Page 44 of Honorable Convictions
Crouching so they were close, Mitchell studied each emotion that swept through Pierson’s stunning gaze. “Does DC feel like home to you?”
“It’s where I went through training and the place I worked for decades.”
“You’re not answering the question.”
“I don’t know, okay?”
Although a voice inside Mitchell’s head wanted to tell Pierson that the reason he was unable to find a place he could call home was because it required them to be together, he silenced it. Pierson wasn’t ready for that, but he had to alleviate his frustration, so he brushed their lips together. “Are you finished with your dinner?”
Pierson was focused on his mouth, causing Mitchell to smile. “What?”
“Stand up.”
The demand snapped Pierson out of his trance, and he scowled. “Stop ordering me around.”
Unsure why Pierson’s prickly nature tied him up in knots, annoyance flared when his mate pushed his hands away and grabbed the plates to carry them into the kitchen. “What’s wrong with you now?”
“I miss the caseload, Brooks, but I don’t want to go back to Vegas.”
If his emotions took over, Pierson reverted to discussing work and trying to push him away by referring to him as Brooks. After three months of Pierson’s bullshit, Mitchell was reaching the end of his tether despite his tepid agreement that they try to have a relationship. “I told you that you’re capable of fixing things there with the other JKs. That’s the problem, isn’t it?”
The pans crashed into the sink; then Pierson whipped around to face him. “You’re included in that equation. I don’t want to spend the next century fighting with you. I’m sick of it, and I want fucking peace in my life. I want to be happy and enjoy my existence. I’ve been miserable since the day I was resurrected. That’s not how I want to be anymore. We can try to be friends, but there’s always going to be this unwanted rivalry between us.”
Mitchell took a step closer to Pierson so that there was less than a foot between them. “Are you insinuating that nothing about our relationship has changed since you came to DC?” he asked, exasperated that Pierson had resorted to being hawkish about them.
“Three months and we still can’t have dinner without arguing.”
“We’ve been around each other for a hundred and fifteen years, fighting the attraction between us.”
Pierson’s expression was pure skepticism. “So, now our problem is that we’re sexually frustrated?”
Reaching for his waist, Mitchell tugged Pierson forward with a grin. Banding his arms around the fallen knight, who clutched his back, he took his mouth with teeth and tongue. The blood rushed to his groin so fast he was lightheaded as he savored Pierson. There was a hint of the wine he’d drunk, but mostly it was the exquisite taste of the man who was his perfect match.
Giving in to what he’d wanted to do since the day they first met, Mitchell slid his hands to his ass and clutched the denim-clad mounds. It forced a moan out of Pierson, and Mitchell swore he nearly came when his mate shifted slightly. Their hardening cocks brushed against each other, and Mitchell dragged Pierson impossibly closer, so there wasn’t even air between them as he continued to kiss him.
While there was desperation there after all the time that had passed since training, Mitchell wasn’t content with being led by his dick. Dragging his palms up, he slid them under Pierson’s dark T-shirt to caress his smooth skin. Pierson’s body liquified, and Mitchell refused to deny either of them what they wanted, but he’d be damned if it was simply getting his rocks off.
Having Pierson in his arms was something he’d dreamed of for too long to settle for something mundane, so he held him and used his tongue to tease and tempt. Pierson let out a little moan that might as well have been a symphony to Mitchell’s ears. Although he had to wait for that moment of vulnerability and desire, Pierson didn’t disappoint—quite the opposite. Mitchell had to very sternly order his balls not to empty at the delightful sound.
Needing a minute to collect himself, he dragged his mouth free and studied Pierson’s face. His lips were puffy, and there was a flush high in his cheeks. Those bottle-green eyes were filled with want, and he swore there was fondness there—or so he hoped. Releasing his hold, Mitchell took a step back and held out a hand.
“Come to bed with me.”
It was a gamble, and Mitchell held his breath as he waited for Pierson’s reaction. Relief made his head swim at his smirk. “It’s my place, shouldn’t I be inviting you?”
“Invite me into your bedroom, Blondie.”
Pierson grabbed his still-outstretched hand and said nothing as he tugged his willing captive to the room where he slept. Releasing him, Pierson dragged his T-shirt off and tossed it on the floor. “What’re you waiting for?” he asked, unsnapping his jeans.
“Are you crazy? I’m enjoying the strip show.”
“Take your damn clothes off, Mitch.”
With a smile he had no hope of suppressing, Mitchell yanked off his shirt. Was Pierson aware that it was the first time he’d called him Mitch? There was no way he’d ruin what was about to happen by asking, but Mitchell was desperate for some sign that this was more than just sex. Mitchell was about to undo his pants, but Pierson pushed his to the floor and stepped out of them.
They were nearly the same height at barely above six feet, and Mitchell had never appreciated until that moment how sexy the long muscles of Pierson’s body might be. Although he’d fantasized plenty about what he looked like naked, there was no question that he’d severely underestimated what all that smooth skin on display would do to him. When Pierson climbed up onto the bed and turned to face him, Mitchell’s gaze fell on the hard cock rising from a nest of dark-blond curls. Licking his lips at the thought of tasting him, he stood there cataloguing every delicious thing he wanted to do to and with Pierson.
“What are you doing?”
