Lover At Last: A Novel of the Black Dagger Brotherhood

by J. R. Ward

  His Chosen was there somewhere.

  Returning to the warehouse, to the present, to where he was now, Xcor rubbed his palms back and forth slowly, the rasping of the calluses rising up into the quiet. Over on the left, on the edge of the candlelight, his weapons were laid out one by one, the daggers, the guns, and his beloved scythe carefully arranged next to the messy pile of outer clothing he’d removed as soon as he’d chosen this particular spot on the floor.

  He focused upon his scythe and waited for her to talk to him: She often did that, her blood-thirsty ways in lockstep with the aggression that flowed in his veins and defined his thoughts and motivated his actions.

  He waited for her to tell him to attack the Brotherhood where they lay. Where their females were. Where their young slept.

  The silence was worrisome.

  Indeed, his arrival in the New World had been predicated upon a desire to gain power, and the biggest, boldest expression of that drive was overthrowing the throne—so, naturally, that was the course he had chosen. And he was making headway. The assassination attempt in the fall, which had without a doubt put death sentences upon his and his soldiers’ heads, had been a tactical move that had very nearly finished the whole war before it had gotten started. And his ongoing efforts with Elan and the glymera were promoting his agenda and shoring up his support in and among the aristocracy.

  But what he had learned this night…

  Fates, nearly a year’s worth of work and sacrifice and planning and fighting paled in comparison to what he had discovered this night.

  If his hunch was correct—and how could it not be?—all he had to do was marshal his soldiers and begin a siege as soon as night fell. The battle would be epic, and the Brotherhood and First Family’s home permanently compromised no matter the outcome.

  It would be a conflict for the history books—after all, the last time the royal homestead had been hit had been when Wrath’s sire and mahmen had been slaughtered before his transition.

  History repeating itself.

  And he and his soldiers had a serious advantage that those slayers back then had not possessed: The Brotherhood now had several bonded members. In fact, he believed they were all bonded—and that was going to split those males’ attentions and loyalties as nothing else could. Although their primary directive as the personal guard of the king was to protect Wrath, their very cores would be torn, and even the strongest fighter with the best of weapons could be weakened if his priorities were in two places.

  Moreover, if Xcor or one of his males could get hold of even one of those shellans, the Brotherhood would fold—because the other thing that was true of them was that the pain of their Brothers was agony of their own.

  One female of any of theirs would be all that was required, the ultimate weapon.

  He knew it in his soul.

  Sitting in the candlelight, Xcor rubbed his dagger hand against his other palm, back and forth, back and forth.

  One female.

  That was all he needed.

  And he would be able to claim not only his own mate…but the throne.

  FORTY

  Qhuinn knew he’d put Blay in a totally unfair position.

  Talk about pity fucks. But oh, God…looking into those blue eyes, those goddamn bottomless blue eyes that were open to him in the way they’d once been…it was all he could think about. And yeah, technically it was sex in terms of where he wanted his various body parts—well, one specifically. There was so much more to it than that, though.

  He couldn’t put it into words; he just wasn’t that good working with syllables. But his desire for the connection was why he’d gone in for the kiss. He’d wanted to show Blay what he meant, what he needed, why this was important: His whole world felt like it was crashing and burning, and the loss that was happening just one door down the hall was going to hurt for a very long time.

  Yet being with Blay, feeling the heat, making that contact, was like a promise of healing. Even if it lasted only as long as they were in this room together, he would take it, and hold it dear…and relive the memory when he needed to.

  “Please,” he whispered.

  Except he didn’t give the guy a chance to reply. His tongue snaked out and licked at that mouth, slipping inside, taking over.

  And Blay’s answer was in the way he allowed himself to get pushed back into the cushions of the couch.

