I wanted to be the Ethan Jack saw when he used the name, the Ethan he smiled at and touched softly and kissed. And in the moment Jack said “Ethan” in that tone, with those feelings behind it, I was Ethan.
“Yes,” I said, then firmer, “Yes.”
“Um, Ethan?”
The name made me feel as warm and content as the arms still around me. “Mm, yes.” Then Jack’s tone registered through the fog in my head. Pushing myself up I blinked him into focus, suddenly unsure. “Was it all right?”
Jack was beautifully tousled, black curls delightfully disarrayed, lips wet and well-kissed, the brown skin of his neck and shoulders darkened in places by my attentions. Just looking at him made all my worries slink away and hide. Even when Jack furrowed his dark brows and said seriously, “No.” Even when he paused for the tiniest, longest, second before adding, “It was perfect.”
I gave him a moment to clarify with a “but,” and when it didn’t happen, my heart soared. “I’m a quick learner.”
“Yeah, you are.”
A slight shift from Jack alerted me to the fact I was still inside him. Personally, I didn’t mind when Jack lingered, but he might not like it as much. I pushed up and sat back on my knees. Jack’s legs, locked firmly around my waist, kept us intimately joined. Wondering how to go about extracting myself while appearing suave and experienced, I looked down and the blunt visual of how we were connected sent all the blood that wasn’t keeping me semi-hard to my cheeks and neck. It was . . . surprising and intensely arousing. Before I could suggest we start all over, I noticed something else.
“Jack, you didn’t come.” Clearly I hadn’t been good enough.
Jack’s teasing “Make me” eased the sudden burst of anxiety before it really got hold and surprised a little laugh out of me.
I was about to move when Jack tightened his hold and kept me exactly where I was. “Stay put and make me come.”
Oh. Oh. Oh.
Certain I was blushing right down to my sillily elated heart, I boldly took hold of Jack and started stroking him. This was something I knew I could do, had very much enjoyed in the past, but this time, with my cock still buried inside him . . . My gaze found Jack’s and was caught by his dark eyes, the way they locked onto me and didn’t waver, even when he bit his lip and writhed in that peculiar mix of frustration and pleasure that meant I was doing something right. I could almost believe I was doing everything right when Jack’s whole body went rigid and he came.
Feeling Jack tighten around me and pulse with the force of his orgasm nearly made me come a second time, but the stimulation was over too fast. Jack melted into the mattress, a lazily smug smirk curling his lips. I leaned down and kissed him, soft and tender because Jack was mostly unresponsive. The motion let my cock slide out of him, both of us acutely sensitive to the movement.
Prepared, much to Jack’s amusement, I cleaned us up with some wet wipes and we snuggled down together.
“I’ve been thinking,” Jack said, tracing patterns on my hip.
“Congratulations. I think you burned out all my synapses.”
Jack smiled. “I hope not. I need some answers.”
I opened one, wary eye. “Yes?”
“You and Two grew up together, and you trained and worked together. He followed me around Bangkok and took photos with a neural implant. You have a neural implant, don’t you.”
Oh. We were having this conversation right now. Some of the warmth pooling in my chest cooled but I managed a nod.
“When I call you, is that what you use?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. And that’s how you got the spyware into the Office last year.”
“Yes.”
Jack absorbed that. “You were never part of a traditional military organisation?”
“No.”
“It was all this Cabal.”
“Yes.”
“And since you’re not really Ethan Blade, what do I call you? Paul?”
“Paul St. Clair died a very long time ago. I can’t be him any more than I can be Ethan Blade.” I rolled over and pushed against Jack’s chest, needing to warm up again. “But I know who I want to be. I want to be the Ethan you see. The one whose name you said during sex. I want to be him so badly.”
“You are.” Jack wrapped his arms around me. “You already are.”
I nodded, relieved he believed that. “Happy birthday, Jack.”
We fell asleep like that, wound around and through each other. Until something woke me up.
Ping.
Short and sweet . . . Many, many thanks to Dorothy, Rose and You’ll-always-be-Blanche-even-if-you-can’t-answer-the-Which-Golden-Girls-Character-Are-You-quiz-right. You know who you are.
~ Sophia
M/M Romantic Suspense
Death and the Devil Series
Where Death Meets the Devil, #1
Where Death Meets the Devil: Coda, #1.2
Bargaining with the Devil, #1.4
When the Devil Drives, #1.6
Devil in the Details, #1.8
Urban Fantasy
Night Call Series
Blood Work, #1
Demon Dei, #2
Here Be Dragons, #2.5
Rock Paper Sorcery, #3
L.J. Hayward has been telling stories for most of her life. Granted, a good deal of them have been of the tall variety, but who’s counting? Parents and teachers notwithstanding, of course. These days, the vast majority of her storytelling has been in an honest attempt to create fun and exciting ways of entertaining others (and making money).
As such, she is still a mad (always provoked!) scientist in a dungeon laboratory (it has no windows—seriously, the zombie apocalypse could be going on outside and she’d have nary a clue) who, on the rare occasions she emerges into the light, does so under extreme protest and with the potential hazard of bursting into flames under the southeast Queensland sun.
Visit L.J. at her website, ljhayward.com; on Twitter, @ljhayward; or on Goodreads, goodreads.com/L.J.Hayward.
Why the Devil Stalks Death Page 34