The Mermaid Murders

Chapter Twelve

Of course there were plenty of excellent reasons why not.

Jason managed to block them all out as Kennedy unlocked his door and let them both inside his room.

The lights were out. The room smelled like all hotel rooms. The only landmark was Kennedy.

The door swung shut, the deadbolt slid home, Kennedy’s arms closed around Jason.

Jason was conscious of Kennedy’s muscular length backing him into the door, the alcohol-scented heat of Kennedy’s breath on his face, the speedy expertise with which Kennedy’s long fingers unbuckled Jason’s holster—clearly he had plenty of practice in disarming lovers—before turning his attention to Jason’s shirt buttons.

“Good,” Kennedy muttered. “This is good.”

Which…the jury was still out, but yes, it was looking promising so far. Jason arched his neck and found Kennedy’s mouth. Hot and tasting like booze with an undernote of stinging sweetness. Kennedy neither rejected nor reciprocated the kiss, his attention focused on undoing the last buttons of Jason’s shirt.

Jason’s shoulders were wide, and his shirt was tailored, so it took a few seconds, but at last Kennedy laid bare Jason’s chest. He let out a sigh of satisfaction, fingertips skating lightly, slowly, over the flat planes of Jason’s abs, tracing a line between his pecs, and circling round to graze the nipples that pricked to attention at that tingling touch. Jason’s breath caught in his throat.

Kennedy lowered his head, touched a nipple with his tongue, and Jason gasped and jumped, his head hitting the door with a noisy thump.

“Easy,” Kennedy murmured. His voice was unfamiliar in its huskiness, even sexy. “Don’t knock yourself out.” He sounded amused.

Just as well Kennedy hadn’t turned on the light. The darkness was a lot of what made this possible. Jason was uncomfortable with his own intense response to this man. Not like he didn’t have any experience with casual sex, but for some reason the fact it was Kennedy touching him, rasping his hot wet tongue against Jason’s nipple, was exciting almost beyond belief.

There was a little moan trapped deep in his throat, a naked sound he’d have died rather than release, and it was nearly strangling him as Kennedy turned his attention to Jason’s other nipple. He reached out blindly for Kennedy’s belt buckle, and Kennedy leaned into him, offering easier access.

“Yeah, whatever you want,” Kennedy whispered before his lips closed on the sensitive point of Jason’s nipple. Kennedy sucked, and Jason’s entire body seemed to throb with pleasure. It was crazy what this was doing to him. Had anyone touched him like this before? He couldn’t remember another guy spending this much time on his breast—not something Jason would have ever asked for or imagined enjoying—but thrills of sensation shuddered up and down his spine as Kennedy licked and nibbled.

Jason’s cock was straining painfully at his trousers, so it was a desperate relief when Kennedy’s hands dropped to his fly, eased his zipper down, mindful of all that fragile skin and blindly thrusting muscle. His own hands rested motionless on Kennedy’s lean hips—he kept getting distracted by Kennedy’s relentlessly pleasurable assault—but he made the effort now, fingers fumbling with the buckle tongue, yanking the trousers open with no regard for tailoring. He wanted more of everything. Of that weight and warmth…and wholeness. And he wanted it now.

Kennedy’s dick sprang free, crowding Jason in the darkness that pressed closer, smelling of faded aftershave, musk, and imminent sex.

“Beautiful,” Kennedy said, reaching for him, and Jason’s cock nestled into his curled palm. “This is beautiful.”

Yes, it was. After a day devoted to death and dying, sex was a beautiful, life-affirming thing. An art form all its own.

Kennedy’s thumb stroked along Jason’s achingly hard length in a sensual brailing, and the moan Jason had tried to swallow tore out of his throat. Raw and honest with need.

Kennedy’s laugh was quiet, knowing. He slid an arm around Jason’s waist, hitching him up against the door—one hell of a lot of upper body strength there—and Jason grabbed for Kennedy’s shoulders, instinctively wrapping his legs around Kennedy’s hips—also no small effort. Kennedy’s hold slipped, and they half fell against the door.

