When Patrick was eight, his parents had seen fit to become clichés and die at the hands of a drunk driver.

His aunt, Laura, had become his legal guardian. Up until age ten, he’d known Laura as the aunt that arrived unannounced at random times and always provided presents. He hadn’t known what her job was, how old she was, or anything like that. He’d known that she was Mom’s sister and that Mom worried about her.

Then Aunt Laura had come to pick him up from the police station, had taken him to a motel, had stayed as long as it took to deal with the paperwork, and then spirited him away on a road trip to Argentina.

Turned out that Aunt Laura was a conwoman, and a first-rate one, too. They’d driven all up and down both the North and South Americas, and then set upon the cruise ships of the world. Africa, and Asia, and then finally Europe…

And then, Aunt Laura had gotten sick.

It was like Patrick had been living a dream, a wonderful whirlwind dream, with his fun, cool aunt who taught him how to pick pockets and fake accents and act like a king, who introduced him to her criminal friends and nobility alike and never, ever made him feel like a child.

She hadn’t told him about the cancer, because she hadn’t wanted to become stuck in one place. Part of it was practicality. Aunt Laura was on Interpol’s most wanted for years, and couldn’t set foot in a number of countries. God help her if she ever tried to go back to the United States. If she had stayed in one place to receive treatment, the police could have found her. But another part of it, the part that she’d never admitted to Patrick but he knew anyway, was that Laura was never the type of person to stand still. To lie in a hospital bed and wait while doctors tried to save you, wasting weeks if not months that could have been spent gallivanting about the world? Especially if you were only going to die in the end, anyway, then what were all those months of treatment for? Months wasted, at least in Aunt Laura’s mind.

So she hadn’t told him, and he hadn’t known until he was standing, dizzy, in a hospital room, half-convinced that this was a dream and not real. It couldn’t be real. His aunt was more alive than most people, just so free and full of energy. It couldn’t be real.

But it was, and in the span of a few days, Patrick had found himself without family once again.

He started taking jobs alone, after that. He had all of his aunt’s contacts. They all knew him, jokingly called him their nephew, or “Laura’s kid.” He’d risen to prominence in the criminal community, known for his art and jewelry thefts, his forgeries, and his work as a con artist.

Which had brought him to Monaco.

Patrick didn’t like to think of himself as a vengeful person. But there were exceptions to every rule. This job was personal, to say the least.

Unfortunately, it was also starting to look like a two-man job.

That irked him. He hadn’t worked as a part of a team in years. He was sometimes brought in as a consultant, or asked to play a bit part, or even commissioned to do a forgery for another team, but he truly worked alone. He liked it that way. Don’t trust anyone and they can’t backstab you. Don’t love anyone and you can’t lose them.

Simple rules, really. Every thief should follow them.

But the more he researched, the more he realized he’d need to bring someone else in on this job. But who?

That was how he’d ended up at Le Bar Americain. He needed a stiff drink or two while he tried to figure out who the fuck he could bring in on this thing. Not anyone who was well-known. His mark would sniff them out immediately. Patrick had learned from his aunt’s mistakes and had kept his face hidden. Nobody knew who he was, but his nom de plume, ‘The Jackal,’ had certainly climbed his way to the top of the most wanted lists on several countries.

Hey, he didn’t pick the name, all right, some very annoying reporters had picked it for him.

The point was, he wasn’t well-known, but every other thief and forger and whatnot was, at least to his mark, and Patrick just couldn’t risk his partner being found out halfway through the con. But he couldn’t just pick a newbie off the streets. Playing a con took a careful balance of guts and logic, the ability to keep a cool head offset with the daring to take a gamble when the opportunity arose. You couldn’t really train someone into that in the precious week or so before the mark showed up to Monte Carlo.

So Patrick hit the bar, ordered a scotch, and proceeded with his plan to get slowly shitfaced.

And then this handsome stranger sat down.

Patrick knew when a guy was looking to pull. This Will was sure of himself, the kind of handsome that knew it and knew people wanted in on it. He had a square jaw with just a hint of stubble, dirty blonde hair that was gently coming out of its comb and starting to fall into his eyes, and a wry, twisting mouth that made Patrick think of—well, of things you shouldn’t be thinking in a public place. And his eyes, they were… blue? Green? Gray? He couldn’t tell. That mystery seemed to draw Patrick in, mesmerize him.

