A Hard Ride Home (19 page)

"I want to." Seeing Jesse start to close up as quick as a snuffed candle, Emmett sank onto his side and nosed at Jesse's cheek, demanding his attention. "Jesse."

Jesse grunted quietly, squirming when Emmett's fingers tickled up under his nightshirt, finding the wiry hairs at his belly.

"You've done it plenty," Emmett said, making it almost a question, but not quite. "You'd—you'd have to show me how to do it right, make you feel good, I mean."

"Well hell, Emmett. I wouldn't want to if it didn't feel good," Jesse said, just a little too tightly.

It sucked some of the warmth out of the room, and the moonlight pouring in from outside seemed sharper. They lay in silence for a while, Emmett's fingers stroking circles while Jesse looked at the ceiling like it was terribly fascinating.

"I swear you'll have me writing poetry before long, the way it feels loving you," Emmett said, rubbing his chin at the sharp bones at the round of Jesse's shoulder.

After a moment of stubborn twitching, Jesse's face crinkled up with a smile so bright it made him look like a different person—someone composed entirely of happy wrinkles and treacherous dimples. And it only confirmed Emmett's suspicion that courting Jesse had changed something within him, had changed the way Emmett thought and every damn thing he wanted from the moment he woke until the moment sleep took him.

He couldn't bring himself to mind, though times like this were trying. Jesse was happy one moment and far away the next. Questioning the simplest things or arguing like he was fit to be tied insisting that men didn't need water to live or the sky wasn't blue.

"Maybe if you told me how it felt, I'd be more inclined," Emmett said carefully, inching Jesse's shirt up. He walked his fingertips along the tight muscle at Jesse's belly.

"I told you it feels good."

"Taking a bath feels good. Eating pie feels good."

"Eating pie… Listen to you," Jesse said, covering Emmett's hand with his own.

"So it doesn't hurt?"

Jesse snorted. "No it don't hurt. Why would I want to if it did?"

"Don't be cross with me." Emmett rolled back onto Jesse and pinned him with his weight. He fitted one leg between Jesse's and felt that he was hard. It sent a flutter of nerves through him.

Before, fumbling along, it had been nice and simple—just touching where it felt good. But now that he'd seen Jesse walk the line between the living world and what was beyond, Emmett was a tangle of questions and hesitancy. He had trouble shaking foolish notions that there was something fragile about Jesse's thudding heartbeat. He knew Jesse was strong, he'd watched him fight to breathe and shout at his demons and stay alive when it had seemed hopeless. And even though they never talked about it, he knew what else Jesse had been strong for, and for how long.

"I can't," he realized aloud, against Jesse's mouth.

"You can too. Ain't complicated, you just—"

"I can't," he repeated so forcefully Jesse flinched, like he was scared for a second.

Jesse's fingers gripped Emmett's hips so tight it hurt. His eyes went bright and angry. "No, you won't. There's a difference, Emmett," he said, low and unsteady, like he was barely keeping the words from snarling out of his throat. But he looked like he was trying not to cry, too, and Emmett wanted to shout, or shake him, because he couldn't bear fighting. He hated that they were fighting over ghosts, and hated that more often than not he couldn't make sense of any of it—couldn't make sense of Jesse.

"I don't see why it makes a difference to you." Emmett tried to be careful with his voice, but he was riled up, and Jesse was too, and they were still pressed up tight with no room to pace or kick a chair or throw something. "I've been right by your goddamned side for six weeks."

"Get off me."

"I will not."

Jesse's nostrils flared with an angry, tight breath, but he didn't squirm. "If you don't want me, why are you here?"

"Why would I be here if I didn't want you?" Emmett shouted. "You're not making a lick of sense!"

"I'm—I ain't any different than I was, and—and—" Jesse looked away, failing to avoid Emmett's gaze when they were so close, crowded together in the little bed. "You vex me, Emmett Grady," he said. His heart beat rabbit-fast and every angle of his body felt unhappy under Emmett, but Emmett didn't let him go.

"That wasn't my intention," Emmett said weakly. He dropped his forehead to Jesse's temple and listened to Jesse's bumpy, hitched breaths.

"I know," Jesse whispered.

When it had been quiet for a while, and Emmett just felt tired and weighed down, he settled on his side and covered Jesse with an arm and leg. Sometimes he thought he hadn't talked as much in his life as he had with Jesse, who dragged feelings and words right out of him—who had so many thoughts and notions it was dizzying.

