S.E. Jakes Quotes

Head all right?"
"Can't feel a thing," he lied.
"Figured. That's when you do stupid shit.

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Tom ran his thumb over the head, circling lightly, unable to resist leaning down to suck the tip into his mouth. Prophet inhaled sharply, threaded his fingers into Tom's hair. He closed his eyes and groaned when Tom stroked in earnest, lifting his hips off the bed in a big cat-like stretch, letting Tom take control of him again. "Think I didn't get enough?" "Think you need sleep." Prophet's eyes opened as he studied Tom's face. "You're going to put me to sleep this way." "Gonna try," Tom told him, his hand pumping Prophet's cock slowly, then faster when the man refused to tear his gaze away. He couldn't read the man's expression, not until his mouth dropped and his eyes glazed. "Yeah, like that." Prophet's voice was hoarse, body tense. His casted hand reached out to hold on to Tom's biceps, the one with the dreamcatcher. Tom caught him staring at it when he came.

He wanted to remember all of this, the scent of Prophet's skin, the weight of his cock in his hand. More than that, he wanted Prophet to remember this, wanted to embed it into his brain and onto his body. Prophet's cock was long and thick and begging for Tom's mouth. Prophet hissed when Tommy sucked on him before taking him halfway. "Tommy." That was it. That one word, but the tone of voice nearly had Tom coming on the bed. He took Prophet's cock deep into his throat, and Prophet arched up into him, fucking his mouth with several strong thrusts of his hips. Tom let him for a few moments and then stopped him with a firm grasp on both his hips, pinning him. "More," Prophet bit out as Tom sucked him, handled his balls. Tom ran his tongue directly up the vein on the underside of his cock, pressing firmly for good measure. His

As their frenzy grew, so did the storm, as if the hurricane built off their furious energy. Prophet would never look at a hurricane the same way again.

In the dark, Dave reached for Roger's hand as they watched the shadowed lovemaking. "Were we ever that beautiful?"
"You still are," Roger told him.
"Maybe we should make the most of the hurricane."
"This is definitely foreplay."
"It's like Tumblr, the live version.

When he'd lived on the streets, the rule was live or die - there was no in between and it was as simple as that. The spy game was that simple too, and that's why he was so good at it.
But there was always someone better. Someone who wanted it more. Someone who'd get it, take it from you, and leave you lying dead in the street.

Everyone was upset that Dash hadn't trusted them. What Dash didn't bother to tell them was that this time he didn't even trust himself.

I just thought we'd be doing something ... " "Bigger?" Prophet asked, and without waiting, said, "Saving lives is always big." "There's no one to save, Prophet." It took everything Prophet had not to punch Tom. "There's always someone to save.

Spoke to my dad today. He needed to have a "come to Jesus" moment with me.
How'd that go?
Jesus and I are still very far apart.

Prophet's neck corded with tension, and he never took his eyes from Tom's face, not even when he broke apart and came so hard it was like he was shattering. "Tommy . . ." A breath, a whisper even, as Tom came on the heels of Prophet's climax like a scream in the night, hot and fast like an electric jolt that stunned him senseless. Prophet's hand broke its hold, curled around Tom's neck, pulling him down so their faces were close, his body shuddering as Tom's hips jerked erratically. His last thought was that their hands were still clasped tight together.

Cade sounds like someone I need to meet. I've been hearing his name an awful lot." "Because he's an awful lot of trouble," Tegan told him. "Best ones usually are, Teegs.

Fuck, he loved kissing. Fucking was obviously great, but kissing was really how you could figure out how to take someone down in the best way possible.

Shane moved his lower body away, even as his mouth continued to milk Keith, who lay with his hand over his face, his breath coming fast. Reed moved up to kiss him, and Keith responded instantly, his tongue playing with Reed's, even as the younger man rolled Keith completely onto his back and spread his legs. He

I'm never letting you do my laundry. Again."
"I didn't know the red towel was in there," Prophet protested.
"You did it on purpose to get out of doing laundry."
"Maybe. But it worked."
"Fucking impossible.