Dammit, he was here to work, not to get laid.

But…

When Will was obvious about what he wanted, Patrick couldn’t say no. He’d been looking to get drunk, after all, and wasn’t that just a way of getting out of his own head? Sex did that just as well, and it was probably healthier for him, exercise and endorphins and all that.

Patrick paid for both of their drinks—he had noticed the way Will’s suit ill-fit him, and figured the guy could use a break—and led Will up the street to his hotel. The setting Mediterranean sun made the buildings and cobblestones glow, adding to the sensation of Will’s eyes burning into the back of his skull as Patrick led them. He could feel the other man’s gaze like it was a physical thing, distracting him, making him want to do something stupid like grab him and kiss him right in the street. It had been months since his last one night stand. Clearly he needed this.

When they got into the elevator and nobody joined them, Patrick turned towards Will, only to find the other man already in his space, just a hair’s breadth away, his eyes roaming over Patrick’s face.

“You’re bloody gorgeous, you know that?” Will asked, and okay, yes, Patrick had a classically American weakness for British accents. Sue him.

“Looked in a mirror lately?” Patrick replied, feeling himself start to smile and tamping it down.

“Would you mind, awfully,” Will said, casually, as if they were discussing the weather, “If I kissed you?” He took a step forward and Patrick took one step back, knowing it would pin him to the wall. He didn’t mind. Stuck between a wall and a gorgeous Brit, he could definitely think of worse fates.

“I wouldn’t mind in the slightest,” he replied.

“Good,” Will said, the word a whisper breathed against his lips before Will kissed him, slow and sure and deep.

Patrick brought his hands up running them through Will’s hair, getting it mussed properly. Will groaned at that, so Patrick tugged just a little harder, grinning into the kiss as Will moaned, his hips bucking up.

“Like that, then?” Patrick gasped, and then Will slid a thigh in between Patrick’s legs, pushing up and making Patrick see stars at the delicious pressure.

“Like that, then?” Will replied, in a perfect imitation of Patrick’s neutral American accent.

Clever man. Patrick grinned and pulled Will in again, kissing him until they were running out of breath and the elevator jerked to a halt.

Thank God nobody was waiting on that floor, or they would have been treated to a show. Patrick grabbed Will’s hand and tugged him forward, down the hallway towards his hotel room door. He didn’t normally touch someone like this, even one-night stands. Hand holding and such tended to make them think this night was more than it was. But Will was crowding up against him from behind and holding up his hand to press kisses into his knuckles, and Patrick was feeling oddly giddy. He really had needed a break, he supposed, if he was coming undone this easily.

He fumbled with the key card to his door, laughing, letting himself be turned around so that Will could suck gently on his bottom lip before sliding his tongue inside his mouth again. The man kissed like he was made for it, and Patrick could already feel his lips becoming slick and swollen. He managed to get in the door and stumbled backwards, yanking on Will’s tie. It was a stupid tie anyway, and a stupid jacket, clearly not made for him and the material rougher than it should be. Patrick managed to wrestle him out of it, then swiftly undid the buttons of his shirt as Will backed him up against the nearest wall, sucking at the skin just underneath his jaw.

“I’m going to kiss you everywhere, ‘til you can’t even speak to beg for me,” Will promised him, voice low and dirty and something—something else. His accent sounded slightly different now, rougher, but Patrick didn’t think about it. It was nothing, and besides, the things Will was saying were so fucking hot he couldn’t have cared if the guy suddenly sounded Scottish.

Patrick yanked hard at Will’s shirt, finally getting it off of his broad shoulders. Will was stocky, with a solid chest, and holy God, an actual six pack. It was a sin to be wearing a suit like that, one that didn’t fit him properly. Patrick was seized by a sudden urge to put him in a proper suit, one that brought out the color in his eyes and showed off his solid build and those broad shoulders and that perfect chest. He ran his hands over that chest, delighting in the hiss of breath from Will as one of Patrick’s nails caught on a nipple. The play of Will’s muscles under his hands was amazing. Patrick hadn’t been with anyone this amazing in years. Maybe ever.

