Ethan’s hand drifted lazily down Jack’s ribs, over his hip bone, and down his thigh. Halfway to his knee, it paused, fingertips idly playing in his leg hair; then the hand slipped down the outer curve of muscle and began the slow return journey. The hand had done this several times over the past ten or so minutes. It was the only movement in the bed. In the room. Probably in the entire apartment.
Three days of his week off gone already and Jack couldn’t bring himself to care that they hadn’t left the apartment in all that time. Didn’t mind that the most clothes he’d worn in that time was pyjama bottoms or shorts. Not that it had been a sexfest the entire three days. There had been a lot of lying in front of the telly, catching up on the world or shows or laughing at how the player statistics for the cricket looked like dating profiles. Ethan had read and Jack had pestered him to read aloud, often falling asleep after a chapter or two. Not because the story was boring but because he felt so content with Ethan’s voice in his head.
The change in Ethan was welcoming, as well. He slept like he used to, deep and intense, only surfacing when he was ready or if Jack was too horny to wait and blew him awake. The last couple of bruises were fading nicely, barely yellow tinges under his pale skin. He smiled easily and laughed with Jack, and at him. He teased and tempted, and his attempts at deliberate seduction were getting better. Which didn’t matter because Ethan was at his most desirable and irresistible when he wasn’t trying.
The hand made another slow circuit. Each time it did, it got just a little closer to Jack’s dick. They’d already fucked twice today, and the way this was going, a third was soon to happen. Maybe this would be the time Jack kissed him.
God. He’d been ready, determined to do it after the not-an-argument, but the make-up sex had been so frantic, so desperate, it hadn’t felt right. And each time after, Jack thought sex wasn’t the right time. The perfect time to do it was when Ethan couldn’t misconstrue it as something that just happened in the heat of the moment. But then Jack would wonder if planning it wasn’t as bad. It should be spontaneous, natural, because then it would mean more. If it happened to occur while Ethan’s legs were wrapped around his waist, his back arched in ecstasy, eyes wide and mouth gasping Jack’s name . . . well, that would be natural, too, right?
As the hand headed south again, the heel of its palm brushing along the length of Jack’s dick, he thought about other things he’d been waiting to happen naturally, but hadn’t. Things, or one in particular, that Jack now decided needed some prompting. Waiting until the hand was making another downward sweep, bringing more contact to his warming dick, Jack spread his legs a little, just enough to make Ethan’s hand dip down between them.
The hand paused there, as if contemplating the new territory open to exploration. Slowly, it cupped the inside of Jack’s thigh, sending a pleasant wave through his muscle and up into his groin. Fingers flexing, Ethan dallied for a while, then resumed his route. The next time, he moulded his hand around Jack’s shaft, stroking down it softly. Jack widened his thighs, and the hand dropped between them, grazing his balls. So it went for several more minutes, until with each pass, Ethan was giving him a few firm pumps before fondling his balls and then tease his taint.
Jack was finding it hard not to squirm. He didn’t want to upset the current sequence of events, wanted this to reach its eventual conclusion. But Christ. His whole body was aching with the need for more. More hands—well, at least one more—more pressure, more heat, more mouth—any mouth—more . . . more Ethan. And Jack wasn’t alone in his vibrating frustration. Ethan made small motions that pressed his dick against Jack. It was hot and hard, and the feel of the thick shaft rubbing on Jack’s skin quickly became too much to resist.
“Jesus.” Jack reached for Ethan’s dick and gave it an appreciative squeeze. “When the hell are you going to fuck me?”
Ethan froze, except for the part of him in Jack’s hand, which pulsed with unmistakable eagerness.
“Yes.” Jack let him go, but only so he could tumble Ethan to his back and straddle him. Catching both of their dicks in one hand, Jack leaned over and nuzzled into Ethan’s neck. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted this? Wanted you to want this?”
Under him, Ethan bucked, shoving himself harder against Jack. His hands pressed into Jack’s back, his sides. They slid up either side of his neck, pulling Jack’s face closer so he could kiss his chin, his nose, his temples. He murmured agreement and whimpered when Jack brushed the tip of his dick with his thumb, smearing pre-cum around and around and down. Then, with a strangled moan, he put his hands on Jack’s chest and pushed him up and away.