  Qhuinn had two vague thoughts: One, the door was only closed, not locked—and he took care of that by willing the brass bolt into place. His second oh-hey-now was that they couldn’t trash the place. Going H-bomb all over his bedroom was one thing. This sitting room was public property, and done up all nice, with silk throw pillows and fancy-dancy drapes, and a whole lot of stuff that looked easily rippable, crushable, and, God forbid, stainable.

  Besides, he had already wrecked his Hummer, torn up the garden, and then blendered his bedroom. So his Destructor quota had been waaaaaay reached for this calendar year…

  Naturally, the most reasonable solution to not giving Fritz more to worry about was a quick trip down the hall to his own place, but as Blay’s talented hands shot around to the front of Qhuinn’s hips and started working his fly, he tossed that bright idea right into the shitter.

  “Oh, God, touch me,” he groaned, thrusting his pelvis forward.

  He was just going to have to be neat and tidy about this.

  Assuming that was possible.

  When Blay’s palm shoved into his leathers, Qhuinn’s body went into an arch, his torso bowing back as he started to get worked. The angle was kind of wrong, so there wasn’t a lot of friction, and his balls were getting pinched to fuck in the crotch of his pants, but holy hell, he didn’t care. The fact that it was Blay was enough for him.

  Man, after how many years of blow jobs, hand jobs, and jerking off, this felt like the first time anyone had ever touched him.

  He needed to return the favor.

  Snapping into action, he threw his chest forward, bringing their faces close. Man, he loved the look in those blue eyes as Blay stared up at him, hot, wild, glowing.

  Willing.

  Qhuinn grabbed on hard and brought their mouths together, grinding against those lips, shooting his tongue out, taking like a crazy—

  “Wait, wait.” Blay yanked back. “We’re going to break the couch.”

  “Wha…?” The guy was apparently talking English, but damned if he could translate. “Couch?”

  And then he realized that he’d pushed Blay so far back into the arm, the thing was starting to bend out. Which was what more than five hundred pounds of sex would do to a piece of furniture.

  “Oh, shit, sorry.”

  He was starting to retreat when Blay took control—and Qhuinn abruptly found himself off the sofa and onto the floor on his back, his legs shoved together, his leathers being yanked down to his ankles.

  Perfect. Fucking. Idea.

  Thanks to the fact that he went commando, his cock was all about the airtime, thick and straining as it popped out and lay, aching and swollen, upon his belly. Reaching down, he gave it a couple of strokes as Blay ripped off the shitkickers that blocked the way and tossed them aside. Pants were the next good-bye, and as God was his witness, Qhuinn had never been so glad to see a pair of leathers flying over a shoulder in his life.

  And then Blay got to work.

  Qhuinn had to shut his eyes as he felt his thighs get parted and a pair of fighter’s hands drag up the inside of his legs. He immediately let go of his erection—after all, why have his palm in the way when Blay’s could—

  It wasn’t the guy’s hands that gripped him.

  It was the warm, wet mouth Qhuinn had just kissed the hell out of.

  For a split second, as the suction grabbed onto his head and shaft, he had a ball-shrinking thought that Saxton had taught Blay how to do this—his fucking cousin had done this to the guy, and had this done to him—

  Stop it, he told himself. Whatever the history or the lessons lea
rned, his erection was the one getting the attention at the moment. So fuck that shit.

  To make sure that was clear, he forced his lids open. Fucking…hell…

  Blay’s head was going up and down over his hips, his fist holding the base of Qhuinn’s cock, his other hand working his balls. But then, like he’d been waiting for eye contact, the guy pulled up to the top, popped the head free, and licked his lips.

  “Wouldn’t want you making a mess in this nice room,” Blay drawled.

  And then he extended the tip of his tongue to flick Qhuinn’s PA, the pink flesh teasing at the gunmetal gray hoop and ball—

  “Fuck, I’m coming right now,” Qhuinn barked, a tremendous release boiling up. “I’m—”

  He was powerless to stop things, any more than someone who’d jumped off a cliff could decide, like ten yards into the free fall, to pull back.

