Lover At Last(115)

He couldn’t put it into words; he just wasn’t that good working with syllables. But his desire for the connection was why he’d gone in for the kiss. He’d wanted to show Blay what he meant, what he needed, why this was important: His whole world felt like it was crashing and burning, and the loss that was happening just one door down the hall was going to hurt for a very long time.

Yet being with Blay, feeling the heat, making that contact, was like a promise of healing. Even if it lasted only as long as they were in this room together, he would take it, and hold it dear…and relive the memory when he needed to.

“Please,” he whispered.

Except he didn’t give the guy a chance to reply. His tongue snaked out and licked at that mouth, slipping inside, taking over.

And Blay’s answer was in the way he allowed himself to get pushed back into the cushions of the couch.

Qhuinn had two vague thoughts: One, the door was only closed, not locked—and he took care of that by willing the brass bolt into place. His second oh-hey-now was that they couldn’t trash the place. Going H-bomb all over his bedroom was one thing. This sitting room was public property, and done up all nice, with silk throw pillows and fancy-dancy drapes, and a whole lot of stuff that looked easily rippable, crushable, and, God forbid, stainable.

Besides, he had already wrecked his Hummer, torn up the garden, and then blendered his bedroom. So his Destructor quota had been waaaaaay reached for this calendar year…

Naturally, the most reasonable solution to not giving Fritz more to worry about was a quick trip down the hall to his own place, but as Blay’s talented hands shot around to the front of Qhuinn’s hips and started working his fly, he tossed that bright idea right into the shitter.

“Oh, God, touch me,” he groaned, thrusting his pelvis forward.

He was just going to have to be neat and tidy about this.

Assuming that was possible.

When Blay’s palm shoved into his leathers, Qhuinn’s body went into an arch, his torso bowing back as he started to get worked. The angle was kind of wrong, so there wasn’t a lot of friction, and his balls were getting pinched to fuck in the crotch of his pants, but holy hell, he didn’t care. The fact that it was Blay was enough for him.

Man, after how many years of blow jobs, hand jobs, and jerking off, this felt like the first time anyone had ever touched him.

He needed to return the favor.

Snapping into action, he threw his chest forward, bringing their faces close. Man, he loved the look in those blue eyes as Blay stared up at him, hot, wild, glowing.

Willing.

Qhuinn grabbed on hard and brought their mouths together, grinding against those lips, shooting his tongue out, taking like a crazy—

“Wait, wait.” Blay yanked back. “We’re going to break the couch.”

“Wha…?” The guy was apparently talking English, but damned if he could translate. “Couch?”

And then he realized that he’d pushed Blay so far back into the arm, the thing was starting to bend out. Which was what more than five hundred pounds of sex would do to a piece of furniture.

“Oh, shit, sorry.”

He was starting to retreat when Blay took control—and Qhuinn abruptly found himself off the sofa and onto the floor on his back, his legs shoved together, his leathers being yanked down to his ankles.

Perfect. Fucking. Idea.

Thanks to the fact that he went commando, his cock was all about the airtime, thick and straining as it popped out and lay, aching and swollen, upon his belly. Reaching down, he gave it a couple of strokes as Blay ripped off the shitkickers that blocked the way and tossed them aside. Pants were the next good-bye, and as God was his witness, Qhuinn had never been so glad to see a pair of leathers flying over a shoulder in his life.

And then Blay got to work.

Qhuinn had to shut his eyes as he felt his thighs get parted and a pair of fighter’s hands drag up the inside of his legs. He immediately let go of his erection—after all, why have his palm in the way when Blay’s could—

It wasn’t the guy’s hands that gripped him.

It was the warm, wet mouth Qhuinn had just kissed the hell out of.

For a split second, as the suction grabbed onto his head and shaft, he had a ball-shrinking thought that Saxton had taught Blay how to do this—his fucking cousin had done this to the guy, and had this done to him—

Stop it, he told himself. Whatever the history or the lessons learned, his erection was the one getting the attention at the moment. So fuck that shit.

To make sure that was clear, he forced his lids open. Fucking…hell…

Blay’s head was going up and down over his hips, his fist holding the base of Qhuinn’s cock, his other hand working his balls. But then, like he’d been waiting for eye contact, the guy pulled up to the top, popped the head free, and licked his lips.