Ace in the Hole (12 page)

He unzipped his own fly, then leaned forward and spread Christian’s cheeks wide with both hands. He ran his tongue around the puckered rose he revealed, amused at how Christian’s muscles clenched and released convulsively.

Apparently we are, in fact, going to do this.
His erection doubled in mass, density, and hardness in the length of time it took him to have the thought.

Capitulation complete and damnation assured, he surged up, covering Christian’s body with his. He reached around Christian’s hips and was not surprised to find the guy’s penis already hard again. Christian was in great shape—and he needed the stress relief nearly as bad as Stone did.

He took Christian’s cock in his grip and stroked it into a brand-new throbbing mass of hungry lust. Christian’s hips rocked faster and faster against his fist as he pumped him toward another huge orgasm.

When Christian was all but incoherent from the pleasure building low in his belly, Stone positioned his cock at Christian’s opening and murmured, “Last chance to say no. Are you sure about this?”

“Yes. Oh God. Yes,” he groaned.

Taking a moment to tear open a condom packet and roll it over his throbbing cock, Stone pushed forward triumphantly. He felt like a fucking conquering Roman general. Barely hanging on to his control, he paused, the tip of his cock just lodged in Christian’s tight heat. He nearly came right there.

He felt a fractional relaxation of the muscles gripping him and pressed forward. Christian gasped sharply, and Stone froze.

“Keep going,” Christian ground out.

Stone pressed forward carefully. It took maybe ten seconds total to seat himself all the way to the hilt. But it was the most incredible eternity of his life. This self-disciplined, high-powered, blue-blooded intellectual had just given all of himself to him. The triumph was so heady it almost made him faint.

In a word, it was glorious. Christian took all of him, grasping every inch of him so tightly it was his turn to bite back a groan. He withdrew fractionally and then pressed forward carefully again. Ever so slowly, he worked Christian’s body, coaxing the muscles to relax enough for him to move safely. Gradually, gradually, Christian’s tension eased. His body relaxed beneath Stone’s.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Uh-huh,” Christian panted. The sound was laced with a little fear, a little awe, and a big fat helping of lust. Just the way Stone liked his lovers.

Christian was ready. He grasped Christian’s cock and stroked it to the same rhythm that he pumped in and out of his body. It was, bar none, the sexiest feeling he’d ever experienced. Cars drove by on the freeway, oblivious to the epic sex going on behind the blacked-out windows of the SUV. It was erotic and forbidden, and he took Christian in front of them all.

He pumped faster and faster, and Christian’s hips rocked back and forth in a frantic frenzy that drove him out of his mind. Who was the one being taken here? He was methodically being lifted out of his body, his emotional defenses shredded.

Christian began chanting again, whimpering more and more urgently as a second huge orgasm wound up for the big release. Every syllable devastated Stone. He’d never felt anything like this—not physically, not mentally, and definitely not emotionally.

His own orgasm began to build, and everything disappeared except the pounding lust, the irresistible pull of Christian’s body, the need to mark this man as his and only his, and….
Oh… my…. God….

The explosion, when it came, all but tore him apart. His entire being emptied itself in a massive eruption of hot, convulsing pleasure that slammed into Christian. This time Christian shouted into the sleeve of his suit coat and shuddered uncontrollably around Stone as their bodies both continued pulsing in aftershocks so intense they were almost painful.

Carefully, Stone pulled out of Christian, relieved to see no blood. He genuinely didn’t want to give him any pain. Just pleasure. Loads of mind blowing pleasure. He turned, fell onto the seat, and weakly started putting his clothes to rights. He was amused and gratified that Christian didn’t move right away. He had to absorb what had just happened for a minute, huh? Good.

Slowly, a little gingerly, Christian pulled up his pants and sat down beside him. Eventually he zipped his fly and fussed with his tie where he’d bit down on it before, trying to smooth the teeth marks out of the silk.

Stone said quietly, “Thank you for giving me that. It was… spectacular.”

“And it can’t ever happen again.”

STILL
in a state of minor shock, Christian stepped into the suite behind Stone, who insisted on playing bodyguard for him from the elevator down the hall to the hotel room. Old habits died hard, apparently.

