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Fortunately, Blay was more than capable at cleanup—and didn’t that just make him orgasm even more. Also gave him plenty to watch: For the rest of his days, Qhuinn was never going to forget the sight of the male’s mouth wrapped around him, cheeks sucking in as he drew out the release and took it all. Over and over and over again.

Usually Qhuinn was ready to go immediately afterward, but when the rolling waves finally stopped crashing into him, he went utterly limp, arms falling flat to the floor, knees going lax, head lolling.

All things considered, that had probably been the best orgasm of his life. Second only to the ones he’d had earlier in the day with the guy.

“I can’t move,” he mumbled.

Blay’s laugh was deep and sexy. “You look a little wrung-out.”

“Can I return the favor?”

“Can you lift your head?”

“Is it still attached to my body?”

“From what I can see, yes.”

As Blay chuckled again, Qhuinn knew what he wanted to do—and was kind of surprised at himself. In all his sexual exploits, he’d never allowed himself to get fucked. That just wasn’t part of the way things went. He was the conqueror, the taker, the one who established control and retained that superiority.

Bottoming just wasn’t anything he’d been interested in.

Now he wanted it.

The only problem was, he literally couldn’t move. And, well, there was something else—how could he tell Blay that he was a virgin?

Because he wanted to. If they ever went there, he wanted Blay to know. For some reason that was important.

Abruptly, Blay’s face came into his line of vision, and God, the fighter was beautiful, his cheeks flushed, his eyes gleaming, those big shoulders blocking out everything.

And, oh, yeah, that smile was sexy as hell, so self-satisfied and self-confident—as if the fact that Blay had given such pleasure to someone else was enough to make him not even need a release of his own.

But that wasn’t fair, was it.

“I don’t think you’re moving anytime soon,” Blay said.

“Maybe. But I can open my mouth,” Qhuinn replied darkly. “Almost as wide as you can.”

Right, okay, the idea that he’d given Qhuinn an orgasm like that was so goddamned affirming, Blay had forgotten all about his own body.

The thing was, after so many years of getting shut down, it was a total rush to feel powerful against the guy, to be the one who set the pace…to be the person who took Qhuinn to an erotic, vulnerable place that was so much more intense than any other he’d been to. And that was what had happened. He knew exactly what Qhuinn looked and sounded like when he came, and Blay could say, without any equivocation, that he’d never seen his buddy undone like that, sprawled out on a rug, neck muscles straining, abs seized up, hips pumping hard.

Qhuinn had literally come for about twenty minutes straight.

And now, in the aftermath, a strange revelation: Until just this moment, Blay had never recognized the cynicism that Qhuinn carried in his face at all times…the furrowed brow, the perpetual snarking turn on one side of that mouth, the jaw that never, ever loosened up.

It was as if all the nastiness his family had done to him had permanently warped the features.

But that wasn’t true, was it. During that orgasm, and now, as things calmed down, none of the tension was anywhere to be found. Qhuinn’s face was…wiped clean of all reserve, appearing so much younger, Blay had to wonder why he’d never noticed the age before.

“So will you give me something to suck on as I recover?” Qhuinn asked.

“Wha…?”

“I said I’m thirsty. And I need something to suck on.” At this, Qhuinn bit his lower lip, his bright white fangs sinking into the flesh. “Will you help me?”

Blay’s eyes rolled back into his head. “Yeah…I can do that.”

“Then let me see you take your pants off.”

Blay’s legs popped him up from the floor so fast, he had fresh insights into the laws of physics, and while he kicked off his loafers, his hands shook to get his trousers unbuttoned. Things went quickly from there. And the whole time he was stripping, he was preternaturally aware of everything in the room—especially Qhuinn. The male was getting hard again, his sex thickening in spite of everything it had just been through…those heavy thighs clenching and that pelvis rolling…the lower belly so lean that every minute shift of the torso was reflected under taut, tan skin.

“Oh, yeah…” Qhuinn hissed, his fangs extending from his upper jaw, his hand seeking out his sex and stroking long and slow. “There it is.”

Blay’s breath started to pump, his heart rate going through the roof as Qhuinn’s mismatched eyes latched onto his sex.

