by J. R. Ward
"Yes, I fucking do. And I'll give it back to you. Because I don't ever smoke. And especially not weed."
"Okaaaaaay, I'm going to go out on a limb here and suggest there's some empirical data happening at the moment to suggest the contrary, but that's your issue, not mine. I gotta ask, though, what's wrong? Can we help?"
"You don't have enough time to listen to it all. But at the top of the list is a drug company, halfway down is UPS, and the bottom is I ate a burrito at Taco Hell at about five in the afternoon when I was trying to get more Cipro on the black market--and I've been shitting liquid ever since."
Peyton's gold lighter changed hands. "You deserve this."
"No shit." Dr. Manello rolled his eyes. "And FYI, I hate that word right now, I really do."
The surgeon left on that note, and Peyton looked down at her.
It was hard to say who cracked up first. Maybe it was him, she wasn't sure. But a split second later, the two of them were wiping their eyes and trying to breathe and laughing so hard, they were limp.
And then they heard a rustle at the door.
Peyton went over and cracked the panel. "Nice work, Doc," he murmured as he shut them in again.
And then his hand hovered right above the lock's mechanism.
He could have turned the thing mentally. But he was obviously giving her a choice--and the control.
For some reason, she thought back to the very moment when that slayer had plunged her own dagger into her chest. "Surreal" did not begin to define what it had been like to know that she was going to die.
Funny...she hadn't thought of it until now.
She focused on Peyton. "I'm sorry."
As his eyes closed, he seemed resigned. "That's okay. I'll just let myself out--"
"For the way I acted in the PT suite. I was in...a really bad headspace and honestly, I was trying to get into the sex with you. My brain was all fucked up, though, and then I took that out on you. It was not fair. I apologize."
He blinked. "You are...always a surprise."
"Am I?"
"Yes."
She fiddled with her blanket again, re-smoothing it. "Things have not improved much. In my head. I mean, with everything that...you know, landed me here."
"I don't want to force myself on you."
"I wouldn't let you do that."
"I know. But I wanted to say that." There was a pause. "Novo?"
"Hm?"
"Look at me." He waited until she did. "I'll be slow, okay? I'll be...gentle. And if it's not right, I'll stop, no matter how far things have gone."
She shook her head. "Come on, Peyton. I'm as far away from being a virgin as you are. I don't need to be handled like some fainting flower--"
"You can trust me, Novo. I'm not going to hurt you. I promise."
For no good goddamn reason, her eyes teared up. No--that was wrong. She knew the why of it. She had been strong for herself for so long...that she had forgotten what it was like to have someone else shoulder any of her burden.
She never would have called herself lonely or identified herself as alone.
But Peyton's unbidden, unexpected, and totally unwarranted support of her--particularly around sex--made her feel the distance between her and everyone around her with an acute sensitivity.
"I'm not big into trust, Peyton," she said roughly. "It has never proven to be a value add in my life."
"That doesn't change what I said. Not one word."
"Why?" she whispered. "Why are you being like this?"
"The truth?"
"It fucking better be."
"I don't really know. That's the truth. All I am certain about...is that I don't want to ever see you hurt by anyone or anything ever again."
Don't believe him, she told herself. Don't fall for one second of this bullshit. He wants to fuck you, and that's why he's saying it. You have been through the sweet-talking thing before, and remember where that got you?
Pregnant and alone.
Miscarrying alone.
Alone for evermore.
And yet even as she forced herself to remember what had happened in that cold house a lifetime ago? Even as she told herself it was safer to think she was getting played?
She looked into Peyton's steady, grave eyes and found it hard not to take him at face value.
"I'll stop at any time. You say the word," he repeated softly.
A nervous panic vibrated through her, making her very bones feel unreliable. She had had a lot of sex since Oskar, since losing the young. Lots of her body parts meeting the body parts of others. But she had never really shared herself with anyone.
That was a bonus of not telling her story to a single soul. As long as the other person didn't know, she could pretend it hadn't happened for however long the hookup lasted.
Tonight, though--probably because it was a mere twenty-four hours after she had died a couple of times--the veil of time between the tragedy and who and where she was now seemed to have dwindled from over two years...down to a matter of minutes.
Everything that she kept separate was in danger of merging.
Peyton, however, seemed similarly vulnerable. And though she didn't know his details, that made it fair, did it not.
"Lock the door," she said.
Peyton kept his eyes on Novo's as he followed her instructions and flipped the lock into place. He was quite confident that the medical staff had a key to things. But with that sign on the door, and the fact that the training center was empty because Wrath had ordered everyone off rotation, privacy was a good bet.
Before he went over to her, he cut the lights so there was nothing but a glow coming from the little bathroom. In a way, he hated the dimness because the lower the illumination, the brighter the readouts on the monitors around the head of the hospital bed.
She still had two IVs in.
But she had been well enough for a shower, her damp hair once again braided, the end curling up tight. And she had eaten a little of that meal.
As he approached, she lowered the top half of the bed until it was all flat, and his heart beat faster as he realized he was actually going to lie down beside her.