Last time I looked, I didn't have a pussy, so cut all the romantic shit"
"babe, if that's romance to you, you've been with guys who've been doing it wrong. Really goddamned wrong

Reed couldn't wait any longer. He moved forward, removing clothing as he walked. When he knelt by them, he moved next to Shane, in between Keith's legs. Keith paused for a second, muttered something about both of them playing dirty, just as Reed took one of Keith's balls in his mouth and hummed. Keith

Dealing with Prophet wasn't entirely unlike dealing with a live grenade or a Claymore mine. You had to know when to ease off the pressure and when to stay firmly planted and unmoving so you didn't die in the explosion.

Probably nothing," Tom ventured, wanting it to be true.
Prophet didn't argue, but they both decided that school was off-limits for a bit. Remy, of course, didn't mind a damned bit. Mal offered to tutor him in the interim and that actually worked out quite well. Then again, for all Tom knew, math was a code for bomb building.
When he mentioned that to Prophet, all he got in response was, "They're both useful life skills.

Cillian had been mauled and licked and bitten, and he'd see-feel-the marks for days to come. That was the price of this kind of sex. And he was gladly prepared to pay.

Law snorted. Well of course he's pissed. You are kind of a dick.

Sometimes it's okay to let your guard down, Cole. If you don't, you'll miss the best things in life.

If I want to 'f' a guy, I want to 'f' a guy.

But even as he surged up, Tom dug in, using his body's position to hold Prophet to the ground, his knees pressing Prophet's thighs together. "You're going to want me to open my legs," Prophet murmured against his cheek once Tom broke the kiss and was concentrating on biting Prophet's earlobe. "And you'll do it for me," Tom drawled, his breath warm against Prophet's cheek, his hips a slow, steady rock, forcing their clothed cocks to rub together. "Jesus, that's good." "Fucker," Prophet grunted, Tom's heavy weight grounding him. "You've been practicing." "Practicing fighting you or fucking you?" Tom held Prophet's wrists immobile with one hand and reached to pull his sweats down with the other. "You

Shane wasn't winning this one, although, for some reason, he wouldn't mind watching Keith lose. And that thought had him sitting up and paying attention. Keith

And Marcus is what Cole needs? A cocky, arrogant asshole?" he asked, then paused. "Wait, I see your point." Paolo snorted and Styx smiled. "Figured you would.

Prophet was still half buzzed, although he was waning when they got back to the apartment . . . but Tommy was quiet. At first, Prophet thought he might be tired, which would be understandable . . . but it was more than that. Tommy was restless. He put his hand on Tommy's knee, which had been bouncing a hundred miles an hour as he sat on the couch, like he was waiting for . . . something. "Sorry," Tommy said sheepishly. "That wound me up more than I realized." Prophet

You're doing it wrong."
"Son, I've got a gun to your chest and you're telling me that I'm doing it wrong?"
"Yes"
"How?"
"Closer isn't better." He disarmed her with a swift motion, then offered the weapon back to her. "Further away you are, the less unpredictable I can be."
Della's eyes had opened wide with surprise, but she recovered fast. Took the shotgun back and said, "Okay. Knock again so we can start over.

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How the hell did you know where I was?" Prophet demanded.
Cillian said simply, "Don't bother searching your phone for chips."
"Then how did you know?"
"Prophet, I know everything."
Fuck him. Cillian did.

That's not weakness, baby. That's surrender - and they're not the same thing at all.

He made a mental note to tell that to Tom as the man half collapsed on him for a few moments. He reached up, ran a hand through Tom's sweat-soaked hair, yanking him down hard for a kiss. Tom's tongue claimed his mouth, his way of telling Prophet that it wasn't over, not until Tom said so. And no, he wasn't stopping. The rest of it was a blur, with Tom pulling out, turning Prophet onto his back, taking his time licking, sucking, not leaving any of Prophet's skin untouched. And Prophet was patient enough to allow it, the haze of orgasms softening him for the moment. That

Yeah," he managed when Shane was in up to the hilt, but the man didn't give him a second to breathe before he began to pump, hitting Reed's prostate in a way that demanded he yell. "More, Shane. I want more." "I know. I've been told I can corrupt anyone," Shane said easily. Reed laughed as he came, Keith snorted, and they were both in deep with this one.

Prophet was just happy to be out of any moving object, and insisted they walk there. They did so hand in hand. He

What would you do?"
"Is this one of those morality questions? Cause I got Unsatisfactory on my last few official psych evals when I answered the so-called morality questions.

