Chapter 3

THREE

The electronic lock on the hotel room door engaged, and Jamie glanced first at the time on his laptop screen—eleven thirty—then at his husband, who was trying and failing to quietly sneak into the room.

"I'm still up."

Aidan lifted his chin, catching sight of him and exhaling a relieved sigh. "Are you watching tape?" he asked, a soft, sexy smirk curling up one corner of his mouth.

"Of course."

"I think you're supposed to enjoy the victory. At least a little." He removed his long-since-useful aviators from atop his head, tossed them and the contents of his pockets on the dresser, and toed off his shoes. Pitching his coat on the end of the bed, he ambled the rest of the way across the room to the corner couch and table where Jamie had posted up for the evening.

While rules required Jamie stay at the same hotel as the rest of the team, the reward points he and Aidan collectively accumulated usually ensured him an upgrade. And more space was never a bad thing when you were six-five, especially when your six-foot husband also joined you on the road. He closed his laptop and propped a foot against the table's pedestal, pushing the table back far enough for Aidan to slide in in front of him.

"If you're not partying," Aidan said as he raked a hand through his auburn hair, something Jamie would never tire of, "you should be sleeping."

Jamie snagged one of Aidan's hands and tugged him closer. Tugged him harder, forcing Aidan to climb onto the couch, his knees on either side of Jamie's hips, straddling his lap. Husband where he wanted him, Jamie looped his arms around Aidan's waist and brushed his lips over Aidan's. "I'll do both after we've won the tourney."

"Spoken like a true athlete." Aidan grinned, then snuck his tongue between Jamie's lips, deepening the kiss.

Something else Jamie would never tire of.

Leaning back into the corner, he drew Aidan down on top of him and slipped his hands under the hem of Aidan's sweatshirt, warming his December cool skin and lifting goose bumps in his wake. More than five years since they'd said I do , seven since they'd first been intimate, and they still had their moments of urgent need, when one sort of adrenaline or another—danger, victory, or lust—pushed them to desperation. But Jamie had come to appreciate these quiet, peaceful moments just as much. When they could exist in the same space together and fill it with soft touches and gentle kisses, reacquainting themselves after a long day, a trip out of town, or a trip to the corner store.

Not to say the quiet, peaceful moments didn't also stir desire, the evidence hardening in Jamie's sweats. Behind Aidan's zipper too, his cock pressing against Jamie's hip. But Jamie didn't want to push for more without knowing exactly how long an evening Aidan had had. And if the evening was even over for him. Jamie had worked long enough for the Bureau to learn the unpredictable rhythms of the job. Yes, Aidan had emptied his pockets and taken off his shoes, but that didn't mean he wouldn't have to be out the door again soon.

Jamie drew back and rested his head on the top of the couch cushions. "Late night for you too," he said as he swept a wayward auburn strand off Aidan's forehead.

"Gonna be a later one for Danny."

"Case handled?"

"Jazz Hands is on it," Aidan said, complete with his fingers spread wide to make Jamie laugh. Rick had made one excited hand gesture when he'd thought his boss was gonna can his ass, and he'd been forever branded. "Matt too, and the local detective on the case seems cooperative."

"Want me to check him out?"

Aidan shook his head, then laid it on Jamie's shoulder. "I'm gonna trust Rick and Matt and let Daniel do his job. Above my pay grade."

Jamie laughed some more and ran his fingers through Aidan's hair, smiling at the silver and white strands peeking through the red. He was overdue for a color, which Jamie had told him time and again he could forgo, the signs of age sexy, but Aidan wasn't ready to let them show yet. Not in his hair nor in the gym nor in the stands, cheering him and his team on like a college kid. Including this weekend. "I love having you on the road with me for a change. "

Aidan was frequently in the stands at their home games but work usually kept him in San Francisco when Jamie was on the road, especially this time of year. For this tourney, however, Cam had managed to shoo him out of the office. Jamie would have to thank his best friend again because the heated look in his husband's autumn eyes when he propped his chin on Jamie's chest and rumbled a "How much do you love it?" was highlight reel worthy.

