Kennedy reached past Jason and the door slammed shut with a bang. Kennedy’s arms closed around Jason once more. His hot mouth latched onto Jason, and he groaned as though kissing Jason was the sweetest thing in all the world.
He tasted like cheap whisky and himself, dark and dangerous. Jason forgot what he was doing and lost himself in the feel of Kennedy’s lips moving hungrily on his own, Kennedy’s tongue pushing into his mouth.
Kennedy reached down to unclip his holster, still trying to hang onto the kiss. Jason panted into Kennedy’s mouth, struggling with Kennedy’s suit jacket. Those shoulders were like a bulwark. Hell, Kennedy could probably just flex his chest, and the jacket as well as all the buttons of his shirt would fly off.
Kennedy got his holster off, and a couple of powerful shrugs dropped his suit jacket to the floor. Jason’s own blazer was probably still out in the hallway—along with his shoes and socks. Kennedy’s big hands locked on Jason’s shoulders once more.
Jason laughed unsteadily into Kennedy’s mouth. “Wait. Ouch…” He heard the seams of his shirt go and muttered, “You’re saving me a fortune in dry cleaning bills.”
He fumbled with Kennedy’s belt buckle. Did he have a deadbolt on the damned thing? Combination lock? What the hell…
Ah. There.
“Christ, yes.” Kennedy tore his mouth away to say in a rough voice. “Touch me, Jason.”
Hard not to touch him with that hard, fierce erection poking through the softness of his taut cotton briefs and open jeans. Jesus, the wonder of it, of having this again, of being able to touch, and hold, and kiss. Jason had thought it was gone forever.
The light had gone out when the lamp fell. The room was pitch-black and had that damp, musty feel of all beach town cottages and hotels, though it still smelled of Kennedy’s shower and his aftershave—and imminent sex.
Jason felt the edge of the mattress hit him behind the knees, and he grabbed for Kennedy who hiked him up—except this time there was no door or wall to support that move, and they lost their balance and went slamming down on the bed.
Speaking of how the FBI was portrayed in movies and TV, that was a move you never saw. They probably heard the crash all the way at the front desk. They probably heard that all the way to The Mermaid’s Tale. Jason didn’t care, he was laughing.
Kennedy said, “I’m too old for this. I think I put my back out,” but he was laughing too—softly—and the sound went straight to Jason’s heart. He’d never heard Kennedy laugh quite like that. He sounded…happy.
“Nobody’s too old for this.”
“Christ.” Kennedy rested his hand against Jason’s face as though he could see him in the dark. “I’ve wanted this—you—since I saw you walking across the beach in Santa Monica.” Jason heard his smile. “In a goddamned tux, of all things.”
“I’ve wanted you since we said goodbye that morning at Kingsfield.”
“Yeah. Me too.” Kennedy touched Jason’s left nipple with his hot, wet tongue, and Jason gasped and jumped. His head hit the headboard with a thump.
“Ow. Déjà vu.”
“I remember,” Kennedy murmured. “I remember everything about that night. About you.”
Jesus. God. Jason moaned and arched up. The rasp of Kennedy’s tongue against the point of his nipple was making him crazy. Exquisite sensation crackled from the base of his spine to the base of his skull, short-circuiting all thought beyond needing, wanting more of Kennedy.
Kennedy turned his attentions to Jason’s other nipple, and Jason moaned again.
“I like those sounds you make,” Kennedy whispered. “The way you move.”
Yeah, Jason was noisy during sex. And Kennedy was quieter than most. Focused. Intense. Attentive. Definitely attentive.
His hands closed on Kennedy’s hips, and Kennedy leaned into him, offering easier access.
“Suck me?” Kennedy asked roughly. But despite the growl in his voice there was something almost diffident in the request.
“Yeah, of course. Whatever you want.”
Kennedy kicked the rest of the way out of his jeans as Jason slid down the mattress, resituating himself. It wasn’t the best position in the world, but it didn’t matter once Jason took the head of Kennedy’s cock into his mouth.
Kennedy made a sound of almost desperate relief and instinctively pushed forward. He murmured a quick apology, but Jason wasn’t listening, wasn’t worried. He’d have swallowed Kennedy whole if he could have. He sucked his cock with soft wet heat and then hard. Changing it up. Sweet and soft. Tight and hard. Using every bit of skill and expertise he had to make this good, the best Kennedy had ever had. To make himself unforgettable, irreplaceable.
“Good,” Kennedy muttered. “So fucking good… Yeah, like that. Just like that.”
Jason understood exactly what Chris Shipka had felt that night, trying to make his case through sex. Saying it all through body language, the vocabulary of sexual intimacy, because he wanted to make this the best Kennedy had ever had. His own neglected cock was thrusting up, straining hard, brushing Kennedy’s ass cheeks. It didn’t matter. This was about Kennedy. About giving him what he wanted—and even what he didn’t yet know he wanted.