|
|
| |
Sark cataloged Jack’s gestures Sark cataloged Jack’s gestures like a diligent archaeologist. Rough fingertips drummed a tune against his hip, but he knew better than to presume affection. By treating an enemy as a lover, Jack had erased the distinction. Still, come sunrise, the lines would be redrawn, allegiances declared. Words were scarce, conclusions abundant. “I’m under the impression,” Sark said, “that you aren’t accustomed to hearing the word 'no'.” As Jack cupped his balls, he held his breath and added another gesture to his inventory. “You were saying?” Jack’s lips warmed his ear. Sark relented, anything for another shard of this man. “Yes.”
|
|
| |
Send Feedback!
|
|