Ace in the Hole (2 page)

Stone just shook his head. “If that’s a come-on line, it’s a bad one.”

That made Christian sit back harder in his chair, reassessing. Not interested in a cheap hookup, was Stone? Huh. He didn’t misread men’s signals often. Surely a guy this hot wasn’t… awkward… about sex, was he? Hell, it was the twenty-first century. Same-sex marriage had been legal for a while, and sodomy laws were history. He wasn’t particularly prone to casual sex, personally, but this man had an interesting vibe about him. It was dark and hot. Intense. Not his usual brand of slick Washington politico.

“What do you want from me, Christian?”

Not many people called him by his full name, but he liked it in Stone’s mouth. Bemused, he turned his attention to the actual question attached to his name. What
did
he want?

“Undecided,” he finally answered.

Stone stood from the table, and he matched the movement as Stone announced, “I’m jet-lagged as hell, a little drunk, and you make me laugh. Would I get off on fucking you hard? Yeah, sure. But I don’t have the time or the patience for drama and sophomoric relationship bullshit.”

“Neither do I.”

Their hard stares met. They understood each other, then. Sex. Hot sex. Maybe even rough sex. No strings attached. Two ships passing in the night. Christian abruptly had such an intense hard-on he could barely stand upright. A quick glance down revealed Stone was in pretty much the same state.

They didn’t kiss so much as they collided. Stone was no slender, lithe, dancer type. But then, neither was he. Stone’s frown as they ripped each other’s shirts off made it pretty damned clear that he wasn’t Stone’s usual type either. But there was something challenging about this man. Something that made him want to bring Stone Jackson to his knees.

Then Stone grabbed his hair, yanked his head back, and
bit
his lip.

“What the hell?” he exclaimed.

“You’re telling me you like it easy and sweet?” Stone growled.

He grabbed the back of Stone’s neck, pulled his head forward, and bit back. “Not bloody likely.” Jesus, this man was like a brick wall, all hard planes, sharp angles, and bulging muscles. Rock-hard muscles. And
scars
. At least a half-dozen bigass, half-gutted-at-some-point-in-the-past scars. “You look like you’ve been through a war zone.”

“Couple of ’em,” Stone muttered against his mouth. His razor stubble grated on Christian’s face. And it was sexy as hell. This was a man’s man, and he was about to have all of him.

“Soldier?” Christian murmured.

“Something like that.”

“What else is
like
a soldier?”

“Do you always talk this much?”

“You gonna do something to shut me up?” There was an aura about Stone that brought out the testosterone in him. More than simple one-upmanship. A need to challenge and subdue.

Stone laughed darkly, and actual intimidation flickered through Christian’s gut. Was he in over his head with this guy? Just what kind of baggage did a man with that many outward scars carry around on the inside? Did he have the balls to find out? Something daring—reckless, even—flared in Christian’s gut. While the little voice in the back of his head shouted at him to avoid Stone Jackson like hell, a raging fire in his belly urged him on.

He’d never had sex with a man like this and probably never would again. It would be raw and pornographic and likely leave him wrecked for a long damned time to come. But he would regret it for the rest of his life if he walked away from this moment. This man. This one-night stand.

Eyes narrowed, he reached for the buttons of Stone’s ridiculous khaki shorts. His knuckles brushed against an erection large enough to give him pause. Yup. A man’s man. His belly quailed a bit at the notion of absorbing all that hardness one way or another. Or maybe he’d do the taking and let Stone hang, hard and unsatisfied on his knees. Although the little voice frantically warned him that taunting this man would not be a good idea. Payback would be an absolute bitch.

A bitch he’d never experienced before. He was all about managing every situation. He liked predictable. Liked order. Some folks even called him OCD. He might cop to being a bit of a control freak. But his life had no surprises. Even in sexual encounters, he made sure everyone had a good time, but he called the shots.

Yet somehow it was his trousers that were suddenly unzipped, his balls being cupped by a big callused hand plunged into his briefs while Stone’s hard thumb rubbed knowingly across the head of his cock. Lust exploded through him. Holy shit. His hips rocked forward hungrily, and Stone pulled his dick through the flap in his briefs, grabbed it in a firm fist, and actually dragged him across the room by it. How in the hell he ended up on his knees with his face in Stone’s crotch, he had no idea. He was the taker, not the giver.

