, Dean’s accident happened when he was captured. Right as he got captured actually, thanks to an explosion at a checkpoint. After they had their specialist safe and sound and they were less than three miles from their destination. He said that they made the mistake of thinking they’d hit the easy part of their mission. It’s what LT always talked about during boot camp, that when things seem the calmest, the absolute best, that’s when you need to be on your guard and worry the most. Because fate always wants to jump in and fuck you up.”

  “I’m not arguing with you. Is that why you brought me along, though? To keep an eye on me?”

  “Isn’t that why you would’ve insisted on coming in the first place—to keep an eye on me?”

  “Yes.”

  “I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t think you’d be able to do the job,” Prophet said after a beat. “I don’t give jobs as charity. You did good, T, getting him out. I’d have let him try to do too much on his own. That would’ve fucked things up.”

  “Ah, Proph.” Tom paused. “You did have a nightmare last night.”

  “And here I thought maybe I dreamed it,” Prophet muttered sarcastically.

  Tom had grabbed hold of him and stroked his hair, pressed his body against Prophet’s to stop the nightmare from becoming full-blown. Prophet had opened his eyes, whispered “Tommy,” and then fallen back asleep.

  “Well, you definitely had a good dream after that.”

  Prophet narrowed his eyes. “How do you . . .? Fuck me. You blew me. That was a real orgasm.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Prophet grunted and finished the last half of an umbrella drink. Tom had lost track—maybe it was Prophet’s third—but the food was helping to even out the man’s buzz.

  He turned his head to Prophet, who remained staring up at the stars. He’d brought blankets and the food out there, and now, neither of them wanted to move. Occasionally, the silence was punctuated with music from the main part of the hotel and the sounds of an elephant trumpeting. “You know, even though I’m still pissed at Phil for what he did to you, he was right about LT.”

  “They have a long and not-so-wonderful history of bumping heads when they were stationed together. Marines don’t play well with others. Phil was no exception.”

  “You’re really sticking up for LT?”

  “No,” Prophet scoffed. “He’s a complete fucking dick. But you needed to be to train guys like me.”

  Tom supposed that was true, to some extent. “You’re not going back to EE, are you?”

  “I can’t see it happening,” Prophet said honestly, then shifted and turned to face Tom, propping his head on his arm. “I haven’t broken into your records yet. How’d you end up at EE anyway?”

  Tom rolled his eyes. “Like that information would be there.”

  “Phil takes notes on everything. He does it in shorthand because he thinks I can’t understand it.”

  “You’re a fucking menace.” Prophet looked pleased. “I met Phil when I was still in the FBI. Phil had just retired from the Marines and he’d started EE. I remember there was some grumbling that he was trying to pull agents, but really, I think that was from the people he didn’t try to pull, you know?”

  “I believe that.”

  “You weren’t with EE from the beginning, were you?”

  Prophet ran a hand through his hair, pushing it off his forehead. “No. I met him when I worked a joint mission with Force Recon. We kept in touch. Always useful to have a Marine on your side.”

  “That it is.” Tom reached back and grabbed his beer, took a long drink of the warm brew. Because all drinks here were warm. Always. “I was brand-new when I met him. I’d been recruited for the Bureau out of college because I’d gotten a full ride, and I guess they notice shit like that.”

  Prophet didn’t seem surprised. “For what?”

  “Academics. But I played varsity sports too.”

  “The total package.” It would’ve sounded snotty coming from anyone but Prophet.

  “And when I was in college, I got in trouble for hacking. Just a little. I guess they notice shit like that too, because at first, the Bureau used me for its Cyber program, but I did well on the physical tests. And sitting behind a desk wasn’t my thing.” He paused. “You know why I left the FBI.”

  “Right—you think you killed all your partners.”

  Tom spit his beer out, wiped his chin, and glared at Prophet.

  “What? You do think that.”

  “I’m never letting you drink again. You’re horrible enough when you’re not drinking.”