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So you can make me promise, you shit - and I did promise you - but if you think your losing your sight is going to make me leave you, you're so fucking wrong. And I'll spend the rest of my days proving it to you.

That didn't mean he wouldn't come again. Which he did, a hot, nearly dry orgasm with his cock in Tommy's mouth. That one pushed him over the edge, left him a strung-out, groaning mess, so full of sensation he didn't know what the hell to do. So he lay there, spread out on the rug like a sacrifice, everything forgotten except Tom.

This was a boy who liked to be ridden hard ... and Damon would normally put him away wet for certain.

A slow shudder of release happened for Sawyer first. He looked surprised as hell that it snuck up on him. "Fuck, Rex." Rex

Tom pounded into him. Prophet bit out a howl, hooked his ankles behind Tom's back and dug his heels against the man's ass, forcing him deeper inside.

Want me to roll you?" Tom asked. "Not funny." But Prophet was rock hard. Tom stalking over to him and crowding him wasn't helping. "You still have that duct tape?" "Yeah. Why?" "Come on, bebe. Let's play gator." Prophet hated the way his body responded yes - eagerly - to that question. "Think you wanna. 'M'I wrong?" Tom's drawl was thick as hell, went right down Prophet's spine, as the man's hand snaked around Prophet's waist and pushed his own hard cock against Prophet's cargo pant-clad one. "Yes.

He pushed Rex's hand away and grabbed Rex's cock instead. Angled it and pushed his body down over Rex's cock, slowly, so fucking slowly that Rex thought he'd lose his mind. But this was his show, so Rex watched Sawyer's face until he was balls-deep inside him. "Beautiful

What else do you want to do to me?" Jace asked, and Clint smiled. "That's a wicked look you've got going on."
"Just remember, you're the one who asked for it."
"It was merely a conversation starter."
"Consider it started. Now I'm going to finish it.

Tom had nearly bit his tongue off trying not to goad Prophet into further insults, which probably annoyed Prophet more than anything. Tom couldn't figure out if the guy was doing it to purposely bug the shit out of him, or if this was simply how he operated on a day-to-day basis. It was like trying to balance in quicksand - in the end, it was easier to give up and let yourself get pulled under.

Need help washing other places?"
"Yeah. I'm really dirty."
"I can't believe you said that with a straight face."
"I can't believe you'll do it anyway.

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Part of me hates that you know me so well."
"And the other part?"
Prophet gave a faint grin, then said quietly, "Loves it," like if he said it too loudly, fate might swoop in and snatch this moment, the word, out from under them.
Tom stilled. He didn't need the words, never really had. Like Prophet, he valued actions, but to actually hear that one word out of Prophet's mouth ... it was all Tom needed.

Right now, Prophet was all goddamned his, all here and present in the moment, and Tom planned to keep it that way. Quickly,

Still, unpacking Tom had been more for Tom than for him, because in Prophet's eyes, the man had already moved in everywhere: Prophet's place. His room. His heart. And Prophet knew when it was time to give up the ghost. It was too late to save himself. For

You never sleep," Mick said. "Beside the point. I might've been busy doing other things." "Like jacking off?" "I have people who do that for me," Prophet sniffed.

He's a little more ... psychotic than usual," Tom said quietly.
"How so?"
"He took C-4 to bed with him."
Prophet shrugged. "He's always done that.

Way I figure it, if I'm forced to have a partner, might as well have one with benefits. If you're annoying me, fucking you will be more satisfying than punching you." Prophet grinned, then added slyly, "And I could punch you afterwards.

Sawyer watched Rex from the hospital bed. The man was fucking fluttering. Fluffing pillows. Pouring water. Talking to doctors and nurses. Checking on Sawyer without actually talking to him. When

Prophet pulled back a little, a wicked look in his eyes as he looked up at Tom. He licked slowly along the ladder of piercings, and then he paid special attention to each one, tugging the barbells between his teeth until Tom hissed or groaned and tightened his grip on Prophet's hair warningly. Each time, Prophet would comply, letting his dick go, and he'd wait patiently, and each time Tom brought his mouth back to his cock, he was rewarded with the tug and pull, lick-suck-twist motion. His pain-pleasure center intertwined to where Tom could barely pick out which was which. He knew he just wanted more. Prophet's

His wrists ached. When they stopped hurting, it would mean the storm had definitely arrived, because when the pressure was high, there wasn't any pain.
Just massive destruction - a typical metaphor for his life.