“That’s what I want,” the male growled, letting go of himself and reaching up with both hands.

For a split second, Blay wasn’t sure how the body parts were going to work. Qhuinn was in front of the sofa, running parallel to the thing, so there wasn’t a lot of room—

A subtle pumping growl percolated through the air as Qhuinn flexed his fingers—like he couldn’t wait to get hold of what he wanted.

Fuck the advance planning.

Blay’s knees obeyed the call, hinging forward, bringing his weight down to the floor by Qhuinn’s head.

Qhuinn took over from there. His palms snaked out and grabbed on, drawing Blay in so that before he knew it, he had one knee behind the guy’s head and the other leg thrown out to the side, all the way down by Qhuinn’s hip.

“Oh…fuck…” Blay groaned as he felt his sex go in between Qhuinn’s lips.

His body listed forward until his torso ended up sprawled on the couch cushions—and that was when he unexpectedly found himself with a boatload of leverage. Bracing his arms on the sofa, he distributed his weight among his knees, his feet, and palms…and then proceded to fuck the ever-loving shit out of Qhuinn’s mouth.

The guy took it all, even as Blay unhinged his hips and thrust with everything he had.

With Qhuinn’s fingers biting into his ass, and that incredible suction, and…Christ, that tongue piercing, the ball of which dug into his shaft with every stroke…Blay started to gear up for exactly the kind of orgasm Qhuinn had just had.

And yet, in the back of his mind, he wondered whether he was hurting the guy. At this point, he was going to come into his friend’s stomach, for godsakes—

Too late to worry about that.

His body took over, going rigid in a series of racking spasms that ran from the top of his spine down into his legs.

And just as the out of control sensations were beginning to ebb, the world went wonky on him, like his sense of balance had been blown along with his—

No, the world was fine. Qhuinn had just popped him up off the floor, gotten out from underneath, and was positioning himself behind….

As Qhuinn pushed inside with a lightning-fast strike, Blay let out a moan that he was quite sure could have been heard in Canada—

The squeal that pierced through the room made him frown, even through the pressure and the pleasure.

Oh. They were moving the couch over the floor.

Whatever. He’d buy the house another one if they broke the damn thing; he was not stopping this.

The rhythm was every bit as punishing as his had been—and in this case, payback was not just what he deserved; it was exactly what he wanted. With every thrust, his face got pushed into the soft cushions; with every retreat he could take a breath; then it was back in tight, the cycle starting all over again.

Readjusting his legs so that Qhuinn could go even deeper, Blay had some vague thought that they had definitely banged the sofa into a different position, but who the hell cared as long as it wasn’t out into the hall?

At the last moment, just before he came again, he had the presence of mind to grab for his pants. Shaking his boxers free, he—

Qhuinn’s hand reached over, took the Calvins and did the deed, making sure there was something to catch his release. Then a moment later, his chest was hauled off the couch so he was upright on his knees. Qhuinn handled everything, gripping Blay’s cock while covering the head—all the while pounding, pounding, pounding…

They came at the same time, a pair of shouts echoing around the room.

In the midst of the orgasm, Blay happened to glance up. In the big old-fashioned mirror that hung between the two windows across the way, he saw them both, knew they were joined…and it made him come all over again.

Eventually, the thrusting slowed. Heart rates went down. Breathing grew easier.

In the leaded glass of the mirror, he watched as Qhuinn shut his eyes and tucked his head downward. Against the side of his throat, Blay felt the softest of brushes.

Qhuinn’s lips.

And then the male’s free hand drifted upward, pausing to stroke across Blay’s pecs—

Qhuinn froze. Jerked back. Removed his lips, his touch. “Sorry. Sorry, I…know you’re not into that with me.”

The change in the guy’s face, that return to the cynical normal, was like being robbed.

And yet Blay couldn’t tell him to come back in close. Qhuinn was right; the instant that tenderness appeared, he started to get panicky.

The withdrawal was quick, too quick, and Blay missed the feeling of fullness and possession. But it was time to end this.

Qhuinn cleared his throat. “Ah…do you want to…”

“I’ll take care of it,” Blay mumbled, replacing Qhuinn’s hand over the crumpled boxers at his hips.

