Bargaining with the Devil: A Death and the Devil Novella

by L. J. Hayward

  Jack pressed harder on him, watching avidly as Ethan moved to push back onto his fingers while rocking his hips so their dicks rubbed together. He was so fucking mesmerising with his lithe body and skin sliding smoothly over perfectly sculpted muscles. Redness spread under his pale colouring. Jack brought one hand around to his chest, splayed his fingers over Ethan’s heart and let the intoxicating mix of dark and light sweep him away. The pounding of his heart was drowned out by the grenade exploding under his ribs, heat washing through him, into toes and fingers and head, but burning brightest right in the centre of his chest.

  It could have ended like that, in a glorious mess on Jack’s chest, and Jack wouldn’t have minded. Ethan was there with him. That was all that mattered.

  Ethan, however, had other plans. Still moving against Jack’s hand and groin, he grabbed up several of the packets he’d thrown on the bed earlier. Finding one of lube, he tore it open and coated Jack’s fingers.

  “Inside me, Jack, now,” he commanded, guiding the slicked digits back to his entrance.

  “Yeah.” Jack was too far gone to be amused by Ethan’s blatant direction.

  Both of them groaned as Jack worked a finger into him. Ethan’s head dropped forwards, hair falling over his forehead. He rocked back and forth swiftly, then demanded a second finger. Jack complied eagerly and Ethan all but rammed himself onto them, taking charge like he never had before.

  “Christ,” Jack moaned, so madly turned on he thought he could come like this. A bit of friction on his dick and Ethan above him, fucking himself on Jack’s fingers.

  “Jack,” Ethan returned, his voice just as strangled by passion. Then clearer, “Another!”

  Jack did laugh that time, a little hysterical and a lot lustful. The third finger went in with barely a hitch and after half a minute of this, Ethan tore open a condom and rolled it down over Jack’s silk and steel shaft. Sliding off Jack’s hand, Ethan shifted over his dick and eased onto him. Jack’s groan was soundless as the tight heat pressed around him. Ethan sighed an almost plaintive, “Jack,” before venting a little grunt when Jack was finally balls deep.

  In the quiet, still moment that followed, Jack reached up and ran his thumb over Ethan’s bottom lip. “You have glitter on your mouth.”

  Ethan pressed a kiss to the pad of his thumb, then guided it to Jack’s lips, rubbing it across them. “Now you do, as well.”

  It was Jack’s turn to lock up at the mere thought of the other way the glitter could have been transferred. Some of his panic must have shown in his eyes because Ethan’s serene smile faded a smidge before returning, this time wicked instead of peaceful.

  That was the only warning Jack got. Suddenly, Ethan had both of his wrists in firm holds and his body clamped tight around Jack’s dick.

  “Hands,” Ethan snapped as he jerked Jack’s arms over his head, “are to remain on the headboard.”

  The moment of fear vanished into one of surprise as Ethan made him curl his fingers around the headboard slats.

  “Don’t let go and don’t talk. If you do either”—Ethan lifted and thrust back down hard—“this ends.”

  Every iota of alarm evaporated in the flames Ethan’s words and body sent shooting through Jack. The desperate need to touch and taste, to see their skin tones so sharply defined before they started to blend and blur, went up in a puff of overwhelming lust for this take-charge Ethan. Lydia could have pinged right then, and Jack wouldn’t have registered it. Holding the headboard, watching Ethan, feeling him, giving him anything and everything he wanted, was his only concern.

  Satisfied with the situation, Ethan began to move. Slow, steady rolls of his hips that gently drove Jack insane. To watch and feel without touching him, or cursing in overpowering hunger, or telling him, showing him, how fucking good it was, how beautiful and amazing he was, was maddening. Frustrating. Painful.

  Glorious.

  Jack bit his lips to keep in the words and the whimpers and the praise. That, he could manage. Keeping hold of the headboard was relatively simple as well, even if he might have to think of some platonic reason why the Office had to pay the hotel for damages to the bedframe. However, even for the sake of his sanity, he couldn’t—could not—shut his eyes.

