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The Famous Jack Houdini Act
In the morning, it was heaven waking up with Jack still in my arms. Black hair hid his face while I watched—no—while I stared at him. It was closer to lunchtime, really. Birds chirping, the sun cascaded in creating humid warmth under the covers where our bare skin touched. The hardness of his male body draped over mine did a number on my morning wood.
He scrunched his nose and slipped off me to cuddle his pillow to his face. A smattering of wrinkles from the bed covers lined his cheek. I kissed his neck up to his mouth, lingering until he smiled. Under the shock of his jet-colored hair, hazy blue eyes winked out.
My hand drifted down his back—up and down—taking the sheet and blankets with me until they pooled beneath the amazing sleek crescents of his ass and the perfect rounds of his balls.
“Wan’ me to fuck you again?” His voice was lazy, sleepy.
My finger slid slowly into the crease between those tight muscular cheeks and Jack’s eyes widened then narrowed. “Oh, you wanna fuck my ass, Brian?”
Just him saying it was enough to make my cock drip a drop of pre-ejaculate from the tip. I didn’t need to answer. I pushed a little harder on the ring of muscle instead.
Getting into place above him, I homed in on his back. Kissing and nipping the tight sinews, I murmured, “I swear I could write a song about you.”
“How soft your skin is, but how hard your muscles are underneath.” I kissed my way down his back. Watching Jack’s fingers clutch the blankets, I listened to his breathless moan that dipped and licked and curled around my cock like his tongue had.
“Your voice. When you sing and it gets so low it’s almost a growl. That’s what you sound like when you come.”
I clasped his cheeks and pulled them open, my gaze pinpointed on his pucker. His hips thrust up when I tickled him with my breath. I set about suckling his beautiful balls first.
Jack’s forehead thumped against the pillow.
I eased up with my tongue, drizzling saliva along his hot, sexy crack at the same time I pulled his cock back toward his feet. Grasping, stroking, handling the heft of him, I felt him get harder.
“Your hair that hides your bright blue eyes, and the way you smile at me . . .” I bit and licked his ass. “Your dirty little grin. gaziantep escortlar Your arms, your wrists, your fingers. Your face. Your fucking beautiful ass.” Reaching underneath, I raised him up. “This amazing cock. Especially when it’s throbbing in my hand or in my hole or coming in my mouth.”
“Ooh yeah. Bri, Jesus.”
I grabbed the lube, popped the cap. Spreading it over and around and into him, I almost chewed my lip clean through with the need to be inside him. I did every move he did to me and managed to bump his prostate over and over until he whimpered.
Cock lathered in a coat of lubricant, I teased him by tapping his entrance with the head of it.
“C’mon, man . . .” He begged.
“Maybe I’ll just eat you some more.”
“Brian, cher.” I loved how his voice got even deeper and shaky.
Watching his hot little hole bloom open in invitation, I slid inside—the tip popping through his ring of tissue first. “Not your first time.”
“Unhh. No.” Jack’s hips twisted for more cock. “Been a while since I had anything in there though.”
I stopped because my nads clenched so fast I almost came at the idea of . . . “Anything?”
“Dildo, butt plug, sometimes beads . . .”
Straining above him, sweating . . . I talked through rigid lips. “Beads? Jesus Christ, Jack, don’t say shit like that. You’re gonna make me blow.”
“Oh no you don’t. Not until you get that fucking big cock all the way in me and pound me into the mattress.”
I took it slow because goddamn right I was gonna enjoy every second of being inside him, every sound that expelled from him, and every inch of velvet suction convulsing around my fully shafted dick. He writhed and begged and whined. Nothing had ever felt so good, looked so fucking mind-blowingly hot, or sounded so erotic as his noises and the slap of my cock filling him up.
I kept a slow pace of deep forceful thrusts. When I was sure he was out of his head with arousal, I reached around to take his throbbing cock in hand. One pump, two, he came with a shattering yell.
Pulling him back onto my lap, I held him against my chest while he shuddered against me. Deep inside, he clenched all around me. Jack whimpered and groaned, coming more and longer than ever before until it was everywhere. The tang of it filled my nose. The silky feel of it filled my palm. I smeared it up his chest and hung onto him.
