Lover At Last(161)

Back in the Bloodletter’s time, this conversation would never have occurred. Assail would have been hunted down as an obstructionist and eliminated for both purpose and sport.

But Xcor had learned his lesson.

As his eyes went to Throe, standing so tall and elegant among the others, he thought, aye, he had learned that there was an appropriate place and time for certain…standards, he believed the word was.

“I meant what I said unto you, Xcor, son of the Bloodletter.” As Xcor flinched at the reference, he was glad this conversation was occurring over the phone. “I have no interest in either your agenda or the king’s. I am a businessman only—I am resigned from the Council, and I am unaligned with you. And Elan attempted to make a traitor out of me—something which, as you well know, comes with a price on one’s head. I took Elan’s life because he tried to take mine. It is entirely lawful.”

Xcor cursed to himself. The male had a rather good point. And whereas Assail’s rigid neutrality had at first seemed unbelievable, now Xcor was beginning to…well, trust was not a word he used with anyone other than his soldiers.

“Tell me something,” Xcor drawled.

“Yes?”

“Is his piggish head still attached to that weak little body of his?”

Assail chuckled. “No.”

“Do you know that is among my favorite ways of killing?”

“A warning for me, Xcor?”

Xcor glanced back at Throe, and thought again of the virtue of codes of behavior among even warring males.

“No,” he declared. “Just something we have in common. Fare thee well, Assail, for what is left of this night.”

“Yourself as well. And in the words of our mutual acquaintance, I must needs go. Afore I am forced to slaughter the doggen butler who is pounding, at this very instant, upon the door I have locked.”

Xcor threw his head back and laughed as he ended the call.

“You know,” he said to his fighters, “I rather like him.”





FIFTY-EIGHT


The following evening, as the shutters rose and an alarm clock Blay didn’t recognize started to chirp, he opened his eyes.

This was not his room. But he knew exactly where he was.

Next to him, against his back, Qhuinn stirred, the male’s body stretching against his own, naked skin brushing against naked skin—and didn’t that make his wake-up erection start to throb.

Qhuinn reached across Blay’s head, his heavy arm extending over, his hand slapping the clock into silence.

Lest there be any question as to whether he’d welcome a quickie before the whole shower-dress–First Meal thing, Blay arched, pushing his ass into the seat of Qhuinn’s pelvis. The groan that shot into his ear made him smile a little, but things got serious as Qhuinn’s dagger hand snaked downward and found Blay’s cock.

“Oh, fuck,” Blay breathed as he moved his leg up and out of the way.

“I’ve got to be inside of you.”

Funny, Blay was thinking the exact same thing.

As Qhuinn mounted him, Blay eased onto his stomach, crushing Qhuinn’s palm into that hard ridge of arousal.

It didn’t take long for the rhythm to get fast and furious, and as Blay’s balls tightened with yet another release, he marveled that his desperation for the guy only seemed to grow—you’d think the number of times the pair of them had come together—literally—during the day would have taken this burn down to a rolling boil.

Not the case.

Giving himself over to the pleasure, Blay gritted his teeth as his release shot out at the same time Qhuinn’s hips locked up tight and the male grunted.

There was no second round. Not that Blay didn’t want it and Qhuinn wasn’t able—the clock was the problem.

When Blay reopened his eyes, the digital readout told him that Qhuinn’s alarm provided for only fifteen minutes of get-ready—time for a male’s quick shower and arming, nothing extra. Kind of made him wish the fighter had been more of a mousse, double-shave, cologne, matching-outfit sort of guy.

With another of his trademark erotic groans, Qhuinn eased them onto their sides, keeping them joined. As the guy breathed deeply, Blay realized he could have stayed like this forever, just the two of them in a silent, dim room. In this moment of peace and quiet, there was no overhang of the past, or anything that needed to be said but wasn’t, or third parties, real or fabricated, between them.

“At the end of the night,” Qhuinn said in a gravelly voice, “will you come to me again.”

“Yes, I will.”

There was no other answer that occurred to him. In fact, he wondered how he was going to wait through the twelve hours of darkness and meals and work until he could slip away and come back here.