Free Wicked Lies: A Dark Mission Novella by Karina Cooper Page B

across his chest, narrowing below his navel to circle a cock Jonas craved.
    There was something wrong with that. Something wrong with the way he lusted after a twenty-something-year-old like a cat in heat.
    He raised both hands to his face.
    Danny caught them in his. Pulled them away. “Look at me some more,” he ordered, a whisper. His eyes shone, black and hungry. “Just like that.”
    Jonas’s throat closed. His mouth dried. He sat on that damned busted-out couch, fully clothed, a hard-on jabbing into his zipper and his hands held away from him like an errant kid, and he’d never been so turned on in his life.
    Or felt so fucking wanted.
    He wrenched his hands away.
    A split second of uncertainty flickered across the other man’s face. A moment of doubt, of hurt, but Jonas didn’t give him time to make a decision he should have been the one making. He struggled to his feet, used the grip Danny curled around his wrist to pull himself up. Mouth set, pulse hammering, he stripped off his long-sleeve shirt and dropped it to his bare feet.
    Every scar shone in smooth, mottled flesh a few shades darker than his naturally pale skin. Danny’s eyes flickered as Jonas pushed his jeans down his legs, revealing each mark—the patch at his hip, the darker discolorations at his thighs, the obviously twisted direction of one leg, and the shrapnel divots where no leg hairs had grown afterward. Grooves where the flesh had been torn away.
    “Oh, angel.”
    Ice splashed into his gut. Frigid, painful. He stiffened, as much as he could, ignoring the pain that lanced down his spine. “I don’t need your pity.”
    Danny shook his head. “I don’t pity you.” He stepped forward, erection bobbing between his muscled thighs, but he didn’t make a grab. Didn’t try to seal the distance with a play, the way every other man who’d tolerated Jonas’s scars had.
    Ice shimmered to confusion as Danny sank to his knees in front of him.
    Confusion erupted into a supernova of need, of strangled panic, as the man wrapped both arms around his waist and lay his cheek against the shiny patch of skin along Jonas’s hip. He froze, one hand hovering over Danny’s dark hair. The other held out, as if he could find something to hang on to, something to give him balance in this suddenly shark-infested territory.
    Danny didn’t say anything more. God, what was there to say? His lips brushed over the patch of skin. Rasped over his hipbone, licked a path to a mass of shrapnel ridges.
    He kissed them, feather-light, his eyes closed.
    Jonas stared, knees shaking, his heart shattering against the cage of his ribs.
    And then Danny turned his head, his cheek against Jonas’s upper thigh, and those ink-dark eyes opened. Met his own.
    When his lips closed over the head of his cock, Jonas jumped. Danny’s fingers dug in to his hips, held him still as he reverently slid his tongue down the shaft. Tasted him, took him in so completely. So many words surged into Jonas’s throat, so many sensations whipped through his body, but all he could do was groan, “ Fuck ,” and curl his fingers into Danny’s soft, thick hair.
    His hips jerked. Wave after wave of pleasure, stretched taut and inches from snapping, crashed over him. Rippled through him as Danny took and sucked and licked like he had all the time in the world.
    He didn’t. Jonas couldn’t. Another curse tangled behind his teeth, and Danny stood so fast that Jonas didn’t have time to lose his balance, or even register the cool air where the heat of the other man’s mouth had been. The room spun, the couch springs creaked under his weight as Danny pushed him gently to his knees on the cushions.
    “Just like this,” he whispered, sinking to his knees behind him. “Don’t move. Jesus, angel, you’re—”
    Jonas gripped the back of the sofa as Danny snaked an arm around him, fisted his erection and pulled, his grip firm. Fingers closed tightly. Once, twice. Three times, until he couldn’t hold