Chapter 10 #2
Plenty of other men had seen what Nic was about to show Cam.
He’d intended for Cam to see it tonight as it were and had taken all the wraps and bandages from the hospital off at the brewery.
But while other men had seen, Nic still hid their meaning from most, explained to only a few, and never gave the full truth to anyone.
Cam, though, needed it. Or as much as Nic could give.
Decision made, he removed his hand from under Cam’s chin, stepped back, and began to work free the buttons of his dress shirt.
Cam inhaled sharply, bobbled his bottle, and Nic chuckled.
The blush across Cam’s cheeks was so beautiful Nic almost reached for him to claim that second kiss, but that wasn’t what Cam needed. Yet.
In the end, Cam made the decision for him, rotating to set his bottle aside. When he turned back around, he full on gasped as his wide eyes roved over Nic’s tattooed skin, leaving a path of fire in their wake.
Nic unhooked the last button and let his hands fall to the side, shirt hanging open. “We’ve all got a past, Boston.”
Cam’s darkening gaze flickered up, seeking permission, and Nic granted it with a nod.
Cam didn’t think to warm his hands, cold from the beer bottle, and Nic hissed at the first touch.
His fingertips warmed in seconds, though, as they trailed across a torso lightly sprinkled with brown and gray hair and painted in memories.
The eagle, flintlock, anchor, and trident insignia over his left pec, aka “The Budweiser,” inked after he finished BUDs training, once he was officially made a Navy SEAL.
“You got a JAG one too?” Cam asked.
“Hip,” Nic replied, voice full of gravel. He planned on showing Cam the oak leaves and millrind later tonight, Cam’s hands on his body making that all the more inevitable. Now, though, Cam was tracing the list of names beneath his SEAL tat. His team members, including Eddie.
Cam glanced up again, eyes asking a question to which there was a good answer for a change, not a heartbreaking one. “All still here,” Nic said. “I wanted to honor them. They saved me when I was injured in the field. Didn’t leave me behind, so I keep them with me too.”
Cam flattened his palm over the names, a benediction that had Nic closing his eyes and sucking in his own breath, then exhaling again as Cam slid his hand to the other side of his torso, over the quote halfway up his ribs.
The only easy day was yesterday. A SEAL favorite.
And below it, the skeletal frog and trident also favored by frogs like him, though he’d never seen another SEAL’s inked in rainbow colors.
“Got it when Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell was repealed,” he said with a smile. It died though, as Cam coasted his hand the rest of the way up his torso, first over the bruise where he’d collided with the car, then over the simple, unadorned number on his right pectoral.
Nic shivered, and Cam placed his other hand on his hip, grounding him. “What’s this one?” he asked.
Nic turned his face away, hiding an expression much like the one Cam had made earlier. Full of pain and regret. “The number of people I killed.” It wasn’t a small number. He’d been one of the Navy’s best snipers during those seven years before the injury had forced his move to JAG.
Cam’s hold on his side tightened. “Where’s the other one?”
Nic righted his gaze, swallowing hard to force moisture into his mouth. “What other one?” he asked hoarsely.
“The number of people you saved.” Cam flattened his palm again over the number. “Or the number of murderers you put away?”
Nic gave a small, sad smile. “We don’t celebrate the victories enough, do we?”
Cam ran his hand down, over the rainbow frog again. “You did here.” Nic’s obliques quivered under his touch. So did other parts south. “Christ, all this is under that suit every fucking day?”
And Cam hadn’t even seen the half of it, but the story etched on his back was for another time, if ever. Some truths were better left in the past where they belonged, though the situation with his father brought it closer to the surface every day.
Releasing his hip, Cam’s hands met over his abs and coasted up.
Nic inhaled sharply again, blood roaring under his skin and through his veins.
He paused Cam’s exploration over his sternum, hands around his wrists.
“I—” he started, then cleared his throat and tried again.
“I go out there, into the courtroom every day, and I use all this to atone, to try and be a better attorney and man.” He moved one of Cam’s hands over the kill count again.
“I put murderers away for those I . . .”
