Chapter Twenty
John
Iwake with a man in my bed. The startling scent of another body, the warmth of his back pressed to my chest, the soft tickle of his hair against my nose; these things are so unfamiliar as to tighten my every muscle. To flee . . . or to fight.
Or to fuck.
I don’t move. Some deep-seated familiarity with the person next to me holds me still. Eyes still closed, I inhale. Marcus. The name makes clear I’ve done something monumental. I’ve broken my own faith and opened myself up to the pain of losing another lover.
Though there is one line we have not yet crossed.
My prick chooses that moment to rouse, and with a sigh, I admit that we will be crossing it, and soon.
“Stop thinking so hard. I’m trying to sleep.”
Marcus sounds sleep-rough and petulant, and despite myself, I smile. I also roll onto my back before my traitor cock can cause us more trouble than we’re prepared to handle. Groaning, Marcus rolls over as well and stretches himself alongside my body, though the mattress is only too short for me.
The possibility that we’ll be able to do this again causes my throat to tighten, feelings I don’t know how to parse all clamoring for attention. We’re connected now by a bond that won’t easily be forsaken.
With the weight of his head resting on my shoulder, Marcus says, “So, what happened last night?”
The question douses me with cold memory. The young people. The diamond. The cait sidhe.
Fritz.
The last one hurts worst. Since Rob called us together, Fritz’s absence had gone from odd to unsettling, and learning that he’s joined forces with de Lisle is devastating.
I’d railed at Rob the whole drive back to this place; surely there was something the Lord of the Greenwood could do to return his companion to the fold.
Rob said he does not bargain with turncoats, and despite my many arguments, he would not budge.
The others are equally distressed. I might have been preoccupied by my argument with Rob, but I’d still noted Will’s frantic reaction to Tucker’s arrival and the grim silence from Nasir, Alec, and Sonny.
Yes, we are all wounded by this betrayal.
We’ve been a band for over six hundred years.
This loss will take time for us to both comprehend and heal from.
“You’re right. We should talk later.” Marcus curls tighter against me.
Laughing, I nuzzle the top of his head. “We will have time enough for talk. I think now”—I stroke the side of his face with my knuckles—“we have more immediate concerns.”
He goes very still. “What do you mean?”
“Unless my memory is faulty, one good thing happened last night. You were given a choice, and you chose to stay with me.”
“Yeah.”
He sounds less certain than I’d like. “Are you having second thoughts?”
“Of course not.” His open hand on my belly slides lower. “Unless you are.”
That makes me laugh a second time. “You’re in my bed, after I very clearly told you that could never happen.”
“Did you? I don’t remember.” He smiles against my chest.
“If I didn’t, I should have.” I roll on my side to face him, reaching for his beautiful round arse.
His hands go to my chest, and I worry he’s going to push me away until he starts thumbing one of my nipples, a gentle rub I can feel to my toes.
“My life has been bathed in the fading rays of the setting sun, but you are my morning star. To me, Marcus, you are youth, and beauty, and hope.”
He is silent for a while, then finally says, “I don’t deserve all that.”
“I believe you do.”
He raises himself on an elbow. “Look, you need to know I betrayed—”
“Did you leave your fellows behind after six hundred years and join forces with their enemy?”
“No. I did something terrible to my closest friend because I didn’t want my father to think I was . . . well, gay.”
He blurts the words, so sincere and so obviously distraught that I can’t help but wrap my arms around him and hold him close. Yes, Fritz’s betrayal has left me raw, but this is important too. “Is the friend you speak of the young wolf I met last night?”
“Yes,” he says, his voice small.
“Then he has forgiven you.”
“He says so—”
“He has, otherwise he would not have let you go.” I rub my cheek against his curls. “To be clear, if he hadn’t forgiven you, you would not have been his to give away.”
“Give away.” There’s a hint of moisture where his face rests on my chest. “I knew that, I guess. He said some things last night that made me realize maybe most of the problem was in my own head.”
“I asked for your allegiance, and he granted your freedom. If at any time you wish to change that, the choice is yours to make.”
“I’m fine with the choice.” His voice is muffled. “Happy about it, to be honest. I just hope you don’t regret getting damaged goods. One-eyed wolf and all.”
I shut him up by claiming his mouth. He’s stiff at first, but with gratifying speed, his body softens and he opens to me. He tastes of early morning musk and sweet werewolf, and I want nothing more than to kiss him for long and longer. When we break the kiss to breathe, I gasp, “We have time.”
