Walk a Mile Page 6

Jerry pulled up short at the sight of him.

  Not taking his eyes off Jerry, Flynn tugged at his tie until it came loose. “I need you to fuck me.”

  Jerry gaped at him for a second, and then plunged all thoughts into the soundproof booth as he rapidly processed them. Flynn rarely bottomed, not that Jerry minded. He often thought he was getting the better deal. But even when they’d been going at it like rabbits, Flynn had never asked for sex. It had just happened. Like spontaneous combustion.

  Jerry narrowed his eyes as he fought to keep his thoughts hidden. Flynn looked exhausted. His hair and clothing were damp; he must have been walking in the rain. He seemed to want to be punished for some reason, and he had chosen bottoming as the means of achieving self-flagellation. What that said about his feelings toward sex with Jerry wasn’t to be thought of right now. What mattered was giving Flynn what he wanted, the way he wanted it, without ever having spoken about it before. Jerry had only one shot at getting this right.

  “Fine,” he said, when he’d found his voice again. Frost chilled his words. “Strip.”

  Flynn raised an eyebrow.

  “You heard me.” Jerry spoke in the clipped tones he reserved for the truly stupid coworker. “I’m not going to ask twice.”

  He buried the internal sigh of relief when Flynn shrugged out of his jacket and began unbuckling his belt.

  “Yeah. That’s it.” Jerry felt an astonishing rush of power come over him. His cock approved, slowly filling to tent his towel. Flynn undressed carelessly, his underlying anger causing him to tug at his shirt buttons in a manner that normally would have pained Jerry to watch. This time he felt a simmering excitement at the knowledge that Flynn was pulling roughly at his clothing at Jerry’s command.

  For once, he was in goddamned control. Unexpected confidence surged through him and he cast aside his towel. He planted his feet firmly and stood as though he expected to be worshiped, and by God, for once he felt as though he should be worshiped.

  Flynn watched him with flattering attention, to the point that he fumbled with the buttons on his fly.

  “Stop.” Jerry infused the word with all the authority he’d developed from years as an agent and was gratified when Flynn froze and looked up in confusion.

  “You can’t take your pants off before your shoes.”

  Flynn looked down at his feet, and incredibly, a bright red streak appeared on each cheekbone. He stopped trying to slither out of his pants and toed off his shoes, kicking them aside. Tugging off his socks one at a time, he went back to shucking his pants, never taking his eyes off Jerry. The complete supplication with which Flynn obeyed him was deeply satisfying in a way that surprised Jerry. Who knew?

  When Flynn was stripped naked, save for the silver cross he never removed, Jerry gave his next order. “Suck me.”

  Flynn’s eyes widened, but the slow smile curving his lips told Jerry he was cool with this. He started to take a step forward, but Jerry stopped him with a raised hand. “On your knees.”

  That gold light flashed in Flynn’s eyes again. He held Jerry’s eye contact for a long moment before dropping his own gaze to the floor. Jerry was pushing it, he knew, and self-doubt began whispering to him. This wasn’t them, and he wasn’t sure he could pull it off, not with Flynn glowering at him like maybe this was a bad idea. Nevertheless, Flynn slowly got down on his hands and knees, crawling toward Jerry in apparent obedience.

  Jerry hated it. That wasn’t what he wanted in a relationship with Flynn. They were equals, damn it. Partners. He was play-acting at being a Dom because he’d thought that’s what Flynn wanted and he’d do anything Flynn wanted, as long as they were together. He opened his mouth to say as much but Flynn had reached Jerry’s feet and took hold of his cock. He flicked his glance upward, giving Jerry his trademark half-smile. As surely as if he could read Flynn’s mind, he felt Flynn’s acceptance of Jerry’s doubts and his willingness to play along.

  Everything was going to be all right.

  He sucked Jerry down with an expertise quite unlike the first couple of times Flynn had given him a blowjob.

  Then again, they’d given each other a lot of blowjobs in those early days. Flynn had learned from the practice and was good, very good. He bobbed up and down over Jerry’s cock almost lazily, taking his time as he licked and sucked and nuzzled. It felt so amazing that Jerry wanted to close his eyes and let Flynn work his magic, but he remembered Flynn’s request. Fisting his hair, Jerry stopped Flynn before he got off. That wouldn’t fit into his plans of fucking Flynn, and by God, tonight that’s exactly what he wanted to do.