Black eyes shot to his, blazing with fury and indignation on his behalf. “You’re not—”
“Use what you learned.” He wove their fingers together over his skin. “Take the guilt and regret and the pain and let it help you be a better agent. Take who you used to be and let it help you do your job and rescue Abby.”
Eyes downcast, Cam seemed to deliberate some decision of his own.
“What if I can’t come back?” he whispered, barely loud enough for Nic to hear.
“Old me, he was distracted. I lost . . .” His face pinched in remembered pain, and when he started again, his voice was thin and ragged. “How do I not step over the line?”
Letting go of a wrist, Nic cupped the side of his neck, forcing his gaze. “I will pull you back.”
“How?” Cam breathed, black eyes boring into his. “When you’re the one who makes me want to break all the rules?”
Nic stepped closer, crowding him back against the counter. “We’re not breaking any rules.” Maybe they were breaking the laws of common sense, but Nic had thrown that out the window after their first kiss. They needed each other more.
Cam laid his rough, tempting cheek against Nic’s. “I really want to kiss you again.”
Nic smirked. “Why do you think I brought the stout?”
“’Cause it’s my favorite.”
Using his hand around Cam’s neck, Nic angled his face in and licked his lips. Tasting, teasing. “No, Boston. ’Cause I like the taste of my beer on you.”
“Fuck,” Cam groaned, then lunged, chasing after Nic’s tongue.
Their mouths slammed together, lips and teeth clashing, weeks of pent-up desire rushing out. Their second kiss was as wild and desperate—as scorching—as the first, and Nic already wanted a third.
Wanted them all.
Shifting, Cam slipped his thigh between Nic’s legs, and Nic ground against it with a moan. Cam encouraged the motion, hand racing down his back to clutch his ass, yanking him up and closer, Nic all but riding his leg.
“Fuck, Boston.” Hand snaking into Cam’s hair, fingers knotting in the dark locks, Nic held Cam’s hot mouth to his, tasting every corner as their hips rocked impatiently together, demanding attention.
Cam gave it to him, pushing off the counter and spinning them.
Pressing Nic’s back against the fridge, he rutted his dick along Nic’s, driving Nic wild despite the twinge of soreness and the damnable wool and denim between their bodies.
“Is this what you want, Dominic?” Hard length against hard length, the teasing wonderful and horrible. The torture continued as Cam slipped a hand inside Nic’s waistband, clawing at his ass, then diving into the cleft between his cheeks. “Or maybe you want this?” His finger circled Nic’s rim.
Nic’s head fell back, banging against the steel fridge door. Fuck yeah that’s what he wanted but good luck finding words right then. Groans would have to suffice.
Understanding well enough, Cam bit and laved the exposed tendon of his neck.
“I didn’t think it was possible to want you more than I already did but all this .
. .” The hand not teasing his asshole burned a path down Nic’s torso again, around the edge of his belly button, just like how he was torturing his other rim, then farther down, palming his cock.
“And this . . .” he said, stroking up and down over his pants. “My dick’s about to explode.”
Nic righted his head, catching Cam’s lips. “Mine too.” Fuck, he didn’t know whether to go back or forward. Thrust into Cam’s palm around his cock or ride the finger breaching his hole. “Do something about it.”
“How is it possible my dick’s getting harder?”
“Only one cure for that,” Nic replied.
And it wasn’t the ringing doorbell.
Nic ripped his mouth away. “Who the fuck is that?”
Cam’s lips slid over his collarbone. “Aidan’s stylist,” he murmured against the sensitive skin at the crook of Nic’s neck.
“Here for some disguise work.” Sighing, Cam stepped back, a bit wobbly on his feet, but so was Nic, clutching the fridge door handle to stay upright.
Cam eyed his crotch. “You’re gonna have to hide that. ”
Nic’s eyes flickered down to Cam’s own problem, then back up, right before he shoved off the fridge door, bearing down on the tease.
Cheek to cheek, he cupped Cam through the denim, returning the stroking torture.
“Don’t show up with red hair tomorrow,” he whispered hotly into the agent’s ear.
“Not sure I can pull you back from that.”