Chapter Nine – Jack
Chapter Nine
Jack
I woke like I always did—to the sound of scratching against my coffin.
I wasn’t in a coffin because I was a vampire—although I was—I was in a coffin because I’d acquired a cat, and an EMT client of mine had once told me a horrible story.
I kept Sugar well-fed, but when you died each day and shared the house with a carnivore, it paid to play it safe.
I heard an inquisitive meow, and another scratch right by my head.
Somehow, Sugar always knew when I was up.
“Shush,” I said, pushing back the lid of the plywood box I’d built for myself. Sugar jumped inside and rubbed her head on my hand, as I knuckled between her ears.
The only upshot of being a vampire was that I didn’t dream—I could never toss or turn while I slept, when I fell dead I stayed dead, until sunset. I could count the number of people that’d seen me dead on one hand, including Sugar, and I wanted to keep it that way.
But if I’d still been human I knew what I would’ve dreamed of—blood. Both to drink—and to see spilled. Whoever had killed Bella had to pay.
I reached for my phone with my free hand.
My first text was from Mattie, telling me a new window’d been successfully installed at Dark Ink—but that Angela had cancelled nightshifts until further notice.
That was worrisome, as I still needed the income—but it proved that she was scared.
I’d have to ask her why, but tonight off might be fortuitous, because my next text was a half hour old, from Paco.
Free?
Yeah, I texted him back. Hopefully he hadn’t made other plans—but he knew the rules I played by. Can I bring OJ? Our code words for if I could bleed him. If I couldn’t I might have to make other plans—the kind of things I wanted to do tonight required blood.
Only if you bring Oreos, he texted back. I smiled darkly at my phone. Oreos were everyone’s favorite post-bleeding snack.
Done, I sent back and sat up inside my coffin, already beginning to feel more alive.
I showered and drove out to Paco’s. He lived in a fancy mansion at the edge of town, one with an infinity pool and a view of the mountains.
It wasn’t his, it was the magician he was monogamish with, but the magician left town pretty often—and the last time he’d done a tour on a cruise I’d pretty much moved in, Sugar and all.
I parked in the driveway and grabbed the Oreo’s I’d promised, walking up just as Paco opened the door.
“Jack,” he said, smiling at me. He was as tall as I was, wearing loose shorts and a tight white tee that showed off all his muscles.
Every time I saw him I remembered the first time we’d met, when I’d lured him into a club’s bathroom to bleed, and wound up fucking him instead, both of us twined inside a tight stall, me pounding him as the dance music pounded the wall opposite.
“How is it that we both have the same night off?”
“Don’t know, don’t care,” I said, dropping the cookies to the ground before reaching for him.
Our mouths met as I pressed him up against the wall of his entry way.
My needs tonight were savage, stabbing me from the inside out.
I leaned my whole body against his, running one hand up his shirt, using the other to twist the waistband of his shorts and pull him toward me, as my tongue pushed deeply into his mouth.
He shivered, a full body thing, not just due to the night air I’d brought inside with me.
I knew he cared for me, and I for him, and yet every time we met I knew he couldn’t help but remember what I was—even if I’d promised I’d never bleed him without warning.
I pulled back, biting on his lower lip, rocking my hips against him. “Sorry,” I apologized.
The corners of his lips quirked up into a warm smile. “Don’t be,” he said, and his hands reached for my waist.
Our hands were all over each other’s bodies—there was no place that Paco wasn’t perfect, I knew because I’d kissed them all before.
In moments our clothes were tugged at, then off, and kicked aside, and we were stumbling naked, mauling one another.
He pushed me towards the hallway to the bedroom, but that was too far—I shoved him towards the living room.
I kissed him hard, then pulled back again, both our cocks were hard between us, and seeing his—I reached down and glided my hand over his cock’s silky surface, watched him shudder and heard him purr.
“I love your cock,” I whispered, as I pressed him against the high back of his boyfriend’s designer sofa.
“Jack,” he whispered back, his breath warm against my ear, my name an invitation.
I let go and spun him, then pulled him back against me, so he was trapped, both of us staring through immense windows at the moonlit desert night.
“Nothing out there is as beautiful as you.” I licked up from his shoulder to his ear, and he reached up to claw his hand through my hair.