During the sex, the silence in the room had been about privacy. Now, it just amplified the sounds of Qhuinn pulling his leathers back on.

Shit.

They had gone down the rabbit hole again. And while it was happening, the sensations were so intense and overpowering, there was no thinking of anything other than the sex. In the aftermath, though, Blay’s body felt too cold in the seventy-degree air, different places throbbing from use, his legs loose and wobbly, his brain fuzzy…

Nothing seemed secure or sure. In the slightest.

Forcing himself to get dressed, he piled the clothes on as fast as he could, right down to his loafers. Meanwhile, Qhuinn was the one who returned the sofa where it belonged, carefully putting the feet of the legs back in the divots they’d made in the carpet. He also rearranged the throw pillows. Straightened the Oriental.

It was like it had never happened. Except for the boxers that Blay crushed in his fist.

“Thank you,” Qhuinn said quietly. “I, ah…”

“Yeah.”

“So…I guess I’ll go now.”

“Yeah.”

That was it.

Well, other than the door closing.

Left alone, Blay decided he needed a shower. More food. Sleep.

Instead, he stayed in the second-story sitting room, looking at that mirror, remembering what he had seen in it. In his mind, he had some vague thought that they couldn’t keep doing that. It wasn’t safe for him emotionally; in fact, it was the equivalent of holding your palm above a lit burner over and over again—except every time you put your hand back above the flame, you lowered the distance between your flesh and the heat. Sooner or later? Third-degree burns were the least of your problems, because your whole goddamn arm was on fire.

After a while, however, that self-preservation thing wasn’t what he dwelled on.

It was what had started the whole thing.

Make it stop.

Blay drew a hand through his hair. Then he looked at the closed door and frowned, his mind churning, churning, churning…

A moment later, he left in a rush, walking quickly.

Before breaking into a jog.

And then falling into a flat-out run.

FORTY-ONE

It was around ten in the morning when Trez headed over to Sal’s Restuarant. The trip from the apartment at the Commodore to his brother’s fine-dining establishment wasn’t long, only ten minutes, and there were plenty of free parking spots in the lot when he got there.

Then again, the place didn’t open, even to the kitchen staff for prep, until one in the afternoon.

As he walked over to the entrance, his boots crunching in the snow, he half expected the code that unlocked things from the outside not to work: iAm hadn’t come home at the end of the night, and assuming those cocksuckers at the s’Hisbe hadn’t taken the guy for collateral, there was only one place his brother could be: After two pots of coffee and a lot of checking his watch, Trez knew that if he wanted to make peace, he had to head across town.

Cool. The combination hadn’t been changed.

Yet.

Inside, the place was old-school Rat Pack done right, a modern interpretation of the era that had spawned the likes of Peter Lawford and the Chairman of the Board: An entryway with black-and-red flocked wallpaper took you to the receiving area, where the coat check, retro hostess stand and cashier’s desk were. To the left, and to the right, there were two main dining rooms, both done in black and red velvet and leather, but they weren’t where the local made guys, politicians, and wealthy types hung out. The sweet spot was the bar up ahead, a wood-paneled room that had red leather banquettes set against the walls and, during regular hours, a tuxedoed bartender behind a thirty-foot oak stretch serving nothing but the best.

Striding into the bar’s dim expanse, Trez headed around the far end of the five-tiered display of bottles and hit the flap door. As he pushed his way into the kitchen, the scent of basil and onion, oregano and red wine, told him just how stressed iAm was.

Sure enough, the guy was facing off at the sixteen-burner stove on the far wall, five huge pots simmering in front of him—and what do you want to bet there were things in the stoves, too. Meanwhile, wooden cutting boards were lined up on the stainless-steel counters, the dead heads of various kinds of peppers lolling around next to the very sharp knives that had been used.

Ten bucks to guess who the guy had been thinking of when he’d been chopping stuff.

“You going to talk to me at all?” Trez said to his brother’s back.

iAm moved to the next pot, lifting its lid with a white dishcloth, a big slotted spoon going in and stirring slowly.

Trez leaned to the side and pulled over a stainless-steel stool. Taking a seat, he rubbed his thighs up and down.

