Waves ripple out around them, small halos of water that seem to echo the pulsing between them.
Jackson tugs Ethan’s underwear off completely. Slaps it up on the dock. Continues caressing him until Ethan’s nibble nearly turns into a bite, his voice strained in Jackson’s ear: “Jesus, youreallyknow what you’re doing.”
After he finishes, Ethan fumbles with Jackson’s boxers, wrenches them down. “My turn.”
Jackson shudders at the touch, his whole being nearly convulsing.
“Will you climb on the dock for me, sit on the edge?” Ethan asks.
The slats are warm against Jackson’s ass, reminding him of the wood at the sauna at his old gym in Dallas. He’s leaning back, resting on his forearms, and Ethan is still in the pond, his face between Jackson’s legs. Jackson groans as Ethan takes him in his mouth.
Talk about someone who really knows what they’re doing.
Jackson can’t help it; his hips buck slightly as Ethan continues, his fingers clutching Ethan’s luscious hair. Above him, stars streak across the sky, but he knows that’s not what’s really happening. His vision is blurring fromthis, and before he can help it, he hears himself shouting Ethan’s name. Then Ethan’s mouth is on his, shushing him, making far better use of his tongue.
The men loll on their backs, hands laced together.
“That was…really something.” Ethan’s sugary voice drifts into Jackson’s ear. “Come out again anytime.Please.”
Jackson still struggles with vocabulary, with speaking, with words, so he lifts Ethan’s fingers to his mouth, begins to nibble.
Jackson coughs as he enters Sullivan’s, the air in the bar smoke-choked milky-white smog from the cigarettes churning above everyone’s heads.
“Evenin’, darlin’!” Ginny calls out while wiping the bar down in front of Jackson. “What’ll it be?”
“Jack and Coke.” He’s grinning so hard at Ginny, he feels like his face is going to split.
He couldn’t go straight home, not afterthat. He needs a drink, needs time to process it, to relive it, to luxuriate. Plus, he’s dying to tell somebody—it’s too delicious to keep to himself—and Ginny’s the only person he can spill it to.
“Never seen you so happy,” she says as she fills his glass with ice.
Jackson tilts his head, shrugs. Coy, bashful.
“Oh, Lord. Please tell me it’s not about that man!” She sprays the glass with Coke, pours a shot of Jack on top. “Jackson—”
“What? And shhh, keep your voice down.”
Ginny leans across the bar, her blue eyes wide as biscuits. “Tell me.”
Jackson takes a pull of his drink, sets it down. He’s relishing this. “Well, let’s just say, I just left his place—”
“And?”
“Well, we…ya know…”
She grins, then bites it down. “Man’s got a wife, saw his wedding ring—”
“So?”
“Okay, yeah, whatever about that.” She flings her hands into the space between them, says, “But—”
“But what?” Jackson shakes the ice around in his drink. “That man isdivine. And you know it.”
“That man istrouble. Anyone who brings a Bible into a bar and who looks likethat…” Ginny whistles out a sigh, shakes her head, places her hand on top of Jackson’s, then warns, “Watch out.”
33
Jane