"Are you unhappy?" Emmett asked.

"No," Jesse said crossly.

"I know I'm not much at… well I haven't had much—"

"Stop."

"But—"

"I feel good with you. I like being with you. It feels good." Jesse's voice went soft and messy, like he was flustered. "Everything is… good."

Emmett laughed quietly.

"It's not funny…"

"No, it's only that I'd expect you to have… I've never been good at explaining myself. But you? You're clever."

"Then why are you laughing at me?"

"I'd have wagered you could write a whole speech about being intimate like, and you say 'it's good.'"

"Well it's true. Even when you're being as dense as a post, and contrary." Jesse rolled onto his side to face Emmett. "And stubborn to boot."

Emmett feigned a serious, hurt expression until Jesse smiled faintly and blew out a short breath that almost sounded like a laugh.

"Why don't you do it to me?" Emmett asked, letting the words tumble out before he could think on it for too long.

Jesse's lips parted silently, and he cleared his throat before he spoke. "What? Me?"

"Yes."

"But. Why?" Jesse asked, sounding distressed.

"Why not?"

"Because you're… because. No. I wouldn't," Jesse stammered out, gaze shifting about uneasily. "I don't know. No."

"I don't understand you one bit," Emmett said, stroking Jesse's hip and touching Jesse's bare feet with his sock-covered toes.

"What if you didn't like it?"

"Then we'd stop."

"Are you trying to twist me up in knots?" Jesse asked.

Emmett held his breath a moment, wanting to say that as far as he could tell, Jesse tied himself up in more than enough knots on his own. Emmett could spend the rest of his life trying to unravel them and never get close to being done. Instead, he sighed out a breath and rolled over to dampen the lantern beside the bed.

Jesse caught his hand. "I've never done it with—to—a man," he said.

"But you've done it with women."

"Plenty." Jesse's lips twitched with a grin. "The mechanics of it are a bit different."

Emmett felt his face heat—a sensation he'd come to be used to whenever he was around Jesse. "I gather that much."

"Do you now?"

Emmett sat up, feeling a nervous stir of want. "If you can do it, I can do it."

"Ain't a fence jump, Emmett. You damn show off."

"Hush. I'll admit you're a better horseman."

"If?"

Emmett rested his hand at the inside of Jesse's thigh. "If nothing. You are. Let me try it, Jesse. I gotta have you, it's eatin' me alive."

Jesse's throat bobbed. "You don't know if you'd like it."

"Only one way to find out."

Emmett leaned down as Jesse leaned up, and they met like a thunderclap, kissing so hard and for so long Emmett damn near forgot what he meant to accomplish. Getting undressed took time, because neither of them could bother to stop kissing long enough to properly disrobe. Finally, after what seemed like half the night, they stood beside the bed, crushed together, Jesse's prick hot and hard against Emmett's.

"All right then," Emmett said, taking Jesse's face, kissing between each breath, wrapped up in loving on him. "What do I do first?"

"God, you sound like Delia trying to learn how to make a stew." Jesse laughed, low and hot at Emmett's mouth.

"It's a reasonable question."

"Fine." Jesse broke away from the kiss and turned to rummage at his dresser. Emmett admired his back—the sinewy lines of it and the beautiful horror of the raised scars he wore as proof that he was more stubborn than death. His backside, pale as milk, had such a pleasing curve Emmett couldn't help cupping it with both hands as he kissed Jesse's shoulder, impatient with need.

Jesse pushed a round tin into his hand. "Salve. Nice and slick." His fingers made a wet sound as he rubbed some on his prick. "It goes where you think it goes, Sheriff."

"Oh." Emmett took the tin and took a step back. He'd never given that area any particular amount of attention outside of bathing.

"You can do anything I can," Jesse echoed wickedly, taking the tin back and scooping a shiny glob of the salve onto his fingers. "Remember? Turn around, now. I'll do it."

Emmett crossed his arms for lack of something to hold onto. He widened his stance.

"Stop holding your breath," Jesse said. He patted Emmett's ass like he was calming a horse. As soon as Emmett made himself take a deep breath, Jesse ran his fingers up his cleft.

"Oh," Emmett said. He swallowed hard.

"Easy Sheriff, I haven't even taken aim yet."