“Hello?”

iAm went to the next pot. And then the next. Each had a separate spoon for flavor flagellation, and his brother was careful not to cross-contaminate.

“Look, I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you came by the club tonight.” Every evening, iAm headed over to the Iron Mask for a check-in after Sal’s closed. “I had some business to take care of.”

Shit, yeah, he did. Baby girl with the bouncer BF had taken forever to get out of his car when he’d gotten her to her house—eventually he’d walked her to the door, opened the way in, and all but toastered her through the jambs. Back at his Beamer, he’d hit the gas like he’d planted a bomb in the walk-up, and as he’d steamed over to the Iron Mask, all he’d heard in his head was iAm’s voice.

You can’t keep doing this.

iAm turned around at that point, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the stove. His biceps were big to begin with, but cranked like that, they strained the bounds of the black T-shirt he was wearing.

His almond-shaped eyes were half-lidded. “You actually think I’m pissed off that you weren’t around when I got to the club? Really. It’s not because you left me to deal with AnsLai or some shit.”

Annnnnnnnd they were off to the races.

“I can’t see any of them face-to-face, you know that.” Trez lifted his hands, all what-am-I-gonna-do? “They would try to force me to go back with them, and then what are my options? Fight? I’d end up killing the son of a bitch, and then where would I be?”

iAm rubbed his eyes like he had a headache. “Right now, it appears as if they’re taking a diplomatic approach. At least with me.”

“When are they coming back?”

“I don’t know—and that’s what makes me nervous.”

Trez stiffened. The idea that his cool-as-a-cucumber brother was anxious made him feel like he had a knife to his throat.

Then again, he was well aware of exactly how dangerous his people could be. The s’Hisbe was largely a peaceable nation, content to stay out of the battles with the Lessening Society and away from pesky humans. Scholarly, highly intelligent, and spiritual, they were, on the whole, a pretty nice group of people. Provided you weren’t on their shit list.

Trez looked at those pots and wondered what the meat in the sauces was. “I’m still working off the debt to Rehv,” he pointed out. “So that obligation has to come first.”

“Not to the s’Hisbe anymore. AnsLai said, and I’m quoting, ‘It’s time.’”

“I’m not going back there.” He met his brother’s eyes. “Not going to happen.”

iAm turned back to the pots, stirring each one with its designated spoon. “I know. That’s why I’ve been cooking. I’m trying to think of a way out of this.”

God, he loved his brother. Even pissed off, the guy was trying to help. “I’m sorry I pulled a ghost and made you deal with this. I really am. That wasn’t fair—I just…yeah, I really didn’t think it was safe to be in the same room with the guy. I’m very sorry.”

iAm’s thick chest rose and fell. “I know you are.”

“I could just disappear. That would solve the problem.”

Although, man, it would kill him to leave iAm. The thing was, if he went on the lam from the s’Hisbe, he could never have any contact with the male again. Ever.

“Where would you go,” iAm pointed out.

“Not a clue.”

The good news was that the s’Hisbe didn’t like to have any contact with UKs. No doubt even showing up at his and iAm’s apartment had been traumatic, even if the high priest had just dematerialized onto the terrace. Dealing directly with humans? Being around them? AnsLai’s head would explode.

“So what was your business?” iAm asked.

Great. Onto an equally happy subject.

“I went to see that warehouse property,” he hedged. But come on, like he was going to voluntarily bring up the chick and her boyfriend?

“At one a.m.?”

“I made an offer.”

“How much?”

“One four. The asking price is two and a half million, but there’s no way they’re going to get it. The place has been vacant for years, and it shows.” Although…even as he said that, he had to admit he’d felt presences there. Then again, maybe that had just been his stress level talking. “My guess is that they’ll come back at two, I’ll throw out one six, and we’ll come to terms at one seven.”

“Are you sure you want to tackle that project right now? Unless you show up at the territory with your mating tackle ready to be used, the issue with the s’Hisbe is only going to escalate.”

“If things come to a head, I’ll deal with it then.”

“When,” iAm corrected. “That would be ‘when.’ And I know what happened in the back parking lot, Trez. With the guy and that woman.”

Oooooof course he did. “You see the tapes or something?”

Goddamn security monitoring.

“Yes.”

“I handled it.”

