by Josh Lanyon
Jesus, did I want to do this. I kept thinking of the first time Jake and I had made love. Because even then it had been love for me, even if I had been afraid to admit it.
I continued lightly stroking, and Jake said suddenly, roughly, “That feels…crazy.”
“Good crazy or bad crazy?”
“Just…” I heard his swallow, that revealing catch.
I leaned forward, pressing my lips to the heated velvet of the small of his back. Kissed my way up each link in his spine, like the most devoted of priests working his way down the rosary.
With my body, I thee worship.
He gave another of those shivers, said suddenly, “I had to wonder. Your face is so beautiful when I fuck you.”
I leaned back on my heels and pressed my finger against the clench. He tensed and then relaxed. I pushed harder, and then I was in. He gasped. I think I might have gasped too. It was intensely, shockingly intimate to do this to him.
His cock was lifting, starting to harden, which was a relief. My own was almost painful in its swollen rigidity. I wanted him so much I felt almost dizzy with excitement and longing.
Jake said quietly, gruffly, “Yeah, that feels good. You touching me there like that. Christ. That’s…”
I pushed the oily tip of my finger in and then out, very lightly, giving him friction and rhythm. I knew how good that felt. His sphincter muscle automatically gripped my finger.
I pressed a little farther. Taking my time. Lots of time. And why not. This was pleasurable in itself. I pushed my finger in deeply and continued stroking. Jake moved instinctively into it—he never did anything halfheartedly—and then when he was relaxed enough, I worked a second slick and glistening finger inside.
“Yeah, that’s it,” he muttered as I sought delicately, experimentally for the nub of his prostate.
Jake sucked in a breath, tensed. I felt the flush of heat on his back, like he was lighting up inside.
“Chr…ist,” he said unevenly.
I took the opportunity to slide another finger inside. Jesus, he felt molten. So hot, so tight. I desperately wanted inside him, wanted to feel that fierce grip-and-grab down the length of my cock.
I got out, “Okay?”
“Yep,” he said in a compressed voice.
“God, Jake,” I breathed. “The feel of you.”
He grunted. It wasn’t distress, but I wasn’t sure it was pleasure either.
I eased my fingers out, stroking his back, his buttocks, as I awkwardly, one-handedly slicked my cock. Lots of gel. A ridiculous amount of gel probably.
The head and footboard squeaked as I got into position, resting my hands on his hips, lining the head of my cock against the entrance of his body. He tensed. And I didn’t blame him. The age old question: how the hell was Tab A ever going to fit inside Slot B?
And yet it did. It would. I was living proof of that.
I hesitated, though. If he didn’t really want it, it wasn’t worth it. “Whatever you want,” I whispered. “It’s always good with you.”
He reached beneath himself, briskly, almost impatiently coaxing his cock back to life.
“Come on, baby,” he said, and for a funny moment I wasn’t sure who he was talking to.
I pushed in.
It hurt. I could feel it hurt. I wanted to withdraw, but that would be worse, so I held very still, barely breathing, giving him time to get used to it. Kept my mouth shut because anything would be too much. Jesus, it was so hard not to move. That snug, velvet grip seemed to stop time. All that overwhelming physical sensation—his body clasped mine so tightly that every fractional movement sent jolts of exquisite sensation flashing up and down my spine—but it was also the mind fuck of it. Of this reversal. Which would ordinarily not be a big deal, but because it was Jake…was a very big deal.
He shivered and then backed into me.
I couldn’t help it. I pushed into him, plunging in farther, then pulling out, rocking against him. Biting my lip to keep from crying out at the sweetness of it.
So hard not to tear loose and go for it. I groaned with the effort, and he whispered, “That’s good, baby. So good. Harder.”
I could have cried with the relief of that permission. Having come this far—well, or not come thus far— I gave a sob, and began to thrust into him. Jake shoved back strongly, and for a few strokes it was humpy and out of sync; then we had it, found a tempo, the beat of a very different drummer.
