So, he offered. He told Ethan he would do anything, and he hoped and waited and prayed.
Ethan looked up at him, white eyes inexpressive but lips curled into a soft smile and cheeks flushed just a little bit more. He unwound his fingers from Jack’s hair and drifted them down over his temple, traced under his eye, along the side of his nose and let them linger on Jack’s mouth.
“I want you,” Ethan whispered. “Just you. Don’t drive me wild. Don’t make me so crazy with lust I don’t know what I’m doing. I want to be with you, Jack.”
Not a kiss, but holy shit. It was perhaps the next best thing.
Throat clotted with so many unspeakable words, Jack could only nod. Ethan’s answering smile was slow and sweet and pulled the pin on Jack’s grenade all over again.
Feeling like he should be glowing from the internal explosion, Jack kissed him, technically on his cheek but so close to the corner of his mouth the smallest move from Ethan would have knocked down that last hurdle. But he didn’t and Jack lingered there, letting the moment wash through him. This right now was perfect for them. Nothing had to be forced because it would happen when they needed it to.
For the next however long, they simply moved together, touching and kissing and whispering. Eventually, Jack found himself back where he’d begun. He skirted his mouth around the contested zone of the navel and, forgoing any teasing, slipped his lips over Ethan’s dick. He kept it light and tender, not aiming to get Ethan off, just doing something they both enjoyed. A lot. Ethan arched and whimpered, stroking Jack’s hair and shoulders, murmuring his name over and over, then exclaiming it loudly when Jack sank right down on him and swallowed.
Pulling off Ethan with a slow, deep suck, Jack sat back on his heels and tugged on Ethan’s hips. “Roll over.”
Dazed and languid, Ethan complied. He stretched, arms reaching over the headboard, spine curling, legs spread on either side of Jack, calves tightening, toes pointing.
“Jesus.” Jack squeezed himself to keep things from tipping over then and there. With his other hand, he slapped Ethan’s arse lightly. “Don’t do that again. It’s distracting.”
“Hmm, I certainly wouldn’t want you to be distracted.” Ethan relaxed and melted into the mattress. “Do continue. Please.”
Chuckling, Jack propped Ethan up on his knees. “Just for that . . .” he promised ominously, then leaned over and bit one taut, wonderfully displayed cheek.
Ethan’s startled gasp encouraged him to keep going. Jack ranged across his perfect rear, down his thighs, and up his spine, all the while working one, two, three saliva-wet fingers into him. It was also gratifying to watch Ethan, usually so sure and deliberate, fumble in the bedside table drawer, taking an inordinate amount of time to find what he was looking for. When he came up with a foil wrapper, he held it for a speculative second, then flicked it so it went spinning across the room and disappeared under the tallboy. Jack muffled his part amused, part so-aroused-no-blood-was-feeding-his-higher-functions laugh in Ethan’s skin. The second attempt found the lube. Ethan shoved up and back, making Jack sit on his heels. Ethan followed him until he was sitting on Jack’s lap, knees spread to either side, back pressed against Jack’s chest.
Fuck. This was nice. Jack wound his arms around the man, holding him in place.
“Like this.” Ethan wiggled against him. “No condom. Just us. Like this.”
They’d gone bare a couple of times before, so Jack agreed wholeheartedly. It necessitated some distance to slick up his dick and to find a comfortable angle, but the moment Ethan sank down on Jack, it was perfect. Being inside him, flesh to flesh, just enough lube to ease the passage, was as explosive as Jack remembered. More so because memory was fallible and few things came close to this immediate, visceral contact. But even that paled in comparison to watching and feeling Ethan slowly, beautifully, move on him.
He rocked back and forth, gentle motions that worked Jack in deeper and deeper. His spine curved, shoulders cradled on Jack’s, head tossed back. Jack touched him, couldn’t stop touching him—running his palms down his chest, over his tight abdomen, along his straining thighs; up his sides, under his arms, urging them up so they reached for the ceiling, fingers twining together as Ethan lifted himself up and slid back down. Again and again and again, driving them both closer to the edge, then up once more, and he paused, waiting.