“Wait,” he gasped.
Befuddled with lust, Jack sat back on his heels and nodded. “Yeah. Lube. We’ll need lube.”
Ethan barked a single, breathless laugh and sagged into the mattress. “Yes, I suppose. Eventually.”
Scrambling for the bedside table drawer, Jack muttered, “Not eventually. Now. We’ve had a whole year of foreplay.”
A warm hand landed on Jack’s back. “Jack, please wait.”
Words and tone got through the fog in Jack’s head. He faced Ethan, sitting cross-legged on the bed. His dick was still hard, but some of the urgency had disappeared. “Why? You want this. I know you do.”
Ethan pulled in a deep breath, eyes closing as he let it out. “I do. Desperately. You are unique, Jack. You make me want so many things that I didn’t know I could have.” A smile softened his mouth. “You made me enjoy sex. A lot. You made me want, for the first time in my entire life, to . . .” He sighed and, skin blazing with a fierce blush that spread down to his chest, finished with, “To fuck a man. Specifically, you.”
Initially, Jack was amused. Ethan didn’t say “fuck.” Not as a curse or a verb. Jack had coaxed it out of him a couple of times, loving how it made Ethan squirm and redden. And then the context caught up to him.
Jack frowned. “You mean you’ve never topped before?”
“I’ve never felt a desire to.”
He looked so worried Jack wanted to smother him in kisses. Instead, he said, “That’s okay, you know. You’re a natural bottom, that’s all.”
Ethan chewed that one over for a moment, then shook his head. “No. That’s not it. Or at least, not completely.” He sat up and mirrored Jack’s position. His dick had softened noticeably, and the flush of blood under his skin had faded. “Perhaps I am a natural bottom, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m not attracted to men.”
Jack blinked. Then again. “Um . . . what?”
“Hmm. I worded that wrong.” He shifted onto his knees and, when Jack didn’t stop him, straddled his lap. “I’m incredibly, scarily, desperately, attracted to you. The fact that you are male is secondary to the fact that I very much like how you make me feel.” He rolled his hips over Jack’s groin. “Physically.” He cupped Jack’s face in his hands and stared directly into his eyes. “But most importantly, intellectually and emotionally. I have never felt so alive with anyone else. So . . . human.”
Throat closed up, in compassion and fear and the need to kiss him, Jack could only nod. His arms wrapped around him and tugged him closer.
Ethan settled into the embrace. “I’ve been with very few people. Two women and three men, before you. I found sex easier with the women. More . . . tolerable than with the men. With them, things only worked if I let them do to me whatever they wanted. Not being erect during penetration isn’t so unusual they suspected I wasn’t enjoying it. I could fake everything else well enough.”
Helplessly, Jack wondered if Moraitis was counted as one of the three men Ethan had been with. The thought sickened him even as it made him hold Ethan tighter. Unaware of the grim direction of Jack’s thoughts, Ethan relaxed against him, pliant and warm and smiling as he continued.
“Then I met you. You were cranky and sad and really wanted to punch me.”
“With reason,” Jack grumbled into his shoulder.
“With very good reason. Yet you didn’t
. You walked with me, you talked with me. You made me laugh. You laughed with me. At me. You never hesitated to get angry at me, despite believing I was Ethan Blade, feared assassin. And I wanted you because of all that.”
Tilting his head to look at Ethan, Jack asked, “Really?”
“Really.”
“When did you first want me?”
Cheeks pinking faintly, Ethan looked away for a moment, then back again. “The first night. When you let me clean your wound.”
Jack snorted. “No. Really, when did you first want me?”
“Then. I swear it’s true. I’ll grant I didn’t exactly understand what I was feeling. All I knew was you had made yourself vulnerable to me even knowing what I was. Exposed your wounded back. That meant something to me. No one had ever done that for me before. Even Valadian, when he . . . dominated me, made me strip naked every time, so he knew I wasn’t hiding a weapon. He didn’t want me to touch him or look at him during it. And yet you, a soldier and spy, lay down and let me tend you.” He bit his lip, and his blush deepened. “It helped, too, that the firelight made your skin glow like old gold. Made me want to touch it. Touch you, to know if you were as warm as you appeared. You were.”