He’d wondered idly from time to time what it would be like to bottom. But the guys he dated were usually so intimidated by his job, his family name, his status and general class, that they seemed to expect him to take charge and do the honors. And he didn’t hate topping. Truth be told, he’d never thought to question how he liked his sex. Not until this dark, dangerous alpha male blasted into his life.

Fascinated by the possibilities, he stood, reaching for Stone’s shorts. But then Stone kissed him roughly, all but sucking his tongue free of its moorings. It hurt a little and turned him on ferociously. Shocking realization broke over him that he’d never made love to a man like this before, a man who would take charge and do exactly what he wanted, who would fuck him balls to the wall and leave him begging for more.

The emotional risk inherent in giving up control to this man skittered through him. What if he liked bottoming? What if he wanted more of the same? Where in the hell would he find another man like this? He shouldn’t do this. Yet his trousers shimmied down around his ankles, and he let himself be shoved down, headfirst, over the back of the sofa, his face buried in the seat cushions, and ordered to stay.

Stone disappeared for an endless, outrageous minute while Christian stayed exactly where he was, scared of what this man would do to him, amazed as hell that he was putting up with being ordered around like this, and so excited that his body quivered with it. Stone returned, his hairy thighs brushing lightly against Christian’s ass. Muscles Christian hardly knew he had convulsed, completely out of his control.

A hand milked his cock from behind until he was dripping with precum, his balls so tight they felt as if they would explode any second. He lurched when a big, blunt finger circled his anus, smearing something goopy and vaguely warm on it. And then, Jesus H. Christ. A finger dipped inside his rectum. He lurched away from the invasion, his hipbones slamming into the sofa frame, but not far enough to escape that probing finger.

He’d bottomed a few times a very long time ago, when he was first experimenting with his sexuality. They’d been furtive, fast encounters with other teenage boys. Nothing at all like this. Apprehension coursed through him. And yet his cock was jumping and jerking wildly, his glutes clenching and unclenching, and he was letting a dark, dangerous stranger spread his ass cheeks and lube him up some more.

And then the blunt head of that huge, rock-hard cock rested against his entrance, both a promise and a threat. Fear of the unknown swept over him, along with burning desire to know what lay beyond it.

Whatever madness had overcome him before swept forward now, stealing his breath and what little remaining sanity he had. He wanted to be impaled. Wanted to be plundered and taken and possessed by this man. His limbs went weak, his breath grew so short he panted, and his fists and teeth clamped down on the sofa cushion.

“If you don’t relax, you won’t be able to take me,” Stone muttered. He eased that big finger through Christian’s clenched muscles again. He slid it deeper this time, filling him up and then retreating almost all the way out. Again, he stroked him with appalling intimacy.

Christian felt an orgasm building. Ripples of insane pleasure were building deep inside him, tucked up high above his balls as Stone worked the hot spot he’d only worked on others before. No wonder his partners were addicted to sex. He was dying already.

“Jesus, you’re tight,” Stone ground out. “I’m going to have to be careful.”

It was good to know Stone was having restraint issues too. Thing was, he rather wanted Stone to tear the hell out of him at this point. His hips pumped of their own volition as his control slipped yet another notch. Sex. He wanted sex and lots of it. Right now.

Stone splayed one hand on the base of his spine, pinning him down. The strength in Stone’s palm was astonishing. Christian was not a small man, and he worked out often. And yet Stone held him still with casual ease. More of that strange intimidation/attraction tore through him.

Stone took a step forward, his thighs shoving Christian’s wider apart. He was at the man’s mercy now. Loving it and hating it, he swore in a steady stream. That rock-hard cock was back at his hungry opening, poised for the coup de grace. He felt Stone tense against him…

…and freeze as a phone rang.

“Not mine,” Stone snapped, stepping back. “Do you have to get that?”

Son. Of. A. Bitch.
It was his boss’s personalized ringtone. The one person on earth whose calls he had to take day or night, rain or shine, about to be epically fucked or not.