“That’s just not fair,” Will said, shucking out of his pants and giving Patrick a predatory look that made Patrick’s knees nearly give out. “Let’s get you all messed up, shall we?”

Patrick swatted Will’s hands away and undid his suit and waistcoat himself. “This suit cost more than your life is worth,” he informed him.

Will laughed, rough and low, and used the belt loops of Patrick’s pants to tug him back against him. “I don’t know, I hear I’m quite popular.”

“Show me why,” Patrick countered, sliding his hands over Will’s ass and using it to push them together, grinding against him. Will shuddered, nipping at Patrick’s throat. Patrick rewarded him for that by letting Will peel him out of his pants, grinning at Will’s sharp intake of breath as he saw that Patrick wasn’t wearing any underwear.

“It ruins the lines of a good suit,” Patrick explained.

“I’m about to ruin you,” Will informed him, and then he tackled Patrick onto the bed.

Patrick could have used any number of martial arts moves to deal with Will if Will was actually trying to hurt him, but he liked the feeling of Will’s weight settling on top of him, so he let him manhandle him a little, let Will pin him with his hips and start kissing his way down his chest.

“Look at you,” Will rumbled, his tongue swirling around Patrick’s nipple, making him arch up into the sensation. “All lean and gorgeous and strung out for me.”

Patrick had a witty retort to that, but then Will slid a hand down and took him in hand, squeezing, and Patrick sort of lost the ability to form words.

Will worked him over like that, squeezing and stroking slowly with one hand while he used the other one to cup Patrick’s cheek, guiding him up into another deep kiss. Patrick felt strung out, like Will had said, the teasingly slow and determined pace of Will’s hand leaving him feeling desperate and powerless.

“How do you want this?” Will asked, pressing a kiss to the corner of Patrick’s mouth. He let go of Patrick’s cock and moved his hand up Patrick’s chest instead, almost petting him, stroking slowly over the pale skin. “Hmm? I’ve got any number of tricks up my sleeve, love, and we’ve got all night.”

Patrick swallowed, his throat dry and tight. He wanted—he wanted so many things. He wanted to get his hands on Will, in Will, he wanted his mouth on the hard, leaking cock he could feel pressed against his thigh, and he wanted Will’s sinful mouth wrapped around his own cock, wanted to shove those words back down Will’s throat, but most of all he wanted…

“I want you to fuck me,” Patrick whispered, grinding his cock up against Will’s. Will’s eyelids fluttered and he let out a groan of pleasure, rolling his hips to match Patrick’s rhythm.

He wanted Will’s warm, heavy weight pinning him down as Will drove into him until Patrick couldn’t even remember his name. God, it had been a long time, and he knew that he’d never had sex with someone this gorgeous. He wanted to be out of his mind by the time the night was over.

“I can do that,” Will replied, scraping his teeth lightly over Patrick’s jaw. “Gonna open you up nice and proper first.”

Patrick shuddered, obeying without protest as Will helped him scoot up the bed and then gently took Patrick’s hands and wrapped them around the headboard of the bed. “Keep your hands there,” Will ordered, and normally Patrick wasn’t one for doing what someone else said, but there was something in the way Will’s voice dipped down, becoming dark and affectionate, that made him just want to do whatever he was told.

He heard Will rustling around for a moment, and then there was the sound of a packet of lube opening up. Patrick huffed out a laugh. “Planned on getting lucky tonight?”

“Maybe.” Will slicked up his fingers, and then used his knees to spread Patrick’s legs open. “But I got a lot luckier than I thought.”

“Oh?” Patrick knew he sounded shaken and breathless but he didn’t care, not when Will was circling his hole with the tip of a finger, teasing him.

“You’re stunning,” Will whispered, and Patrick wanted to say something about how Will didn’t have to flatter him, but then Will was sliding a finger inside of him and Patrick could do nothing but groan in pleasure.

It had been so long—too long, if you were going by how tight he was. Will worked him open patiently, petting his thigh with his free hand and making shh shh noises as he slid his fingers in and out. Patrick ground down, trying to take them deeper, relishing the burn that slowly turned into nothing but thick, liquid sweetness, like honey in his veins. He clenched his hands around the headboard and snapped his hips in time with the rhythm Will was setting, his breath coming out ragged and harsh and panting.