Messy curls frame his face, and his smile is warm, thoughtful. Lovely. “We do.”
“And I want to learn everything I can about you.”
His cheeks go pink. “Not that much to know.”
“I think there is.” I nuzzle under his ear. “I want to know what makes you laugh and what you do when you’re bored. Whether you prefer mouth or hand or arse. Whether you’ll like it if I fuck you under the trees.”
He closes his eye and tips his chin up. “Yes to the last one. And I want to know the same things about you. I mean, I already know you give head like a man who’s had years of practice.”
My prick hardens, a length of oak along my thigh, a distraction I cannot ignore. I’m overcome with desire for him. This man. This wolf. I dive in for another kiss and, with no preamble, find the muscle running along the top of his shoulder.
I bite.
His gasp of surprise is one of the most beautiful sounds I’ve ever heard.
I worry the flesh, leaving at least a bruise if not abrading the skin. His cock is jammed into my side, and he murmurs, “Yeah, like that.”
Releasing my bite, I roll onto my back and pull him on top of me. He plants his hands on my shoulders, his gaze as naked as we both are. He gives me a look into his beautiful soul, and in gratitude, I allow him to see into mine.
There’s no return from this. He is mine and I am his. The bond between us is strong and breaking it could end us both. My heart stutters, as if reaching for the panic that has always accompanied the thought of opening myself to another man.
The panic isn’t here. This is different. I’ve had lovers before, but I’ve never had a mate.
Till now.
The word stuns me. Mate. “How did I not see it?”
“What?”
His warmth covers me, body and spirit. “You and I. What we are. What we will be.”
“Dude, what we are is horny, and what we will be is…” He lets the words trail off and thrusts his hips against me. That breaks the spell or at least makes the situation feel more normal.
I could get used to this, having Marcus in my bed, feeling his weight and warmth and sweetness.
Smiling, I take both our pricks in hand, and he groans, driving himself against me, velvet and steel together.
Someday I will fuck him or let him fuck me, and anticipation broadens my smile.
For now we’ll bring each other pleasure this way.
I rock my hips in time with his thrusts, sweat beading on my brow.
His growl drives me higher. “I want to taste every inch of that big body,” he says between thrusts. “Taste it, and suck it, and figure out what makes you scream.”
My answering groan comes from very deep. I’ve taken the plunge, fallen into the abyss, and God help me, I intend to enjoy the ride. “Oh, my pretty man, I will do the same for you.”
“Pretty,” he snorts, precome slick under my palm. “You’re the pretty one. The first time I saw you, I thought you were going to whip it out and ask me to suck it.” He punctuates the words with a gasp.
I give a breathy laugh. “I almost did.” The memory of that moment in the wild mountains is tucked safely in my soul.
Cutting him off with a kiss, I get an arm around his ribs and pull him in tight.
His chest is smooth against mine, his body hard and warm.
Tension twists my balls. I’m not going to last much longer, but I want to make him reach his crisis first.
I run my palm over his thrusting hip, reaching for his crack.
“Aw, shit,” he says, his hips losing their rhythm. His need creates an echo in me, his pleasure feeding mine, our hearts beating in time.
I slide a finger down his crack until I reach his pucker. His gasp is more of a squeak, and I smile. “Is this okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He curls against me, hips moving in short, hard thrusts.
I have no lubricant except spit, and I don’t want to stop, so I slip just the tip of my finger into his hole.
“Oh fuck,” he gasps, his crisis washing over me the way his seed spills across my belly. The slick warmth coats my hand and triggers my own climax, a surge of pleasure so great that I truly do fall into an abyss.
When I land, I am tangled with Marcus in a borrowed bed that’s too short for me, and I couldn’t be happier. The smell of our sweat and our seed is intoxicating. I may have promised myself I’d avoid this, but that’s one promise I’m glad I didn’t keep.
“That was intense,” Marcus murmurs, nestling in close beside me.
I nod, then realize he probably can’t see me. “We should clean up.”
“Mm-hmm.”
He doesn’t move, so neither do I. Sleep is inevitable, inexorable, and necessarily short-lived. We don’t have much time. Soon Rob will call us together so we can discuss those things that have changed, and how we’ll need to adapt to those changes.
How we’ll need to go on without Marian Fitzwilliam.