Loving and Loathing Vegas (7 page)

“Jesus fucking Christ, dude,” Jackson said, his voice a ragged gasp. “You need to stop. You’re going to reduce this restaurant into another Sodom and Gomorrah if your energy gets out of the kitchen.”

“Ah,” Vegas said with a smile as he whisked a bowl of vinaigrette. “Those were the best days.”

Jackson scowled. “Well, you know how that goes. History is always written by the winners.” He gulped in a large, stifling gasp of air. “God. Shit. You’re making me crazy right now.”

Vegas didn’t answer immediately as he dressed the salad, then tossed it in the large metal bowl. “Just breathe, Jackie. You can hold it in.” He winked at him. “The anticipation makes it sweeter.”

Jackson’s skin burned as his own tattoos drew themselves under his clothes. He had long forgotten the sensation. The coils and swirls inched over his flesh, his own soul branded on his exterior. It was his inner truth claiming ownership of the vessel. And in turn, Jackson was the valiant soldier who sought men to feed his inner self. Vegas had sacrificed his own pleasures for others, but Jackson couldn’t have been more different in greedily taking his own.

Screwing his eyes shut, Jackson concentrated. He relaxed into letting Vegas’s heat wash over him, but not consume him. It wasn’t right and not at all fair to Cillian for Jackson to violate what he and Vegas now had. The boiling need eased, and Jackson stood straighter. He focused on the affection Vegas had for another, and instead of being a harsh, icy shower, was a cooling salve on scalding skin.

Vegas didn’t miss a beat and delivered the salad to the pass-through. He tapped the bell, calling, “Order up!”

On the other side, Cillian grabbed the plate and was gone again.

Vegas considered his order tickets, then pulled out a pen from his apron pocket to make notes on the various slips of paper. He counted off on his fingers and then jotted another series of numbers, and finally spread them out in a line on his workstation. The things that took longer to cook went first, and the things that took only minutes went last; that way everything came out piping hot. Vegas had explained it all to Jackson once, but Jackson had been too busy staring at him with his jaw wide open in horror when Vegas had decided he was going to be a chef.

At least he was damned good at it.

Jackson checked the back of his hands, and his tattoos had faded into shades of muted gray. He would have never predicted the sense of relief that came with knowing his magical seal remained firmly in place.

“We should talk,” Vegas said, gesturing to the walk-in cooler. “I’ve got a few minutes until I have to get these orders in.”

Fuck. Vegas didn’t give up. Jackson got the memo. He knew. He didn’t need it nailed to his door like a dead chicken.

Jackson could only imagine how well it was going for Cillian, letting Ennis down on Christmas. Had to suck. Saddled with babysitting a new friend’s temporary baby and then having the guy he loved for, well, forever—or so Jackson assumed—only to have the guy break up with him.

Following Vegas into the walk-in, Jackson headed to the back, directly underneath the overhead compressor unit. He nibbled his bottom lip, crunching at the flesh—not to cause pain, but trying to work up the nerve to address it head-on.

Vegas shut the door behind him, the vacuum seal sucking into place with a hissing whisper.

“I know about you and Cillian,” Jackson spit out before Vegas turned.

When he did, Vegas had scrunched up his face, seeming confused. “What are you talking about? We’re just friends.”

Jackson forced a swallow down against the growing lump in his throat. “I know you’re just trying to cushion the blow. It starts out as innocent enough. You hang out with him more often, you ask him on part-time because business at the Charms of Zephyr is slow, you break your seal for him….” He stuttered as his words died. “I saw you in the back room jacking off. I watched you break your seal.”

Vegas’s eyes widened. “Are you kidding me? I broke my seal for
you
.”

Jackson’s heartache turned to surprising irritation. “Why the fuck would you even do that? Even I know how much you wear your abstinence and humanity like a badge of honor.”

“I wasn’t going to abstain forever,” Vegas said, indignant. “As you said, we’re living Viagra. I was just waiting for the right time. I was jacking off to see if I could still come because being physical is a big part of an incubus relationship with another.”

Jackson palmed his face. Nothing was making sense. None of the words that fell from Vegas’s mouth made a goddamn bit of sense. He laced his fingers behind his neck and kept his gaze at his feet.

When he didn’t say anything, Vegas went on. “I hung out with Cillian more for advice on how to do this. I suggested we hire him on to give you some much needed time for yourself.”

