Death of a Pirate King - lanyon Josh (читаем книги онлайн бесплатно .TXT) 📗

After a bit Jake regained his breath and gathered me up, and I locked arms and legs around him, letting him carry me into the bedroom.

And I remembered Guy.

Guy.

The man who so often shared this room with me. Who wanted to share my life. My lover.

Who was still writing his ex-lover -- who might be with his ex-lover this very moment.

Or who might not.

“You all right?” Jake asked, lowering me to the bed. “Did I hurt you?”

“Not this time,” I said, rolling onto my belly and resting my face in my folded arms.

I had shared this room with Jake before I ever knew Guy.

Not that it made it right. It just…made it what it was.

The mattress springs groaned as Jake collapsed half on top of me, and his hands moved over me, warm, callused hands smoothing over my back and butt, stroking, quieting.

It felt so good to be touched again. Except -- I was touched all the time, caressed and petted by Guy, so why did I feel like no one had touched me in years?

Jake continued to rub my back in that soothing way and I stopped thinking -- I was getting pretty good at that -- and eventually his hand slowed, and stopped. I heard the quiet, even tenor of his breathing as he slept, and I let myself fall after him into the blue-edged darkness of the summer night.

* * * * *

I came awake to someone nuzzling me beneath my ear, and even half asleep I knew the difference, recognized the pleasurable rasp behind my ear. I rolled over, opened my eyes, smiling, memory moving more slowly than physical reaction.

Jake leaned on his elbow over me, gently trailing his fingers down my chest. His hand rested lightly for a moment on my breastbone. I looked down at his hand. His wedding band was simple: yellow gold, an interlocking braid. I could see the gleam in the light from the streetlamps through the lace curtains.

He asked, “How are you feeling?”

I stretched, arched my back, considering the question. Considered why it had never provoked me when Jake asked. Hell, he’d bossed me around more than anyone ever had. One of life’s little mysteries. And despite the fact that tonight I’d broken a couple of my cardinal rules -- including the one about married men -- I felt relaxed, warm. Better than I’d felt in a long time.

“I’m okay,” I said. “I’m good.”

“Yeah?”

My mouth tugged into a smile. “Yeah.”

He tickled my ribs lightly, and I drew my knees up, rolling away from him.

“Nah, come back,” he said, and tugged me over. “I’ll stop.”

I flopped back over and stared up at him. “How are you feeling?” I asked.

His mouth contorted briefly. I touched the little frown line between his brows, smoothing it away.

“I figured,” I said. “What’s she like? Kate.”

He seemed to consider the question for a moment, viewing her dispassionately. “Pretty, smart, aggressive.” I saw the flash of white as he smiled faintly at some memory. “She’s a tiger.”

I nodded. She’d have to be, I guessed. I looked back across two years’ worth of wondering, and questioned, “Do you still have that dog? What was his name?”

“Rufus?” He shook his head. “No. He died last year. He was pretty old for a shepherd.”

I remembered once wondering if Rufus would cotton to me. We’d never had a chance to meet, old Rufus and I. Not in a year of seeing Jake.

Had it only been a year? It had seemed much longer. Sometimes it had seemed like a lifetime. But maybe all lifetimes weren’t measured in hours, days, and years.

“Are you living at the same place?” I had only been to his little house in north Glendale once, waiting for Jake on our way somewhere -- somewhere he had no doubt been terrified to be seen with me.

“Yeah.” He rolled on his back and stared up at the ceiling fan’s blur moving above us in the gloom. “We were going to move, but when we lost the baby we decided there was no hurry. It’s big enough for two.”

We. I wondered why I had started this line of conversation. Really not a good idea.

We listened to the fan whirring softly, spinning away. He asked, “So you’re finally expanding the bookstore?”

I nodded.

He didn’t ask anything else. Apparently I remained a lot more curious about him than he was about me. That reminded me of something, though.

I turned my head, studying his face in the dimness. “Guy said he saw you parked on the street in front of the bookstore a few times.”

He closed his eyes, his mouth curving in an odd expression that was not truly a smile. “Twice. I thought he spotted me. I wanted to talk to you, and you weren’t taking my phone calls.” He opened his eyes. I could see their shine like something feral in the night. “By the second time it was obvious he was pretty much living here, and I wondered what the fuck I thought I was doing.”

I had no answer to that. I wondered what the fuck we thought we were doing now. He moved suddenly, shifting around. He bent, rubbing his face against my cock, leisurely running his tongue down its length, tasting from base to tip.

I jumped and then sighed, settling more comfortably in the sheets, enjoying this, enjoying the care and attention from Jake’s soft and warm mouth -- hard to believe a man who could say such hard things could have such a sweet and soft mouth.

He took his time lapping at my skin, coaxing it back to sensation and reaction. I murmured my pleasure. Stretching out alongside me, his soft, sweet lips pressed my own and his hand closed on my hip, guiding me, the other hand linking fingers with me. That was nice. I didn’t remember ever holding hands with him before.

“Something funny?”

“Well, yeah,” I said.

He didn’t ask what -- maybe he knew it was better not to know. His mouth feathered over my skin, drifted to my shoulders, traced my collarbone. He’d shaved before coming over. For some reason I found that touching.

I half turned, humping against him and he stroked my flank, his mouth fastening on my nipple, and the sting of pleasure was surprising. Funny thing because I had never liked that from anyone but Jake. Somehow when it was Jake sucking that tight little nub, discreetly teething, it was different. I groaned and thrust up at him.

“Can I have you?” Jake asked.

“Uh, you can borrow me,” I said shakily, and he said gravely, “Thank you. I promise to return you in working order.”

My skin felt too tight for my body, too hot, my heart pounding too hard -- and I thought that it would be nice to go out like this, check out in a kind of spontaneous combustion of sweat and sex and semen.

Serve him right to be stuck with the body.

He thrust back against me, slow and easy, and I heard myself making a keening sound as he tongued and tugged my nipple.

“Oh, yeah,” Jake said in a guttural whisper, “you do love that.” His thumb tracked the wet slit of my cock, stroking, tracing. I could feel his own prick, engorged and beginning to push for attention, needy and neglected.

The nightstand drawer scraped open, and I heard him fishing around. I resented his notion that he would know where to find the things he needed, that I had changed so little -- but the fact was, I hadn’t changed in the little things. And maybe not as much as I wished in the big things.

Finding what he needed, he attended to himself with quick efficiency. I rolled over, stretched out, and he stroked a light, possessive hand down my spine. “You have no idea how often I’ve dreamed of this.”

I shook my head -- I’d had dreams too, but there was no point talking about this stuff. His finger tracked the crack of my ass, teasing as he found the sensitive places. I moaned, squirming into that touch, separating my legs, offering him access. The sheets felt cool on my belly and my half-hard cock.

His hand rested on my shoulder. “I want to watch your face.”

“Closet romantic too, huh?” I said, but I let him guide me over onto my back, and I bit back the other things I could have said, pulling my knees up, opening for him.