  Oddly enough, or maybe not so oddly, Prophet appeared to take that last line as a compliment. “Okay, so you fucked up, left the Feds and . . . decided to save your high-water parish.”

  “Red River Parish,” Tom said.

  “Like that’s not the same thing? Did you not see the high water?”

  “For fuck’s sake.” Tom closed his eyes, shook his head, and opened them again to find Prophet laughing silently. “You’re a child.”

  “Really, I’m listening.”

  “Fine. Phil came to town, looking for one of his Marines. He’d heard the guy had disappeared into the bayous and gone a little crazy.” Tom remembered the guy well. “He wasn’t from around there. He used to tell people he moved there because it reminded him of the jungles. At night, he’d have these blackouts, and he’d start shooting at nothing—blanks, at least—but it was still dangerous.”

  Prophet winced but didn’t interrupt.

  “Phil wanted to get the guy help—his name was Stanley, but Phil said his nickname was Bullets. So when he started firing again, I got Phil out there, and Phil played his CO again, and I helped Phil drive him to the hospital and get him help. Phil gave me his number and told me that when I got tired of wasting my goddamned time, to give him a call. It took another few months, because I wanted to see the election through. Fucking glutton for punishment, I know. And then I packed up and went to the training place for EE. Figured I could save the world, just like you.”

  “I wanted to blow shit up,” Prophet corrected, but Tom didn’t buy it, not for a second.

  “And now look at us.”

  “I guess we’re both just big fucking saps.” Prophet picked up his drink and gave a cheers to Tom’s bottle. “You’ll have to get over being pissed at Phil to keep working at EE. Too much resentment’s going to fuck you up.”

  “I don’t have to work at EE. I don’t even know if I want to.”

  “What would you do, then?”

  Tom sighed. “I’ve been thinking about that.”

  “Come up with anything?” Prophet asked. “Because you draw on me every chance you get.”

  “Not every chance,” Tom said. “Speaking of . . .” He made a motion for Prophet to turn over, and Prophet didn’t argue. Tom grabb
ed a pen and began to work on Prophet’s shoulder. “I told you that your skin was made for ink.”

  Prophet snorted. “You have a body made for tattoos.”

  Tom smiled, thinking about the way Prophet traced them with his tongue or his fingers. “Is that why you spend so much time on them?”

  “Damn straight.” Prophet looked over his shoulder. “So you’re thinking of opening a tattoo shop, right?”

  “Something like that,” Tom said. “Still rolling it around in my mind. Not ready to talk about it.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “What’ve you been thinking about?”

  “Honestly? I can’t see beyond this John thing.”

  Tom pressed a kiss to the back of his neck. “Soon.”

  Prophet rolled over a little but Tom remained on his hip, pinning him to the chaise. “Suppose there’s no epiphany after it’s over?”

  Prophet smiled lazily at Tom. “I’ll give you epiphanies as often as you need them.”

  Tom smiled back, charmed. He cherished these rare, unguarded moments from Prophet. For Prophet to feel protected enough with him was the real victory here. And that was happening more and more lately.

  Prophet tugged at his arm. “What time is it?”

  “It’s tomorrow,” Tom stretched, more relaxed than he’d been in forever.

  “How do you feel about Amsterdam?”

  “You gonna tell me how I feel about it, bébé?”

  “I think you’ll feel just fine,” Prophet practically growled. “But there’s a lot going on. I didn’t think all this would happen at the same time.”

  “That’s okay, Proph.”

  “I know you’re ready. I know I keep asking you if you’re okay and how fucking annoying that must be. But that’s because I’m not okay. I’m not ready.”

  Tom stroked a hand through Prophet’s hair at that confession. “I know.”

  “Part of me hates that you know me so well.”

  “And the other part?”

  Prophet gave a faint grin, then said quietly, “Loves it,” like if he said it too loudly, fate might swoop in and snatch this moment, the word, out from under them.