“Look at you,” Will said, his voice hushed and predatory. He kept talking, kept saying things like, “You’re just so desperate for it,” and “Don’t worry, love, I’m going to make you scream.” Patrick thought that voice alone was going to kill him before the night was over.

Then Will added a third finger and stretched them out a bit, filling him up more, and Patrick thought he was going to die. “Oh, fuck,” he spat, hips writhing as he tried to take in more of Will. “Fuck, please—”

“Please what?” Will asked, speeding up just a little, working those fingers in and out until Patrick thought he was going to just give up and flip Will over and ride him until Will was the one begging and incoherent.

“Please get inside me,” Patrick said, his teeth clenched tight. He didn’t like begging, but the glint in Will’s eyes told him he wasn’t going to get what he wanted until he complied. He kind of liked that.

Will withdrew his fingers and Patrick clenched instinctively, wanting to keep that pressure inside of him. Will bent over then and kissed him, his tongue sliding in slick and forceful, and Patrick wrapped himself around Will and just gave himself over to the sensations. The slide of skin against skin, their mouths meeting over and over again, the way Will’s hands gripped the sweat-damp skin of Patrick’s back and hips—this was what he loved, the way two bodies could join together, becoming nothing more than skin and heat and desire. It was intimate and wrong and right all at once. He’d forgotten how good it felt.

“You ready?” Will whispered in his ear, sucking on his earlobe as his hands roamed down to pin Patrick’s hips to the bed.

Patrick nodded, kissing along Will’s shoulder and neck. “Yes, please, c’mon, get inside me.”

Will chuckled against his skin, his hands sliding around to put one of Patrick’s legs over his shoulder and the other around his waist, and then—

Patrick cried out hoarsely, his nails digging into his palms where they still gripped the headboard, writhing with the sensation of being stretched and filled and pinned. Will didn’t make him wait anymore, setting a hard and punishing pace that had Patrick arching desperately into the sensation.

“You can let go,” Will told him, his fingers intertwining with Patrick’s as he eased them away from the headboard. “Hold on anywhere you like, love.”

Patrick grabbed onto Will, his hands mapping out every curve and plane of him, fitting his mouth to every bit of skin he could reach. It felt like he was going to die, but in the best way, every nerve tingling with white-hot pleasure that he couldn’t control. Will kept going, deep and fast just the way Patrick liked it, as if Will had looked into his eyes and known exactly what all of Patrick’s preferences were. Patrick could feel a yell building up in his throat and grabbed Will by the back of his neck, kissing him, screaming into his mouth as Will hit just the right spot, making his entire body jolt. Will growled in satisfaction and rolled his hips just right, hitting that spot again and again and again. Every time Patrick cried out, Will swallowed the sound and shuddered, as if Patrick’s pleasure gave him pleasure as well. It was all Patrick could to do kiss back and hang on, until soon they were just panting into each other’s mouths, hands slipping on their soaked skin, and it was all too, too much. It was complete overload, and Patrick was stiffening up and coming with a shout.

He panted, chest heaving, holding Will close as the other man bit him hard on the shoulder, coming with a hard shudder. The feeling of the bite, possessive and animal, made Patrick’s dick twitch, as if he’d get it up again...if only he was sixteen and not pushing thirty.

Will slid to the side, taking care to collapse against Patrick and not on top of him. He left his hand on Patrick’s chest, petting idly, as if trying to soothe him. Patrick blinked a few times, trying to dispel the spots dancing in front of his eyes.

“Holy shit,” he admitted. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d come that hard.

“I know,” Will replied, giving him a grin that was both sly and exhausted. “You want to join me in the shower?”

“If I can feel my legs,” Patrick said.

Will laughed, shoving himself off the bed and standing up, offering a hand to Patrick. Patrick knew he should kick Will out, thank him for the good night, but he was honest about not being fully able to feel his legs and Will was gorgeous and British and looking at him like he wanted to blow Patrick’s mind all over again…so he took his hand and followed him into the bathroom.