  Except he didn’t want to put the brakes on.

  And he didn’t.

  With a mighty roar—that most certainly was heard elsewhere—Qhuinn’s spine jacked off the floor, his ass going tight, his balls exploding, his arousal kicking hard in Blay’s mouth. And it wasn’t just his sex that was affected. The release coursed throughout his whole body, shimmering energy surging through him as he dug his fingers into the rug he was on, and gritted his teeth…and came like a wild animal.

  Fortunately, Blay was more than capable at cleanup—and didn’t that just make him orgasm even more. Also gave him plenty to watch: For the rest of his days, Qhuinn was never going to forget the sight of the male’s mouth wrapped around him, cheeks sucking in as he drew out the release and took it all. Over and over and over again.

  Usually Qhuinn was ready to go immediately afterward, but when the rolling waves finally stopped crashing into him, he went utterly limp, arms falling flat to the floor, knees going lax, head lolling.

  All things considered, that had probably been the best orgasm of his life. Second only to the ones he’d had earlier in the day with the guy.

  “I can’t move,” he mumbled.

  Blay’s laugh was deep and sexy. “You look a little wrung-out.”

  “Can I return the favor?”

  “Can you lift your head?”

  “Is it still attached to my body?”

  “From what I can see, yes.”

  As Blay chuckled again, Qhuinn knew what he wanted to do—and was kind of surprised at himself. In all his sexual exploits, he’d never allowed himself to get fucked. That just wasn’t part of the way things went. He was the conqueror, the taker, the one who established control and retained that superiority.

  Bottoming just wasn’t anything he’d been interested in.

  Now he wanted it.

  The only problem was, he literally couldn’t move. And, well, there was something else—how could he tell Blay that he was a virgin?

  Because he wanted to. If they ever went there, he wanted Blay to know. For some reason that was important.

  Abruptly, Blay’s face came into his line of vision, and God, the fighter was beautiful, his cheeks flushed, his eyes gleaming, those big shoulders blocking out everything.

  And, oh, yeah, that smile was sexy as hell, so self-satisfied and self-confident—as if the fact that Blay had given such pleasure to someone else was enough to make him not even need a release of his own.

  But that wasn’t fair, was it.

  “I don’t think you’re moving anytime soon,” Blay said.

  “Maybe. But I can open my mouth,” Qhuinn replied darkly. “Almost as wide as you can.”

  Right, okay, the idea that he’d given Qhuinn an orgasm like that was so goddamned affirming, Blay had forgotten all about his own body.

  The thing was, after so many years of getting shut down, it was a total rush to feel powerful against the guy, to be the one who set the pace…to be the person who took Qhuinn to an erotic, vulnerable place that was so much more intense than any other he’d been to. And that was what had happened. He knew exactly what Qhuinn looked and sounded like when he came, and Blay could say, without any equivocation, that he’d never seen his buddy undone like that, sprawled out on a rug, neck muscles straining, abs seized up, hips pumping hard.

  Qhuinn had literally come for about twenty minutes straight.

  And now, in the aftermath, a strange revelation: Until just this moment, Blay had never recognized the cynicism that Qhuinn carried in his face at all times…the furrowed brow, the perpetual snarking turn on one side of that mouth, the jaw that never, ever loosened up.

  It was as if all the nastiness his family had done to him had permanently warped the features.

  But that wasn’t true, was it. During that orgasm, and now, as things calmed down, none of the tension was anywhere to be found. Qhuinn’s face was…wiped clean of all reserve, appearing so much younger, Blay had to wonder why he’d never noticed the age before.

  “So will you give me something to suck on as I recover?” Qhuinn asked.

  “Wha…?”

  “I said I’m thirsty. And I need something to suck on.” At this, Qhuinn bit his lower lip, his bright white fangs sinking into the flesh. “Will you help me?”

  Blay’s eyes rolled back into his head. “Yeah…I can do that.”