“That was the fire and infection,” Jack muttered gruffly.
How would Ethan feel if he knew Jack had done all that because he’d been so confused and on the edge of a deep, dark hole, that he hadn’t cared if Blade had meant to plunge a knife into his back?
Ethan started to move on him again. They were both flaccid, but that wouldn’t last long. “Long story short. I want to top you. I just don’t know how.”
Did how it all started matter when they were here now? Probably about as much as knowing about Moraitis mattered when it came to how Jack felt about Ethan. Not greatly. Both topics could wait a while longer. Because right then, Jack wanted Ethan inside him more than he ever had in the past.
“Well, that’s a load of rot.” Jack nipped his chest. “I’ve fucked you enough you should have picked something up by now.”
Ethan chuckled. “True. That, however, doesn’t mean I won’t require some instruction.” His voice went husky and low. “A lot of instruction.”
Just like that, Jack was hard again. After a swift check, he discovered Ethan was, as well.
“Right,” Jack growled. “This is getting done. Now.”
“Indeed.” Ethan matched his rumbling tone and lunged for the bedside table.
Unable to resist, Jack scraped his teeth over the perfectly displayed rear. Ethan shuddered and laughed and fumbled the drawer open.
“You shall pay for that,” he promised.
“God, I fucking hope so.”
Knock knock.
Ethan froze and Jack groaned.
Knock knock knock. “Boys? Are you home?”
“Mr. Cesare,” Jack muttered.
“Hello? Nishant? Ethan?”
At the sound of his called name, Ethan went completely still. He was getting better, but old, life-preserving habits died very hard. Jack sighed and hauled himself off the bed.
“I’ll see what he wants. You stay here.”
Ethan didn’t exactly relax as Jack found a pair of clean pants and a T-shirt, but he didn’t go for his guns, either. Hoping this was an innocent interruption and that things could get back on track as soon as possible, Jack headed for the front door. Perhaps some of Ethan’s paranoia had rubbed off on him because he checked the screen to make sure the elderly man was alone before opening the door.
“Jack!” Mr. Cesare smiled in relief. Short Round squirmed for attention in his arms. “I was worried you weren’t home.”
Jack scratched Shorty’s head. “We’re home. Just . . . busy.”
“Sorry, sorry. If it’s too much trouble, I can always ask Melanie on the first floor to look after Shorty for me.”
Shorty licked his human’s chin. Then he started wriggling so hard he was in danger of squirting free and tumbling to the ground.
Chuckling, Jack said, “It’s fine. We’ll watch him for you. Put him down before he breaks his silly neck.”
The moment his little paws hit the floor, Shorty pelted towards the bedroom, instinctively seeming to know where Ethan was. He yapped excitedly, and Ethan’s startled but happy exclamation made Jack smile.
“It’s just overnight,” Mr. Cesare explained. “My grandson’s in hospital in Newcastle—nothing serious—and my daughter is coming by to pick me up so we can go see him.” He handed over a bag with Shorty’s stuff, assured Jack he would be back late the following day, and headed downstairs to wait for his daughter.
A shirtless Ethan, convinced there was no threat, appeared with Shorty in his arms. The dachshund was on his back, legs waving as Ethan rubbed his belly. But for the interruption, that could have been Jack.
He explained the situation, and before he’d finished, Ethan had tucked Shorty under his arm, opened the bag, and started pulling bowls and cans and toys out. More than a little disappointed, Jack settled for pressing against Ethan’s bare back and resting his chin on his shoulder, watching as their guest’s gear was sorted out.
“Great,” Jack muttered, “now I’ll never get fu—”
“Jack! Not in front of the pup.” Ethan covered Shorty’s flappy ears. “Besides, the quicker we get Shorty situated, the sooner we can lock him out of the bedroom.”