He didn’t try to control or guide it; he simply slipped into the cadence, and it was like driving a very powerful foreign car. Complete with steering wheel on the wrong side.
Racing, almost flying, with no brakes and no seat belt, crashing right through the barriers…sound, speed, light…habit. We were hurtling to an inevitable collision.
My hands were going to leave marks on his hips, and when I spared a look, I could see my cock, pale against the darker tone of his skin, flashing in and out, faster and harder.
I remembered my manners and changed the angle, and I felt the delighted shock of it flare in his belly and roll up his spine, orgasm blazing in his brain and body.
So fast. Too fast. Ridiculously fast. I wanted it to last and last, but he began to come, and I began to come, and the world seemed to explode in a glittering, white-hot mess of broken glass and twisted metal and engines on fire.
The complete and exquisite wreckage of everything I thought I knew. And in its place, something astonishing and new and exhilarating. We collapsed together, a sweating tangle of arms and legs, gasping for breath.
Release had never been quite so…had never felt so much like deliverance. Like religious ecstasy. I felt exalted, and at the same time weak and light, muscles and nerves quivering at the tiny aftershocks of pleasure still zinging through me.
Jake whispered something. I turned my head. “Okay?”
He looked at me, and his face appeared…younger, happy, moved. “Another first,” he said.
I let out a sound. I meant it to be a laugh, but it was pretty shaky. He rolled over, hauling me into his arms.
“It was beautiful,” he whispered. He grabbed my chin and kissed me, wetly, strongly. “You’re beautiful.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. You know it was.” He smiled. “You are generous and graceful…and…” He gave a funny laugh. “Christ, you’re good in the sack.”
I think it was the wondering note that did it. I started to laugh for real, and Jake began to laugh as well.
“Yeah, but it’s true,” he said.
Not really. That is to say, I knew my way around a mattress, but what made this—well, every time we made love—special, unique, was the intensity of feeling. His emotional engagement was part of why he thought it all felt so fucking good. It was funny to me that he hadn’t realized that yet, that he was still thinking the difference somehow had to do with my superior technique.
We quieted, and I said, “Jake, what you said at dinner…”
He said, “It kills me when I do something that hurts you. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t ever have to— There’s never going to be anyone else for me. Not now.”
“The problem is not you. The problem has never been you. I will get better at this.”
“Okay,” I said. “I won’t stand in the way of progress.”
His mouth curved, but it was too gentle, too regretful to form a real smile.
It pushed me into saying the rest of it, although maybe it wasn’t the kind of thing you should admit—too heavy to lay all that on another person. “But I want you to know that I’m happy in a way I didn’t think was possible. Not for me. I didn’t think I’d ever have anything like this. I’m serious when I say if I ended tonight, I’d be sorry for what we won’t have, but what we did have these last months is worth a lifetime. I can’t put it into words, but that’s the truth. I would take these last six months with you over sixty years with anybody else.”
“Baby.” His eyes glittered, and he put his face to mine. Not kissing me, just res
ting his face against mine, breathing with me. I could feel the flicker of his eyelashes and the heat beneath, the unsteadiness of his lips.
He didn’t say anything. But somehow his silence said it all.
Chapter Eight
Kevin was waiting in the true-crime aisle when I arrived at Cloak and Dagger the next morning.
I can’t deny I was relieved. Not that I really thought something had happened to him, but occasionally bad things do happen to people I know. So far not in Jessica Fletcher epidemic proportions, but let’s just say that news of the mysterious death of an acquaintance will never take me by complete surprise.
“Where’s Jake?” he asked.
“He’s got a meeting in Santa Monica. An unrelated case.”
He frowned. “I was thinking we would hear something by now.”
I had been too, but realistically, missing person cases could drag on for months, weeks, even years.
I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, let alone a friend.
I said, “It’s tough, I know. Jake’s doing everything he can with what he’s got to go on.”
“What is he doing?”
“He’s checked with the hospitals and morgues—”
“I already did that!”
