Lover At Last(185)

“Please partake as you wish,” she said placidly.

“I thank you for the gift, Chosen,” he answered in a low voice.

Leaning down, he struck deeply, but as gently as he could—and on the first swallow, he knew it had been too long. With a great howl, his stomach roared with need, his civility draining out of him, his instincts taking over: He drew hard, drinking faster and faster, the power landing in his gut and spreading out from there—

His eyes went to Qhuinn.

Dimly, he was aware that yet again, one of his plans was soon going to be out the window, gone and forgotten. In fact, this had been a very bad idea—assuming he didn’t want to fuck the guy again: Logic was difficult enough when it was just a case of conflicting emotions. A full-on sexual urge, spurred by the drinking?

He was an asshat of the first order; he truly was.

And that was especially true as he watched Qhuinn’s erection inflate behind the fly of the fighter’s leathers.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Man, one of these days, he was going to be strong enough to walk away. He really was, honest.

Oh, FUCK.





SIXTY-SEVEN


As Qhuinn watched the show, his tongue parted his mouth and took a lick of his lips.

Across the shallow room, Blay was up on the hospital bed, that perfect torso angled forward so he could partake of the Chosen’s vein, his hands, those capable, well-trained, strong hands, holding the fragile wrist to his mouth with care—as though, even in the throes of feeding, he was a gentlemale.

As he continued to drink, his torso curved around even tighter, his rib cage flexing and settling with every breath, his head subtly shifting with every swallow.

It was all Qhuinn could do to stay where he was. He so wanted up on that mattress as well, twisting that body around so he could come in from behind. He wanted to be at the male’s throat as Blay took from the Chosen. He wanted to fuck the guy for twelve or fifteen hours straight when they were both done.

After all the drama with Luchas, this short, intense respite from the shock and pain was a glorious, guilty relief: it was just too damn good to focus on something like this—his tired mind and exhausted body ready to be refreshed so he could come back to reality fighting strong once again.

God, his brother…

Shaking his head, he deliberately gave his brain something erotic to play with: As Blay’s hand sneaked between his legs and rearranged something at his fly, it was pretty damn clear he was fully aroused.

As if that delicious scent didn’t make it obvious.

Just as Qhuinn was about to lose it, Blay lifted his head and let out a chuffing sound of satisfaction. Then the male licked at the puncture wounds he’d made.

You know what, Qhuinn thought. Fuck the feeding. All he needed was Blay….

“And you, sire?” the Chosen asked.

Crap. He probably should do it.

Besides, Blay was clearly in a postfeeding logy state, his body slow, his eyes fuzzy—and Qhuinn took advantage of it, pushing himself between the fighter and the Chosen, his ass rubbing against the hard ridge of Blay’s cock as he hopped up onto the bed.

While Blay let out a groan, Qhuinn leaned over and took the female’s other wrist. Holding it with one hand, he used his other to yank out the bottom of his muscle shirt—and then shove Blay’s palm down the front of his own pants.

Qhuinn kept his own groan to himself by taking a hard pull on the Chosen’s vein, but Blay’s hiss sounded out.

Maybe the Chosen would assume it—

Qhuinn’s eyes rolled back in his head as Blay stroked him, the friction threatening to make him come right then and there—which was not something he wanted to do in front of Selena.

But, oh, fuck, that was—

He put his own hand down there, stilling that movement.

So Blay just gave his balls a good squeeze.

Qhuinn climaxed on his next swallow, the orgasm shooting out of him before he could think of any kind of boring and unattractive distraction, the pleasure cresting with such power, he sagged in his own skin.

Blay’s chuckle was erotic as hell.

Whatever, payback was going to be a bitch, Qhuinn vowed to himself.

And as it turned out, he couldn’t wait for it. He retracted his fangs and stopped drinking before he’d had his fill—because his hunger for something else had completely taken over, and it was beyond time to send Selena on her way.

Getting the Chosen out in a polite but expeditious manner was an autopilot maneuver—he had no clue what he was saying—but at least she was smiling and looking pleased, so he must have done the right thing.

He was very conscious of locking the door, however.

As he turned around, he found Blay stretched out and attending to himself, his hand stroking up and down between his legs. His fangs were still elongated from the feeding, and his eyes were glowing from under heavy lids, and holy fuck was he hot…