“Just like you’re handling the s’Hisbe. Perfect.”

Temper flaring, Trez leaned in. “You want to be in my shoes, brother mine? I’d like to see how well you’d deal with this bullshit.”

“I wouldn’t be out fucking whores, I’ll tell you that much. Which makes me wonder…isn’t our real estate agent a female?”

“Fuck you, iAm. For real.”

Trez shot off the stool and marched out of the kitchen. He had enough problems, FFS—he didn’t need Mr. Superior with the Julia Child skills armchair-quarterbacking this whole thing with twelve kinds of potshot commentary—

“You can’t keep putting this off,” iAm called out from behind. “Or trying to bury it in between the legs of countless women.”

Trez stopped, but kept his eyes on the exit.

“You just can’t,” his brother stated baldly.

Trez pivoted around. iAm was over by the bar, the flap door swinging next to him so that there was a strobe-light effect of bright, dark, bright, dark. Every time the illumination made an appearance, it looked like his brother had a halo around his whole body.

Trez cursed. “I just need them to leave me alone.”

“I know.” iAm rubbed his head. “And I honestly don’t know what the fuck to do about it. I can’t imagine living without you, and I don’t want to go back there, either. I’m not coming up with any other options, though.”

“Those women…you know, the ones I…” Trez hesitated. “Don’t you think they’d get me off?”

“If they aren’t,” iAm said dryly, “I can’t see why you’re bothering with them.”

Trez had to smile a little. “No, I mean with the s’Hisbe. I’m as far from a virgin as you can get at this point.” Although at least he hadn’t sunk to farm animal level. “And what’s worse? They’ve all been UKs—mostly humans, too. That has to nasty them out. We’re talking about the queen’s daughter.”

As iAm frowned like he hadn’t fully considered the idea, Trez felt a ray of hope.

“I don’t know,” came the response. “Maybe that would work—but you’ve still cheated Her Majesty out of what she wants and needs. If they consider you compromised, they might just decide to kill you as a punishment.”

Whatever. They’d have to bring him down first.

On a wave of aggression, Trez dipped his chin and glared out from beneath his brows. “If that’s the case, they’ll have to fight me. And I guarantee that won’t go well for them.”

Back at the Brotherhood mansion, Wrath knew that his queen was upset the moment she came through the doors of his study. Her luscious scent was tinged with a sharp, acidic overhang: anxiety.

“What is it, leelan?” he demanded, holding out his arms.

Even though he couldn’t see, his memories provided him with a mental picture of her crossing the Aubusson rug, her long, athletic body moving with grace, her dark hair loose over her shoulders, her beautiful face marked with tension.

Naturally, the bonded male in him wanted to hunt down and kill whatever had upset her.

“Hi, George,” she said to his dog. Going by the thump-thump-thump on the floor, the retriever got some love first.

And then it was the master’s turn.

Beth climbed right up onto Wrath’s lap, her weight next to nothing, her body warm and alive as he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her on either side of the neck and then on the mouth.

“Jesus,” he growled, feeling the stiffness in her body, “you really are upset. What the fuck is going on?”

Goddamn it, she was shivering. His queen was actually trembling.

“Talk to me, leelan,” he said as he rubbed her back. And prepared to get armed and head out into broad fucking daylight if he had to.

“Well, you know about Layla,” she said in a rough voice.

Ahhhhh. “Yeah, I do. Phury told me.”

As her head shifted onto his shoulder, he repositioned her, holding her cradled against his chest —and it was good. There were times—not often, but every once in a while—when he felt like less of a male because of his lack of sight: Once a fighter, he was now stuck behind this desk. Once free to roam wherever he wanted, he now relied on a canine for navigation. Once utterly self-sufficient, he now needed help.

Not exactly good for a male’s ball sac.

But in a moment like this, when this amazing female was off-kilter and seeking him and only him for comfort and reassurance, he felt strong as a motherfucking mountain. After all, bonded males protected their mates with everything they had, and even with the burden of his birthright and this throne he was obligated to sit on, he remained at his core a hellren to this female.

She was his first priority, even above the king shit. His Beth was the heart behind his ribs, the marrow in his bones, the soul in his physical body.