“He’s using his contacts at the DMV to try and find out if Ivor’s car was towed or has been impounded, he’s talked to the CHP, he’s tried to get access to the security-camera footage at the Marriott, he’s interviewed the Arbuckles’ neighbors. He’s talked to Ivor’s boss—”
He had done a hell of a lot in a very short time, but the results had been nil.
Kevin flushed. “This doesn’t have anything to do with work.”
“At this point we don’t know what it has to do with. Which is why he’s talking to everybody. And that takes time.”
“I’ve already told you his family is behind his disappearance.”
I hung on to my patience. “Kevin, he’s not going to take your word for it. He wouldn’t be any good as an investigator if he did. He’s going to try again to get the family to file a missing person report. Obviously the cops have resources he doesn’t, and those extra resources can make the difference. At the very least, Ivor’s cell phone records could be accessed, and we’d know where he was when he dropped off the radar.”
Or at least where he was when his phone went dead. Because if he hadn’t disappeared willingly, his phone would surely be dead by now.
“They won’t agree to that.”
“Maybe not. They were probably hoping, even assuming, Ivor would show up before now. Now that they understand there’s no wishing this away…”
Well, they still might not cooperate.
Movement along the top shelf of the bookcase caught my eye. Something small and beige was slinking our way with sinister purpose. I put my hand on Kevin’s arm to move him out of range of my ninja cat, and to my astonishment, he wrapped his arms around me and dropped his head on my shoulder.
“It’s the not knowing,” he muttered. “I don’t know how much of this I can take.”
“Uh, sure…” I patted his back kindly.
“Well!” Natalie exclaimed, stopping short as she rounded the corner carrying a stack of books.
I made a face at her, complete with eye roll.
She still had the nerve to make a disapproving humph! noise.
The front door jingled behind us. Déjà vu. I made a more determined effort to disengage from Kevin’s clutch.
Familiar footsteps were coming our way.
“I know,” I said, smacking his back more forcefully. “Don’t lose faith.”
The footsteps came to a halt. A voice from behind me said, “I see, said the blind man.”
Thankfully, it was only Guy, my ex.
Guy was medium height, lean, with long, loose, silvery hair, a haughty, not quite handsome face, and rather wicked green eyes. The wickedness was real, but only occasional. His loyalty and kindness were consistent.
Becoming aware that a crowd was gathering, Kevin stopped hugging me and stepped back, wiping his eyes.
“Hey, Happy Holidays!” I said to Guy. I might have sounded overly animated. His expression grew more sardonic. “This is Kevin. You probably remember me mentioning him from that time I was staying at the Pine Shadow ranch.”
“No, I don’t,” Guy said. He moved past me to embrace Natalie. “Gorgeous as ever, Natty. I love the hair.”
“Kevin, this is my good friend Guy. Guy, this is Kevin O’Reilly. He’s a— Jake is helping him with a…case.”
“A case of what?” Guy inquired. He shook hands briefly with Kevin and turned back to me. “Since you missed my annual Solstice party, I thought I’d hand-deliver your prezzie.”
I took the small, silver-wrapped box automatically. “Thank you, Guy. Your gift’s still at home in my suitcase.” Which was quite true. I’d picked up a 1919 copy of Spiritualism: The Inside Truth by Stuart Cumberland in a weird little London bookstore. It was currently tucked up with my dirty socks and T-shirts.
“Go ahead and open it,” Guy ordered.
Kevin, having apparently come to a decision, announced, “I’m going to go talk to Ivor’s brother.”
I paused mid-unwrapping the silver box. “Wait, Kevin. That’s not a good idea.”
“I’m just going to talk to him. I can’t stand around here and do nothing.” He walked past us and out of the store.
“Oh hell,” I said, as the door swung shut with another cheerful jingle.
“Some bullheaded relation of Jake’s, I take it?”
“Is he?” Natalie sounded surprised.
“No. He’s not. Similar physical type is all. His boyfriend is missing, and Jake’s helping him. As a matter of fact, Jake’s been hired by the family, but it’s all the same in the end.”