"Let me just move..." She tried to rearrange the tubing that fed into her arm. "Damn it, this is ridiculous. Let's just take it out--"
"Yeah, not going to happen. Here, let me help you."
He ran the clear plastic lines up by the pillow so that they didn't get pinched. And then he put down the rail, and sat on the very edge of the mattress.
As he took her hand, her skin was softer than he'd imagined. A warrior like her? Her palm should have been spiked. Still, he could recognize the tensile strength in her and feel the calluses from weight bars and rowing and fighting.
When she pulled him down, he went more than willingly, stretching out on top of the blankets that covered her.
"So are you going to kiss me or what?" she demanded.
"Yes, I am."
He found her mouth and oh, fucking hell--his brain shorted out, all higher reasoning and rational thinking just packing their bags and leaving for someone else's skull. Her lips were delicious and her tongue was a thrust of aggression in his mouth and her scent made him feel higher than the weed. And holy shit did things move fast, especially south of his waistband. He wanted in her so badly, he was panting and out of control already.
The one thing he was careful of? He made sure not to put too much of his weight on her healing chest. Other than that, it was sensation only, his hips rolling into her thigh, her torso arching under him, her hands clawing into his back--
"Take off your shirt," she moaned.
"Yes, ma'am."
He eased off of her slowly and sat back on his heels. The buttons were stubborn, his fingers were sloppy, his breathing was too hard--but she didn't seem to care. Novo just stared up at him with ravenous eyes, her tongue tracing her upper lip, the tips of her descending fangs flashing white.
"I'm hungry," she growled.
"Take it all."
>
"Be careful. I might kill you."
"So let me die in your arms."
Peyton tossed his white shirt down on the floor, the loose bow tie going with it, and then he lay back down. As they tilted their bodies together, though, he got on some of her wires, and an awkward realignment had to happen--which was something he tried not to focus on. Should they even be hooking up like this?
Fuck yes, his cock announced. Shut the hell up with that.
Stop it--
"What?" she said.
"Nothing. Let me keep kissing you before I come in my pants."
"That's not a very threatening threat." Her lids lowered over her burning eyes. "Because that's what I want you to do."
As he hissed, she stroked over his pecs and went down onto his hard stomach. When she stopped at his waistband, he gritted his teeth. "Fuck--"
"That's the plan. Help me get these off."
At first, he wasn't sure he'd heard that right. But then she was tugging at his belt with her free hand--and hello, he was more than willing to be a Good Samaritan for this cause. With a rough series of tugs, he got the strip of smooth black leather through the white-gold buckle and then he was fumbling with the button and the zipper.
Her hand slipped inside as soon as she had access and the instant she touched him, he jacked forward with such force, he nearly snapped his spine.
"Watch me," she commanded.
He groaned and looked down, seeing her palm circle his thick shaft--and then she stroked him, up and down, the sensations creating a mad rush of hot and heavy all over his body. Then she was kissing him, her mouth taking over, her braid slipping free of her shoulder and landing with a heavy thump on his arm.
"Fuck, slow down, I'm going to come--"
"What I say."
Just as the pleasure was cresting, she went for his throat, those razor-sharp fangs scraping down his skin, finding the right place at his jugular. She struck at the very onset of his orgasm and he barked out her name, the pain and the pleasure mixing, the alchemy ramping everything up until he thought he would blow apart.
Cupping the back of her head, he urged her on as she started to pull from his vein, her head close to his own, her scent the only thing in his nose, his cock hard and kicking and hungry for more as she pumped him off.
She owned him.
Through and through.
Whatever vulnerability he had sensed--and not understood, but certainly accepted--was gone now as she ruled everything about him.
He'd never been one for getting Dom'd. That had never interested him much. After this? He wondered how much further she could go...how much he could take from her.
And he wanted to find out.
--
As Novo sucked at Peyton's throat and gave his arousal a workout, she wanted him in her sex. But the feeding had to come first--and okay, maybe she was chickening out a little, shying away temporarily until she could trust herself to stay separate.
But it was good, all of it. That taste of him down the back of her throat, the feel of his erection, both velvet and hard, the sense of control, of mastery--not just over him, but her own emotions. And on his side? Peyton was defo all about the orgasms, his beautiful male body riding the waves she called from him, his hips moving with her, the rhythm getting faster and harder the more releases she gave him. He was spectacular in her grip, those heavy muscles flexing and easing, his cock the kind of thing that fantasies were justified by.
And then there was the powerful rush of his blood. He was so pure that he made her head buzz and her heart pound, the strength he gave her so willingly making her feel like she was on a very long, rejuvenating vacation while at the same time being in Vegas and winning a million dollars at the slots.
She could have done this forever.
Yet the tipping point came when an alarm bell started to ring. At first, she shifted her eyes over to the monitors. Nope, it wasn't a machine informing her she'd pushed her repaired cardiac muscle too far.
No...it was an instinct in her own head that was telling her she was on the verge of taking too much.
Prying herself off his neck took some inner arguing, but then she forced her lips to break the seal and made her tongue lick the puncture wounds closed--
Okay, wow. She'd chewed him raw, multiple bite marks marring his flesh, the raw red slashes of her fangs making him look like Wolverine had hit him with a hand job. God, she hadn't even been aware of striking more than once. Clearly, though, she'd bitten him many, many times.
