Page 167 of Everything That Kills Me
“Did you get them all?” Brooks asked.
“Those that had been uploaded, yes. I’ve set up a catch and delete system but it will be a while before we can be certain more aren’t going to pop up. To be honest, there’s not much to stop anyone putting a picture on line and claiming it’s you.”
“But my tattoo…” Ward glanced at Cindy.
“Could be drawn on,” Jack said. “Just stop doing it. Next time Zeph might not be able to help.”
“Right, yeah. Okay. Thanks, sorry.”
The pair left. There was something about Jack that seemed to put the fear of God into some clients.
“Done,” Cindy said. “I want a bun.”
“Good job,” Jack told Cindy. “I don’t need to sob.” He held out his hands for Zeph to look at.
“I only did a bit of your fingers, this time…lime?”
“Well done, and I’d like a bun.”
“Now your face…in space.”
She was brandishing a lipstick and Jack paled.
“Red will suit you,” Zeph said and gave Jack the most lascivious look he could manage.
He responded with a frown but sat still while Cindy smeared the lipstick over his lips and beyond.
Jack was saved from the application of a glittery blusher by the arrival of Patricia.
“Honey! What have you done? That’s myClé de Peau Beauté!” She whipped it from Cindy’s fingers.
Zeph googled it. Ooh. He could have some fun with those details later.
“So sorry, Jack. Thank you so much. See you both on Tuesday, right?”
“I wanted to do Jack’s hair, while he sits there,” Cindy protested.
“No more,” Patricia said firmly and carried her and the case out of the room.
Jack pushed to his feet. Zeph stepped over and grabbed his hand as he was bringing it to his mouth. “No.”
“No?”
“Keep it on,” Zeph muttered. “Don’t lick it off. I want to do that.” He pulled Jack’s hand down to feel how very interested his cock was in that idea.
Jack’s pupils dilated and he groaned. “Have you finished work?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s go.”
“And not slow.”
Jack laughed.
They had a flat at Battersea Power Station on the south bank of the Thames, a beach front home in Northumberland and another in the Vendée, in France. They flew between them. There was a piano in every home. Life was good. Better than Zeph could ever have dreamed of. They saw plenty of Martin and Paulo and a little bit of Thomas. Jack was still very careful. So was Thomas.
He propelled Zeph down the stairs to the parking under the building, rather than use the lift. Presumably so they were unlikely to meet anyone. They had a couple of cars, but the one Jack was dragging him towards was one they usually left in place unless it was needed for work.