  The flash of anger in Flynn’s eyes made him snort back laughter. No one messed with Flynn’s hair.

  “You said you wanted me to fuck you. I want to fuck you.” Jerry was serious now. “I want to take you apart from the inside out. I want to make you beg for it.” He’d never been very good at saying what he wanted out loud, and he lapsed into speaking to Flynn with his mind. You’re going to know why I like it so much when you fuck me. I’m going to make you feel everything I feel. I’m not going to stop until you fly apart at the seams. And then I’ll be there to put you back together again.

  There was a slight tremor in Flynn’s grip when Jerry grasped him by the hand and pulled him to his feet. Their kiss was heated and urgent in a way it hadn’t been in a long time. Flynn opened his mouth, letting Jerry in, and Jerry ruthlessly took advantage, pressing home with a roughness unlike him. Flynn gave back as good as he got and suddenly they were on familiar territory. The press of their bodies had their cocks rubbing together, nudging and pushing against one another. Flynn forced Jerry back toward the nearest wall, the better for crushing up against him. Instead of allowing it, Jerry broke off the kiss and pushed Flynn away from him.

  They stood breathing heavily for a moment, as though they’d been fighting. Jerry noted with satisfaction that Flynn’s pupils were blown, the hazel iris a mere halo around their black depths. Flynn moved in closer, enough so the heat of his body radiated toward Jerry, begging him to be consumed by it. Both cocks were fully engorged now, and Jerry couldn’t resist fisting the two of them together, feeling the wetness of precome slicking his hand. That, too, was a familiar rhythm that was tempting to ride to completion, a warm, lazy way of getting them both to orgasm. It wouldn’t take much more, just a little faster and he could bring them off within minutes. That wasn’t what he wanted tonight, though. It wasn’t what he thought Flynn wanted—or needed—either. He let go of their dicks to point toward the bed.

  “Hands and knees.” His voice was rough in its command. It didn’t even sound like him.

  Flynn cast him a wicked glance over his shoulder before obeying Jerry’s order. With slow deliberation, he crawled onto the bed, his cock hard and heavy between his legs. He bowed his head as he waited for Jerry, knees parted and hands spread wide in preparation for Jerry’s weight. Jerry stalked to his bag where he knew he’d find lube, the weight of his cock almost painful as it bounced with his movement.

  Me. Inside you. After I’ve opened you up. After I’ve pumped my fingers in and out of you. After you stop resisting me and want me so badly you’ll take all of me inside of you if you can.

  A small sound tore its way from Flynn’s throat, as though he couldn’t stop himself. He rarely made any noise during sex. The fact that Jerry had wrested this slight vocalization from him was a powerful rush. And just with my thoughts. Wait until I actually touch you. Flynn arched his back and pushed his ass back as Jerry climbed on the bed, begging without saying a word.

  Oh yeah. You want this. Jerry slicked his fingers with lube and tossed the container on the bed beside him. You’ve been thinking about this for hours. What it would feel like for me to finger-fuck you. He mirrored his thoughts with the action, lightly rubbing his finger around Flynn’s puckered hole. It fluttered and winked at the touch, hungry and greedy for more. Flynn spread his knees farther apart and offered himself up. Instead of taking this blatant invitation, Jerry licked and nip
ped at Flynn’s cheeks, coming closer to his target but not landing on it. He circled nearer with every pass, exhaling moist air over Flynn’s hole in a manner that had Flynn winding his fists in the pristine sheets. All the while, those little involuntary contractions made Jerry long to press into that velvety flesh. Flynn finally rested his forehead on one arm against the mattress.

  “For fuck’s sake.” It was all Flynn said. Whether he knew it or not, he was rocking his pelvis infinitesimally.

  “For fuck’s sake what? Tell me what you want, Flynn.” He brushed across Flynn’s hole and it clenched as though it was trying to grab his fingers and pull them in.

  “Bastard.” Flynn growled. “You know what I want. I already told you.”