“This?” Jackson asked, gesturing to the tattooed sex god before him. “What are you even on about?”

“Are you really that dense?” Vegas asked, his voice a breathy growl. “I’ve been waiting for you to notice me. Not as your best friend since before Eden. Not as your roommate. Not as your business partner. As someone who’s been dying for you to look at them the same way you look at a damned Grindr hookup.”

Jackson shot ramrod straight, his face flushing and heating against the cold of the walk-in. “You think I don’t notice you? Are you serious?” He scoffed. “Are you
serious
?”

Despite his demonic features, Vegas looked away like a swatted puppy. “Anyway. It’s stupid. I shouldn’t have and it was stupid. And now I’ve gone and made it complicated.”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Jackson snapped, throwing out his hands in a wide arch. “I’ve been waiting for you to notice
me
. All these years—centuries, epochs, rise and fall of fucking civilizations—I’ve waited for
you
.” He snorted, glancing away. “I’ve followed you to Hell, moved in with you, watched boyfriends come and go. I willingly came to Earth with you, agreed to seal my power. I even followed you out here to a town of only a hundred people because you wanted to be a chef. I’ve loved you since you crawled out of that damned river of fire that one summer.”

They locked gazes, and Jackson’s mouth ran dry.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Vegas asked, slowly smiling.

Jackson chuckled, embarrassed. “Pride, I guess.” He shrugged. “We’re demons, after all. You were out of my league, and I assumed you weren’t interested.” He toed the metal grate flooring. “So, I guess we both lost the bet, then.”

“You’re wrong.”

Jackson blinked, confused. “I don’t have a date for Christmas.”

“I didn’t say date. I said fall in love,” Vegas said.

“But you said with other people,” Jackson said with a frown.

“I’m other people. You’re other people. We’re
otherworldly
people.” Vegas crossed his arms and wore a jackass smug expression. “You really need to learn to negotiate the terms of a contract. Did you forget I worked at the Faustian Deals Call Center once?”

Jackson smirked. “You are the biggest fucking asshat ever.”

“Are you going to kiss me or what?” Vegas asked. “I broke my seal for you, and I could fuck the Matterhorn I’m so full of sexual frustration.”

In the space between seconds, Jackson crashed into Vegas, bodies meshing, rock-hard cocks grinding into each other through their jeans. Jackson claimed Vegas’s mouth and shuddered as he curled his fingers into his tank top and pulled him closer. Vegas seemed to cave to Jackson’s will. He parted his lips and permitted Jackson to explore him with his tongue. He tasted of spice, and the energies inside him drifted into Jackson’s mouth, warming him from within. Jackson pulled away, taking Vegas’s bottom lip between his teeth and biting with a fang. The sweet and tangy droplets of blood burned on his lips better than New Mexican moonshine.

He pushed into Vegas, taking his pleasures of Vegas’s mouth with his own.

Vegas willingly surrendered, holding Jackson close. Vegas stumbled back from Jackson’s forceful weight, slamming into the walk-in door, but it didn’t budge.

Jackson was thankful for the privacy as his cock ached, filling his jeans. He rolled his hips against Vegas’s, trying to ease the wanting pain away.

Vegas took the role of the aggressor and palmed Jackson’s ass though his jeans. Bracing his palms at his hip joints, Vegas lifted Jackson to him, and Jackson obediently wrapped his legs around Vegas’s waist. One black Croc fell off Jackson’s foot and bounced across metal flooring with a soft
tink-tink-ti-tink
. Vegas sat Jackson atop the stacks of industrial-sized bags of sugar and stepped back, giving him an appraising look.

Jackson’s head fell coyly to one shoulder, and he lifted his legs, perched his feet on the edge of the sugar bag, and spread his legs wide, presenting himself to Vegas. “This is what you’re coming home to tonight,” Jackson said as he blushed.

“I waited too many damned years to count, and I’m so selfish that I’m not going to wait another fucking second,” Vegas said as he ripped off his apron and then went for his jeans.

Jackson swallowed and his pulse quickened. He had seen Vegas’s cock literally millions of times. There was no mystery to it anymore. But now that Vegas was whipping it out just for him, Jackson shivered like a virgin incubus undergoing his rite of passage, where he learned what his mouth, dick, and ass were for.

Vegas kicked off his sneakers, then pushed down his jeans with his boxer briefs, then stepped out of his jeans. His length jutted free, glistening and dripping with precum.

