Lover Mine (55 page)

Her breasts came up against his bare chest, her nipples rubbing against his skin, her core weeping for him. To hell with desperation; the need to have him inside went farther than that, until her emptiness without him was an agony.

Her leathers were on the floor a split second later.

Then with a quick hop, she jumped up and locked her thighs around his waist. Reaching down, she positioned him against her sex and squeezed her heels into his ass, making the penetration so very real. As his arousal sank deep, she took all of him, the sliding push enough to make her orgasm wildly.

Riding her release, her fangs shot out into her mouth, and John broke the kiss to tilt his head and flash his vein.

The puncture was sweet. The strength that came from him meteoric.

With hard draws, she drank as his body hammered into her, pitching her off that cliff again, sending her into a crazy descent that somehow had no hard landing—and he followed her, making that glorious leap without a parachute, his orgasms shuddering into her.

There was only the briefest of pauses . . . and then John started pumping again—

No, he was carrying her to the bed in the darkened room, the motion of his striding thighs pushing him inside of her and pulling him free and pushing him back.

She remembered every single sensation, storing each one deep in her mind, making the moment infinite and ageless by virtue of the power of memory. And as he settled on top of her, she did what he had done for her: offering her vein to him, she ensured that they were the most powerful team they could be.

Partners.

Just not the permanent kind.

A
s John’s body got it on with Xhex’s, his mind briefly retreated to that moment in the bathroom when he’d waited for her to agree to their arrangement.

Sure, he’d sounded all lay-down-the-law, but the truth was he’d had no leverage: She was either going to go with it or not, and if she didn’t, he had nothing to hold over her. Bottom line? There was absolutely no threat of withdrawal, no proactive anything, no if-this-then-that he could bring to the situation.

And that was what had dawned on him while he’d sat on the sofa in the billiard room, pretending to watch TV with Tohr. All day long, he’d heard Rehvenge’s voice in his head, over and over again.

John was not a fool, and he was not prepared to let his bonding for her paralyze him anymore. They had a job to do and they had a better shot at getting it done if they worked together. After all, this wasn’t any ordinary
lesser
they were going after.

Besides, the story of the two of them was written in the language of collision; they were ever crashing into each other and ricocheting away—only to find themselves pulled back into another impact. She was his
pyrocant
and there was nothing he could do to change that. But he could sure as shit cut the bungee cord that was torturing him.

Man, he wished that tattoo of his weren’t permanent. Then again, at least it was on his back and he didn’t have to look at the goddamn thing.

But whatever. They were going to get Lash and then go their separate ways. And between now and then? Well . . .

John let his thoughts drift away as he reconnected with the surging sex and the roaring taste in his mouth as he fed. Dimly, he once again caught the bonding scent rising from his own skin, but he shut that reality out. He wasn’t going to allow his head to get scrambled just because of that dark spice. Not for a minute longer.

Bonded males were crippled without their females, true enough—and a huge part of him would always be hers. But he was going to keep living, goddamn it. He was a survivor.

As he moved inside Xhex’s tight hold, his cock was a solid shaft of power and another release soon slammed through him and into her. Breaking the seal on her vein, he lapped the punctures with his tongue and then latched onto one of her breasts. With a shift of his leg, he split her thighs farther apart and rolled onto his back so she was on top.

Xhex took it from there, bracing her hands on his shoulders, swinging her hips on the base of her spine, her tight stomach curling and releasing as she rode him. With a silent curse, he grabbed onto her thighs and squeezed, her muscles shifting under his hold, and he didn’t stop there. He drew his hands farther up, to the juncture where her legs met her torso, that electric crease drawing him to where they were joined.

His thumb slipped into the carnal heart of her and found the top of her sex, rubbing it in circles—

In the dim light from the bathroom, he watched her arch back, her fangs cranking down on her lower lip in an effort to keep herself from crying out. He wanted to tell her to let her roar free, but he didn’t have time to pity her discretion—he came hard, his lids squeezing shut as he shuddered beneath her.

