admitting that to himself, but he wasn’t letting Tomcat know that. Then again, his body had already betrayed him big-time.
Clint. Not Tomcat. It was like he’d lost one man while another came back to claim him. So who’d been fucking him that weekend? And why did it matter so much?
Now, his body moved against Clint’s mouth shamelessly. Uncontrollably. He gripped Clint’s hair, unable to break the stare Clint locked him into as he came hard and his knees sagged under the fierce orgasm.
Clint pulled him in, nuzzled his cheek while he tried to get his body under control again. But the close proximity to the big man simply got him hard again.
Clint noticed immediately. “You’re not scared anymore.”
“You got me over that pretty fast.” His eyes met Clint’s, a demand for answers, an acknowledgement. Something.
The sex was supposed to be the apology—Jace got that, allowed it at first. Now he wanted more.
Clint brushed a hand over Jace’s hair, which was always shaggy and falling in his eyes these days. “Is this long for a mission?”
“Yeah.”
“I like it.”
“I didn’t do it for you.” Jace pulled away, and Clint yanked him back roughly.
“I know you’re pissed.”
“And you’re going to make it up to me with sex?” Jace asked.
“Can’t think of a better way,” Clint said mildly. He buried his fingers in the thick strands, tugging Jace’s face closer, and this time Jace moved in faster and took control of the kiss. His tongue teased Clint’s, and he grabbed the back of the man’s neck to deepen the kisses.
When Jace pulled away, he was pleased to see that Clint was finally showing signs of losing control. “What do you want from me, Clint? Do you want me to tell you that it’s all good—that you’re forgiven? Because you still haven’t told me why you’re here.”
Jace’s eyes bored into him. The boy was going to make him say the words, and Clint couldn’t blame him. Hell, even if Jace wasn’t going to make him say them, Clint owed him.
Seeing the pictures of Jace visiting his fake grave in the rain nearly killed him. Stopping the texts had been one thing, but he’d figured he’d be the only one hurting. Figured Jace could—and would—easily move on.
He hadn’t told Jace about the plan, so although Jace had suspected what had really happened, Clint knew he was still freaked as hell. And pissed, although he’d tried really hard not to show it. And Clint went along with that, because if the kid wanted to pretend not to have feelings, who was he to argue?
He’d lived under that MO for years. But the tears running down Jace’s cheeks were clearly visible in the pictures, and that was enough to break Clint’s heart. “Like I said, I couldn’t tell you anything.”
“Right.”
“Come on, Jace—I couldn’t drag you into this. You knew too much already. You live in this world. You of all people could cut me some slack.”
“I probably would’ve. Should. But I can’t.” Jace pushed away, told him, “You’ve got to go—I have an early morning.”
“I think you can handle PT after a late night.”
Jace didn’t answer, just bent down to pull his sweats up. Clint yanked them out of his hand and back down again, pressed their groins together and pinned him to the counter before Jace could stop him. Clint kissed the protest out of him, and maybe, for the first time in his life, planned on apologizing to someone he might be in a relationship with.
Before this, he’d barely acknowledged the men he was with, would tell them straight out that it was all about his work and no commitments. And if they couldn’t handle it—which none of them could for long, thanks to the constant missions away and barebones contact, if any at all—he moved on.
None of them could handle it except this boy, and he pulled his mouth off Jace’s and whispered, “Sorry, baby,” over and over into his neck. Said it until he felt Jace’s body relent for the second time
Clint. Not Tomcat. It was like he’d lost one man while another came back to claim him. So who’d been fucking him that weekend? And why did it matter so much?
Now, his body moved against Clint’s mouth shamelessly. Uncontrollably. He gripped Clint’s hair, unable to break the stare Clint locked him into as he came hard and his knees sagged under the fierce orgasm.
Clint pulled him in, nuzzled his cheek while he tried to get his body under control again. But the close proximity to the big man simply got him hard again.
Clint noticed immediately. “You’re not scared anymore.”
“You got me over that pretty fast.” His eyes met Clint’s, a demand for answers, an acknowledgement. Something.
The sex was supposed to be the apology—Jace got that, allowed it at first. Now he wanted more.
Clint brushed a hand over Jace’s hair, which was always shaggy and falling in his eyes these days. “Is this long for a mission?”
“Yeah.”
“I like it.”
“I didn’t do it for you.” Jace pulled away, and Clint yanked him back roughly.
“I know you’re pissed.”
“And you’re going to make it up to me with sex?” Jace asked.
“Can’t think of a better way,” Clint said mildly. He buried his fingers in the thick strands, tugging Jace’s face closer, and this time Jace moved in faster and took control of the kiss. His tongue teased Clint’s, and he grabbed the back of the man’s neck to deepen the kisses.
When Jace pulled away, he was pleased to see that Clint was finally showing signs of losing control. “What do you want from me, Clint? Do you want me to tell you that it’s all good—that you’re forgiven? Because you still haven’t told me why you’re here.”
Jace’s eyes bored into him. The boy was going to make him say the words, and Clint couldn’t blame him. Hell, even if Jace wasn’t going to make him say them, Clint owed him.
Seeing the pictures of Jace visiting his fake grave in the rain nearly killed him. Stopping the texts had been one thing, but he’d figured he’d be the only one hurting. Figured Jace could—and would—easily move on.
He hadn’t told Jace about the plan, so although Jace had suspected what had really happened, Clint knew he was still freaked as hell. And pissed, although he’d tried really hard not to show it. And Clint went along with that, because if the kid wanted to pretend not to have feelings, who was he to argue?
He’d lived under that MO for years. But the tears running down Jace’s cheeks were clearly visible in the pictures, and that was enough to break Clint’s heart. “Like I said, I couldn’t tell you anything.”
“Right.”
“Come on, Jace—I couldn’t drag you into this. You knew too much already. You live in this world. You of all people could cut me some slack.”
“I probably would’ve. Should. But I can’t.” Jace pushed away, told him, “You’ve got to go—I have an early morning.”
“I think you can handle PT after a late night.”
Jace didn’t answer, just bent down to pull his sweats up. Clint yanked them out of his hand and back down again, pressed their groins together and pinned him to the counter before Jace could stop him. Clint kissed the protest out of him, and maybe, for the first time in his life, planned on apologizing to someone he might be in a relationship with.
Before this, he’d barely acknowledged the men he was with, would tell them straight out that it was all about his work and no commitments. And if they couldn’t handle it—which none of them could for long, thanks to the constant missions away and barebones contact, if any at all—he moved on.
None of them could handle it except this boy, and he pulled his mouth off Jace’s and whispered, “Sorry, baby,” over and over into his neck. Said it until he felt Jace’s body relent for the second time