He jerked up off the sofa, yanked at his pants, and fished around in the pocket. “Yes, sir,” he answered, trying his damnedest not to sound out of breath and failing.

“Did I interrupt your workout?” Senator Jack Lacey of the great state of Texas drawled. “Or is she a hot little number willing to put out?”

It was no secret he was gay, but Lacey insisted on trying to convince Christian to take up pussy-pumping as a hobby. Hell, tonight
he
was apparently the hot little number willing to put out.

“What can I do for you, sir?” he asked, ignoring the man’s questions.

“I need to go over the itinerary with you for this damned fund-raising blitz Jill put together. No way in hell am I making some of these appearances she’s got booked for me.”

“Why don’t you take that up with your wife, sir?” He did his best to stay out of the raging battles Jack and Jill Lacey engaged in behind closed doors.

“Bitch isn’t coming to town until Friday. Some gardening shindig came up in Texas, and she flew out to attend it. Left me to do all the goddamn glad-handing with a bunch of blue-haired Jews come South to die.”

Christian winced. His boss was nothing if not an insensitive racist. He actually wouldn’t vote for the man, were he a citizen of Texas. But Jack Lacey was a powerful senator in Washington, and as a member of his staff, Christian had gotten a chance to help draft landmark legislation on federal prosecution rules. Privately, Christian hoped to parlay that into a job at the Justice Department sooner rather than later. But until then he was stuck wiping this jerk’s proverbial ass.

He looked around the living room for Stone, but he was nowhere in sight. Probably stepped into the bathroom to relieve that massive hard-on of his. Lucky bastard.

It was beginning to look like he’d get to tuck his erection in his pants, trot down the hall like an obedient lackey, and spend the next two hours explaining to his idiot boss why this series of public appearances in Florida was good for his entire national political party and would gain him favors, donations, and endorsements in his own campaign for reelection.

He yanked on his shirt, buttoned it angrily, and tied his tie with jerky movements, using the mirror behind the bar to straighten it and comb his hair. Nope, he didn’t look like a man who’d been on the verge of the fucking of his life.

Although as he walked down the hall, lube squished around sexily in his drawers, reminding him in no uncertain terms of what had almost been. His intensely dissatisfied dick leaped to attention eagerly.
Down, Tonto. No Lone Ranger for you.
Irritated and uncomfortable, he pasted on a pleasant expression and knocked on Lacey’s door. Sometimes he really hated his life.

STONE
slept for shit. He dreamed all night long of a muscular blond Adonis who looked a lot like Christian Brandeis ordering him to his knees and doing unspeakable things to him. Which was odd. He wasn’t a serve-the-master kind of guy, his job as a security consultant to the rich and famous notwithstanding.

Most of the time, his clients were polite, professional, and accustomed to working with top-drawer security people like him. Occasionally he had to crack the whip with some snot-nosed musician who’d just made it big and thought having crazed stalkers was cool. Today’s client should fall firmly into the former camp.

He knocked on the door of the suite on time to the exact second, according to his watch, which he’d just set off the international atomic clock. Precision mattered in his line of work.

“C’mon in!” a voice called in a thick Texas drawl.

He stepped into a suite easily twice the size of his, decked out like a campaign headquarters in full swing. Which was odd. The election was a solid year away. He didn’t envy politicians their lives. Fund-raising was pretty much a full-time job for them. How they could look themselves in the mirror every morning, he had no idea. He couldn’t do it. It was like being a whore in a business suit.

“You must be Stone Jackson. I’ve heard great things about you.” A perfectly groomed and well-moisturized man around fifty years old stepped forward, smiling big enough to show off his mouthful of porcelain crowns.

A disturbing sense of déjà vu swept over him. Looking at the senator was like looking into a mirror at a twenty-year-older version of himself. The man had the same dark eyes, olive complexion, strong jawline, and broad smile he had. Their hair was different, but even their heights and builds were similar. It was a little freaky.

At least they were dressed nothing alike. Jack Lacey was wearing a cowboy hat and cowboy boots with his custom-made Italian suit. Stone wasn’t particularly into fashion, but the getup screamed of the worst sort of crass pandering to a rural constituency.