How long had they been at this?
Not a clue.
And she really had to stop. Extending her tongue, she licked up the side of his throat again and again, sealing everything up. With that job done, she pushed herself back and kept stroking him--before deliberately running her thumb over the slick head of his erection. His response was violent, his body jerking like a puppet at the end of strings, his torso arching and then his hips punching up. His eyes, glassy, unfocused, crazed, met her own as he bit into his lower lip and sucked a breath in through his teeth.
Blond hair was all messy on the pillow. Color on that handsome face was high. A delicious sweat made his bare skin glow.
He was...mind-numbingly beautiful.
Unfair. Totally unfair.
And she was still hungry.
Fortunately for them both, he had another kind of sustenance to give her.
Novo moved down him to his hips, opened her mouth, and took his sex in deep. In response, Peyton pulled another all-body spasm, his expression shocked as if he'd expected things to be over.
When she was sure he was looking at her, she sucked him in and out of her lips, his girth so wide, she felt the stretch in the corners of her mouth. And then she paused at the top and went into a swirl.
Sure enough, he started to orgasm again.
She caught all of it her mouth and swallowed what he gave to her.
Then she kept right on going.
For Saxton, the end of the working night arrived with a whimper, not a bang, a series of uncomplicated mating blessings and a property-line dispute that was easily adjudicated by the King capping off eight hours of same. As he entered his office in the staff hall and put his folders and his mostly used-up yellow pad on the partner's desk, he stared at his laptop, his orderly-everything, his pens in their little holder.
Rubbing his eyes, he tried to mentally compile a list of what he had to get in order before he could go home.
And pretty much failed at the task.
His head had functioned fairly well when he'd been engaging with the King and the citizens. Now that there was no overriding imperative to focus on, he couldn't seem to gather the cognitive reins, his thoughts bouncing from one thing to another.
Actually, that wasn't entirely true.
Ruhn was the prevailing topic. And the particulars were whether Saxton was remembering their kiss...or the flecks of chocolate in those pale brown eyes...or the feel of those strong shoulders. Or the fact that he just wanted to do it again.
Unfortunately, what he really needed was to train his brain on the fact that the male had left without saying a thing. Which was hardly a volunteer for a repeat.
On that note, he slipped his hand into the inside breast pocket of his suit jacket and took out his phone. Nope. No texts, no calls.
Okay, that would be no calls, given that Ruhn wouldn't be able to text.
And honestly, the fact that Saxton was as let down as he was seemed ridiculous. He didn't know that male but as a mere acquaintance, and he had certainly had full-on sex with people he had gone on to either not see again or not hook up with again and all that was fine. He was also self-aware enough to realize that with Ruhn's retreat, he had been reminded of another departure, one far more serious and consequential.
Naturally, all roads led back to Blay.
"Forgive me for intruding, sire?"
At the soft inquiry, he turned to the open doorway. One of the doggen who serviced the house was standin
g with her wool coat on and her hat and scarf in her hands.
"Oh, no worries, Meliz." He made sure he smiled at her so she didn't mistake his mood for a dissatisfied commentary on her efforts. "Are you off, then?"
She bowed low. "Yes, sire. I will restock the pantry after I aid the others at Last Meal back at the big house. Everyone else has departed for the day and I have made sure the fires are out, the flues are shut, and the doors are locked."
"Well done, then. Thank you. I shall see you on the morrow."
The doggen bowed even lower. "It is my pleasure to be of service."
She took her leave, and a moment later, he heard the alarm system chime that there was a door that opened and shut.
Right. He had to get things organized here. And then...
Well, home, he supposed. It was around four a.m., and even though there were still two hours of darkness left, he did not fancy a trip out into the city's nightlife. And no, he wasn't interested in filling the day with another sex-as-gym-equipment workout, either.
Somehow, though, the idea that he was going to be stuck in that glass box in the sky, all the drapes drawn against even the winter's anemic sun, made him want to scream--
Someone was outside.
Standing in the snow. Watching him.
Saxton turned to the glass panes and instantly recognized the huge body, the tense stance, the dark hair that was teased by the cold wind.
Not knowing what else to do, he pointed to the right, in the direction of the kitchen and its back door.
In response, Ruhn nodded and started for the rear of the house through the snow.
With quick feet and a faster heart, Saxton made his way down the staff hall, past the pantries, and into the vast kitchen. He opened the back door immediately, that signal going off once again, and he listened as the heavy footfalls squeaked and crunched through the snowpack.
And there he was, bigger than ever, more reserved than usual.
Ah, yes. The re-framing conversation. "Do come in," Saxton said remotely.
As the male entered, Saxton closed things back up and wished that Ruhn was literate--because then this could have been done over text: That was a mistake. It's not you, it's me. I don't know what I was thinking. Please do not tell anyone.
"Worry not, no one else is here," Saxton muttered as he noticed that the sugar tin was ever so slightly out of place by the stove. "So whatever you'd like to say can be done without risk of eavesdropping."