Lover Mine(83)

Throwing the towel down, he turned and went to face the music: Qhuinn was on the bed, his back against the headboard, his boots crossed, his fingers linked over his thick chest as he smiled over at the Chosen. Layla was flushed as she stood next to him, her eyes on the carpet, her smaller, daintier hands twisting in front of her.

As Blay came in, the two of them looked over at him. Layla's expression didn't change. Qhuinn's did, though, closing up tight.

"Who goes first?" Blay asked, approaching them.

"You," Qhuinn muttered. "You go."

Blay wasn't about to hop on the bed, so he went over to the chaise and sat down on the foot of it. Layla drifted toward him and sank to her knees before him.

"Sire," she said, offering her wrist.

The TV flipped on and the channels started changing as Qhuinn clicked the whacker at the screen. He settled on Spike and a replay of UFC 63 Hughes vs. Penn.

"Sire?" Layla said.

"Forgive me." Blay leaned down, taking that slender forearm in his big palms, holding firmly but without too much pressure. "I thank you for your gift."

He struck as gently as he could and winced as she jumped ever so slightly. He would have retracted his fangs from her to apologize, but that would have required another puncture when he resumed drawing against her vein.

As he fed, his eyes flicked to the bed. Qhuinn was all about the MMA fight on the screen, his right hand lifted and curled into a fist.

"Fuckin' A," the guy muttered. "That's what I'm talkin' 'bout!"

Blay concentrated on what he was doing and finished up quickly. As he released, he looked into Layla's lovely face. "You have been so gracious, as always."

Her smile was radiant. "Sire . . . you are as ever my joy to serve."

He extended his palm and helped her up, approving of her innate grace. And God, the strength she gave him was nothing short of miraculous. He could feel it powering him up even now, his head fogging out in deference to his body's focus on what he'd just given it.

What Layla had given him.

Qhuinn was still way into the fight, his fangs bared, not for Layla, but for whoever was losing. Or winning. Or whatever.

Layla's expression faded into a resignation that Blay knew waaaaay too much about.

Blay frowned. "Qhuinn. Are you going to feed?"

Qhuinn's mismatched eyes held the screen until the ref called the match; then the blue and the green irises slid to Layla. On a sensuous surge, the guy shifted over on the bed, making room for her.

"Come here, Chosen."

The three words, backed up by that low-lidded stare, was a sucker punch to Blay--trouble was, Qhuinn wasn't throwing anything special Layla's way. That was just how he was.

Sex in every breath, every beat, every move.

Layla seemed to feel the same way, because her hands fluttered around her robing, first to the sashed tie, and then to the lapels.

For some reason, Blay realized for the first time that she was fully naked under those white folds.

Qhuinn extended his hand and Layla's palm trembled as she put it against what he offered her.

"You cold?" he asked, sitting up. Underneath his tight T-shirt, his abs popped into a tight six-pack.

As she shook her head, Blay stalked into his bathroom, shut the door and turned on the shower. After stripping, he got under the spray and tried to forget all about what was happening on his bed.

Which was successful only to the point of taking Layla out of the picture.

His brain got stuck on a fantasy of him and Qhuinn stretched out together, mouths on each other's necks, fangs breaking the surface of velvet skin, bodies . . .

It was pretty common for males to get hard after feeding. Especially if they were thinking of all kinds of naked things. And the soap didn't help.

And neither did the images of what would come after the two of them penetrated throats.

Blay planted one palm on the slick marble and the other on his rigid cock.

What he did was quick and about as satisfying as a piece of cold pizza: good, but not even close to a real meal.

The second trip through the park didn't improve the situation and he refused his body the chance for a third. Because honestly. How skeevy. Qhuinn and Layla were taking care of business on the other side of the door while he was all Johnny Pneumonic in the hot water? Ew.

Getting out, he dried himself off, put on his robe and realized he hadn't brought anything in to get dressed with. As he turned the knob on the door, he prayed that things were where he'd left them.

And they were, thank you, Scribe Virgin: Qhuinn had his mouth to Layla's other wrist and was taking what he needed as the Chosen knelt beside him.

Nothing overtly sexual.

The relief that nailed Blay in the chest made him realize how angry he'd become--not just about this but everything that had to do with Qhuinn.