“Merde, beb. Such a romantic.”
Not at that point. I pushed him forward and withdrew. Scooping up his come, I slathered my cock with it. I slammed back into Jack. Ferocious, unrestrained, out of control, I fucked his own come into his ass until I blasted off inside. Our comingled release ran out of him and down his thighs, onto my shivering balls.
I slumped over him, catching my breath.
Jack’s wicked grin in side view was the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes.
“Did I say romantic? Bri, you are one hot dirty fuck.”
At that point my brain said Whoa before blinking out of existence.
We worked out a routine of sorts. Jack came home with me the next night he had a gig at Mosh. He showed up on my doorstep in the wee hours of the morning the night in between. His backpack and freakin’ guitars still traveled with him, but he didn’t skip out without breakfast in his belly, a kiss on my lips—usually a grope and a blowjob too for good measure—and a promise to come back.
That was all I was gonna get. I’d take it.
And I had his phone number. I tried not to text the shit out of him but his constant one-word raunchy slingers made it worth losing some of my well-armed, ‘don’t need anybody’ attitude.
Alarm bells went off for me when he skipped his gig on the twenty-ninth of December. The man never missed a spot, and his band showed up. He was the only one MIA.
Jane cornered me in the corridor between the club and her office—chunky blond hair in hand-razed disarray like mine. “You heard from your toyboy tonight?”
“This ain’t like him.” Her brows skewered together. “Have you thought about checkin’ the hospitals?”
He spends a lot of time at hospitals. Why is he always at hospitals, and homeless, and fucking sleep deprived?
“I gotta go.” I was already halfway out the door when I looked back at Jane. She nodded me away, a hand raised to her mouth.
I didn’t call Roper or MUSC. That would waste too much time. I jumped in my truck and peeled out, speeding to the cluster of downtown hospitals. My hands shook on the steering wheel.
I hit one then the other and the next, getting no answers from the emergency room or reception staff. At MUSC, I double-parked. I ran across the street, almost colliding face first with an ambulance, and careened inside.
“Someone called Cotille here?” I tried to be polite instead of pounding my fist on the desk that sectioned me off from a bank of computers that held all the info I needed.
“Are you family?”
Close enough it felt like it. My nerves crawled across my skin. “A brother.” Lover. Boyfriend. Whatever.
Leaning across the desk, I shoved an ID under the receptionist’s nose and stared at the screen of her computer. Seventh floor. Room 756. Cotille, J.
I raced to the elevators, ignoring her shouts. “Visiting hours are over!”
Push-push-pushing the button as if my finger was a trigger, I almost fell inside when the elevator arrived. Going up too slowly for my liking, I paced the square space until the doors open and I rushed out. The hospital was a maze, one hall splitting into another that got me no closer to Jack.
My heart pounded. It could’ve been as loud as my heavy boots on the waxed floors.
Finally. Room 756.
Oh God, oh fuck. Something that sounded like a bilge pump did the work of breathing for the patient inside. Too pussy to go in head on, I peeked inside. And my heart climbed up to my throat. Jack was there all right. But he wasn’t the patient.
My momentary relief was crushed by dread.
He held the hand of an equally stunning young man in the bed, no less gorgeous in spite of his emaciated form. His was a more haunting beauty than Jack’s lively features. Jack tenderly stroked his cheek. He kissed the sleeping prince on his forehead as tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. The hushed whispers he murmured dissolved into sobs when he cried in a sudden heap over the man.
“You can pull through this. Don’t die on me, beb.”
Beb, the same endearment he called me when he made love to me.
I bent over from the waist, unseen from inside the room. Arms crossing my stomach, I held the screaming agony at bay, the wracking pain of betrayal deep inside my body. I stumbled away, half blind. The wall beneath my hand was the only solid thing holding me up. Close to losing my lunch in the middle of the antiseptic-smelling hallway, I lurched for the elevator. Just before the doors closed me in, I saw the plaque on the wall opposite me. 7th Floor: Adult Oncology
Knowing Jack’s lover—his partner—had cancer almost made it impossible to hate him.
Stay tuned for chapter five…
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