“Put some water in a bowl and let’s go.” He rubbed his stiffening dick against Ethan’s arse.
Ethan’s groan was throaty as he set Shorty on the counter, then reached back with his now free hand to grip Jack’s hip. “Do you plan on locking the front door at any stage?”
“At some stage.” Jack nuzzled into Ethan’s neck.
“Jack.” The word was part wanton, part exasperated. He pushed back against Jack, but the rub of his arse over Jack’s groin seemed more stay-right-there than go-away. Between that and the fact that the hand on his hip held tighter, Jack couldn’t move. He felt magnetised to the man.
Butt planted on the counter, Shorty watched them grind, head tilting one way, then the other. He gave a curious little yap and nudged Ethan’s arm for attention.
“Mm, Jack, you need . . . oh, yes . . . to close the . . . ngh!” With a firm push, he shoved Jack’s hips back, but only far enough so he could turn around, hoist himself up onto the counter, and reel Jack back in with his legs around his waist.
Hands in Ethan’s hair, chest to chest, Jack forgot everything else and leaned in to kiss him.
Shorty’s rumbling growl cut through the fog surrounding Jack. Ethan froze. A second later, Jack was propelled back so hard he collided with the dining table. Ethan rolled over the counter and dropped behind it as Shorty skittered along the smooth surface towards the doorway, barking madly.
Jack followed the dog’s trajectory and discovered Adam standing the entrance, bottle of bourbon in one hand. He looked ragged. Tired and harassed with his tie askew, hair messy and sleep-deprived eyes wide in shock.
Then Ethan stood up behind the counter. His face was closed down. Lips in a hard line, eyes narrowed. This was Ethan Blade, ready and capable to kill. He had a gun in each hand, and both of them were trained unerringly on Adam.
Jack and Lewis made it back to the Neville Crawley Building safely. Once above ground, messages came in for both of them, sending Lewis to the eighth to catch up with Lydia and the team, and Jack to the tenth, to McIntosh’s office.
“You managed to cause quite a stir in the space of a couple hours.” She motioned for him to sit.
“That was the plan, ma’am.”
Her smile was tight and didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It was a rousing success, then. Dumay has a rather diverse vocabulary when inspired. I’m having Miller look up the meaning of some of the words she used to describe you.”
“She’s a smart woman.”
McIntosh agreed with a nod. “And in a difficult situation. Which I made that much worse for her. Not only does she have the commissioner and ADFIS breathi
ng down her neck, but I left her on the phone to Minister Simmons, as well.”
“Hopefully we’ll catch the Judge tonight and they’ll all leave her alone.”
“Nothing is ever that easy, Jack, especially when it comes to politics. Give me a rundown of what happened while you were out.”
Well-trained in giving concise reports, Jack had his director caught up within fifteen minutes, explaining the new insights he and Lewis had discussed in the tunnels.
When he’d finished, she asked, “And Garrote’s intentions?”
“No bloody clue, ma’am. She could have killed me several times and yet . . .”
McIntosh leaned back in her chair, fingers laced together over her belly. “Hopefully her motives won’t matter for much longer. We’ve found out who bought the ticket she picked up.”
“Who?” Jack tried not to get too excited. Finding the ticket owner was one thing. Getting them to void it was another. Depending on why they bought it, they might not be willing to give in to any of the Office’s usual tactics—money, coercion, or threats.
“Sun Zheng, an importer/exporter based in Hong Kong. He appears to be a Disciple of the Messiah, but we’ve yet to confirm it. His company is just a front for a smuggling organisation, which in turn might be part of an as yet unidentified Triad. We haven’t ruled out the possibility of a black society group from the mainland, either. What it boils down to is that someone is going to a lot of trouble to make us think the ticket is retaliation for your capture of the Messiah.”
“You’re clearly not convinced.”
“Not yet. I’m tending to agree with Lewis’s theory that it’s all too convenient. As for the second ticket, we’ve narrowed it down to originating within the Meta-State, most likely from Australia. Intelligence is close to finding the buyer. I understand you’ve refused backup when you go out tonight.”
Why the Devil Stalks Death Page 24