A warning he doesn’t heed. If anything, he takes me deeper, and I can’t hold on. My fingers curl on the back of his head, my hips thrust up of their own accord, and I release with a cry to the gods.
I come in shuddering waves, shooting down Jack’s tight throat. He takes it all, then he pulls off as I sit up, wiping his lips with a swipe of his thumb. Aslowswipe, like a wave breaking before the water decides where it wants to go, air charged and crackling.
Jack’s pupils are blown wide, breath as uneven as mine, shoulders tight with restraint, want still coiled tight within him, sharp and unspent. He grits down on it, as if he’s holding something back, and my heart kicks against my ribs.
Because I know what it is.
What he needs.
I sit up a little more and hold out my hand. “Get up here.”
I end up blowing Jack twice. Once in the aftermath of the sorcery he committed to my dick first, and again when he wakes up from sleeping it off.
It’s utter madness.
But I can’t stop.
Wecan’t stop.
And it’s a cycle we fall into every moment we’re not caught up in real life. Every moment I should be opening my fat mouth and telling him the first time he blew me was years before he thinks it was. Every moment we’re alone and he wants something I can’t refuse.
Which, though it feels the opposite, isn’t all that often. Life is busy. And Jack knowing about my dad’s latest disaster doesn’t change anything. The bank still needs paying, so do the Kings, whether they want my money or not, and so does the loan shark who catches up with me the day after construction on the lifeguard base comes to an end and Cam’s soldiers leave Porth Luck.
“I’m a reasonable man,” he tells me with enough caution I know his timing isn’t a coincidence. “But I’ve got bosses too.”
Bosses. Amazing. He thinks I’m a Kings’ grunt. But seeing as he hasn’t brought knuckledusters to this conversation, I give him the benefit of the doubt. “What happens to you if they don’t get paid?”
The bloke spreads his hands. “Let’s not go there yet. For your sake and mine. I’ll come back next week. See how much this old gal is worth—must be something, eh? If your dad put her up as collateral?”
He pats theSironaand melts away, leaving me to jump from the boat alone, and as my boots hit dry land, I feel different eyes on me. Eyes I can’t find in the frigid dark of the harbour, and if it’s my dad, I might kill him. I told him I would the next time he used theSironato shore up the kind of loan that has no rules, and I’m beginning to think I might’ve meant it, an echo of a sentiment that’s been haunting me for months now.
I hate him.
Wishful thinking.
I need to sleep.
True story. It’s late. Porth Luck is dark and quiet, even the Joker is sleeping as I let myself in and reset the alarm behind me.
Skylar isn’t here.
I half expect to find Mal lurking in the living room, but for the first time in a while he’s asleep in an actual bed. Mine, as it happens, with the dog curled up on the same pillow. Can’t say why, or that I mind all that much. Mal’s disordered sleep gives me an excuse to do what I’ve been craving all week and crawl into Jack’s bed.
He’s sprawled on his stomach, covers bunched at his waist, one arm pillowed beneath his head. Like Mal, his breath is so quiet I have to listen hard for it.UnlikeMal, who was restless enough to send me packing pretty quick, Jack doesn’t stir. Doesn’t sense my presence. So I prop myself in the doorway and watch him awhile. Drink in his muscled back, rugged features, and the softness in his face that isn’t there when he’s awake.
Love swells in my heart, vast and familiar. Sadness follows close behind, and the two trade places like a tide that won’t settle. I’ve loved Jack so long I don’t remember a time when I didn’t. But tonight, after all we’ve done over the past few weeks, every encounter both snatched and drawn out, it’s different—we’re different—and we’re more vulnerable than we’ve ever been.
If this lands wrong…
I shiver and force myself into motion, as if removing myself from Jack’s doorway will make him any safer. Foolishness that has me snorting as I retrace my steps to the living room and raid an abandoned laundry basket for dry clothes.
Mal’s. But he stole most of them from Jack, so I don’t feel bad about it. Maybe because my guilt meter is maxed out. Either way, I fall onto the couch with both Gallagher brothers on my mind. With Sev on my mind as I scroll the missed calls and messages on my phone.
One stands out.
Little Bro:Fine. Ignore me. Just don’t let me find you crying over the mess he leaves you this time
Fair. I am a crier. But tonight I don’t feel like I have enough left in me to bother. I tell Sev I love him, then discard my phone on the table, sinking into the couch and tipping my head back. My tired bones cry out for the comfort of Jack’s arms, but it’s not mine to take when he’s not conscious enough to offer it.