When Jesse did, it didn't hurt. It didn't even feel bad, but it did feel curious. Jesse's slender, sure fingers found his entrance and pressed gently, working the salve inside, past the tight clench of Emmett's body. A brief sting made Emmett's muscles twitch, and then it passed, and he just felt full and excited. He palmed his prick, and that made his body feel warmer all over. "Jesse."

"That's right, easy now." Jesse kissed his shoulder and the back of his neck and stroked his hip. "Just getting you slick, so it won't tug none." Jesse's finger began to move, in and out, sort of fucking into him. The sweet, private friction made Emmett feel like his legs might give.

When Jesse drew his hand away, Emmett turned and found that Jesse didn't look as calm as he'd sounded. Jesse's breath came quick and he dragged his teeth at his lower lip. He started to shake his head, as if the nerve was draining right out of him.

"Lay down," Emmett said. "I'll put some of that sweet salve on you."

"All right."

Jesse sank into the bed, long-limbed and pretty. He turned onto his back and his prick rested against his belly, half-hard. Emmett straddled his thigh and took the salve and began working it against that soft skin, feeling it lengthen and go hard under his fingers.

"Emmett. Damn. Your grip's strong."

"Too strong?"

"Just right." Jesse hissed and arched, and caught Emmett by the wrist. "Best stop before I misfire."

"Can we do it like this?"

"Like what?"

Emmett's face felt like it was damn near on fire. "Me riding you, like this."

"Sure, if you think you can manage," Jesse said, watching Emmett warily, like Emmett had a knife pulled on him. If he noticed Emmett's livid blush, he was awful good at pretending not to.

"Help me manage," Emmett said. "Show me how."

"You know, the girls just climb up like they're swinging onto a horse."

Emmett gave Jesse's prick a long pull and made a show of admiring it. "Oh, I imagine they do."

"Why, Sheriff Grady." Jesse's hips twitched and he made a low sound. His fingers twisted up in the bed sheet, tighter and tighter the more Emmett moved his hand and made the skin slippery. "That was awful forward."

Emmett meant to remark on the way Jesse's body trembled, but instead, he murmured, "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"Stop that," Jesse said softly, like he didn't believe him. Like Emmett was poking fun.

"No," Emmett said. "I will not. It's true."

Jesse's jaw went tight and stubborn, but the rest of his body still moved. "You sure some of your brains didn't leak right out of your head?"

"I wouldn't lie to you," Emmett said. He wouldn't lie, but he didn't have the words to explain how Jesse's narrow body and shadowed jaw and sharp tongue and noon-blue eyes gave him a fever.

Emmett dipped his head and kissed the slick, blunt head of Jesse's prick. He expected saltiness and the earthy taste of Jesse's body, but ended up with an awful, medicinal mouthful of salve before Jesse could warn him off.

"Oh Emmett," Jesse said, wheezing the words out around laughter that shook out of him. "No, no. It tastes like week-old grease. Worse than that."

"I noticed."

Jesse's laughter sounded nice, like music. "And you were just tryin' to be a gentleman."

Emmett shifted forward and kissed Jesse messily. Served him right for laughing. Despite the bitter taste, Jesse kissed him back, tongue soft, mouth open. He urged Emmett's hips up.

"You ready?" Emmett asked.

"Not me that needs to be ready."

"I'm ready." Emmett wasn't certain that he was, and the idea of sitting on Jesse's big prick scared him a fair share, but want won out. It felt like being just shy of drunk—warm and happy enough to try something foolhardy.

"You're heavier than a girl," Jesse said.

"I ought to be."

Emmett's thighs trembled with tension and nerves as he pushed up and tried to fit himself where he needed to be. Jesse helped, reaching between his legs and feeling for his hole and fitting himself up against it.

"It's harder on top," Jesse said. "You have to do the work. Like jumping into a river instead of being pushed."

"I'm capable of jumping into a river, damn it."

"Are you?" Jesse smirked, but he was breathing hard, too. He watched Emmett closely, his eyes wide, lips wet.

The goading was just what Emmett needed. He sank his weight and immediately gasped, stunned at how easily the head of Jesse's prick opened it up, and how much it stung. "Damn."

"Come on now, don't stop moving or it'll feel funny."

"Funny's one way of putting it."

"Do you want to stop?" Jesse asked. He held the base of his prick and panted. "Am I hurting you?"