What did he say about me?" Tom demanded.
"You don't want to know."
"You're right."
"Told you," Prophet said, looking quite pleased with himself. "Don't say I never tell you anything.

Piercings," Prophet said, his brow furrowed. "You're the one who put them back in. Don't worry - you'll enjoy the hell out of them." He rasped a tongue over Prophet's nipple, then bit the nub again. "Fuck.

Beautiful boy," he murmured. "Ah,

Because enough talking. It was time for the goddamned kissing, hard and fast and smooth and slow and any and every way in between, until Tommy was humping his thigh.

It's only too late when someone's in the ground. And even then, you can always find redemption.

You stole his truck?"
"Borrowed," Prophet corrected. "Remy thought of it when I took him home."
"Did you just blame a fifteen-year-old kid for why you stole - "
" - borrowed - "
" - a truck?"
Prophet shrugged. "Little bit.

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So what, this is like a life lesson? Because I don't like those, Prophet had told him,

Rules are usually in place because they help the people who made them, more than the people who have to follow them. Same goes for people who have questions they want you to answer. Keep some shit just for you. Gives you an edge

At one point, Tom came back with another tattoo hidden under the bracelet he'd worn since his and Prophet's first mission together. A tattoo that was almost an exact replica of the bracelet. "So no one can take it off me again," he'd said in response to Prophet's unasked question. Because when Tom had been jailed in New Orleans, he'd been forced to take it off, and he'd then waited until Prophet could put it back on him. The superstitious voodoo bastard. But Prophet had to admit it made him smile when Tom wasn't looking. And once he'd discovered it, he'd taken the time to trace it with his tongue and nip it with his teeth, marking Tom hard, wanting to give tangible proof to his feelings. When Tom found out about the other shit - his eyes, everything else he was hiding - he might run, but Prophet resigned himself to the fact that his heart could get ripped out. Again. And it would be worse this time. Way worse, because Prophet knew more, felt more, loved harder.

If I want to fuck a guy, I want to fuck a guy.

Lije . . . yeah, that's it, baby . . . God, fuck . . ." And then Tom came, spurred on by Prophet's climax, dragged along for the ride.

You'll come first if I suck you.

Yeah, that was the goal - to fuck Prophet so hard and well that he slept like a baby. He moved so he was chest to back, thigh to thigh, the contact like a wrestling pose. He bit down on Prophet's neck where it met his shoulder, enough to leave a mark as he entered him. Prophet hissed at the intrusion, but Tom didn't stop. A slow, smooth push through the pain would make Prophet's body yield to him. "Relax, Proph," he said, more of a demand than a request, and the tension in Prophet's shoulders dissipated as Tom held his hips, rocked against him. "Fuck. Fuck," was all Prophet said when Tom didn't give him time to recover. He didn't need it, not the way Tom had opened him, was pressing him, holding him impaled with his cock. "Tommy . . ." That's the way the man should always sound when he says Tommy. Prophet

Jace buried his face in the pillow as Clint's tongue found its mark, licking, sucking, probing the tender skin before spearing and thrusting his tongue into Jace's hole, causing Jace to squirm and hump the bed. Clint

Prophet's legs opened wider, pushing against the barrier of Tom's legs. "Yeah, that's right . . . let me in," Tom urged, and Prophet wanted to tell him to fuck off, but he couldn't. Not when Tom entered him with a finger. A few twists to open him, coupled with several swipes of his prostate, and Prophet was pushing his hips up to meet Tom's motions. "Good. That's what I want to see." "Fuck your good," Prophet growled, but his voice was too raw and gave away exactly what he was feeling. Tom added another finger, turned them until Prophet groaned his surrender. The sensation of Tom's fingertips brushing his gland made him shudder. He kept his hands above his head, didn't try to break Tom's grip. He'd have rug burn on his ass by the end of this, and he didn't care. Tom was here. Home. Safe. Now, so was he. "Go