Jackson’s breath hitched in his throat at the sight of Vegas’s nudity. His particular patterning of tattoo brands drew downward-sloping lines over his hips and then swirled like calligraphy over his lower belly.

Vegas looked down on Jackson over the tip of his nose. “Show it to me,” he commanded as he untied his bandanna.

Jackson wordlessly obeyed by pulling off his jeans and pushing them to his ankles. His breath frosted his lips as his cheeks burned and his cock twitched with every beat of his skittish heart.

Vegas nodded, his smile like a razor in the dim lighting of the walk-in. “Very nice. Do you know what I’m going to do to you?”

Jackson’s lip trembled. The dirty Vegas he had fallen in love with was back, and he had been struck dumb in his magnificence. He gave a slight nod.

Vegas bent forward over Jackson and then took him by the wrists. Jackson flushed hotly as Vegas lashed his wrists together with his bandanna, binding them behind his back. Vegas turned away and fished an apple out of a nearby crate. He stooped over Jackson. “Open,” he ordered Jackson in a firm, even tone.

Jackson licked his lips and then parted them wide.

Vegas nestled the apple between Jackson’s teeth. He shifted away again, grabbing a stick of butter from a neat stack, keeping it nearby.

Jackson clenched his jaw, biting down on the apple. Bound and gagged, he was at Vegas’s mercy.

Vegas cupped him under the rear again and lifted him, body to body. Vegas then carried him to the wall underneath the overhead compressor and pinned him there by his hips.

Jackson tensed as Vegas tore off the wax paper around the stick of butter, then reached underneath Jackson’s rear, smearing a generous amount over his hole. Jackson gasped around the cold sensation between his cheeks, but Vegas reached down and slid his hot fingers over Jackson’s needy entrance. Jackson thumped the back of his head on the freezer wall as he groaned around a mouthful of apple. Vegas’s fingers circling his hole was enough to push him dangerously close to the edge.

As much as his body protested, Jackson breathed deep, steadying himself. Incubi were built differently than most demons, able to regulate their physical signs of desire and their own pleasure to protect from climaxing too soon or to climax repeatedly. They were also easier to manipulate into arousal and readiness.

“Open for me,” Vegas said, gently pressing at his entrance.

Jackson sighed through his nose and relaxed against Vegas’s hand. He made a sharp gasp when Vegas entered him and then slowly worked him open wider. Fuck, this was really happening. He fell into the rhythm of Vegas finger-fucking him, hitting his prostate in just the right spot.

Vegas withdrew his fingers, and Jackson trembled as he was denied an orgasm. Vegas then grabbed the stick of butter and smeared a generous amount over his cock. “I’m going to enter you,” he said calmly. “You know that, right?”

Jackson nodded quickly.

Vegas nudged himself into position at Jackson’s needy entrance. “And I’m going to fuck you until you’re satisfied. Understand?”

He nodded again, this time moaning around his apple.

Vegas slid into Jackson in an agonizingly slow but exquisite glide of flesh on flesh. He sighed in a rumbling, throaty breath and then pulled slightly out before settling again. He leaned forward to whisper into Jackson’s ear, “I’m going to make you mine.”

Jackson’s lashes fluttered shut only for a second before Vegas stabbed into him balls-deep. His eyes flew wide, meeting Vegas’s hard stare as he bucked into him again, again, and again.

Supported by Vegas’s hips, Jackson flattened his back to the cold wall. Vegas pushed Jackson’s shirt up to his chin and leaned in and laved his hot tongue over Jackson’s already hard nipples. With a small nip to each one, Jackson’s chest tightened as he struggled for air. The cold from the freezer and Vegas’s wet saliva stung against his flesh. He blushed hotly, his body struggling to regulate its temperature against the cold.

Vegas pounded into him in slow, powerful slams instead of the fast, wild bucking that overeager assholes are all too fond of. He was killing Jackson, ruining him, obliterating all thought about another cheap thrill on Grindr ever again.

Jackson clenched around Vegas’s hard cock deep inside him, but breathed deep, trying to ease his orgasm away. He’d stall as long as he could stand it. When he blew his first load with Vegas, he would see to it that it was spectacular.

“Don’t think for one second I don’t know what you’re doing,” Vegas ground out. “You’re going to come, and I’m going to make sure you get there. When you do, it’s going to be the most fucking beautiful thing.”