Catching his breath, he felt her pause to breathe deep . . . and then she was changing position.

When he opened his eyes, he nearly orgasmed again. She’d shifted back so that she was leaning on his legs, balancing her weight on his shins. With her feet up by his sides, he got one hell of a show . . . and that was before she started moving. The sight of him emerging shiny and thick from her folds, his shaft revealed right to the ridge of his cock head, pitched him off into another release.

She didn’t stop.

He didn’t want her to.

John needed more of watching their sexes up close, more of seeing the tips of her breasts and the thrust of her chin and the smooth strength of her body as she had him deep and hard. He wanted to stay captured in her . . . forever.

But that was his problem with her, and one that was ending here and now.

They climaxed together, with his hands locking onto her slender ankles and her mouth opening to let his name out of her throat.

Afterward, there was nothing but a lot of heavy breathing and air that seemed cold.

With a lithe shift, she disengaged them by swinging a leg over his head and landing on the floor beside the bed without a sound.

As she looked over her shoulder, her spine twisted in an elegant curve. “Can I use your shower?”

When he nodded, she walked with confident, long strides into his bathroom—and in spite of all the sex they’d just had, he felt a driving need to take her from behind.

A moment later, the rushing water sounded . . . and then her voice echoed. “The human police have found the scene.”

That got John out of bed and hungry for more intel. As he came into the bath, she turned around under the showerhead and arched back to rinse the shampoo he used out of her hair.

“The place was crawling with cops, but the new initiates were hidden in the same way I had been—all those humans saw was enough blood to paint a house red. No sign of Lash, but there was a drive-by of a street racer with something that smelled like fake strawberries behind the wheel. I called Rehv with the license plate number to pass on to Vishous and I’ll make the report to Wrath right now.”

When she looked over at him, he signed,
We go back the second night falls
.

“Yup. We do.”

 

 

Qhuinn woke up alone, having sent Layla back to the Far Side after they had done a little more business. He’d meant to tell her to go right away, but a goodbye embrace had led to other things . . .

She was still a virgin, though.

Not untouched, any longer, but defo still a virgin. . . . Seemed like there were two people in the world he couldn’t have sex with. The trend continued and he was going to end up celibate.

As he sat up, his head pounded, proof positive that Herradura was an opponent of worth.

Rubbing his face, he thought back to kissing the Chosen. He’d taught her how to do it properly, how to suck and stroke, how to open the way for someone’s tongue, how to penetrate a mouth when she wanted to. Female learned fast.

And yet it hadn’t been hard to keep things from getting out of hand.

What had killed the urge to seal the deal was the way she stared at him. When he’d started down the Lewis- and-Clark highway with this sex-ploration shit, he’d assumed she was just looking for the practical course after all her textbook training. But on her side, there had quickly been more to it than that. Her eyes had started to get stars in them, like he was the key to the door that kept her locked in herself, like he alone held the power to spring her dead bolt and set her free.

Like he was her future.

Rather ironic because, on paper, she was his ideal female. Might well have solved his mating problem permanently.

Except his heart wasn’t in it.

So yeah, no way he was taking on the responsibility for her hopes and dreams. And not a chance he was going all the way with her. She was already being seduced by a fantasy of him—if he actually made love to her, it was only going to get worse: When you didn’t know any better, that kind of physical rush could easily be mistaken for something deeper and more meaningful.

Hell, that sort of delusion could happen between two people who had experience.

Like that chick at the tat place, for instance, slipping him her number. He’d had no interest in calling her before, during, or after. He couldn’t even remember her name—and the intel vacuum didn’t bother him in the slightest. Any woman willing to fuck a guy she didn’t know in a public place with three other males around was not someone he needed to have a relationship with.

Harsh? Yes. Double standard? Not a chance. He had no respect for himself either, so it wasn’t like he judged his own low, filthy standards with any less distaste.

