Page 92 of The Long Way Found

He put on his sexiest briefs under his favorite jeans that were soft and not too tight. A plain white T-shirt under a button-up with the sleeves rolled, tucked in, and a brown leather belt. He wanted Jack to go through a process of getting him skin-to-skin.

Candles. Eucalyptus and rosemary through the house, vanilla in the kitchen.

"I’m ready," he told Marley.

He looked at the clock. 11:55.

A knock at the door.

Jack stood in the May light, wearing a snug black polo, crisp khakis, and Chelsea boots. His dark hair gleamed. His face wore that unguarded, almost-asking expression, the severe planes of it softened by wanting.

He was holding a bouquet of spring blossoms.

"Come in," Luke said, taking the flowers, touched by the gesture and impressed that Jack had made it.

"Wow," Jack said. "You look amazing."

"So do you." Luke put the flowers in water and set the vase on the dining table. "Thank you for these."

They stood, smiling at each other, six feet apart. The only sound was Marley's long, loud sigh.

"Can I give you a hug?" Jack asked.

Luke nodded, and they stepped toward each other. Jack's arms wrapped around him—that enveloping warmth, the sheer breadth of the man—and Luke wrapped his arms around the impossibly wide back and held on.

"Luke," Jack said into his hair.

"Hey."

"Hey."

They pulled back just enough to look at each other, and then they were kissing—soft at first, testing, and then their mouths opening wider, the circuit closing with a snap Luke felt from his throat to his knees.

He ran his fingers up the back of Jack's neck, pulled back, and smiled. "Good God."

"I know," Jack said.

"Take your shirt off."

Jack pulled the polo over his head in one motion, his biceps flexing. Luke ran a finger through his chest hair, down to the appendix scar, then slid both hands around to his ropey, muscled back.

"Now mine," Luke told him.

Jack undid each button with deliberate care, unhurried. He slipped the shirt off Luke's shoulders, draped it over a chair, then reached for the T-shirt's hem and drew it slowly over Luke's torso and head.

They pressed together, heart to heart, the heat and the patience of it stewing as they slowly stroked each other’s hair and took slow, deep breaths.

They found the bedroom without rushing, and Jack sat on the edge of the bed, drawing Luke to stand between his knees. He put his hands on Luke's hips and took in the sight of him.

Before long, Jack fell to his knees and looked up. "Is this okay?"

Luke bit his lower lip and nodded.

Jack seemed to be taking his time—worshipful and precise, Luke felt, like Jack was savoring and learning every detail of Luke's body, the way you learn something you intend to keep. Jack slowly kissed Luke’s cock from the base to the tip, then wrapped his lips around it, sucking softly. Luke didn't know what to do: surrender to this indescribable pleasure or hold off for a delayed reward.

Jack had his own ideas. He freed Luke from his mouth, looked up, and said, “Can I say something?”

Luke sat next to him and Jack took Luke's face in his hands.