Page 89 of Fish in a Barrel
As Ellery let out a groan and pumped his hips furiously, trusting that Jackson would take the face-fucking and give back with tongue and fingers, Jackson’s body flushed with endorphins, and when Ellery cried out, pouring spend down Jackson’s gullet, Jackson flew.
Moaning a little, Ellery pulled out of his mouth and sank to his knees, burying his face against Jackson’s stomach and breathing shakily into his T-shirt.
“Proud of yourself?” he asked weakly.
Jackson lowered his head to kiss Ellery’s crown. “Yup.”
“Want to know what I’m going to do to you when your back’s all healed?”
Jackson’s mouth, glazed with his own spit, curved into a smile. He licked a last rivulet of come from his lips and said, “Tell me.”
Long and creatively, talking about sex acts they’d joked about but hadn’t yet performed, Ellery exacted his revenge. When he got to the part about shoving a vibrator up Jackson’s ass while riding Jackson like a show pony, Jackson’s cock was hard enough to pound nails. With a vicious tug, Ellery leaned back and yanked on his briefs enough to expose it before taking Jackson into the back of his throat with a certain maniacal glee.
Jackson was left to finish the scenario in his mind as Ellery gulped him down, ignoring the smell of sweat and sleep and sucking Jackson until his orgasm exploded, sending white light through his body, cascading through his vision, spurting out his cock in a series of short, hard jets. When he was done, Jackson fought hard not to collapse against the mattress and knew he had this coming for trying to make love to Ellery without letting Ellery give back.
“Proud of yourself?” he rasped.
Ellery rocked back on his heels, his robe hanging off his shoulders, his beautiful lean body fully on display as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Yes, I think I am.” He gave a huffy little sigh. “But we’re going to be late if you don’t get a move on, so let me help you up.”
Jackson let him stand and then took his offered hand up… and then stepped into his offered hug as the two of them touched, skin to skin, and let the warmth seep in.
“I want to play too,” Ellery murmured, his head on Jackson’s shoulder. “And I don’t mind a little sweat.”
Jackson rubbed his lips against Ellery’s temple, feeling sexed and energized and weak and exposed at the same time. “I thought we didn’t have time for both,” he defended.
Ellery stepped back and gave him an evil look. “We didn’t even have time forone. Now go into the bathroom and let me take care of your back so youcanshower. You can tell me about your conversation with my mother while we’re on the road.”
“You’re bossy,” Jackson told him mildly, but he did as Ellery commanded.
He wasn’t going to argue with sex. That way lay madness.
AFTER THEshower, the breakfast, and yes, the muddy coffee, he was a little more up to speed. Ellery drove them the familiar route down J Street, but this time going farther down to Freeport Blvd, where the police station sat.
Fetzer and Hardison had texted as they were on their way, saying they’d picked up the suspect in the hit-and-run and taken him to the police station for booking, but Henry wasn’t going to make it in time. His text to Jackson was pissy and to the point:Everybody’s going to the shrink today, and I’m needed. Meet you at the office at ten.
Jackson read the text to Ellery and sighed. “God, he is needed, but I got to tell you, I’ve gotten used to him having my six.”
“What about me?” Ellery asked mildly. “Don’t I have your six?”
“You do,” Jackson conceded. “But Henry’s a better shot.” He’d managed to wheedle Ellery to the shooting range a few times since August, mostly to make himself feel better, but a few times at the shooting range was no match for an expert marksman.
“I’ll have to train more,” Ellery promised as he turned into the parking lot behind the station.
The building was relatively new—it had been built in the nineties—but as Jackson and Ellery walked through the parking lot, Jackson couldn’t help but look over the sidewalks, which had held a tent city less than a week ago. A few panhandlers wandered there now, looking surreptitiously up at the four-story building like an evil overlord lived there, ready to sweep down and wreak havoc on their lives.
Jackson wanted to tell them that the evil overlord was eight blocks northeast, at the courthouse, but he didn’t think they’d understand.
Besides, he’d apparently been transported in the back of a cop car to this very location. Lucky for everybody.
“Can you guys go any slower?”
Jackson and Ellery looked up to see an older, graying police officer holding a service door open for them and gesturing them inside. Jackson, who was still walking stiffly, bit the bullet and broke into a steady jog that made his stitches ache, but not with the same ferocity as the day before. Recovery time—it was a thing.
Jimmy Hardison, Adele Fetzer’s partner, grimaced as they drew near. “Shit. I’m sorry. Whole world’s talking about how McMurphy got a piece of you, and I fucking forgot. My bad.”
“No worries,” Jackson said through clenched teeth. “If we don’t figure out what happened to Charlie Boehner and get Cartman to tell us the scam, McMurphy’s got every likelihood of going back on the streets, so this is good.”
