School of Fish (Fish Out of Water #6) - Amy Lane Page 0,53
circling around something.”
He scrubbed his face with his hands. “So. Many. Leads,” he muttered after a few minutes. “God, we need to put this together soon. Tage and his family need protection.”
“We need sleep,” Ellery said decisively. “But first….” His lower lip wobbled. “Please, for me?”
Jackson looked at the plate of food in front of him and took a bite. It was good even cold. He took another bite and glanced at Ellery. “I’ll finish it off on one condition,” he said, hating how naked Ellery seemed without the protection of his sense of order, his sense of rightness.
Ellery arched a skeptical eyebrow. “Don’t say it.”
Jackson summoned up a wicked smile. “Heh heh heh heh.” He took another deliberate bite, licking the fork.
Ellery’s shoulders gave a little wiggle as his spine straightened, and his head assumed a haughty tilt. “Are you trying to seduce me over cold chicken and vegetables—” He paused, his eyes growing limpid again, before he added the endearment. “—Detective?”
“I’m trying to seduce you,” Jackson said unrepentantly before taking another bite.
“Why would you want to do that?” And he’d meant it to be arch—Jackson could tell—but it sounded lost.
Jackson shoveled in his last bite, chewed deliberately, and swallowed before wiping his mouth. “Because we’ve both had a rough day, and we need to remember what’s good.”
Ellery’s smile was particularly luminous. “You’re good,” he said softly, with that faith that used to terrify Jackson.
Jackson swallowed again, took a last sip of water, and stood. “Only with you,” he said, extending his hand. Ellery took it and for once left the dishes on the table, letting Jackson pull him up into what Jackson had planned to be a mauling kiss.
It turned into a hug. Jackson nuzzled his neck for a moment, knowing he’d smell like soap and clean man and a little like Ellery himself. It was a surprisingly exotic smell, spicy and rich, because Ellery wasn’t an average man.
And tonight he needed comforting.
He sighed in Jackson’s arms, melting, and Jackson kept up the nuzzle, then ran his nose along the shell of Ellery’s ear, turning it into a caress. Ellery slid his arms around Jackson’s waist, and Jackson trailed his lips down the side of Ellery’s neck, using his tongue and tasting a little, trying to pull that exotic, wonderful scent into his soul.
Ellery tilted his head, giving Jackson access, accepting comfort in a way that told Jackson he needed it desperately. Poor Ellery. Worried about Jackson all the time, worried about his business, worried about his clients. Jackson had started their relationship assuming that he’d be the one to take care of things, only to find his life neatly managed, his body and soul neatly cared for, by the man in his arms. But Ellery wasn’t a god; sometimes he really needed someone to take care of him.
Ellery gave a little gasp, and Jackson trailed kisses along his jawline, being very, very careful of the swelling where the guard’s punch had landed. “Tell me if it hurts,” he murmured.
“No,” Ellery said, tilting his head back and giving Jackson access to his throat.
“No, it doesn’t hurt, or no, you won’t tell me?” Jackson teased between kisses, between nibbles. The T-shirt Ellery was wearing, a silky, pricey affair, gaped to expose Ellery’s collar bones, and Jackson trailed more kisses down the line.
“Nothing hurts,” Ellery assured him. “Not when you’re doing—” Jackson nipped lightly at his neck. “—ah… that.”
“Heh heh heh.” Jackson captured Ellery’s earlobe and sucked, adding a little nip to it, delighted when Ellery shuddered in his arms, leaning against Jackson for support.
“Jackson?” Ellery begged.
“Bed?” Because Jackson would undress him here, strip his clothes off and make love to him standing in front of their dinner plates and the dining room table, but that’s not what he wanted.
“Bed,” Ellery breathed.
“Good.”
Jackson turned and offered his hand, leading the way into the darkened bedroom. He paused for a moment to shoo the cat off the bed and pull back the covers, but he didn’t turn on the light. Tonight’s mood demanded the intimacy of the dark.
Once Billy Bob had stalked off in offended dignity, Jackson turned toward Ellery to find him still dressed and realized his Counselor needed more from him tonight than he’d allowed Jackson to give him in a long time.
“C’mere,” he ordered, and Ellery approached obediently, allowing Jackson to shuck off his shirt and run his palms down Ellery’s rib cage, the leanness of his stomach, before pushing at the soft pajama pants. Jackson sat on the