“Yeah,” Jack moaned, and one arm around his man’s chest, he braced himself with his other hand on the mattress and thrust up into Ethan.
“Jack,” Ethan gasped, shuddering. “Yes.”
Jack kept his pace steady, wanting it to last forever, at least for longer than a couple of minutes, but it was hopeless. It had been four months and this was just so fucking hot and Ethan was . . . he was . . . Hell, he was right there, moaning Jack’s name and moving with him, rising as Jack fell, falling as Jack rose. The sight, the sounds, the sensations overwhelmed him, and wrapping his hand around Ethan’s dick, Jack abandoned himself to the fucking.
Neither of them lasted long then. Ethan went first, hands gripping Jack’s thighs for balance. He arched sharply, dick pulsing as he came, which rocketed Jack over the edge as well, sending him tumbling through a white-out orgasm.
“Where are we on finding the Judge?” Jack asked as the team resumed work.
“Not very far advanced,” Lewis said. “We’re chasing leads on how he may have got into the police station. Since your little demonstration to them about how easy it is to bypass their security measures, they’ve been frantically upgrading. That’s where you come in. You’re the closest thing we have to an expert on the Judge at the moment, as well as being very familiar with the Local Area Command . . .”
Jack groaned. “You want me to work out how he got in and out.”
“Exactly. I’ve got everything you need over here.” Lewis beckoned Jack over to the corner, where a desk had been set up.
With the laptop and rolls of schematics and blueprints, it looked very similar to his usual spot in the room with the strike force. So much of his time with Infinity had been spent doing this—going through building plans and security systems to work out how the killer got in—that he had the urge to look around for Adam. Of course, the man wasn’t there. Jack wouldn’t be able to glance up from his work to find Adam across the table, thumbing through his phone or sleepily sipping his coffee. Steph wouldn’t be there to tease him with being thrown out a window, or to send him off to fetch lunch just to give her and Jack a few moments of peace. Jack wouldn’t be able to bypass Adam in favour of going to Steph with a question so he could get a succinct, innuendo-free answer.
Which made him angry again. He hadn’t gone through all that shit at the LAC that morning just to come back here and keep doing what he’d been doing there for the past month. Work that, while worthwhile, hadn’t found them the Judge in time to stop him from killing one of the strike force members.
But right then, there was little else he could do. The fact that the Judge had gotten into the LAC was the newest lead they had, and Jack had watched Adam work long enough to know the answer was in the details. In a lot of cases, the killer was already known to the police investigating the murders. It was just a matter of stacking up the evidence to prove it.
Clamping down on his anger, Jack sat and began the process all over again.
It worked for an hour or so. The puzzle consumed his mind, gave him something to focus on. It was like a virtual obstacle course. Jack had always enjoyed them. Not just physical courses, but those that presented problems to be solved. It was why he didn’t mind his cover job, why he enjoyed it when he was required to do something for the ISO. But the more he worked, the more frustrated he got.
The NSW police had substantially increased their security measures over the past month. They’d taken his demonstrations to heart and perhaps gone a bit too far in the other direction. Then again, considering the calibre of their opponent and the fact he had gotten in and killed someone, perhaps not. As a result, thi
s was a course he couldn’t work his way through. No matter how long he looked at the plans, or which way he approached the problem, he couldn’t work it out.
“Fuck this.” Jack pushed away from the desk sharply. The motion knocked a couple of rolls of paper off the far side.
Annoyed and unsettled, Jack stalked out of the operations room, giving Lewis’s concerned “Jack, you okay?” an acknowledging wave on the way.
Running up two flights to the tenth, Jack bummed a couple of cigarettes off Miller, and when he came back into the stairwell, found Lewis waiting for him.
“You okay?” Lewis’s expression dared Jack to brush him off again.