“Is it really?” Guy asked.
“Yes.” I finished unwrapping the box. A tiny silver star sparkled on the white velvet lining. “That’s pretty. Thank you.”
I’m not really much for jewelry, but it’s the thought that counts.
“It’s an ear stud,” Guy said. “It’s been thrice blessed. Which is probably the minimum requirement for someone with your aptitude for trouble.”
“Hey, I resemble that remark.” I couldn’t help another glance out the windows at the front of the store. No sign of Kevin. My heart sank. “How’s Peter these days?”
Guy looked suddenly weary. “We’re reevaluating our relationship.”
“Ah. Again?”
His mouth twisted, but he said, “Speaking of former students, and minions of Satan, Angus looks well. Well-fed and well-pleased.”
I couldn’t help a sideways glance at Natalie, who seemed to be suddenly fascinated by the stack of books she held.
“I’ll just put these away,” she said, and vanished down the aisle.
“You look well too.” Guy sounded wry.
I smiled at him. “I am well. Well-fed and well-pleased.”
His return smile was faint and rueful. “I’m glad you’re happy. I can’t understand it, but I’m glad.”
“I know you’re glad. And thank you for that.”
He sighed. “I was going to ask you to lunch, but you’re about to chase after that emotional young man, aren’t you?”
“Now that you mention it…”
Guy shook his head. “Another time. One hopes.”
I caught Kevin about half a block down the street. He was climbing into a red Jeep. For some reason I’d still pictured him driving around in that old Forest Service truck.
Guy was right. He did look a lot like a younger, softer version of Jake. I’d never seen Jake wear that particular expression of relief and stubbornness, though. One thing Jake was not was irresolute.
“This is not a good idea,” I told Kevin, reaching the Jeep, slightly out of breath.
“Then don’t come.”
Since I’d had no intention of going with him, I was surprised to hear myself say, “You sure as hell can’t go on y
our own.”
He slid behind the wheel, and I opened the passenger door and jumped in. Kevin started the engine.
“What are you hoping to get out of this?” I closed my eyes as he narrowly missed taking out both a parking meter and a pedestrian—and felt blindly for the seat belt.
“I want to look him in the eyes when I ask him what he did to Ivor.”
I opened my own eyes to stare at him in disbelief. “Really? You’re now an expert in neurolinguistics? Even if it was possible to tell whether someone is lying from micro eye movements, you charging over there and accusing Ivor’s brother—Ivor’s anybody—of murder—is guaranteed to create a tense situation and a totally unproductive dynamic.”
“If it was you, would you just let it go?”
“No. But I would at least try to take the advice of professionals so that I didn’t make things worse.”
“How can it be any worse?” he cried. “He’s gone. No one knows where he is. No one cares.”
“I care. Jake cares. The family cares, or they wouldn’t have hired Jake. The fact that there aren’t any answers yet doesn’t mean that no one cares. It means…there are no answers yet. And pissing off the Arbuckles isn’t going to get you answers faster.” I added, “And if Terrill is involved, the last thing you’d want to do is tip him off to the fact that he’s under suspicion.”
Kevin didn’t answer. He was driving with speed and purpose, as though he knew exactly where we were headed.
I said, afraid I already knew the answer, “Have you been to Terrill’s house before?”
“I’ve been staking him out.”
“You’ve been…”
He clenched his jaw. “That’s right. I’ve been watching him. Waiting to see what he does. I know he did something to Ivor. I can feel it in my gut.”
I stared at him for a disbelieving moment; then I pulled my phone out and called Jake.
He answered at once. “What’s up?”
“Where are you?”
“The parking lot known as the I-110.”
“Kevin and I are on our way over to Terrill Arbuckle’s.”
“Why would that be?” Jake asked with ominous calm.
“Because I couldn’t talk him out of going, and I thought it might be better to have a witness.” Or maybe simply an innocent bystander. Those usually came in useful for catching stray bullets.