“It’s just so sad,” she said. “So damned sad.”

“You’ve been to see her?”

“Just now. She’s resting. I mean…on some level, I can’t believe there’s nothing that can be done.”

“You talk to Doc Jane?”

“As soon as they all got back from the clinic.”

As his shellan cried a little, the fresh-rain scent of his beloved’s tears was like a knife in the chest—and he was not surprised at her reaction. He’d heard that females dealt with the loss of another’s pregnancy badly—then again, how could they not relate? He sure as shit could put himself in Qhuinn’s boots.

And oh, God…the idea of Beth suffering like that? Or worse, if she were to carry to term and—

Great. Now he had a case of the quakes.

Wrath put his face in his Beth’s hair, breathing in, calming himself. The good news was that they were never going to have young, so he wouldn’t have to worry about that.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Me, too. I hate this for both of them.”

Well, actually, he was apologizing for something else entirely.

It wasn’t that he wanted anything shitty to happen to Qhuinn or Layla or their young. But maybe if Beth saw this sad reality, she’d be reminded of all the risks that presented themselves every step of the way when it came to pregnancy.

Fuck. That sounded horrible. That was horrible. For chrissakes, he honestly didn’t want this for Qhuinn, and he really didn’t want his shellan upset, either. Unfortunately, however, the sad truth was that he had absolutely no interest in placing his seed within her like that— ever.

And that kind of desperation made a guy think unforgivable things.

In a surge of paranoia, he mentally calculated the number of years since her transition—just over two. From what he understood, the average vampire female had her first needing about five years after the change, and then every ten years or so thereafter. So by all accounts, they had some time before they had to worry about all this….

Then again, as a half-breed, there was no way to be sure in Beth’s case. When humans and vampires mixed, anything could happen—and he did have some reason to be conerned. She had, after all, mentioned kids once or twice before.

But surely that had to be in the hypothetical.

“So are you going to hold off on Qhuinn’s induction?” she said.

“Yeah. Saxton is done updating the laws, but with Layla being where she’s at? Not the right time to bring him into the Brotherhood.”

“That’s what I thought.”

The two of them fell silent, and as Wrath took the moment to heart, he couldn’t possibly imagine his life without her.

“Do you know something?” he said.

“What?” There was a smile in her voice, the kind that told him she had a clue about what he was going to say.

“I love you more than anything.”

His queen laughed a little, and stroked his face. “I would never have guessed.”

Hell, even he caught the surge of his bonding scent.

In response, Wrath cupped her face and leaned in, finding her lips and taking them in a soft kiss—that didn’t stay that way. Man, it was always like this with her. Any contact at all and before he knew it, he was hard and ready.

God, he didn’t know how human men handled it. From what he understood, they had to wonder whether their mates were fertile every single damn time they had sex—evidently, they couldn’t pick up on the subtle changes of their females’ scents.

He’d go fucking insane. At least when a female vampire was in her needing, everyone knew it.

Beth shifted in his lap, compressing his hard-on, making him groan. And usually, this was the cue for George to be led across to the double doors and temporarily banished. But not tonight. As much as Wrath wanted her, the pall in the house was putting a damper on even his libido.

And then there was Autumn’s needing. Now Layla’s.

He wasn’t going to lie; the shit was making him tetchy. Hormones in the air had been known to have a ricochet effect in a house full of females, influencing one and then another and then a third into her needing, assuming she was fairly close to her time.

Wrath stroked Beth’s hair and retucked his queen’s head into his shoulder.

“You don’t want to…”

As she let the sentence drift, he took her hand and lifted it up, feeling the heavy Saturnine Ruby that the queen of the race had always worn.

“I just want to hold you,” he said. “It’s enough for me right now.”

Nestling in, she fit herself even more closely to him. “Well, this is nice, too.”

Yeah. It was.

And curiously terrifying.

“Wrath?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

It was a little while before he could answer, before he trusted his voice to be calm, and level, and no BFD. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Just fine.”

As he smoothed her arm, running his hand up and down her biceps, he prayed that she believed it…and vowed that what was happening just one door down the hall would never, ever happen to them.

Nope. That crisis was not anything the pair of them were going to have to deal with.

Дата добавления: 2015-11-14