“Yeah. No.” Jack brandished his smokes and lighter and stepped around Lewis to head up to the roof. “I need a break.”
“Fair enough, but, mate, maybe try the garage. I did some reading on Eve Garrote and she’s a noted marksperson.”
“God fuck it.” Jack turned around.
“When you come back, find me,” Lewis called after him.
Ten flights later, Jack came out into the garage, which was the very last place he wanted to be. He needed open space, fresh air, a line of sight longer than a couple dozen meters. A distant horizon he could aim for, or a broad expanse of stars he could navigate by. Something other than walls on all sides, restrictions and restraints. Lies and half-truths.
God. He hadn’t felt like this in over a year. It was making a lie of McIntosh’s earlier comments. Well, not entirely. Ethan had grounded him. Given him something other than work to focus on. A reason to go home, to talk, to smile.
It wasn’t too hard, then, to work out why he was feeling unsettled. He needed Ethan back. Or at least to know how he was and if Jack needed to fight for him.
He’d been out of that interview room at the station for nearly four hours, and what had he managed to accomplish? He’d put a call in to Ethan’s number, exposing his relationship with the man to his director at the same time. She hadn’t fired him or locked him away, so that was a plus. He’d poured over the LAC security plans and found nothing. They were no closer to the Judge and hadn’t made any progress on resolving the ticket.
The cigarette flared down to the filter, and Jack stubbed it out on the cement wall. It hadn’t done much to help settle his guts, hadn’t tricked his body into thinking he was ready for whatever might come his way. He lit the second one, forcing his thoughts back to the case. He certainly wasn’t going to get anything done if he spent all his time lamenting about how much he hadn’t done.
It had been an hour since Jack had called Ethan and nothing. The message had said twenty-four hours, but this was different. This was Jack looking for a response, not some anonymous buyer wanting Ethan for a job.
The second smoke wasn’t helping either. He discarded it rather than continue with the pointlessness and headed back upstairs.
Assets pointed Jack towards the tearoom when he asked after Lewis.
“Great,” Lewis said when Jack joined him. “Now you smell like sweat and smoke.”
“You like it.”
“Yeah, baby, give it to me.” Lewis opened the fridge and perused the shelves stacked high and deep with people’s forgotten lunches, missed dinners, and yogurts way beyond their best-befores.
Jack beelined for the coffee and made himself a strong cup and a weaker one for his friend. By the time he’d turned back to the table, Lewis was hauling a largish container of pasta out of the fridge.
Jack eyed it sceptically, ignoring the way his stomach cramped and reminded him it had been a good while since he’d last eaten. “This is why we’re in here? To steal someone’s else’s food?”
In a highly stressful job, such as theirs, tearoom etiquette was vitally important. Cups and cutlery should be washed and dried, rather than left dirty in the sink. Chairs belonged tucked into the table; they shouldn’t be trip hazards. Newspapers folded and put on the counter, not left strewn across the table. And when the only bright spot a person might have in their day was homemade pasta for lunch, finding it missing was reason enough to draw blood.
“I bet you haven’t eaten in the last day. Sit.” Lewis shoved a fork at Jack. “Eat. Now.”
Still, Jack hesitated. Christ, it looked good, but there were few things powerful enough to make him eat Lewis’s cooking.
“For fuck’s sake,” Lewis muttered. “Lydia made it, okay. Not me. It’s perfectly edible.”
Lydia was smart, organised, and level-headed enough to offset Lewis when he got carried away. She was also the fiercest foodie Jack knew and the one most likely to throw the first punch in any tearoom disagreement. Knowing she’d made the pasta made it both easier and harder to resist.
“What the hell.” Jack grabbed the fork. “I’ve got one ticket already, what’s another one.”
The pasta, even cold, was really good. Jack ate the lion’s share, realising as he scraped the last of the congealed sauce from the bottom of the container that it had been nearly twenty hours since he’d last eaten.
Dinner with Ethan. The food had been good. The rest of it hadn’t.