Although, hell’s bells, his careful habit of keeping his private life far, far away from his professional life had kicked the bucket spectacularly tonight. He needed a long, hot shower. He was sore and messy, but damned if he wasn’t so exhilarated he could hardly see straight.

Which was exactly why they could never do that again. For the first time in his life, he was tempted, genuinely tempted, to walk away from the career he’d constructed so carefully over so many years. He was ready to throw in the towel and give it all up for Stone if the man would have him.

Which, of course, would never happen. Stone was so busy staying in perpetual motion, running from whatever demons dogged his heels, that he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—slow down long enough to have a real relationship, let alone a permanent one. Christian might be a fool for love, as it turned out, but he was no dummy when it came to reading people. And he was not wrong in his assessment of Stone Jackson.

The message light on the phone was blinking, and Christian moved over to it, hoping against hope it was Jack calling to tell them he’d be back shortly. Or at least to check in and let them know he was
alive
. The bastard.

“Good evening, Mr. Brandeis. This is the
Miami Morning Show
calling. We were wondering if there’s time in your senator’s schedule for a live, on-camera interview tomorrow morning.”

“This is the
Miami Enquirer
. We’d like a quote from the senator on this evening’s incident. He’s being touted as a hero for protecting his attacker.”

“This is the
Tampa Examiner
. Does Senator Lacey have a comment on the attack against him earlier?”

The next half-dozen messages were more of the same. Nothing from Jack, though. He watched through the open bedroom door as Stone stripped off the senator’s suit. The jerk was doing that on purpose to tantalize him. And it was working.

He picked up the TV remote and pointed it at the television without taking his gaze off Stone, who was kicking off Jack’s boots and peeling out of the pants. Damn, that man was built like a rock. He wasn’t thick, but he was hard. Everywhere.

“—visiting senator and possible presidential hopeful defends himself against an attack and then protects his assailant from police in this dramatic footage from tonight’s Latin Chamber of Commerce event….”

Oh. Shit.
He’d really, really hoped the media wouldn’t pick up on the incident, but he knew better. A senator protecting his assailant from the police was sound-bite gold.

“Hey! That’s me on the news,” Stone exclaimed from the doorway. “Cool!”

Christian actually felt the blood draining from his face as he prayed that the footage would be of poor quality and not show Stone’s face too clearly. “People who know Jack are going to see this.”

His prayer wasn’t answered. As clear as day, Stone took down that kid and then protected him from the police.

Stone murmured, “Dude, you don’t look so good. Maybe you should sit down.”

Christian made his way over to the sofa. Numb, he switched channels. Of course. All the local news outlets had picked up the story. He said weakly, “Please, God, let the national outlets not have picked it up.”

“Let’s see.” Stone flopped on the sofa beside him, lifted the remote out of his paralyzed fingers, and turned to one of the all-news channels.

They watched in silence for long enough to be certain they’d dodged that bullet. For now, at least. Oh Lord. This was a disaster.

“The footage isn’t
that
high quality, Christian. And I really do look like Jack.”

“Problem is Jack would never, ever defend himself, in the first place, or turn around and show compassion for his attacker in the second place.”

“Who else but his immediate staff knows that, though?”

“His wife. A few hunting buddies. Fortunately he’s got too big of an ego to maintain sincere friendships.”

“Well, he defends himself and shows compassion now. Let the media make of it what they will.”

“Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to let the media form its own opinions?” Christian mumbled, thinking a mile a minute. Of course they would have to turn down the interview requests. No way could Stone pass as Jack in a close-up television setting. But they would have to spin the refusals in such a way that the press didn’t take offense and go for Jack/Stone’s jugular. As long as this thing stayed local, it shouldn’t be that hard to contain.

As if on cue, the phone rang. Christian picked it up warily. It was a major television affiliate this time. Crap. It was going to go national. He got off the phone with a noncommittal comment about the senator being shaken by the incident, heavily booked, and promised to get back to the production assistant in the morning with a statement from Jack.