This is so fucking hot," Reed murmured against Keith's neck as he jerked himself, knew he'd come all over both his lovers. For that moment, they were connected, and Reed closed his eyes and thought about the magic of this cabin, the magic of the men next to him. When he opened his eyes, Keith was coming, and both Reed and Shane were right behind him. Reed

The guy was almost as tall as Doc, which put him in the six-foot-five range. And he was broad, with dark hair, but man, the chip on his shoulder was visible from the fucking moon. Prophet

If nothing else, Prophet prided himself on his ability to be irrational. Everyone was always raving about how being cool, calm, and collected was the best way to be. Prophet found the exact opposite worked most of the time. Tommy

It's just you now."
"Just you." Tom closed his eyes for just a second, soothed by the warm rub of Prophet's palm, then opened them. "I love you. Who the fuck else could compete?"
Prophet pulled back for a second. Repeated, "Who the fuck else could compete?" with his hand on Tom's heart.

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Are we just going to keep having sex so we can avoid talking about what we need to talk about?"
Prophet pulled back and looked between Tom's legs.
"What?"
"Just checking to make sure you still have a dick."
"Same one that fucked you through the wall while you begged for it," Tom pointed out, and Prophet eyes grew heavy lidded with lust again. "You're so easy, Proph."
"For you.

Threats, Prophet? After all we've been through."
"Promises. And I'm really goddamned good at promises.

Fate always had a way of intervening. Pushed everyone in the right direction. The thing with fate though, was that someone always got hurt.

I don't know whether to punch you or kiss you."
"A combination of both is usually the best," Prophet advised.

Like what you see?" Prophet asked, his voice a quiet yet dangerous rumble, heavily laced with sarcasm.
Even so, Tom answered him seriously. "Yes."
"That's because you're seeing two of me.

If you were mine, I'd make you pierce it, just because,

He palmed his cock and rubbed along the piercings first, pulling them just enough to make him throb. He hissed at the pain and then fought a groan as he imagined Prophet doing this to him . . . The glass door opened, the steam rushed out, and Prophet stood there, watching. Before Tom could say anything, Prophet ordered, "Don't stop now - jerk yourself, since you can't keep your hands off it." "Since when do you fucking tell me what to do?" Tom demanded crankily. Of course, he kept on sliding his hand up and down his cock, partly because fuck, it was good - better when ordered, sure - and partly because the look in Prophet's eyes as he watched Tom doing it was just . . . Fuck. Fuck yes. "Don't come though," Prophet told him casually, and look who had a second wind. "Until when?" Tom gritted his teeth and slowed himself down. "Until I say. Clear enough?" Tom

I can't believe you read my medical files."

Prophet looked offended. "That would be an invasion of privacy. I looked through your bags.

He'd also gotten close to Prophet, moving next to him to get the right angle on the cast, his hip brushing Prophet's cock. And now his own had a more pressing need than covering up phone numbers. The light dappled across Prophet's face. He looked more relaxed, less on guard than he'd ever been. But somehow still lethal. Always lethal. Prophet turned onto his back, arms over his head again, casts sprawled on the pillow. Tom's erection nudged Prophet's thigh as he thought about Prophet tied up, and Prophet shook his head. "Did you take Viagra instead of migraine meds?" "Maybe," Tom murmured, wrapped a hand around Prophet's cock, which was hard again too.

You'll get that one day." "You really believe that?" "I'm living fucking proof.

Is this the part where you tell me he'll come around?" "Hell, no." At least Phil Butler was an honest man. Five

With Ray? Only Prophet could manage to get pissed the way Tom wanted him to be and then quickly turn it around, accept the situation, and make it his. Which pissed Tom off. Again. Classic Prophet move. Tom tried to shake the pissed off-edness and went with command instead. "Come with me." Prophet gave him the side-eye. His gaze held a little drunken amusement - and something else Tom had yet to place. But he would. "He's yours?" Ray, the big man in leather who was sitting way too close to Prophet for Tom's comfort looked between them. There were so many ways Tom could answer that, several of them that could spike Prophet right through the heart. But the one that came out without hesitation was, "Better believe he's mine." Ray stood. "Don't get fucking mouthy. He sat with me." "I'll deal with him," Tom promised.

