Page 88 of Fish in a Barrel
Maybe it was the crisp way she discussed politics as though she were teaching him how to tie his shoes, but he had to laugh. “Point taken,” he admitted. “But I spent a night on that bus, in their shoes. I can’t imagine spending more and still being—I don’t know. Human, I guess—by the end of it.”
“Which is why we keep fighting,” she told him. Her voice lowered. “And you’re wrong, you know. You were taken in by the Camerons, but before that I think you knew very well what it was like to not know where you would be sleeping one day to the next and to not know when you would be eating as well. You kept your heart, son. Don’t think we don’t know that.”
Jackson shifted uncomfortably. “I was just a kid. It wasn’t—”
“Stop,” she ordered softly. “I believe you when you say Ellery was busy all weekend taking care of you. Did you help him?”
Jackson tried not to smile. “Didn’t fight him.”
“We’ll call it a win. Now I’m going to hang up and see what I can find out about your DA that can help your investigation. And maybe light a fire under the DOJ’s ass to speed up theirs. People think corruption in the police force is what they have to worry about, but once it goes higher than that, we are on very dangerous ground. Take care of yourself, son, and take care of Ellery too.”
“That’s my job,” Jackson said, knowing damned well he’d failed at it. “I keep trying to do it better.”
“I know you do. Remember Ellery’s family loves you too, and Ellery’s father is very excited to come meet the new kitten over Thanksgiving. He claims it’s as good as a grandchild, but there will be no diapers.”
Jackson chuckled. “Uhm, Lucy?”
“Yes, Jackson?”
“Thank you. For calling. I… you know. Ellery appreciates it when you call.”
Her stony silence on the other end of the line let him know she was not impressed with his weak shit.
“And so do I,” he added. “It’s kind of you to worry.”
She gave an elegant, ladylike snort. “My family does not do kindness, Jackson. We do practicality. My son is better off with you, so it’s only practical that I make sure you are well. I shall call Ellery later this morning. Take care.”
And she hung up before he could call bullshit—not that he would have. One did not call bullshit on one’s boyfriend’s mother.
Particularly not when she’d flown out to California on a dime before to make sure Ellery or Jackson or both of them were going to be all right.
“Who was that?” Ellery asked, emerging from the bathroom wearing a robe and toweling his hair.
“Your mother,” Jackson told him grumpily. God, he was tired already.
“What did she want?”
“To mess with my mind,” he said, and then moved on before Ellery could respond. “Can I really come play today?”
Ellery rolled his eyes. “I told you no yesterday, and you ended up with a porn-star op center in our front room. So fine. You and Sean want to come play—”
“And Henry—”
“Yes. You may all swing from the monkey bars and fall off the jungle gym. It’s fine.”
“But can we come watch the interview with the DA? The jungle gym’s gonna kick my ass. I’d rather do that.” Jackson gave him a hopeful smile that was all teeth, and Ellery laughed.
With quick strides, he reached Jackson as he sat on the bed and leaned over, taking his mouth in a minty-fresh, shower-soft-and-scented kiss, and Jackson drank him in.
“How are you feeling?” Ellery asked after he’d pulled back, looking adorably flushed.
“Better now,” Jackson told him, giving a game smile. Teasingly he ran his palms up Ellery’s thighs, exposed by the robe. “If I didn’t need a shower myself, I’d do something about this….” He brushed Ellery’s cock under the fabric, and Ellery’s quick intake of breath told him the touch had meant something. “Never mind,” he murmured, his voice going sultry. “Turns out you don’t need to smell me.”
And with that, he parted the robe and leaned forward, lowering his head just enough to lick the soft skin. Ellery gasped again, and Jackson chuckled, licking again, teasing Ellery’s inner thighs gently and then pulling him into his mouth. Ooh, he sort of liked this—Ellery’s skin soft, the blood flowing underneath his cock and making it swell. Engorging it until he it could no longer fit in Jackson’s mouth without thrusting down his throat as Ellery’s fists tightened in his hair.
Long strokes now, his mouth and hand working in concert. Ellery thrust gently, his breaths harsh, his precome starting fast. Jackson wondered if he’d been thinking about sex in the shower, telling himself he shouldn’t because Jackson was still hurt, and he sucked Ellery in deeper, throat working hard, to make him forget any thoughts of being gentle.
Sex felt good, and it made Jackson feel powerful. Making love to Ellery—or fucking his brains out, or getting fucked by him—was something he refused to trade or cheat on. He wanted Ellery’s come down his throat. He wanted to hear Ellery calling his name roughly, his voice broken a little. He wanted Ellery to be thinking of him and only of him, and not of his injuries or his vulnerabilities.
