“No, like just tell her to fuck off?”
“She was pretty and knew which fork to use and she kept out of my way as long as she had access to my black card.”
“She sounds lovely,” Jericho grumbled.
Atticus went still. “Are you… Are you jealous of Kendra?”
Jericho could have lied, but they didn’t have any lies between them. He didn’t want to start now. “Yeah. Very. I don’t like the idea of her sinking her claws into you.”
Atticus rolled in his arms until they were face to face. “Yeah, well, she’s long gone. We didn’t part on friendly terms. I’m pretty sure the last thing she said to me was that I was shitty in bed. My designer didn’t seem surprised by Kendra’s assessment of my skills in the bedroom.”
Jericho kissed Atticus’s nose, his cheeks, his eyes. “Her loss, Freckles, ‘cause I don’t share.”
Atticus flushed, seemingly trying and failing to keep his voice casual as he asked, “What about you?”
Jericho liked being all tangled up in Atticus, their calves brushing together, their chests touching, hips together. He let his hand slide around to cup the swell of Atticus’s perfect ass. “What about me?”
Atticus was close enough for Jericho to feel his breath on his lips as he asked, “Have you been in a long term relationship? What about that cop? Gabriel?”
Jericho sighed. Fucking Gabe. “We knew each other from around the neighborhood. We hooked up a few times after he was given my sister’s case, dated off and on. I thought he was my boyfriend.”
Creases formed across Atticus’s forehead. “But then you broke up?”
“Yeah.”
“Did it upset you?”
Jericho shrugged. “I dated him for the same reason you dated Kendra. He was there. But neither of us were ever really invested enough to take it past casual. Good thing, too. Turned out he had a boyfriend the whole time we were together. Still does, I think.”
Atticus studied his face, like he was trying to figure out if he was serious or not. “I don’t share either,” he finally said, his lips brushing against Jericho’s. “Just so we’re clear. You don’t get to fuck anybody else either.”
Jericho surged forward, fucking his tongue into Atticus’s mouth until they were both breathing a little heavy. “Do you think I want anybody else? Nobody compares to you, Freckles. You are this weirdly perfect combination of impenetrable and vulnerable and I can’t fucking get enough of it.”
Atticus swallowed hard. “You’re the only one.”
Jericho kissed him again. “Good. ‘Cause I have no problems killing to protect what’s mine. I’m sure you know that by now.”
Atticus slipped his thigh between Jericho’s, snuggling closer to tuck his head against his chest. “I know. I don’t like killing, but I’d kill for you, too.”
Jericho’s stomach fluttered. “I know, Freckles. I know.”
The first text came through at 8:15, moments after he’d sat down at his desk: Jericho asking if he’d made it to work okay. Atticus had assured him he had and donned his white coat, intent on spending the day in the lab even though his job lately was mostly fundraising.
At mid-morning, another text arrived: Jericho standing in front of a mirror, shirtless, his coveralls hanging from his waist and a look on his face that could melt solid steel. That man had been inside him last night. Twice. Well, once last night and once again this morning, but still. Fuck.
Jericho was hot, and not just to Atticus. Like, he was hot enough to sell the picture in his phone to a magazine, hot enough that, sometimes, Atticus couldn’t believe this man not only tolerated him but seemed to venerate him, and acted like he was worth fighting over. Not even his brothers thought that.
Atticus didn’t respond but saved the photo and made it his wallpaper. Who would ever know? He always kept his phone locked.
He was just about to quit for lunch when his phone vibrated where it sat on the counter beside the microscope. He didn’t stop what he was doing but glanced over at the text bubble that popped up across his lock screen.
Do you know how hard it is to work when I keep picturing bending you over my work bench, fingering you open and fucking my load into you?
A rush of heat shot through Atticus, his face flushing and his pants growing uncomfortably tight. He almost fumbled the slide in his hand, earning a strange look from one of the techs working across from him. They hated when he was in the lab. They preferred him in his office. He knew how much they hated him.
He slipped a glove off to type back:That doesn’t sound very sanitary.
Almost immediately, those three dots began to jump, indicating Jericho was typing a response. Why did that make Atticus’s stomach flutter?
