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Jack ignored him, keeping up the teasing for a few more seconds. Then his cock was there, pushing in. Gray welcomed the burn since it might keep him from shooting in two seconds. He didn’t think he was even going to need his hand to get off after all they’d put him through.
Jack gave him time to adjust, but once those stretched muscles eased, Jack fucked him mercilessly, deep and fast. Mason’s hand was nearly a blur as he worked his own cock.
“Can you come like this, with no hands?” Jack asked, seeming to barely get the words out.
“I… I’m not sure. I…”
Jack pulled out and took both their cocks in his hand, working them together.
“Holy fuck!” Gray shouted.
“Mason, are you close?”
“Fuck, yes!”
“Come on me,” Gray begged. He was desperate to be covered in Mason’s come, in Jack’s, in his own. He wanted to be a sticky fucking mess.
Jack’s grip was tight, his hand warm. Gray was so fucking close. Right there. “Fuck.”
He shot, spurting over Jack’s hand. Jack followed seconds later and then Mason.
Before Gray had come down from the high of climax, Mason was freeing one of his hands and Jack the other. They rubbed his wrists, and Gray kept his eyes closed as he floated on the aftershocks of pleasure.
“You okay?” Mason asked.
Gray nodded, or at least, he meant to. He was so tired he wasn’t quite sure. Mason and Jack curled up next to him, but he had only a hazy awareness of their bodies against his before he fell asleep.
16
Gray woke hours later. He was starving—he’d never eaten dinner—not to mention stiff and sticky, but he hated to disturb Jack and Mason by getting up to eat and shower.
“Go get some cinnamon rolls,” Jack whispered in his ear a few moments later.
“What?” He rolled over to look at Jack. “I thought you were asleep.”
“I heard your stomach growl. That would wake anyone. Grab a sandwich too while you’re at it.”
“Okay.”
Jack kissed him. “Just come back to us.”
Against the wishes of his stomach, Gray decided to shower first. The warm water was like heaven soaking into his tired, sore muscles.
Jack and Mason had temporarily banished Gray’s thoughts of Whittaker, but as soothing as the shower was, it couldn’t keep him from replaying the night. What if Thornton hadn’t gotten people in place in time? What if Whittaker hadn’t wanted to toy with them?
He knew better than to go down that path. What-ifs weren’t allowed when you were a cop. But this case… Jenna was just a kid. All the vics were, except Andreas. He’d ordered men killed, sold illegal weapons, fucked up so many lives, but even he didn’t deserve his fate, not when he had enough decency in him to protect Jenna and the others.
He dried himself vigorously, wishing he could shed his anger like the water droplets from the shower. Then he headed to the kitchen and stood in front of the fridge shivering. He hadn’t wanted to disturb Jack again by rummaging around for clothes. He shouldn’t have worried, though, because, by the time he’d put a sandwich together, both Jack and Mason had joined him. Jack stuck the cinnamon rolls in the oven to warm and began pulling more sandwich fixings from the fridge, while Mason went to get Gray some sleep pants and a T-shirt.
Mason made a sound of disgust when he returned. “Cranberry horseradish mustard at one AM? Really?”
Jack had a bit of condiment obsession.
Mason went for good old peanut butter on white bread. “I’ll never sleep after something that heavy.” He gestured toward the stacked roast beef sandwiches Jack and Gray were consuming.
“I don’t think I’ll sleep any more no matter what I eat,” Gray said.
Jack leaned over and kissed his head. The gesture should’ve felt ridiculous. He wasn’t a kid after all. Instead, it was comforting, warm and homey.