“Feel better?” Lewis asked.
Finally understanding, Jack nodded. There would be no reprisal from Lydia. She was probably the one who’d sent Lewis to make sure he ate. It made him think of Adam’s commitment to helping Steph when no one else could.
“Thank her for me.”
Lewis grinned. “Will do. I get bonus points if I do what she says.”
Chuckling, Jack said, “You’re so whipped.”
“Am not.”
Jack just raised his eyebrows.
“Oh, and you’re not?” Lewis asked dryly.
“No.” Jack scoffed, then, “Maybe.”
“Knew it.”
“Yeah, well, at least I top.”
It took Lewis a moment, but when he got it, he scowled, then snorted laughter. “Lyds would agree.”
“She is very smart.”
Lewis swirled the last of his coffee. “I guess this means your guy showed up again.”
Maybe it was the soporific effects of the complex carbohydrates settling into his belly or he was primed by his semiconfession to McIntosh, but Jack didn’t immediately run from the question. And maybe that was why he answered as he did. That, or he really was getting tired of all the lies and subterfuge.
“Yeah, he did. He’s been back the entire time we’ve been on this job.”
“Cool. I had sort of wondered, actually. You’ve been less cranky.”
Jack tried to scowl, but the blatant truth of the matter just wouldn’t let him. He and Ethan had been happy. Mostly. Just the usual trials and clashes of two people learning how to live with one another, made all the more precarious by Jack’s job and Ethan’s past. Oh, and the monumental secret Ethan had been keeping. But then, Jack hadn’t been entirely honest with Ethan, either.
“And he doesn’t know about the job?” Lewis skirted around the actual question he probably wanted to ask.
Maintaining a relationship while working as they did was hard. Lewis and Lydia had solved the issues of constantly lying to a partner or spouse by falling for each other. It helped, too, that they weren’t field assets. Neither of them were out there, risking their lives or their relationship with some of the things field assets occasionally found themselves doing in order to get the job done. Which brought Jack right back to the question Lewis hadn’t asked.
Because he was in an odd mood, Jack answered the unasked question. “He didn’t know.”
He did now, though.
“I’m sorry, man.” Lewis contemplated the bottom of his coffee cup, giving Jack a quiet, unobserved moment to deal, then asked, “Do you think he’s in any danger from the Judge? Should we pick your bloke up and get him to a safe house?”
Jack almost laughed, but the impulse was strangled by the sudden tightness in his throat. The unlikely event of Ethan allowing the Office to protect him was quickly overrun by the thought of what Lewis would say if he knew the man he was
offering to protect was Ethan Blade.
“No,” Jack managed to scrape out. “He’ll be okay. We don’t know that the Judge is after me.”
“Are you sure? He killed one member of the strike force. The other member is missing, either on the run because they know the Judge is after them, or we just haven’t found the body yet.” It was blunt but true.
“I’m sure,” Jack said firmly.
Lewis eyed him sceptically, and Jack suppressed a wince at the expression. The reason Lewis was so good at his job was because he could make intuitive leaps between scattered bits of seemingly unrelated information. Giving him a couple of half-truths was no guarantee he wouldn’t find the right conclusion. Christ. Perhaps Jack should lay it all out there. Lewis was his best friend. Maybe he would understand.
Even as he opened his mouth to say it, to tell someone that he’d fallen for an assassin, someone technically on the Office’s long list of interesting subjects, the words dried up in his throat. The mess in Canberra was still too raw for him to risk it happening again.
When Lewis did speak, it was to say, “Okay, you’ve been fed. Time for bed, mister.”
It was so unexpected, Jack could only gape at him.
“You’ve been up for I don’t know how long, and if you’re going to be of any use to us, then you need some sleep. Frankly, I won’t have you cranking all over my team when you take us through everything you know about the Judge.” He stood and pointed imperiously in the general direction of the breakrooms. “Go to bed. Now.”
Why the Devil Stalks Death Page 8