Hidden Passions (Hidden, #7)(60)

Tony groaned, the tease gunning his motor.

"You're mine," Chris whispered. "I won't let you get away."

Tony began to answer, but when Chris's teeth secured a stretch of skin and muscle, all he could do was moan. Chris moved one hand to his own penis, adjusting its angle to go in.

Once he was positioned, Tony's hip supplied the ideal handhold. Though he thrust with some force, he didn't meet resistance.

"God," Tony groaned once he was in all the way. His body writhed around Chris's cock in delicious slow motion. "I don't think I can breathe."

He could pant, so that wasn't a problem.

Chris tightened his grip on Tony's nape and started pounding him.

Tony cried out with pleasure. "Chris. God." His hips snapped up like they were on a hinge, allowing Chris to go deeper. "Yes. Yes."

He sounded like the train that was hurtling him toward orgasm was an express. Chris shifted angles so as not to hit his prostate dead on.

"Fuck," Tony said.


Chris growled against his neck, reminding him who was boss. His assertiveness didn't anger the younger man. Tony panted harder, driving Chris's excitement to the brink. To hell with waiting, he thought. He'd drive them both over.

Out of nowhere, the SUV began moving.

"What the--?" Chris rose from Tony's neck to look around. Needles of hot spray were pelting the car windows. The carwash conveyor had gotten a grip on them.

"Don't stop," Tony pleaded, reaching back for his hip. "I . . . f*ck . . . I tried to start the equipment when we came in. I assumed it didn't work. The computer . . . must have been booting up."

Chris didn't sense anyone outside, though the rumble of the track and the clouds of steam could have been masking them.

"There's no one," Tony said. "I swear. God, get your teeth on my neck and finish me."

Chris's adrenaline had shot into its red zone. His skin was ablaze, his fight response searching for a target. Was Tony right? Did he dare continue? His tiger made up his mind for him. It snapped him forward, clamping his jaw around Tony's nape. The possessive gesture felt so good he groaned. He drew his hips back, reveling in Tony's whine of longing . . .

Then he plunged back to screwing him like a maniac.

He should have come in seconds. His arousal and intensity of sensation were high enough. Possibly his recent stress reaction was getting in the way.

"Yes," Tony moaned. "Right there. Right there."

Chris was pounding his prostate again. He hadn't intended to, but he didn't stop. He wrapped his fist around Tony's cock and pumped, figuring one of them ought to come at least. Tony let out an animal sound. The Explorer began to shudder, soapy brushes beating them from either side. Chris gasped. He was almost there. The vibrations ran up his knees and into his aching balls. Tony slammed back on him and writhed.

Christ, Chris thought, about to lose his mind. Tony groaned, his hand suddenly wrapping Chris's. He was tightening the tiger's hold on his cock, forcing it to rub the sensitive spot on its base harder. Chris felt the wolf's bulbus gland expanding. That final turn-on shattered his barriers.

He came like he meant to drown the world.

Tony went at the same time, shooting heat and wetness over their joined fingers. The roar that filled Chris's ears wasn't all from the carwash.

It echoed in his head for a while.

"Whew," Tony said, pulling carefully off of him.

Chris dropped beside him, working the condom off before shifting onto his back. His body shook from the strong climax, the sweat he was covered with beginning to cool his skin. Sanity prodded him as it did. How had this happened? They were on their way to a party--with his clan and Tony's pack. This "pit stop" was supposed to have been quick and straightforward.

"I should run myself through the carwash," he said, only half kidding.

Tony sat up. "Hold on. I have something to help with that."

He fished two towelette packets from his apparently bottomless jeans pockets.

Chris read the item he'd been handed. "'Professor Spock's Clean & Sweet Scent-Cancelling Demon Wipes.'"

"The storeowner swears they work," Tony said.

"Where do you find this stuff?"

"In places you dare not go, grasshopper."

Chris suspected that was true. He opened his towelette, sniffed . . . and smelled nothing. "They're spelled."

"That is correct. And since they work on stinky demons, de-scenting us should be no problem."

Chris unfolded the surprisingly generous towelette and began cleaning off his skin. Outside, the SUV had reached the end of the wash and was being dried by big air blowers. "I'm sorry you have to think this way for my sake."

"I don't hate it," Tony said. "It's kind of like being a spy."

Not hating it wasn't the same as being glad.

"I'm okay with it," Tony said. "Really. You make it worth my while." He stretched his arms in front of himself, wove his fingers together, and cracked his vertebrae. "You're fun when you're bossy."

"You like that, huh."

"I cannot deny I do."

"My dominant side makes me nervous sometimes," Chris confessed.