And besides, Layla had no clue what he’d been doing with humans since his transition . . . all the sex in bathrooms and alleys and dark corners of clubs, that dirty math adding up to his being able to know exactly what to do with her body.

With any body. Male or female.

Shit. Didn’t that make him think about how Blay had spent the day.

Qhuinn fumbled with his phone and flicked the thing open. Calling up the text that Blay had sent from that unknown number, he read and reread and reread it again.

Had to have come from Saxton’s phone.

Probably typed out on the guy’s bed.

Qhuinn tossed his BlackBerry onto his table and stood up. In the bathroom, he kept the lights out because he was sooo not interested in what he looked like in the jeans and shirt he’d slept in.

Hot mess. No doubt.

As he was washing his face, a subtle whirring sound emanated from all around, the shutters rising from the windows. With water dripping off his chin and a can of Barbasol in his mitt, he glanced out into the new night. In the moonlight, the buds on the silver-trunked birches by the window had come out even farther, indicating the day had been a warm one.

He totally ignored any parallel to Blay’s being awakened to his own sexuality.

By Qhuinn’s own cousin.

Disgusted with himself, he skipped the razor action and stalked out of his room. Gunning for the kitchen, he went as fast as he dared, given that the barometric pressure in his skull was making him worried about the health and longevity of his optic nerves.

Down in Fritz’s fiefdom, he made a pot of coffee as
doggen
scurried around making First Meal. Good thing they were already so preoccupied. Sometimes, when you felt like shit inside and out, you wanted to work your own Krups.

Pride mattered in moments like this.

Mind you, first trip through the park, he forgot to add the grounds, so all he got was a nice, steaming pot of clear water.

Once more with feeling.

He was coming out of the dining room with a camping thermos full of dark brown miracle juice and a bottle of aspirin when the door to the vestibule was opened by Fritz.

The pair who stepped past the good
doggen
ensured that there was a shitload of Bayer in Qhuinn’s immediate future: Blay and Saxton entered the house arm in arm.

For a split second, he nearly growled as possessiveness made him want to drive his Hummer between the two and park it there—until he realized their huggy-huggy was evidently for medicinal purposes. Saxton didn’t seem too steady on his feet, and his face had clearly been used as a punching bag.

Now Qhuinn growled low for a different reason. “Who fucking did that to you.”

Couldn’t be the guy’s own family. Saxton’s folks were cool with what and who he was.

“Tell me,” he demanded. And once that question was answered, the pair could follow it up with how in the fuck Blay thought he could bring an outsider not only into the Brotherhood’s seat, but the home of the First Family.

Oh, but number three:
How was it?
was actually going to stay right where it was. Namely choking his throat.

Saxton smiled. Sort of. His upper lip wasn’t working all that well. “Nothing but some human trash. Let us not get emotional, shall we?”

“Fuck that. And what the hell are you doing here with him?” Qhuinn stared at Blay and tried not to measure the guy’s face for stubble burn. “He can’t be in this house. You can’t bring him—”

From up above, Wrath’s voice cut him off, the king’s deep baritone filling the foyer. “Blay wasn’t kidding about you, was he. You got some kind of cracked there, didn’t you, son.”

Saxton wheezed as he bowed. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, for not providing a more agreeable presentation. You are most kind to welcome me herein.”

“You did me right when it mattered. I return the favor. Always. That being said, you compromise my happy home in any way, I’ll slice off your balls and feed them to you.”

I love Wrath, Qhuinn thought.

Saxton bowed again. “Understood.”

Wrath didn’t look down the stairs, his wraparounds remaining straight ahead so that it seemed as if he were staring up at the frescoes on the lofty ceiling. And yet even with his blindness, he missed nothing. “Qhuinn’s got coffee, from what I can scent, so that’ll help, and Fritz has fired up a bedroom for you. You want something to eat before you feed?”