Sliding his hands down Aidan's back and inside his jeans and boxers, Jamie grabbed his husband's ass and spread his cheeks, fingertips teasing his crack. Aidan moaned and squirmed, rutting his cock against Jamie. "I love it so much," Jamie said as he rocked back, "that I want to lay you out on this couch and fuck you while you're wearing nothing but my team's sweatshirt."

Aidan chased after his lips, nipped the bottom one, then drew back, batting his thick burnished lashes. "But what if we get come on it?"

"I think I know where to get you a new one. Or twenty," Jamie said with a wink. "Perks of fucking the assistant coach."

"In that case, do your worst, Coach Walker." The challenge in Aidan's voice, in his gaze, had been there since day one working together. Impress me , he'd told Jamie that day in the cyber division cave. Aidan's late husband had been an athlete; he knew better than most how to motivate Jamie. Then and now.

Keeping one hand on Aidan's ass, Jamie wrapped his other arm around his torso and levered up, twisting and shifting so Aidan landed on his back on the couch. Jamie stretched over him, indulging in a quick, plundering kiss, then escaping before Aidan could get his arms around his neck.

Aidan's "harrumph" as he flounced back onto the couch was epic.

"Don't pout," Jamie chided. "I'll be right back." Standing, he stripped out of his T-shirt, dropped his sweats, and grabbed the bottle of lube from the bedside table. "Your ass will thank—Fuck, Irish."

By the time Jamie had rotated back around, Aidan had shimmied out of his jeans and boxers and was rubbing his cock against his bare abs, just shy of the sweatshirt's hem. His autumn gaze that locked on Jamie's was molten. "Get over here and fuck me, Whiskey."

Jamie closed the distance in a single stride. Planting a knee between Aidan's spread thighs, he covered Aidan's body, their cocks hot and hard against each another, the scratch of the sweatshirt's lettering against Jamie's bare chest firing all his senses. Groaning, he crashed his mouth onto Aidan's, tongue sweeping in, tasting and taking, then surrendering as Aidan sucked on it shamelessly.

Making Jamie melt.

Then burning him hotter as he clasped their cocks in his hand and stroked.

Jamie gasped and shot out an arm, bracing himself against the back couch cushions. "Irish, you keep doing that, and this will be over before I get inside you." Despite his protest, he kept thrusting his cock against Aidan's, through his tight, slick grip, the heat and counter pressure driving him wild. Same as it always did when Aidan took control of the wheel.

"You won't." Aidan splayed his free hand in the center of Jamie's chest and pushed him up. "Use that limber body and those long arms to get me ready. I want you inside me tonight."

Gritting his teeth, Jamie breathed deep—once, twice, a third time until the riot of blood and sensation coursing through him calmed enough to follow Aidan's orders. He opened the bottle of lube, coated his fingers, and shifted so he could reach behind the butt cheek Aidan helpfully lifted. He dipped his fingers into Aidan's crack he'd teased earlier.

"That's it, baby," Aidan panted.

Jamie pressed against Aidan's rim, easing one, then two fingers inside him, pumping and spreading, while Aidan kept the pace of his strokes relentless, building the pleasure for both of them. Pushing himself, it seemed, to the edge of control too. Sweat prickled his hairline, a bright red blush spread up his neck, and when Jamie stroked the soft spot inside him, his back bowed off the couch. "Fuck, Jamie. Fuck! Right there! Fuck, I love you."

Jamie gave in to the urge to lean forward, kissing away Aidan's mewl at losing his fingers. "Not long, baby, I promise. But I needed to kiss you. Needed you to taste how much I love you too." He claimed his mouth, their tongues and teeth clashing, wanting all of the man beneath him, none of it ever enough, even after all these years. "Always," he whispered against Aidan's lips, as he moved fully between his legs and pushed inside him.

"Always," Aidan echoed.

Repeated it again as Jamie took his cock in hand and stroked.

And again each time their speed picked up, racing toward their climax.

Until their rhythm faltered and Jamie erupted in the tight, warm heat of his husband's ass, Aidan following him over the edge with a shout.

Jamie collapsed on top of his smiling husband, blissed out and not the least bit worried about the come-covered sweatshirt between them. He'd happily replace a thousand of them for all the moments like these with his husband.