Lover Mine (Black Dagger Brotherhood #8)(80)

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."

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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

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he'd become--not just about this but everything that had to do with Qhuinn.

It was really not healthy. For anyone.

And besides, when everything boiled down, was it wrong that Qhuinn

felt the way he did? You couldn't help who you were attracted to . . . and who you weren't.

Over at the closet, Blay pulled out a button-down and some black

combats. Just as he turned around to head for the bathroom, Qhuinn lifted his mouth from Layla's vein.

The male let out a satiated groan and extended his tongue toward the

wounds he'd made with his fangs. As a flash of silver glinted, Blay's brows popped. The ball piercing was a new one and he wondered who'd done it.

Probably Vishous. The pair were spending a lot of time together and

that was how they'd gotten the ink for John's tat--Qhuinn had lifted the bottle.

Qhuinn's tongue lapped at the Chosen's skin, that metal winking with

each pass. "Thanks, Layla. You're good to us."

He gave her a quick smile and then shifted his legs off the bed, clearly on his way out. Layla, on the other hand, didn't move. Instead of following suit and taking her leave, her head went down and her eyes locked on her lap--

No, on her wrists, which were flashing from under the yawning cuffs

of her robe. As she swayed, Blay frowned.

"Layla?" he said, going over to her. "Are you all right?"

Qhuinn came right around the bed. "Layla? What's doing?"

Now they were the ones kneeling before her.

Blay spoke clearly. "Did we take too much?"

Qhuinn went front and center with his own wrist, offering it to her.

"Use me."

Shit, she'd fed John the night before. Maybe this had been too soon?

The Chosen's pale green eyes lifted to Qhuinn's face, and there was no spacy disorientation to her stare. Just a sad, ancient longing.

Qhuinn recoiled. "What did I do?"