Jason swallowed a half-yelp half-laugh, but Kennedy stayed on his feet. Jason wriggled for leverage against the slick surface, hiking himself up again, and with that gyration initiating more pleasurable motion. Yes to naked friction from any angle.

“Yeah. There. That’s…”

“Good,” Kennedy urged. “That’s so…”

Jason ground his hips against Kennedy’s, and Kennedy thrust back hard. Push and pull rapidly shifting into pound and pummel.

Jason arched, and Kennedy’s arms tightened around his waist. The door handle lever hit Jason in the back, but he barely noticed. Even if they fell over, he wasn’t sure it would make a difference. They were locked in a kind of sexual mortal combat now, hips rocking, cocks plunging against each other, awkward and occasionally painful, but mostly, crazily good.

This is Kennedy. This is Kennedy’s dick shoving into my groin. That is Kennedy’s dick leaking slickness…

Kennedy’s mouth was against Jason’s ear, and he was grunting with each thrust, a rough, aggressive sound that was unbearably exciting.

They were both breathing hard, sweat breaking over their bodies as they struggled and strained their way to the prize—and Jesus, this looked easier on television than it was in practice. Jason slid down a couple of centimeters, and he swore in frustration. Kennedy’s arms refastened around his back, keeping him pinned, and Jason clamped his thighs, rocking against that eager pulsing hardness.

“Christ, yes,” Jason urged. “Yes. YES.”

“Shhh. God.” Kennedy was laughing unsteadily.

They bumped and banged their way into a semblance of rhythm. The door rattled alarmingly in its frame beneath their onslaught. It didn’t matter.

You didn’t have to be in sync to make this work, and they were making it work.

Anything that felt this good would work. Jason let his head fall back again…ouch…this time Kennedy didn’t laugh at the thump, he probably didn’t hear it—Jason barely felt it as he launched himself into Kennedy’s thrusts which were coming now in short, fast bursts.

So good. So sweet. Yes. Yes. Good. I can’t believe this is Kennedy—no, don’t think about that—

Jason’s balls drew tight. Little lights danced behind his eyes. He surged up against the door one final time and went barreling down a luminous blue-green tunnel until he felt orgasm lift him like a wave scooping up his surfboard and casting him into sunlight and spray.

Brilliant…sparkling…blinding…delight. He was transported, flying high as shafts of bright and secret pleasure lanced through him, transfixing him…oh, don’t let it stop. Carried along on that sweet, sweet ride…

He had the presence of mind to shout his reaction into Kennedy’s broad and powerful shoulder—it had been way too fucking long since he’d had this relief.

He landed on the shore, wet, weak-kneed, and shaking—and didn’t object when he was gathered to his feet and guided to the bed. He didn’t recall undressing, only tumbling into cool cotton and warm arms. A sheet drifted down as light as a summer breeze and conscious thought scattered like grains of sand.

He woke to the sound of the shower.

And one hell of a headache.

Jason winced at the steady thump of blood in his temples. Where was he that there was someone using his shower? Wasn’t he supposed to be back in L.A.?

The bathroom door swung wide, and Jason’s eyes jerked open as a wave of warm, soapy air—and a blast of familiar aftershave—dispelled the mental fog.

“Up and at ’em, Agent West,” Kennedy said. “We’re not on vacation.”

Holy. Shit.

Had he—?

Had they—?

Well, yes. Because Jason distinctly—well, some of it was pretty fuzzy—but Jason definitely remembered…a lot. Too much. The size of Kennedy’s cock among other things. The feel of his hands digging into Jason’s ass, the rasp of his tongue on Jason’s nipples, the taste of his mouth.

Chriiiiiist.

Jason sat up and swung his legs off the mattress. The angry little man in his cerebellum pounded his cane against the ceiling. You young whippersnappers!

Jason felt around for his…what the hell was he searching for? He risked a quick look at Kennedy.

Kennedy’s face was impassive. He was combing his wet hair and watching Jason feebly paw the rug.

Jason found his shorts—and who didn’t enjoy having to pull up his pants in front of someone who looked like he was about to issue a citation. And not one for bravery. Although Jason must have been feeling pretty brave, if not actually foolhardy, to have done what he did.

