Commence 'operation extraction.' He could do this; he'd extracted dozens of victims from precarious situations, so how hard could it be to get himself out of this jam?
Starting with his trapped leg, he shifted it to push Tristan's leg over and off him. His smug satisfaction lasted zero-point-three seconds, since the same leg popped back up, this time over both of Cade's thighs.
Rolling his eyes, he shifted focus and gently slid Tristan's arm across his chest back toward its owner and off his body. Again, his triumph was short-lived, because soon the arm was back, this time angled lower so that the other man's hand was right next to his junk.
Oh, no, no, no. That hand, only centimeters from his crotch, was sending some very inconvenient, unwanted signals to his dick.
Stand down, buddy. Nothing to see here.
The more he tried not to think about his dick, about the hot body pressed to him, the worse it got, until he was so hard and strung so tight with discomfort that he had to do something drastic.
He clasped his hand over Tristan's and gently slid it up to his chest.
And left them there.
But only because he needed to keep it away from his dick, catch his breath and reevaluate his escape plan, not because he liked the feeling of holding hands or anything.
When Tristan shifted slightly, Cade held his breath, hoping he wouldn't wake up while he was in this compromising posit …
"Why are you holding my hand?"
Cade snatched his hand away as if he'd been burned, strategically moved it to block his junk, then lied, "I'm not."
He could hear the humor in Tristan's voice. "You were."
"Why are you plastered against me?" he asked, trying to turn the tables.
"Dunno. I was sleeping. You weren't, though."
"How do you know that? Maybe I was."
"Were you?"
"Of course," he lied, not sounding convincing even to himself.
"Hmm," Tristan hummed. "Do you want me to move?"
Did he? His thoughts jumbled, scattered by Tristan's nearness — his low, husky voice, the heat of skin on skin, and that scent: coconut, soap and something sweeter and more elusive.
Looking down, Cade's breath hitched at the sight of the other man's face outlined in the moonlight, his pale skin glowing blueish silver, making him look soft and alluring.
As the electricity hummed between them, the feeling surged, irrational and undeniable: he wanted to keep this man close, to protect him and hold him, maybe even kiss him with a tenderness he hadn’t known he was capable of.
There was no long game with Tristan, he knew, because a cruel twist of fate placed them in different, irreconcilable worlds.
But at this moment, he could touch him, and the craving pulled at him so powerfully that he was helpless to fight it. Desperation had him diving forward, crashing their mouths together for a few beats, before pulling away, afraid of the intensity of his feelings and the brief reminder of the professionalism he told himself he'd maintain.
He was only able to drag in one breath before Tristan reached up to cup the back of his neck and pull him back, fitting their lips together again.
With his resolve fading fast, Cade indulged the other man's wishes, sliding his tongue along plush lips until they openedwillingly. The immediate submission evoked a heady rush of desire and power that cracked something inside him, and the yearning became overpowering, too irresistible to deny any longer.
Pushing Tristan onto his back, Cade covered him with his body and devoured his mouth, while one hand skimmed to his nape and into his hair.
"You said we shouldn't," Tristan breathed out when he momentarily released his lips.
Logic poked through the haze of hunger for a split second, but a voice in his head rang out, insisting that he'd already crossed the line, so to hell with what was left of his professionalism.
Cade hardly recognized his own voice, strained with emotion. "I know, but I need to touch you. Is that okay?"
