Kicks tipped his head to the side and bared himself to that man. “No.”
Jude let out a ragged moan, shifting as close as he could manage, his fingers tightening against Kicks’ skin. “If you don’t…” Jude broke off with a growl, his hand leaving the side of Kicks’ ribs, moving down to cup his groin where his cock was straining against his zipper. His other hand tightened on Kicks’ throat just enough to make him really feel it. “If you don’t stop me now, I’m going to take everything I couldn’t when we were back at that house.”
“Shit. Shit.” The tattered last thread of his control snapped, and he grabbed Jude by the hips, yanking him forward. It was awkward with the knee brace, but the chair was small, and it allowed Jude’s hips to spread wide enough to straddle Kicks’ lap. He gripped his ass with one hand, urging him to rock forward, feeling the evidence of Jude’s need against his lower stomach. “I want you to. I need it, please. Please.”
Jude’s look was molten desire. He cupped Kicks’ cheek with one hand, his thumb dragging over his lip before it pushed between his teeth and rested against his tongue. “Yes.”
White-hot need raced up his spine, and Kicks had to force himself to take several breaths before he could speak again. “I don’t want to hurt your knee.”
“That,” Jude said, grinding forward, “is not going to be an issue.”
Kicks knew he should probably put up a little more protest, but it was impossible when Jude slid off his lap and braced himself on the counter. He was ungainly with the brace, ungraceful with his limp, and yet it was the most seductive thing Kicks had ever seen when Jude started for the bedroom, then paused to look over his shoulder.
They made it down the short hallway, and Kicks slammed the door behind him as Jude hobbled toward the bed. He turned and sat, and the sound of the Velcro as he undid his brace was like gunshots in the tense silence.
It might have been enough to knock all the heat out of the room, if it had been anyone else, but Kicks had been thinking of their night in the cabin since he woke from being shot. He had brought himself off to the memory of it more times than he wanted to admit, and the very idea that he could have this again sent him reeling.
For a moment, the memory of Jude pinning him down, spreading him wide, and coming on his hole was almost tangible. He felt the ghost of his seed dripping down behind his balls, and his dick twitched hard.
“Do we get to undress this time?” Jude’s voice was almost like a shock in the room, softer than the Velcro but still powerful.
“I…” He closed his eyes and leaned into the darkness. “I haven’t uh…since right after I got hurt.”
“Only give me what you’re willing,” Jude told him. “But if it matters at all, I want to see you.”
Kicks swallowed thickly, then gave a jerking nod of his head. “It matters.” With that, profoundly aware of the other man watching him, he grabbed the hem of his shirt and then froze.
Jude gave him a curious look when Kicks was finally brave enough to look, and once he’d captured his gaze, he pulled his shirt off with a quick sweep of his arms. Kicks’ mouth instantly watered at the sight of him.
He was sculpted and thin, a line of dark hair from his sternum to his stomach, and Kicks wanted to taste every inch of his skin. He watched with his lips parted on a small gasp as Jude’s fingers went to his jeans next, popping the button, pulling the zipper down in a slow drag. He felt a groan lodged in his throat as Jude made a wide V, and his cock tented his black briefs.
“You,” he started, his voice raspy.
Jude’s brows rose. “Me, who is far ahead of you in the business of undressing.”
Kicks’ fingers were trembling a little, but he dropped his shirt back down and bent over, yanking his boots off and tossing them against the far wall. Standing straight, he eased out of his cut, lying it on his dresser before his hands went for his shirt. The air was cool against his skin—a little uncomfortably so, but the heat began to rise the more skin he exposed. His shirt would have to be next, and then there would be nothing left Jude hadn’t already seen.
“You can stop there,” the man said, but Kicks shook his head.
Turning his back, he grabbed the back collar of his shirt, then slowly drew it over his head. He felt the slide—mostly numb against the thick scars, and he knew Jude wouldn’t see much. Everything had been covered in thick black whorls of ink, painting a picture of broken wings that covered the violence those men had left behind. But he knew they were there—and Jude had heard the story now.
When Kicks was finally brave enough, he turned to find Jude had stripped the rest of the way. He was leaning back on one arm while his free hand curled around his hard dick and gave it a couple of strokes. “Am I getting a show?” he asked, nodding at the rest of Kicks’ clothes.
His mouth curled up in a wry grin. “Dunno. You want one?”
“Why not give me a taste,” Jude suggested. He let go of his dick, only to drag his hand downward to fondle his balls, and Kick’s entire body went white-hot. “I rather like what I’m seeing so far.”
Kicks had never done anything like this before—not even close. His hook-ups before his injury had been short, and while they’d been good, they had never made him feel anything other than a sort of quiet release of pressure when it was over. He’d never wanted to linger, to seduce, to play. He never ached to see a smile on a lover’s face—not the way Jude was smiling at him now.
His jeans hit the floor, and he kicked them off to the side, staring down for a second at the trail of ink that went down his sternum, ending just below the waistband of his boxers. He felt oddly decorative standing in front of a man whose skin was almost entirely blank, and he didn’t know why he liked it so much, but the way Jude was looking at him like he was there as some sort of object—a spectacle—made his dick even harder.
“What now?” he asked, his voice strained.
“Turn around for me again?” It was voiced like a question, but had the air of command, and Kicks felt himself obeying without putting up any sort of fight. He palmed himself with one hand, and the other he reached up and grasped his hair, trying to arch his body a little.
He had never really doubted that he was attractive, but something about this made him feel beautiful, and it was sending bursts of alien want prickling over his skin. He wanted to be laid out, loved on, worshipped. He wanted Jude to take his time, to make him ache for it, beg for it, and then praise him when he gave up everything.
His fingers shook more, and he tightened his grip on himself.
“Wings,” came Jude’s soft reply.
Kicks’ entire body stiffened, but before he could turn, a hand touched him. He jumped, but it only lasted a second as Jude’s nails brushed just shy of too hard around the edges of his scars.
“You gave yourself wings.”
Kicks closed his eyes, relishing the darkness. “Broken wings,” he corrected. “Hawke did them after I joined the Chains. He told me to lean into my past.” He gave a whole-body twitch when warm lips pressed to the center of his spine, then moved up to the back of his neck. He felt teeth next, then a warm tongue, then Jude sucked hard.
Kicks’ body almost went limp, and he might have collapsed against the man if he hadn’t been at least peripherally aware of his injury. He locked his knees and held himself tight as Jude sucked a hickey into his skin.