Chapter 33

It was late by the time I got home, but the downstairs lights were still on. When I’m the only one home, that doesn’t mean much. But, come bedtime, Jacob is compelled to rid the house of artificial light. I guess it makes all the crap he’s left on the floor easier to trip over. I stomped off my shoes, locked the door behind me, and called out, “I’m not so convinced good ol’ Andy knew what he was talking about after all.”

When Jacob didn’t reply, I figured he was either sequestered in the basement gym or tucked away upstairs in his office, but when I rounded the living room I found him on the couch with his finger pressed to his lips. I’d need to give Agent Garcia a good talking to and figure out if the cannery was bugged, once and for all. But then I saw the ball of gray fur nestled in Jacob’s lap, and realized the gag-order had nothing to do with listening devices.

Not gonna lie. Seeing Jacob in his sweatpants and reading glasses, unwilling to disturb a stranger’s cat…it was disconcertingly cute. I loosened my tie and slipped onto the couch beside them, carefully, so as not to bother our guest.

Jacob had half a ream of paper printed with something that looked like random alphanumeric garbage. “Andy’s email records—the source code. It was the best I could do without anyone knowing specifically what I’m looking for. I’m sure the agents in Data Analysis could tell me exactly which part of the transcript correlates to the email I want. But I can’t risk it.”

I picked up a sheet from his discard pile. Just looking at it made my brain hurt.

Jacob took off his glasses and set them aside. “Learn anything from Patrick?”

“Only that Andy might’ve been dead wrong about my permanent record—the part where I’m under someone’s microscope from the get-go.” I laughed bitterly. “Newsflash: turns out I suck at math.”

The gray cat, annoyed by our talking, leapt to the floor with a thump. It stretched one leg behind it, then the other, then arched its back dramatically toward the ceiling, flicked its tail, and strode off. 

Jacob’s empty lap looked like it had been hit by a fur bomb. “I think you need to lose the sweatpants,” I said sagely. “Seeing as how I’m allergic.”

My opportunities to initiate sex with Jacob are few and far between, mainly because every time we stumble across a spare minute, he’s already floated the invitation. We stole off to the bedroom, stripped down, climbed under the comforter, and rolled to face each other. Jacob regarded me with such seriousness, it was hard to endure the scrutiny. “Are you okay, really? All this stuff from your childhood being dredged up, if you need to talk about it….”

I didn’t. Hell, wallowing in my past was the last thing I wanted. I trailed my fingers down his stomach and slipped them between his thighs, where his skin was hot, and my touch made his breath catch. 

We kissed. Our tongues reacquainted themselves with each other while our bodies fit their planes and valleys together. My skin must’ve been cold against his—my car heater won’t win any awards for keeping the winter chill at bay—but we reached an equilibrium soon enough. It was as if the physicality of our bodies was always striving for balance…when it wasn’t straining for release. I eased a fingertip down his ass crack and felt his cock thicken against my thigh. Our kisses grew more insistent. 

I pressed lower. As much as Jacob revels in topping, he gets a charge out of being poked and prodded, too. He groaned into my mouth, grasped our stiffening cocks together. I had a bellyful of grease and mozzarella, but if he wanted me to do him, I supposed I’d manage. But when he slid his mouth from mine, instead of telling me to fuck him, what he said was, “I just want to make sure you’re all right. Between all that redacted information and the memories you dredged up with Stefan, it must be a hell of a lot to process.”

I shoved a couple of fingers into his mouth to shut him up. He gave a grunt and started sucking, and jacked us both harder. This old dance of ours might only be a distraction, but was it really such a bad way to avoid myself? When my fingers were wet, I squeezed the hand between his thighs and started petting his hole.

“Damn, that’s hot,” Jacob said.

I guess when you really want to change the subject, you’ve gotta be assertive.

We did a quick scramble, him for lube, me for an old T-shirt to slip under his rump to minimize the potential wet spot. He bent his knees and canted his ass toward me. I led in with just a finger to prime the pump, then assumed the position, mostly under the comforter. But plenty of light leaked in around our heads that I could see Jacob staring up at me, watching intently while I sank in.

Normally, I secretly dug it when he murmured those embarrassing come-ons about how much he wanted it. But tonight, I was hoping to skip the commentary and get right to the part where the pursuit of an orgasm blotted out everything. I pressed my mouth to his while I bore down inside him, and something shifted. It was like I’d fumbled through a password a bunch of times and finally keyed it in right. I felt Jacob surrender beneath me. And the power was intoxicating.

I may never fully shed the anxiety that I’m probably doing something wrong, but I knew Jacob well enough to know when he’s enjoying himself and not just stroking my ego. Or maybe I’d been nailed so many times myself, I couldn’t help but pick up a few pointers. I angled myself to make sure I was hitting that sweet spot and got busy. It took a fair amount of concentration to move past the so tight—so good stage and make sure we were both getting what we wanted out of the deal. But once I found the angle and the rhythm, I could plow ahead and lose myself.

It’s frighteningly easy to lose myself in him.

He gazed up at me, all big, dark eyes and killer cheekbones. And those lips. I’ve seen pre-facial-hair photos—I know his mouth is so sensuous, no one would take him seriously if he didn’t camouflage it with is goatee. His lips were especially flushed now from kissing, gently parted. I stared at that hot mouth of his while we fucked, because it turned me on, and because it was easier than looking him in the eyes. And whenever it seemed like he might kill the moment by saying something, I treated him to a deliberate grind that chased the intrusive words away.

What would it take, I wondered, for moments like this to actually be our lives? To come home to a house that wasn’t potentially bugged, from jobs where the worst thing we had to worry about was meeting a sales quota? To befriend people only because you enjoyed their company? To bury yourself inside each other for the simple reason that you wanted to come?

Jacob tangled his fingers in my hair and arched against me. Sure, in bed he was a hot bod and a pretty face—but, honestly, without the mind behind the man-candy, I wasn’t sure I’d be willing to sacrifice my independence and settle down with him for the long haul.

For now, though, as he angled his hips up to meet me thrust for thrust, he was doing a damn fine job. When it was clear I’d finish without him if I kept hurtling down the path I was taking, I wedged a hand between us to start beating him off. I was worried for a minute there that he’d bring up the conflicting revelations about my past and kill the mood—it would take some serious flexibility to fuck, jack and kiss him at the same time, so I had to settle for two out of three—but when he spoke, it was nothing more earth-shattering than a heartfelt, “God, yeah….”

He started his climb for real. I could tell by the way he was clawing at the sheets, by the feel of his whole body tensing, yes, even his ass. As if it wasn’t gloriously hot and slick and tight already. When he was so taut he started to quiver, I knew I was safe enough to let loose and pound away. I came inside him, hard, hammering him for all I was worth, lost for that one moment of sheer pleasure, the half-second where I shed the knowledge of my own inadequacy just long enough to bust a nut. It was a lot to ask for such a short span of time. But that single moment of anonymity and weightlessness was worth it. Always.