  Rubbing against him, Jerry noted with satisfaction when Flynn arched back once more with a little frustrated moan. Seeing a more demonstrative side of Flynn was hot, very hot. Jerry couldn’t tease him any longer. He needed this himself. He pressed in with one lubed finger, pumping it in and out slowly while Flynn pushed against him. Jerry had planned to take it slow, to bring Flynn to the pinnacle of sensation before bursting him apart, but that’s not what either of them wanted right now. They were both too aroused. Flynn wanted it rough? Well, so did Jerry. If Flynn wanted to be taken, then Jerry was more than happy to do the taking.

  He pushed in with his fingers folded into a cone, finger-fucking Flynn as he moaned and shifted. He was pushing harder now; part of him thought he could actually fist Flynn if he tried. The trembling in Flynn’s thighs beneath him made him change gears, and he pulled out his fingers, save one, altering the orientation and diving forward where he knew Flynn’s prostate lay. When he brushed it, Flynn cried out and twitched as though he’d been shocked.

  Jerry fluttered his finger over that spot again, smiling when Flynn twitched again.

  “Fuck,” Flynn gasped when the second wave of sensation ceased. “I don’t think—for fuck’s sake, just—”

  Jerry didn’t let Flynn finish his thought. He’d rolled on a condom and slicked up his cock, aligning it with Flynn’s hole and pushing its snub end through the firm ring of muscle. The sensation of heat and constriction made him tip his head back with pleasure bordering on pain. The tightness around the end of his cock was amazing; he’d forgotten how great it could be. They didn’t fuck often, even when they’d been having regular sex. But sometimes a guy just needed a place to thrust. He could feel Flynn’s resistance suddenly give way to acceptance, and he slowly pushed in, the action teasing a small groan from both of them as he did so.

  God, I want to stay like this forever. Inside you. Part of you. Pounding you. Loving you.

  They were words he couldn’t say aloud.

  Jerry rolled his hips against Flynn, his thoughts mindlessly flowing as he gave in completely to fucking him. This. This. He wanted this to last forever even as he picked up the pace. They were racing now, rocking together, building friction and steam as they set in motion reactions that couldn’t be stopped. The sound of skin against skin, the smell of sex growing stronger in the air, his hands on Flynn’s hips, the little grunt Flynn made with each thrust into his body—it was all part of a glorious chain reaction, a wondrous chemistry. Jerry became dimly aware that he was crying out with each thrust, louder and louder with the approaching orgasm.

  It swept over him like a storm, causing him to collapse over Flynn’s back and shudder into him. He was incapable of stirring at first, so given over to the sensations flickering through his nervous system. After a bit, he shifted so Flynn could breathe. The movement caused him to pull out, something that always caused a pang of regret. He rolled over onto his back, facing the ceiling with a smile on his face. To his surprise, Flynn rose upright on his knees and angled so he was partly facing Jerry. With ferocious concentration, he jacked himself off until he came, spurting come over Jerry’s stomach and thigh. He sank back on his heels, still stroking his dick lightly, eyes closed. He looked utterly relaxed.

  Jerry felt as though he’d been marked. And that made him smile with sleepy delight.

  Flynn was not his to order around. He didn’t own Flynn. They were partners in every sense of the word. It was a two-way street. They owned each other. They belonged to each other.

  Flynn opened his eyes. “You’re such a goddamned romantic.” His smile took the sting out of the words.

  Chapter 4

  THEY SLEPT late the next morning, not rising until nearly 10:00 a.m., and then ate breakfast at the free buffet provided by the hotel. The incident on the airplane was one of the headline news items on the television in the dining area. Flynn’s dark eyebrows almost met in the middle of his forehead as he frowned, his generously full lips compressed as though he was biting back words as the newscast played. It took Jerry reassuring Flynn he’d do all the paperwork associated with this latest incident to get him to smile. If Jerry smiled as well within the soundproof booth, well, no one knew it but him.

  Changing the subject by way of introducing a counter-irritant, Jerry asked him about the high school reunion.

  Flynn shrugged. “It’s this weekend. In Richmond.”

  “How do you know? You barely looked at the letter.”

  “They sent me an e-mail six months ago. Don’t know why they sent the letter.”

  “Maybe because you didn’t answer the e-mail.”

  Flynn’s half-smile suggested he thought Jerry was probably right. Tipping his head sideways, Flynn wrinkled his nose. “It’s about a high school reunion. How important can it be? It’s not even one of the big years.”

