Chapter 25 #2
He protested when Lorenzo pulled away—too lost for words, so it was more like a grumpy moan—but he was only grabbing the lube again, and this time he got it everywhere, all over their stomachs and dicks and thighs, and then he was laying down on top of him, grinding down against Charlie, gloriously heavy and slick.
Charlie gasped, raking his nails down Lorenzo’s back.
This was perfect—finding their pleasure like this, messily, greedily.
The sight of it was nearly enough to drive him over the edge.
Lorenzo’s other hand was still on Charlie’s ass, his thumb grinding into him, their bodies working together, and Lorenzo’s mouth was now finally—finally—lined up with Charlie’s neck.
But he still didn’t bite. Maddeningly, even as they ground together, getting rough with each other, Lorenzo’s lips were gentle, kissing him tenderly, seeming to differentiate each inch of his neck and throat as worthy of attention. “Come on,” Charlie begged, scoring Lorenzo’s ass with his nails.
Lorenzo just licked his neck, then sucked a bit of it into his mouth. Charlie moaned, lost for him, lost in the dream of it, the pure pleasure.
It was torture—Lorenzo all over him, around him, the intense but imprecise pressure on his dick, the thumb behind, and Lorenzo’s mouth slowly tenderizing his neck.
The skin there was growing hot and sensitive, tingling now under gentle rolls of Lorenzo’s jaw, as if he were testing the give of Charlie’s skin between his teeth.
Charlie moaned something hoarse and protesting.
Finally, Lorenzo began to bite him—but slowly, carefully, not hard enough to break the skin. Not hard enough for Charlie.
It hurt; it all hurt, in the urgent pulse of his body, and the stinging ache of his abused skin, and the place deep inside where he still feared that Lorenzo would leave him without this bite that he now needed—that he was aching for—that he craved.
Charlie shuddered, digging his nails into Lorenzo’s back, and tried not to listen to the things he was saying—broken begging and drunken, reckless praise falling from his lips to Lorenzo’s skin unthought and too honest.
And finally, when Charlie’s skin was damp and tender and abused, his body sore, and his throat nearly hoarse from crying out for it, Lorenzo snarled, his fangs snapped into place, and he bit.
It was indescribable.
The pain was like a metal spike through his orgasm, bliss wrapped in electric wire; it made everything harder, brighter, wetter, more dizzying. He felt anchored; he felt unleashed.
Lorenzo was touching him everywhere; his mouth was locked into Charlie’s neck, their bodies pressed together, Lorenzo’s arms around him, fingers carded through his hair, and he was making little happy wet noises as he drank.
Charlie shuddered, riding it out, and then sank pleasantly into the afterglow, feeling drowsier than usual after sex in the best possible way.
He loved the smell of Lorenzo’s skin. He was warm.
He slept again, for a few minutes at least. Then he woke to see Lorenzo looking down at him, naked and adorably disheveled, his hair sticking up in every direction. “So,” he said, with a shy smile. “Did it, uh. Live up to the hype?”
“You’re ridiculous,” Charlie whispered, pulling him close. His mouth tasted faintly of iron, and the kiss made his head spin.
Lorenzo settled into bed, sprawled over Charlie until their noses were a hair’s breadth apart. “So how was I,” he said, his breath teasing against Charlie’s lips. “On a scale of one to ten fangs.”
“One to ten?” Charlie asked, giggling breathlessly. “You only have two fangs. It should be a scale of zero to two.”
“No,” Lorenzo said. His eyes were a soft brown blur, his eyelashes tickling Charlie’s cheek. “I want you to rate my biting on a one-to-ten fang scale. Including half fangs.”
Charlie laughed, obsessed with Lorenzo’s bubbly, arrogant grin, and thought I love you.
Then he sat bolt upright as something belatedly occurred to him. “Vampires can’t, uh, read minds,” he asked. “Can you?”
Lorenzo blinked up at him, then smiled slowly. “No,” he said, whisper-soft.
Shit. “Oh,” Charlie said, stupidly, and shuffled back down onto the bed. His heart was pounding.
Lorenzo was still looking at him, radiating fond happiness, growing warmer by the moment. Charlie felt like the air had turned to water. Panicking, he kissed Lorenzo, trying to ignore the ghost of a smile on his lips.
As Charlie got his arm under him, he felt a twinge in his neck and fell backward, hissing. Lorenzo glanced at his neck, looking concerned, and touched his bite mark with incredible gentleness. “Sorry,” he whispered.
“It’s okay,” Charlie told him.
Lorenzo maneuvered them until Charlie was lying back against him, so Lorenzo could kiss the bite and massage Charlie’s shoulders. He tried to get his breathing under control.
It was fine. Scary—embarrassing—but at least now he knew.
And he knew what he had to do.
He was going to tell Lorenzo the truth. He wasn’t sure how or when, but he knew now that he had to.
He had to figure out if this could be real.