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“And where that cute little art professor your sister Charlotte tried to set you up with teaches?” Sam’s tone was dry.
“I have zero interest in art professors, cute or otherwise.” Which was true. Jason was surprised Sam even remembered Alexander Dash. They’d met very briefly at Jason’s birthday party in February.
Sam’s mouth curved. “Good. Keep your eye on the ball, West.”
Jason said slyly, “Which ball would you prefer, Kennedy?”
Sam laughed, hooked a muscular arm beneath Jason’s waist, and rolled him over so that they were eye to eye, nose to nose, mouth to mouth.
“Hello again,” Jason said.
Sam’s mouth twitched. “Hi.”
“Thanks for sticking around today. Seriously.”
“No thanks needed.” Sam lifted his head, his mouth latched on to Jason’s, and he kissed him with cool competency. Jason smiled, opened his mouth to the probe of Sam’s tongue. Sam kissed him again, and that kiss was less considered and a lot more heated.
Jason gasped, like Sleeping Beauty startled back to life, and kissed him back. The weird sense of distance, of detachment he’d felt since walking out of Kapszukiewicz’s office fell away. Sam’s hands swept through his hair, holding Jason to kiss him more deeply, and Jason felt that caress to the ends of his hair, to the soles of his feet, like grabbing onto a live wire.
“I love you,” Jason whispered, and felt Sam swallow the words, absorb the words.
The lovely wonder of this because by rights Sam should be miles away, well out of reach, and instead here he was, hands moving knowingly over Jason’s body, warm, so warm on the thin skin of Jason’s waist, ribs, that Jason would not have been surprised to catch fire, skin alight like tissue paper. Sam’s fingertips grazing Jason’s nipples, thumbnails flicking the sensitive tips.
Jason bit his lip to stop the moans of pleasure threatening to tear out of his throat—vaguely conscious of all the potential government employees staying at the DoubleTree—but his good intentions were lost as Sam’s hand locked on the waistband of Jason’s boxers, dragged them down, and took firm hold of Jason’s cock.
Jason cried out, arched his hips in, distantly aware of the mattress sinking as Sam shifted position, lowered his head, and took the head of Jason’s cock into the sweet warmth of his mouth.
“Jesus, Sam. That’s so… God. That’s so good…”
Understatement. That slow, strong suck into wet heat. Deep, deeper… His cock pulsing down Sam’s throat—and that was no small part of the turn-on—the delicious craziness of Sam Kennedy performing this wrenchingly intimate act on him, for him.
Sam took his time.
“Going to come,” Jason warned, though the neighbors—and possibly passengers boarding their flights over at National—had already figured it out.
Sam’s response was to half swallow him.
Jason’s vision seemed to incandesce, his heels dug into the bedding, and he convulsed with wave after wave of shivering, shimmering orgasm. Blood-hot salt shot out in wet spurts, and Sam swallowed, which nearly made Jason orgasm a second time. Not merely because of the raw sensuality of the act, the all-encompassing acceptance, which meant so much after the pain and misunderstanding of the previous week.
It was weird how much sleep he still needed.
Although this drowsing after sex was nothing to how much he’d slept over the long weekend. Then, even the knowledge that Sam was working in the next room or outside watering the garden or cooking dinner in the kitchen had not been enough to snap Jason from that almost drugged state of inertia. The constant, desperate need for sleep had dragged him down like a weighted blanket. So maybe Sam was right about the nervous exhaustion.
In which case, Jason could thank Sam for seeing him through that too.
Anyway, when he woke, a lamp in the corner was on, shade tilted down, and Sam was in bed beside him, reading over a case file.
At Jason’s movement, Sam glanced over and smiled faintly.
“Good sleep?”
“It’s not the company, I promise.”
“I know.” Sam took his glasses off, set the file on the floor.
Jason scooted closer, and Sam pulled him comfortably into his arms. Jason pillowed his head on Sam’s chest, listening to the strong, steady beat of Sam’s heart.
After a time, he said, “I asked Kapszukiewicz for a week’s leave.”
He felt Sam’s surprise, though Sam only offered a noncommittal, “Did you?”