  “The big years?”

  “You know, like the twenty, or the twenty-five. I’ve still got a ways to go on that, thank God.”

  “Richmond’s not that far.”

  Flynn’s expression stopped further comment along those lines.

  “Oh, come on, don’t give me that look. I’m just pointing out that if you wanted to go—”

  “I don’t.” Flynn’s smile made it feel less like a slap, but it was definitely the end of the discussion.

  They checked out of the hotel and headed to Quantico. Flynn had the Bluetooth screwed into one ear and was returning phone calls as they headed up the interstate. As Flynn drove, Jerry worked his way through the eighty-odd e-mails that had appeared in his box overnight. Jerry hated that they were wasting their time going in what was essentially in the wrong direction, away from the artifact, but Flynn had insisted, and, of course, he was right. Ostensibly they’d come east for him to tie up some loose ends here in Virginia. They couldn’t dash off first thing to the Smithsonian, especially in light of events on the flight over, without checking in at Quantico. Despite the fact neither of them wanted anything more than to examine that artifact first. Always provided they would be allowed access to it….

  “We will.” Flynn was confident and cool behind his shades.

  The perfect FBI guy.

  Flynn reached out and gave Jerry a little push on the shoulder.

  “Careful, oh Man in Black,” Jerry warned. “You’re going to make me spill the coffee.”

  He set Flynn’s cup in the holder between the seats and removed the top from his own, adding a packet of sugar and a little creamer. Once he had his cup in the holder, he added the remainder of the creamer to Flynn’s coffee. There was something eminently soothing in the ritual. This was what he did for Flynn, almost automatically, without thinking about it. This was them. Team Parker-Flynn had survived worse and lived to tell the tale. Whatever may or may not happen in the next few days, Jerry was capable of meeting it head-on.

  The sex between them the night before seemed to have cleared the air, as though a summer storm had washed away the irritating heat and humidity, leaving only the sweet, clean smell of wet grass and honeysuckle. Although Jerry hadn’t thought of honeysuckle in years, he could clearly recall the banks of it growing wild in the woods by his house. He used to pluck the blossoms and peel the petals back to suck the nectar from within. Honeysuckle and lilacs, snowball bus
hes and glossy abelia. It took him straight back to his youth—riding his bicycle after school to his grandmother’s house and parking it in the shed. His grandmother’s yard had been heady with the scent of blossoming bushes that were always mobbed by colorful butterflies.

  There in her kitchen, he would be met with open, accepting arms, and a plate of green beans that had been grown in his grandfather’s garden and simmered on the stove all morning. He’d sit at the table, knobby knees banging together as he wound his feet around the rungs of the chair. As he watched, his granny would add buttermilk to a bowl of cornmeal and stir it briskly. Only she knew exactly how much buttermilk to add to the unspecified amount of cornmeal. Only she knew how much oil to add to the heavy iron pan on the stovetop and when the oil was hot enough to pour in the batter. Jerry had tried for years to duplicate the process, with varying degrees of success. She had fried the cakes to crisp perfection, draining them on a paper towel before presenting them on a plate for him to eat. Jerry’s cornmeal cakes seldom turned out the same two times running, no matter how hard he tried.

  Holy shit, the origins of his love for food had begun in that kitchen, where love itself had been the first ingredient. It made him feel silly he’d never seen that before.

  Flynn took one hand off the wheel and touched Jerry lightly on the knee as they drove along. His gaze never left the road.

  Stepping firmly into the soundproof booth, Jerry reflected it was moments like these that made him certain of Flynn’s regard for him, even if the two of them never actually said the words. Which made his concerns about their sex life seem paranoid and ridiculous now. Especially after the night before. That was twice now they’d had sex in the last couple of weeks. More than they’d managed the entire month before. Maybe Jane had been right—Flynn had a lot of things to work out. Plus, they’d been running their asses off at work and neither of them were teenaged-boys anymore. How ironic that he had the hottest boyfriend ever, and yet it still didn’t mean sexy times 24/7 at Chez Parker and Flynn. Last night’s apparent desire to be punished worried Jerry. It was a new and disturbing element, and he scarcely knew how to bring it up for discussion.