He’d no sooner set the receiver down than the phone rang again. He glared across the room at Stone. “What the hell am I supposed to do about this?”

“Draft a press release saying that the senator does not wish to benefit politically from a young man’s mental illness. I’m declining all interview requests regarding the incident at the Chamber of Commerce event out of respect for the privacy of the family of the victim.”

“But you’re the victim.”

“Say it the way I did. The public won’t miss the message. And thank the Miami police for their professionalism and restraint. Might as well give those guys some good press for a change. Poor bastards don’t get much love, and they’ve got a rough job.”

It wasn’t a bad way to spin it.

Christian said, “You’ve got a charity fund-raiser tomorrow night. The press is going to climb all over you. I’ll call the event organizers in the morning and warn them to have extra security in place. Tucker can figure out how to sneak you in the back entrance. We’ll have to keep your exposure minimal and dodge the press to the best of our ability.”

“I have faith in you. It’ll work out okay.”

Christian was too wired to sit any longer and moved over to the desk. “Let me print out your remarks for tomorrow so you can practice them. I’ll make sure the press knows you’re not taking questions tomorrow, and you’re not talking about today’s incident—”

A hand touched his shoulder, and he spun, startled.

“Go take a shower. Relax. You’ve got tomorrow wired, and I know what to do. Today was a big day. Recover from it and worry about tomorrow in the morning.”

His brain heard the sense in Stone’s advice; however, his panic was such that he doubted any relaxation was possible.

But Stone herded him into the bathroom and shut the door firmly behind him. And it was nice.

Okay, weird. Christian was the one who took care of everyone else, not the other way around. He stripped and stood under a hot shower for a long time, his brain flatly refusing to function. He got out, wrapped a towel around his hips, and padded into the living room.

Stone looked up from a copy of tomorrow’s speech and smirked. “Terry cloth is a good look on you.”

He vogued until the towel began to slip and he snatched at it to hold it up.

“Tease,” Stone complained. “Go to bed before I can’t restrain myself any longer.”

He frowned. He hadn’t been kidding when he said sex couldn’t happen again between them. He was only so strong, and he couldn’t risk an addiction to Stone that derailed his entire life.

Still. Stone unable to keep his hands to himself? Christian rather liked the sound of that. After all, he knew the feeling. He almost reversed his personal edict to himself that there would be no more hanky-panky between them.

No! Be strong!
Swearing at his own stupidly overdeveloped sense of responsibility, he beat a tactical retreat from the living room and the temptation Stone represented.

Stone might accuse him of being the great people reader, but the guy wasn’t doing a half-bad job himself tonight. He
was
beat after today’s wild emotional swings. A press release could actually wait until first thing in the morning. Media outlets wouldn’t expect one until then anyway.

By the time he reached his bed in the suite’s second bedroom, he was all but stumbling with exhaustion. Everything from the past few days—hell, the past few decades—seemed to be catching up with him all at once. He fell into bed and passed out, asleep practically before he got horizontal.

Sometime in the thick darkness of the wee hours, he felt the mattress shift. Warm arms enveloped him, and he drifted toward sleep again, safe in their embrace. Very faintly in the back of his mind, a little voice suggested that something was wrong with how right those arms felt, but he was too unconscious to sort it out and went back to sleep.

He woke abruptly, panicked for no apparent reason. And then it dawned on him that he was not alone in his bed. Crap! He’d promised himself he would swear off Stone after yesterday’s erotic encounter in the SUV. He leaped out of bed like the pillows were on fire.

“What’s wrong?” Stone bit out tersely, sitting up sharply.

“Nothing. Go back to sleep. I’ve got to put out a quick press release.”

Stone frowned but did lie back down. Thank God. Christian didn’t have the energy to spare for a fight just yet. First he had a few crises to manage. Then maybe there could be fighting.

Four more days. He had to get through today’s charity benefit, tomorrow’s golf tournament, and the big casino night on Saturday. And then Jack Lacey could spend the next month floating around the Caribbean screwing his girlfriend and no one would be the wiser. Please, God, let Jack’s paranoia about paparazzi protect him from discovery in the meantime.