Page 104 of The Long Game

Jack stepped through his bedroom door. “Come on then.” He loved the light-yellow walls and big windows overlooking the woods behind his complex. Right now, the room was bright with sunlight.

Grady would definitely see it all.

Grady ran a gentle hand down Jack’s arm. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Jack.”

“No, I want to. You’ve probably noticed I’ve been keeping my shirt and shorts on, mostly, when we’re together.”

“Which is fine, if you’re more comfortable that way.”

“Actually, I like to be naked,” Jack admitted.

The corner of Grady’s mouth kicked up. “You do?”

“Yes. I sleep naked or in my underwear most nights. It’s just…I did something recently and I haven’t shown it to anyone. Well, Barnaby has seen some parts. But I want to show you all of it.”

Grady pressed a kiss to the corner of Jack’s lips. “Anything you want to show me, anything you want me to know. Anything at all, Jack. I’m yours.”

Jack’s heart stumbled in his chest.

He stepped away from Grady and yanked his shirt off. His skin glowed in the bright sunlight coming in through the windows.

“Jack,” Grady whispered, trailing his hand over the elaborate artwork on Jack’s chest. Before he could lose his nerve, Jack stripped his jeans down his legs and kicked them across the room, leaving him in dark blue briefs and swirls of ink.

Grady dragged his gaze the length of Jack’s body. It was a thrilling agony to be so exposed, his skin prickling with the vulnerability of it while his cock hardened from the way Grady looked at him.

“God, Jack, you’re gorgeous,” Grady whispered. His hand hovered in the space between them.

Jack grabbed it and pressed it to his chest. “You can touch.”

“Why”—Grady swallowed as he ran his hand from the pale skin of Jack’s collarbones to his sternum where his skin turned blue—“an octopus?”

Grady’s fingers traced over the tentacle that curled around Jack’s hip and it was hard to concentrate enough to explain. “They’re amazing animals. Smart. Adaptable. Resilient.” Jack watched Grady’s palm skim over his belly, still astonished theartist had made the body of the octopus appear to ripple, as if a current ran from somewhere to Jack’s left.

Grady touched the intricate details, the shaded spots, the deeper colors that gave the skin the illusion of texture, and the bright edges that barely suggested the paler suction cups beneath. It was all done in blue, the darkest almost black, and the hints of underbelly in the palest blue-white, with Jack’s pink skin coming through. Jack had known what he wanted when he brought the project to the artist, but the final work had exceeded Jack’s wildest expectations.

He held still, practically vibrating as Grady’s hand traveled lower, following the edge of the large, bulbous head to where the ink twisted just to the right of his belly button then spread in all directions. His cock responded to Grady’s gentle strokes, but they both ignored it.

“How long have you had this?” Grady asked, his finger stroking back and forth across Jack’s belly button.

Jack closed his eyes and tried to remember his name, let alone the fuckingdate. “I started the work a couple of months ago.”

Grady’s finger stopped. “That recently?”

“I got the idea from Barnaby,” Jack said. “I was searching for a way to put the past in the past, while at the same time acknowledge it’s never going to go away. It’s part of who I am. So instead of trying to ignore it…” He rubbed a palm over the dark swirls of spotted color. “It’s all in here. The good, the bad, the ugly.” He ran a finger along the tentacle on his right hip, then up the one that curled over his heart. “I took all the stuff I want to remember and all the shit I used to wish I could forget and shoved it under my skin so when I look in the mirror I can see it, honor it, but the rest of the time I can put it away. On days I’m thinking about the shit more than the good stuff, I remember it’s all here, under my skin. Part of my makeup.”

“Balance,” Grady said quietly.

“Yes,” Jack agreed, “although that wasn’t my intent. I didn’t realize how much good there was until I was in the chair and thinking about what matters most to me, past and present.”

Grady nodded, gaze intent as he studied the ink the same way Jack often did. Like it mattered. Like every plunge of every needle meant something to him, too.

“And it worked?” Grady asked.

“Better than I thought it would.” Jack could stand in front of his mirror and think for hours. An accidental means to meditate on difficult subjects while being constantly reminded of the good, too.

Grady’s finger followed a tentacle until it disappeared over his hip. “And these?” he asked. “Where do they all go?”

Jack bit his lip. “Why don’t you find out for yourself?”

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