Really, he would prefer not to think of all he had done. And at the top of his lungs if memory served.

“Uh, I think I’ll…” Jason dragged on his jeans. “Shower next door.”

“Suit yourself.” Kennedy turned back into the bathroom.

Jason grabbed his shirt, socks, shoes and departed Kennedy’s room. As he stepped into the hallway with its delirium tremens-themed carpeting and murky lighting, the door to #156 clicked shut behind him, and he realized he’d left his holster and weapon.

No small thing losing—leaving—your holster and gun.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he murmured in anguish.

He thumped briskly on the door.

Kennedy opened the door and handed him his holster, weapon still neatly fastened.

“Thanks.”

Highly unlikely the gleam in Kennedy’s eyes was amusement, but if Kennedy thought this was funny, good. That made one of them.

“I’m going downstairs to grab a bagel,” Kennedy said.

“Right. I’ll be down in ten.”

He was down in eight, not that anyone was counting. Kennedy was reading the newspaper as he enjoyed his continental breakfast in the corner of the dining room.

A cold shower had done Jason a world of good. He talked the girl at the reception desk into giving him a couple of aspirins while watching Kennedy out of the corner of his eye.

I tapped that. The unbidden memory startled him. Or maybe what startled him was that the memory made him feel sort of warm and tingly.

Because no. If he should be feeling anything, it was concern this didn’t confuse the issue. The issue being that he wasn’t just Kennedy’s partner—temporary partner—he had been brought on to make sure Kennedy didn’t cross any double lines or swerve into the wrong lane. He had to keep some kind of impartial distance here. For everyone’s sake.

Plus, he wasn’t even sure he liked Kennedy. And he made it a rule not to have sex with people he didn’t like.

He washed the aspirin down with scalding sips of black coffee and made his way over to Kennedy, who was folding up his newspaper.

“We’ve got time if you want to grab something to eat,” Kennedy said.

“I’m fine.”

Kennedy nodded and rose.

They squeezed past a couple of families in shorts and T-shirts crowding through the sliding lobby doors. Weekday or not, this was summer vacation for a lot of people.

Kennedy unlocked the car doors, and Jason slid in and buckled up. He felt the need for restraint after the night before.

“You seem a little rattled this morning,” Kennedy remarked, once they were on the road and headed back toward Kingsfield.

“Nope. I’m good.” Jason adjusted the sun visor. Way too much sun for this early in the morning.

“Gervase phoned to let me know they’ve got the ME’s report. He wanted to wait and discuss in person.”

“Okay.”

A couple more miles of ruthless illumination, both internal and external.

Jason said abruptly, “I’m not rattled. I just…” He shook his head. “I don’t usually do this. That. Last night. In fact, I’ve never done that.”

“Never?”

Jason glanced at Kennedy. Was Kennedy teasing him? Impossible. Kennedy had no sense of humor.

“Not with a colleague. I don’t believe in mixing work with play. Pleasure. Sex. I mean, I like to keep my professional life professional.”

Kennedy, eyes on the road, said, “You do know the Bureau doesn’t have a non-fraternization policy?”

“Yes. I know.” Jason repeated—and even he could hear it sounded like it was by rote, “I like to keep my professional life professional.”

Really, why was he making such a point about this? It’s not like he had a hard-and-fast rule about getting involved with coworkers—although he’d have expected Kennedy to. Jason occasionally dated other agents, and he’d never had any particular problem. Granted, none of those dates had led to relationships. Relationships were stickier.

Also not a factor here.

“Fine by me,” Kennedy said. “I follow the catch-and-release rule. By exigency and by inclination.”

Exigency and inclination. Wow.

And, oh yeah. That’s why he’d felt the need for a preemptive strike. Jason had known Kennedy would say something like that, something to make it clear last night had been a one-off and not the start of anything. Because what the hell would they be starting? They had absolutely nothing in common beyond being gay. And horny.

So Jason felt relieved he had clarified his position first. Status and sex. They went hand in hand. Or hand and something.

“So we’re good, then,” Jason said.

“Yep.”

Jason took another swallow of coffee. It seemed to have grown noticeably more bitter over the past mile.