It made me happy.
It still made me happy. I wanted to kill all them fuckers, but Ace knew—he knew I might not ever stop.
So he did it for me, and that burden on him—it was a terrible thing.
We lay shoulder to shoulder in bed, watching my favorite movie about cars—Drive—on his phone, the dog curled up between us, making grunting noises. I knew all the talking parts—weren’t much. For a minute I had to close my eyes, I was so overwhelmed. His smell, his hard body, the quiet chuff of his laughter.
It was funny, everybody so freaked out about the poor guy in our living room. He didn’t bother me none. I knew when someone had the mean whipped out of ’em. I’d seen it enough in my eyes. Then I took one look at Ace and wanted him, and he were too good to take me on desperation alone.
I found my mean again, found my spirit. Ace wanted me happy and fighting, and that part of me, that part he loved.
But he also loved my softness. I watched his eyes when I was holding our fierce little dog, or when I cooked for friends. It wasn’t only the fighting. He wanted me happy.
He made me happy.
And here he was, planning to do another dangerous thing to make me happy, to be the man I loved.
Love was a big fucking word to me and Ace. We didn’t just throw that one around. And suddenly the feeling was too big for my heart.
“Duke, crate,” I said, and Duke gave me a look of reproach but jumped off the bed and trotted to his crate in the corner of the room.
“You ready for bed?” Ace asked, surprised as I turned off the light.
“No,” I said shortly. I took his phone and set it on the bedstand charger, hitting Stop on the movie as I did.
“No?” he sounded confused, which he didn’t often, but which pleased me no end. I rolled on top of him and took his mouth, wanting to be tender but too full of feelings to go gentle.
“No,” I repeated.
“Oh,” he murmured as I pulled back and began kissing my way down his throat. “Aren’t you worried about—”
“No,” I said firmly, not wanting to talk about how I knew the guy wouldn’t be no trouble.
“Okay, then,” he whispered, and that was about all there was for talking between the two of us. Often we were rough when we did this—we were hard men, and my life hadn’t been no garden of daisies.
But he was doing dangerous things to make me happy, and I needed to give him… softness. So many times I’d taken this thing between us and used it to hurt him. Not on purpose, but because I didn’t know what to do with love when it was a pure thing like Ace had for me. I handled it wrong. But this time, tonight, I’d take it and make it beautiful.
I kissed his skin, smooth and soft under where his clothes would be, sun-rough and brown around his neck and his forearms. I tasted it. I nibbled. I listened to his noises, the way he caught his breath, the little grunts he made when something felt good but he didn’t want to shake the walls.
I grinned up at him over his broad chest as I took his cock in my mouth, pleased that he was moaning softly into his hand.
“Louder,” I whispered, and I went about worshipping that thing with every skill I had.
When he’d about had enough, I slicked my asshole up and sat, slowly, ’cause if it wasn’t good for me, it wasn’t good for him, and that was one more thing I loved about this man.
Together we moved, slow again, ’cause it made the good hurt more good, and the sweat running down my face, dripping to his chest, made this feel like fine work, a sacrament, I guess you’d call it, a way of praying with our bodies that didn’t feel like lying, that felt like something real.
Finally, I could take no more, and I shuddered, shooting come on Ace’s chest, falling forward with a whimper while Ace thrust one more time, hard, into the cradle of my body.
His come inside me was a blessing, all I knew about God, all I needed to know.
He wrapped his arms tight around me and said, “I love you, Sonny Daye.”
“I love you too, Jasper.”
He hummed a little—I knew he liked his real name sometimes. And he also knew that Sonny Daye was my real name now. I’d all but forgotten the name I’d been born with, the name I’d had when I’d been sold as meat, when I was just a little kid.
Sonny Daye was who I was in Jasper Atchison’s arms. He was the only man my Jasper could ever love.