I waited for a moment, relaxing into the feel of his back against my chest, the way our bodies were perfectly aligned, the scent of his sweat mixed with mine.
I kissed his neck again, then his shoulders, slowly kneading his broad back down to his ass until I pressed my thumb against his tight asshole and rubbed it there, making him moan.
“You want me in you?” I said, running my other hand up his muscled back. I replaced my thumb with the head of my hard cock, using my hand to rock it over him.
In short answer, he spread his legs and pressed his hips back. I spit into my hand and slicked it over my head and shaft—and in long answer, as I put the head of my cock against him again, he hissed, “Yesssssssss.”
Despite the urgency of earlier, I went slow now. I leaned back and watched myself enter him, bit by bit, feeling his ass envelope me one millimeter at a time. He tried to push back harder, but I stopped him with my hands. “Patience,” I warned, as he moaned in disappointment.
It felt like I was diving into a pool of velvet, cock-first. As badly as I wanted to fuck him—and I did—I wanted this slow sensation more, of pushing myself into him, feeling him slowly take me, stretching to let me enter.
I knew the rewards I would reap if I took my time, and him too, no one I had ever bled kindly had gone unsatisfied.
I brought my hands up, around his neck for a moment, then down his shoulders and back, to his waist, and then up again, as my cock pushed further into his ass, until we were hip to hip and close enough to dance.
His hips rocked against mine, unable to wait, and one of my hands found his waist, the other, one of his shoulders, and pulled him back into me.
“Goddamn, Jack,” Paco groaned, feeling me swell inside him, his ass stretched at my cock’s widest point. I pulled out fractionally, then pushed back in, the motion I’d made taking him in reverse. “Jack,” he gasped after a few short strokes, “I need more.”
“Good,” I growled, and gave it to him.
I pushed him down and over the sofa’s far side, clawing my nails down his back, and started fucking him in earnest, pulling my thick cock out of his ass and then pushing it in again, each of my strokes answered with moans.
He pressed himself up and straddled his legs wider, trying to take more of me, while my cock pulsed in him, hard and straight.
I’d needed this again—almost as much as I needed blood—this was the only time I felt alive—I pulled myself all the way out of him, as he groaned, and slapped his ass hard once, before picking him up and tossing him over the back of the couch to bounce back-down on the other side.
“Jack!” he protested.
“What?” I said, coming around from the left. I clambered over the arm rest and shoved foolish cushions out of my path, crawling towards him with my cock slung low. I grabbed his knees, pushed them out and open, and pushed myself back in his ass. He growled and I moaned and then we moved as one.
We’d been together too often not to have a rhythm, and now we found it, all over again, my cock deep in him and my balls slapping against his ass with each stroke, him raising his hips high each time to let me in.
His hands reached in to pull at his own hard cock but I pushed them away and spit into mine again to lubricate it—I wanted to feel him fully, inside and out, and started to slow my thrusts to give him time to catch up.
Between the head of my cock pumping against his prostate and me jerking him off, he had no choice.
I heard his breath hitch and felt him tense, starting to writhe—his thrusts were shorter now, more desperate, and I knew he was gritting his teeth to stop from begging me for release.
“Just say it, Paco.”
He looked up at me, a lock of sweaty hair over one eye. “Never.”
“Fine then, I’ll just fuck it out of you.
” I started moving all of my body in concert, bracing myself over him with one hand, my own sweat dripping onto him, his legs on my shoulders, him curled beneath me as I thrust harder, me stroking his cock with an expert hand.
I’d stopped searching for my own release and segued into wanting to play him to find his—he was so close to breaking, and he was so beautiful when he did –
His whole body tightened, stiff as a board, his ass clenching my cock hot and hard as his own cock ramrodded through my hand, and then he shouted, almost a scream, as I felt his ass pulse around me and my hand fill with his warm seed.
I kept fucking him then, through the best of it, and then more gently, to land him safely on the other side, both of us collapsed on his couch.
“You didn’t come,” he complained, as my cock slid out of him, still hard.
“I will,” I said, pushing his damp hair back, laying down on the wide couch beside him. I brought up my free hand and licked his cum off it.
After all, life was life.