  It would have been easier to deal without the touching if he didn’t have to see Ethan. See how his body shifted in the pale light of the lamp, the way his abs crunched and flexed with each roll, the way he grabbed his own dick and started stroking it in time. Yet Jack couldn’t look away. Had to watch Ethan start to lose control, start to gasp and pant, start to thrust harder and deeper and wank himself faster. Watch as his head dropped back, exposing his throat for the taking, which Jack couldn’t. Watch as he began to moan Jack’s name, inviting a frantic, lusty answer, which Jack wasn’t allowed to give.

  It was excruciating yet perfect.

  Leaning back, Ethan let go of his shaft so he could brace himself on Jack’s thighs. He let out a long, low groan as the new angle worked his prostate over the head of Jack’s dick. The new sensations flooded Jack’s body with heat and electricity. His dick throbbed and his balls tightened, aching with the need to come. Jack pulled his knees up, planted his feet, and thrust upwards.

  Ethan froze, mouth open on a stalled groan, hands gripping harder at Jack’s thighs.

  Oh shit. Jack had probably just ruined his chances at coming anywhere near Ethan tonight.

  Slowly, Ethan released his hold on Jack’s legs and shifted forwards, almost pulling all the way off Jack’s dick. Jack wanted to chase him, to be buried in his heat again, to apologise and promise to be good but please, please, just finish fucking him before he expired from frustration.

  Ethan planted his hands on Jack’s shoulders, looming over him with a stern expression. Jack bit his lips to keep from making another mistake.

  “Jack.” His tone was low and growly.

  Jack raised his eyebrows in hopeful apology.

  “Jack.” Still low, still growly, but with a hint of pleading. “Do it.”

  Oh. God.

  Yes.

  Holding the headboard even harder, Jack fucked. Ethan gasped with the first hard, deep thrust, his head dropping forwards, spine arching and fingers digging into Jack’s skin. “Yes,” he moaned on the next, then, “Jack,” on the one after, his body starting to vibrate with each driving penetration. It all blurred into a fantastic rhythm of thrust, groan, shake, repeat. Jack’s hips and legs worked separate from his mind, which was focused on Ethan. On how close those sparkling lips suddenly were, on how they shaped his name or the inarticulate, involuntary sounds he made when actual words were impossible. His mouth was right there, so tempting, so impossible to ignore.

  Jack was suddenly back in his apartment, Ethan in his arms, laughing. Beautiful and happy because of something Jack said. Even after, when Jack had needed distance, Ethan had willingly given it to him. Then, even angry with him, Ethan had followed Jack all the way to Melbourne to make sure he was okay and safe. Ethan, who sliced Jack open with his insightful words, and then cut himself to bleed for Jack in return.

  Without thought, Jack was touching him. Fingertips over his lips, across his cheeks, digging into his disarrayed hair. Lost in the sensations, Ethan didn’t reprimand him, didn’t stop. He just pushed his head into Jack’s hands, murmuring his name as he lowered his face to Jack’s. Jack didn’t flinch, didn’t try to stop him, trusting him to respect Jack’s lines as he trusted Jack to respect his. Ethan stopped shy of touching him, gazes locked, panted breaths mingling. Jack wrapped his arms around Ethan’s shoulders and drove them both to orgasm, Ethan spilling hot and untouched over Jack’s belly, Jack emptying deep inside him.

  Ethan slowly collapsed onto Jack’s chest, face buried in the crook of his neck. He was slack and warm and heavy, but Jack held him there, not wanting him to ever move.

  It couldn’t last, though. Eventually, with a few sheepish apologies, Ethan peeled himself off and staggered into the bathroom to clean up. Returning with a d
amp handcloth, he held a wad of toilet paper out for Jack to deposit the condom into, which he then flushed while Jack wiped himself down. The handcloth was then thoroughly washed in hot water. It was a little ritual of Ethan’s Jack didn’t object to. DNA was not something he deliberately left behind. Afterwards, Ethan crawled back into bed, spine pressed to Jack’s side, head on the same pillow. Jack curled an arm around him, fingers brushing over his shoulder.

  “Jack?” Ethan asked softly.

  “Yeah?” Sated and exhausted, Jack was rapidly spiralling into sleep.

  “May I ask you something?”

  Squeezing his shoulder, Jack murmured, “Make it quick. I’m nearly asleep.”

  Ethan covered Jack’s hand with his own. “If I hadn’t followed you here, would you have been with that angel tonight?”

  Groggy fog blown away, Jack lifted his head so he could stare at the back of Ethan’s. “What?”

