Chapter Nine #2
Cloister nuzzled Javi’s palm briefly and then leaned forward.
One hand slid up the back of Javi’s thigh to cup his ass, all tight, lean muscle, while Cloister wrapped his mouth around Javi’s cock.
The faint scent of sandalwood teased at Cloister’s senses with the implication of a taste, but there was just soap and skin fresh from the shower.
Javi made a rough, ragged noise in the back of his throat.
His hand ended up in Cloister’s hair again, fingers dug down through shaggy hair to dig into his scalp.
As Cloister took the length of Javi into his mouth, lips stretched around the thick shaft, he tasted the musky salt bloom of precome on his tongue. He made a soft pleased with himself hum in the back of his throat that made Javi’s fingers tighten in his hair and the muscles in his stomach clench.
Everything else, all the pressure and suspicion and frustration, fell away.
The world narrowed down to the cock in his mouth and the man it was attached to.
Cloister ran his tongue over the hard underside of Javi’s cock, tracing the taut bulge of the big vein that ran along the shaft.
Heat ran down his spine, liquid and tingling, until it reached his balls.
His cock stirred impatiently under his jeans, nudged up against the zipper with an ache that was barely on the right side of pleasure.
“God,” Javi groaned.
Cloister glanced up and was briefly distracted by the long, elegant stretch of Javi’s body.
He was canted back against the counter in a taut line, one arm braced behind him and his head fallen back to expose the clean, stretched line of his neck.
Dark, damp hair curled at the nape of his neck and behind his ears in ungroomed, careless knots.
It wasn’t often that anyone, even Cloister, got to see Javi completely unguarded.
That wasn’t a problem. Cloister wasn’t an open book either.
Straightforward—to a fault sometimes—but that wasn’t the same thing, even if people thought it was.
Still, he had decided a while ago that this version of Javi—unedited and careless—was the one he’d miss the most.
Which was, he reminded himself as he leaned back, something else he didn’t think about.
Javi’s cock slid, wet and slick, from between Cloister’s lips. He flicked his tongue over the taut, flushed head of it, a drop of come sweet-and-sour as he lapped it up, and grinned at the small, choked sound that Javi made.
His knees ached—a reminder of the hard tiles under him—as he shifted his weight.
He ignored it as he ran his hand up Javi’s thigh to cuff his fingers around the base of his cock.
It filled his hand, and he could feel the throttled pulse of it against the base of his fingers.
Javi took a quick, soundless breath and dug his fingers down against the counter, flesh bled white from the pleasure.
Cloister pumped his fist along Javi’s cock, base to head. Thin, velvety skin creased and wrinkled under his grip. It stretched out taut as Cloister slid his hand back down, and he wrapped his mouth around the thickness of it again. He followed his fist down, fingers tight and mouth wet.
After a second, Javi tugged his head back. Cloister reluctantly complied, letting Javi’s cock slip out of his mouth with a wet, lewd slurp. He tilted his head back, skull nudged against Javi’s knuckles, to look up at him.
“Even if we’d not got together,” Javi said, his expression earnest, “I’d have cared what Kincaid did to you.”
He wouldn’t have. Cloister appreciated the lie, though. He pumped his fist along Javi’s cock in a slow, deliberate tease.
“Didn’t you want me to finish what I started?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Something dark flickered over Javi’s face, a shadow of an emotion that he didn’t let linger.
“I’m in no hurry to get anywhere,” he said. “But far be it from me to stop you reaching your goals in life.”
Cloister snorted at that. He reached up to untangle Javi’s fingers from his hair and leaned back in to breathe on his wet, willing cock.
The tickle of warm air made it twitch, hard and ready.
Cloister kissed it and nudged it up, grip tightening on Javi’s hand as the other man flexed his fingers so he could feather a trail of slow, deliberate kisses, all lips and tongue and warm breath, along the taut underside.
The muscles in Javi’s stomach quivered, wire-tight and ready, under his skin as he took a ragged, short breath.
Cloister’s mouth tilted into a suggestive smile against the shaft. “Maybe that bed isn’t such a—”
The sudden volley of furious, staccato barks from the other room interrupted Cloister’s suggestion.
It hit him like a bucket of cold water. He reared back, off his knees and up onto his toes before he registered the ache from the hard ground, and craned his neck to see what she was doing.
The bed she favored—Cloister’s shirt on Javi’s expensive couch—was visible from the kitchen, but it was empty.
Cloister looked the other way and saw her tail, flagged and fluffy, as she snarled at the door.
“This is why people crate dogs,” Javi growled as he straightened up from his sprawl. “What’s wrong with her?”
Cloister didn’t bother to answer. He grabbed the towel off the floor with one hand and braced the other against the tiles as he pushed himself to his feet. The sharp jolt of pain that jammed through the joint made him grunt, but at least it cut through the fog of lust in his head.
“I don’t know,” he said as he tossed the towel to Javi. “I’m going to find out.”
Despite everything Javi knew about Cloister, he still got halfway through a disgruntled “What, now?” as he clumsily slung the towel back around his hips. Before he could finish the complaint, someone knocked on the door.
Bourneville put her ears flat against her skull and snarled, all her teeth on show right to her gums.
“Bourneville,” Cloister said, the crack of her full name making Bourneville roll her eyes his way. “Nein.”
She stopped mid-snarl and flopped down on her stomach, but her hackles stayed up and her ears down.
“Special Agent Merlo?” a familiar voice said. “It’s Deputy Tancredi. I need to speak to you.”