Chapter 6

 

 

 

 

Jack lay in the bed, not quite awake, his face stretched in a way he wasn’t used to. It took him a moment to figure out he was smiling. He opened his eyes, his smile widening in anticipation as he turned his head to see the handsome man who had fallen asleep beside him the night before.

The bed was empty.

That figured. Ronan seemed like the kind of guy who got up at the crack of dawn. Probably worked out at his club before heading to his fancy office in some skyscraper on Wall Street. Jack realized he had no idea what the guy did for a living—only that he wore elegant suits to do it in. There was so much he didn’t know about Ronan Grant.

But there was one thing he did know—he definitely wanted to get to know him better.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and padded into the bathroom, a buoyancy in his step that made him grin. Ronan was sexy as hell, and exciting, and an excellent Dom.

He was falling hard for Ronan. No, even that wasn’t correct. He wasn’t falling. He’d already landed.

  The bathroom was empty. For the first time since he’d opened his eyes, a sense of disquiet threatened Jack’s new, fragile joy. Had Ronan flown the coop? Was Jack’s incredible experience the night before only all in a day’s work for the pro Dom?

No. No way. Jack refused to believe that. Something amazing had happened between them. Something special and rare.

He used the toilet and washed his face and hands in the sink. He’d left his duffel and clothing in the powder room near the front door, so he headed that way to grab his stuff. Maybe Ronan was in the kitchen, making them a nice breakfast.

The living room was empty. As Jack moved toward the bathroom, he called out, “Ronan? You here?”

There was no reply.

Jack grabbed his clothing, the smile that had stubbornly lingered on his face falling away. He pulled on his underwear and reached into his jeans pocket for his phone so he could text Rusty.

He touched the screen, but it remained black.

Shit—the fucking phone was dead. He was always forgetting to charge the damn thing.

He wandered through the house, pulling on his clothes as he went. No one in the kitchen. Reflexively, he pulled open the fridge. There was a carton of orange juice in there. He grabbed it, shook it up and took a swig.

He returned to the front hall and pulled open the front door. It was snowing—small flakes falling fast in a thick curtain of white, an inch already accumulated on the ground. Ronan’s car was gone.

With a sigh, Jack closed the door. He was in no particular rush to be rescued. He wanted to stay in this house where, for a night at least, he had been happier than he’d ever been in his life.

He wandered over to the fireplace and poked at the remains of last night’s fire. There were still a few embers glowing in the ash. He selected some kindling from the wood stack near the hearth and set them in the grate. Grabbing a few sheets of old newspaper that was set there for the purpose, he crumpled them and tossed them onto the kindling. There was a box of long-stemmed matches on the mantle. He struck a match and lit the newspaper and then tossed the match into the grate.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket again, just in case it had miraculously found some juice, but it was still dead as a doornail. Maybe Alexei and Rusty kept a spare charger around somewhere. He was about to go on a hunt, when the St. Andrew’s cross caught his eye, plunging him back into the mind-blowing evening before.

Without even really knowing what he was doing, he unbuttoned his shirt and dropped it from his shoulders. He kicked off his sneakers and shucked off his jeans and underwear. Walking to the cross, he faced it, lifting his arms and spreading his legs in cruciform against it. He closed his eyes, remembering…

~*~

Ronan drove slowly along the graveled driveway, heading around to the back of the house so he could go in through the kitchen entrance. The snow was coming down harder now, and he was glad he’d made it back before the roads became impassable.

He had woken up wrapped in Jack’s strong arms. Pulling carefully away, he’d leaned up on his elbow to examine the handsome guy snoring softly beside him. He’d run his finger along the crooked nose and the strong jaw, marveling that this big, tough guy had turned out to be such a graceful submissive.

More than that, though, Jack had done something no one had managed to do since Nicholas. He had melted through the thick layer of ice that had built up around Ronan’s heart over the years. Ronan should have been terrified now that there was no longer a barrier between his heart and the world, but he didn’t feel afraid. He felt exhilarated. And grateful. What had started out as a favor for an old friend might just be his own salvation.

He stamped his boots on the step outside the kitchen door and, balancing the cardboard coffee tray and bakery bag, he entered the house. He set down the food on the counter and dropped his coat on a chair. The note he’d left by the coffee maker hadn’t been disturbed. Lazy bones Jack must still be asleep.

Ronan hurried from the room, eager to wake his new lover so they could pick up where they’d left off the night before.

He strode through the front hall and was about to head back to the bedroom when something made him stop and look into the living room. He drew in a breath as he took in the handsome man standing naked at the cross, his face turned to the side on the headrest, his eyes closed.

Without speaking, he silently removed his clothing, his cock already stiffening into a full erection as he approached Jack. He stepped up onto the small platform behind Jack and lifted his own arms along Jack’s as he pressed his body against him.

Jack jerked up his head and started to turn around, but Ronan gripped his wrists, holding him still. “Shh,” he said. “Stay as you are, Jack. Just like that. You’re perfect.”

“You came back,” Jack said, wonder in his voice. “I thought you’d gone.”

Ronan took a step back, surprised. “Gone? As in never coming back gone?”

“Yeah.”

Ronan’s heart constricted with love and compassion as he took in the import of Jack’s statement. He’d thought Ronan had left him, but rather than storming away in a rage, or smashing a wall, as the old Jack might have done, he had taken his rightful place on the cross, perhaps reliving the amazing scene one last time…

Ronan had been planning on cuffing Jack into place and giving him a nice flogging before breakfast, but instead, he put his hands on Jack’s shoulders and turned him so they were facing. “I would never leave like that, Jack,” he said earnestly, looking deep into Jack’s blue eyes. Taking Jack’s face gently in his hands, he pulled him closer for a kiss.

Jack brought his arms around Ronan, drawing him into a tight embrace as they explored each other’s mouths, their hands roaming eagerly over each other’s bodies. When they finally stepped back for air, Ronan said breathlessly, “Snow’s coming down pretty hard now. We’re probably going to be here for a while. I brought back coffee and croissants. I put the stuff in the kitchen, next to the note I left you.”

“Oh, yeah? You left a note?”

“Yep.”

“And there’s coffee and croissants, huh?” Jack’s eyes were glittering, his huge cock sticking straight out from his flat belly.

Ronan’s own cock rose, his mouth watering as he stared at the gorgeous guy. “Yeah, but they can wait,” he growled, taking Jack into his arms once more.