  “The blond, blue-eyed angel who followed you into the toilets. You were attracted to him and he was incredibly interested in you. I thought, if I hadn’t arrived and messed things—”

  “You didn’t mess anything up.” Jack slapped his arm lightly. “Not the job, not anything with the angel.”

  Ethan was quiet and tense for a long moment. “Truly?”

  “Jesus. Truly. He was good-looking but he wasn’t my type. He wasn’t . . . I don’t know. He just . . . wasn’t, all right?”

  After another small silence, Ethan nodded.

  Apprehension swirling in his belly, Jack added, “He wasn’t you, okay?”

  “All right.” Ethan snuggled a bit closer, held his hand a bit tighter.

  Apprehension morphing into something warmer and deeper, but just as worrying, Jack kissed the back of his head. “You’re not going to sleep, are you.”

  “No.”

  Rolling to his side, Jack moulded himself along Ethan’s back. “Wake me up before you leave, okay?”

  “You need your sleep, Jack.”

  “I need to see you for a while, too.”

  Ethan sighed. “I was planning to return to your place. If you want me there, of course.”

  Letting the peace of that wash through him and draw him back towards sleep, Jack murmured, “Always want you there.”

  He was right on the verge of dropping off when Ethan whispered, “As you wish, Jack.”

  “Crazy bastard,” Jack mumbled on the very edge of sleep.

  “Half right, Jack.”

  About the Author

  L.J. Hayward lives and writes in southeast Queensland, Australia. That is, when she’s not in the lab cackling like a mad (always provoked!) scientist or talking about herself awkwardly in the third person.

  Website: http://www.ljhayward.com/

  Twitter: @lj_hayward

  Acknowledgements

  Things have been a trifle wild since Where Death Meets the Devil was published. Both wildly good and wildly scary. In all honesty I would not have made it to this point, publishing not just this novella, but two more and, eventually, two more novels, without the support and help of some wonderful friends. Layla Reyne, Erin McLellan and Allison Temple, you’re the best Mooseketeers ever! I am forever grateful for everything you’ve done and I can only hope to repay you all one day. Thanks to the wonderous L.C. Chase as well, for the amazing covers and being so good natured when I asked for five covers, not just two, and patiently accommodated all my wishes.

  Books

  Death and the Devil

  Where Death Meets the Devil - Jack Reardon, former SAS soldier and current Australian Meta-State asset, has seen some messy battles. But “messy” takes on a whole new meaning when he finds himself tied to a chair in a torture shack, his cover blown wide open, all thanks to notorious killer-for-hire Ethan Blade.

  Where Death Meets the Devil :Coda – Ten hours ago, Jack Reardon completed the messiest case of his career. Lucky to get through it with his life and a promotion, all he wants to do is catch up on missed sleep. Which won’t happen thanks to a bothersome house-invasion from assassin extraordinaire, Ethan Blade—who is also the reason he almost lost his life and job.

  Night Call

  Blood Work - Matt Hawkins kills monsters for a living. Slay and pay. Werewolves, trolls, the occasional ghoul that gets a bit too big for its grave; but basically, whatever nasty critter crosses his path. Mostly, he kills vampires. While he’s made something of a living out of it, he doesn't even need the promise of cash to take down a vampire. Sure, it’s a nice bonus, but vampires are his personal crusade.

  Demon Dei - It's been six months since the harrowing conclusion of Blood Work and Matt's waiting for the fiery repercussions. And waiting. And waiting. Even if no Big Bad wants revenge, shouldn't he be in hot demand? Like the lawyer who wins the unwinnable case. Or the mechanic who works out what that clunking noise is in your car. Instead, Matt finds himself struggling to maintain his career as the Night Caller. But things are about to get nasty in a big, big way.

  Here Be Dragons – (short story) Sunday. Day of Rest. To anyone not Matt Hawkins, vampire-slayer extraordinaire, that is. A short story set in the world of Night Call, between the novels Demon Dei and Rock Paper Sorcery.

  Rock Paper Sorcery – Vanquishing vampire Primals and defeating Demon Lords is one thing. They’re dangerous in an obvious, tooth and claw way. But when a sorcerer comes to town chasing a murderous rogue, Matt Hawkins is faced with something he doesn’t know how to deal with—competition as the city’s resident badarse supernatural warrior.