Your past is your past. Why the fuck are you trying to drag it across the finish line with you? Cut that shit off. You'll be a hell of a lot lighter. Freer too.

Tom smiled and surrendered to the inevitable. Because you couldn't escape your fucking past, so why bother trying?

Once I fucked you, it would be all over for me. I had to have a guarantee I could get you back. Christ, Blue, the first time I saw you, I wanted to throw you over the couch and fuck you."
Blue flushed but smiled a little. "So why didn't you?"
"Common decency."
"Highly overrated.

They both groaned into that first kiss. Four months and more of longing released in a frantic rush that started out fast and rolled into something more, faster than the gathering storm and threatening to do far more damage. And

There's a hell of a lot you haven't shared." "Oh, I'm sorry. Be sure to send out invites to the pot-meets-kettle show you'll be throwing." "I'm sensing sarcasm. I think being in Cajun country's given me some of your voodoo.

We've gotten through a lot of shit already, Tommy. A lot. Maybe more than we're supposed to. Maybe we've reached our limit."
"Still trying to protect me."
"Always."
"I'm going to chance it. Figure the universe already put us through hell.I think we're meant to come out the other side together."
Prophet rolled his eyes. "Romantic fucking voodoo Cajun shit.

Tommy had wanted to claim him - and he had. Maybe now it was Tommy's turn to be claimed. "That's not a bad thing - or unexpected, so don't worry about it.

He had to move forward, because there was nothing to go back to. Sometimes, having no choice made every decision, no matter how bad it seemed, easier.

You're just doing this to make yourself feel better." "I will fucking punch you, you disabled asshole." Prophet threw his hands in the air. "I swear to Christ, that's abuse. You can't yell at a disabled person like that. You can't call a disabled person disabled asshole. That's just fucking wrong." "Who says?" "I do," Prophet said indignantly. Doc was biting back a smile. "And it's not funny." Doc's voice was quiet, a little rough and choked when he said, "I know, Proph." And that was enough for Prophet to admit, "I don't think I can do this." Although he had no real idea what this was. At this point, it translated into everything. Doc

You've got the fountain of youth hidden in your pants."
"What the fuck does that even mean?" Hook demanded, then held up a hand. "Never mind, I don't want to know."
"Means fucking keeps you young.

I don't tell people things like that unless they buy me dinner first." The drawl sounded deep Cajun. The drawn-out words and the lilting, easy roll of his voice made Prophet want to throw a chair at him, mainly because it had always been an accent he'd found irresistible. On anyone but this guy. Okay,

He believed that kids who'd been slammed around needed to stick together, from start to finish. And he spotted others of his kind so easily. Because he recognized that his inner child was so fucked that he never got a chance to come out and play

Shane's cock filled him, even as he held Reed's wrists to the floor above his head. His hips rocked, and Reed wrapped his legs around Shane's waist in order to drive him in faster. He half expected Shane - or Keith - to stop him from doing so but neither man was in any position to give orders. They were all caught up in the moment, Keith stroking himself, Shane's cock hitting Reed's gland, and Reed came first, crying out hoarsely, even as Shane buried his face in Reed's neck and held him in place until he came as well. Finally,

For a long moment, he lay there, staring at a minuscule crack that had begun to reach from one end of the ceiling to the other. Cracks were always there; no matter how well repaired, there would always be weakness.

Law looks like he can handle an angel and a devil." "You're

You're right - piercings are good." Prophet was the one who was high now. Tom managed to wrest back control by bucking at an angle that made Prophet stiffen and give a near whimper. "Yeah, Tommy, like that." One of his hands was on Prophet's shoulder as he rocked his hips back and forth, the other on Prophet's leaking cock. Prophet was matching him stroke for stroke, his head against the headboard, which in turn slammed the wall, the bed threatening to break apart. Tom's entire body was reduced to a heartbeat. "Tommy!" He didn't know why he hadn't wanted Prophet to call him that. Now, he didn't want Prophet to call him anything else. Tom sped up, his breath coming in halting gasps.

Della figured you guys would need something to tide you over before dinner," he said. "Thanks, Dave." "Good to have you guys back here safely," Dave told him, then mouthed, "I like him," as he pointed toward the bed where Prophet had now deposited himself with his iPad. "Me too," Tom told him. Dave