The Art of Murder Box Set by Josh Lanyon

Author:Josh Lanyon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FBI thriller, crime and mystery, magic, LGBTQ, MM romance
Publisher: Josh Lanyon
Published: 2022-01-22T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

“You’re wonderful,” Shipka whispered, breaking off his sucking and licking to find Jason’s mouth.

Jason smiled bleakly and returned the kiss, tasting himself on Shipka’s lips. Well, that was fitting. If “wonderful” meant lying there and accepting the attention Shipka was lavishing on him, yes, he was Mr. Wonderful personified.

They had moved to the bedroom, neutral territory for both of them, and the darkness made it easier. Easier to be selfish.

In fairness, he had tried not to be selfish, tried to give as well as receive. But Shipka was a man on a mission, and that mission was to woo and win Jason with his sexual prowess.

Shipka’s mouth brushed his Adam’s apple, nuzzled Jason’s ear till he shivered, traveled pleasurably, deliberately down the length of Jason’s body until it closed once again on the head of Jason’s cock. He sucked strongly, wetly, hotly, and Jason groaned his appreciation.

Better than doing it himself, that was for damned sure. The tight, tight knot of tension in the pit of his belly eased. They were both getting what they wanted, right?

Or maybe not. What Shipka wanted probably didn’t exist. And what Jason wanted… Well, it wasn’t that Jason wanted this so much as he didn’t want to keep hurting over what he couldn’t have. He needed to stop wanting Kennedy. Needed to stop missing him. How the hell could you miss what you had never really even had?

This was about exorcising a ghost.

Besides, it was nice to be wanted again.

Very nice…

Shipka’s mouth moved hotly down the length of Jason’s cock, nosed and nuzzled his balls. Jason lifted his hips, closed his eyes, though it was too dark to see anything really. The occasional gleam of eyes or teeth or pale skin. The room smelled of musty sheets and musky sweat. Familiar and unfamiliar.

Hot sweat prickled all over his body, his heart thundered in his ears. Flashpoint. His eyes opened to stare into the void as orgasm drew up, poised to strike.

“Going to come,” he warned, and Shipka mumbled acknowledgment and withdrew to courteous if not safe distance.

They definitely did not know each other well enough to exchange body fluids. The fact that they were not using protection didn’t change that. That was about not being prepared rather than intimacy.

Orgasm was simple biology, a release that was almost convulsive, a huge, wet stream over his belly. Afterward he felt weirdly emotional, trembling and hollow, but better. Right?

Sex had to be pretty damned awful not to feel good at all. This felt great compared to lying awake all night. Even after orgasm, Shipka continued to be appreciative and attentive. There was nothing to not like here.

Except that Chris Shipka wasn’t Sam Kennedy.

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