  “Then let me see you take your pants off.”

  Blay’s legs popped him up from the floor so fast, he had fresh insights into the laws of physics, and while he kicked off his loafers, his hands shook to get his trousers unbuttoned. Things went quickly from there. And the whole time he was stripping, he was preternaturally aware of everything in the room—especially Qhuinn. The male was getting hard again, his sex thickening in spite of everything it had just been through…those heavy thighs clenching and that pelvis rolling…the lower belly so lean that every minute shift of the torso was reflected under taut, tan skin.

  “Oh, yeah…” Qhuinn hissed, his fangs extending from his upper jaw, his hand seeking out his sex and stroking long and slow. “There it is.”

  Blay’s breath started to pump, his heart rate going through the roof as Qhuinn’s mismatched eyes latched onto his sex.

  “That’s what I want,” the male growled, letting go of himself and reaching up with both hands.

  For a split second, Blay wasn’t sure how the body parts were going to work. Qhuinn was in front of the sofa, running parallel to the thing, so there wasn’t a lot of room—

  A subtle pumping growl percolated through the air as Qhuinn flexed his fingers—like he couldn’t wait to get hold of what he wanted.

  Fuck the advance planning.

  Blay’s knees obeyed the call, hinging forward, bringing his weight down to the floor by Qhuinn’s head.

  Qhuinn took over from there. His palms snaked out and grabbed on, drawing Blay in so that before he knew it, he had one knee behind the guy’s head and the other leg thrown out to the side, all the way down by Qhuinn’s hip.

  “Oh…fuck…” Blay groaned as he felt his sex go in between Qhuinn’s lips.

  His body listed forward until his torso ended up sprawled on the couch cushions—and that was when he unexpectedly found himself with a boatload of leverage. Bracing his arms on the sofa, he distributed his weight among his knees, his feet, and palms…and then proceded to fuck the ever-loving shit out of Qhuinn’s mouth.

  The guy took it all, even as Blay unhinged his hips and thrust with everything he had.

  With Qhuinn’s fingers biting into his ass, and that incredible suction, and…Christ, that tongue piercing, the ball of which dug into his shaft with every stroke…Blay started to gear up for exactly the kind of orgasm Qhuinn had just had.

  And yet, in the back of his mind, he wondered whether he was hurting the guy. At this point, he was going to come into his friend’s stomach, for godsakes—

  Too late to worry about that.

  His body took over, going rigid in a series of racking spasms that ran from the top of his spine down into his legs.

  And just as the out of control sensations were begi
nning to ebb, the world went wonky on him, like his sense of balance had been blown along with his—

  No, the world was fine. Qhuinn had just popped him up off the floor, gotten out from underneath, and was positioning himself behind….

  As Qhuinn pushed inside with a lightning-fast strike, Blay let out a moan that he was quite sure could have been heard in Canada—

  The squeal that pierced through the room made him frown, even through the pressure and the pleasure.

  Oh. They were moving the couch over the floor.

  Whatever. He’d buy the house another one if they broke the damn thing; he was not stopping this.

  The rhythm was every bit as punishing as his had been—and in this case, payback was not just what he deserved; it was exactly what he wanted. With every thrust, his face got pushed into the soft cushions; with every retreat he could take a breath; then it was back in tight, the cycle starting all over again.

  Readjusting his legs so that Qhuinn could go even deeper, Blay had some vague thought that they had definitely banged the sofa into a different position, but who the hell cared as long as it wasn’t out into the hall?

  At the last moment, just before he came again, he had the presence of mind to grab for his pants. Shaking his boxers free, he—

  Qhuinn’s hand reached over, took the Calvins and did the deed, making sure there was something to catch his release. Then a moment later, his chest was hauled off the couch so he was upright on his knees. Qhuinn handled everything, gripping Blay’s cock while covering the head—all the while pounding, pounding, pounding…

  They came at the same time, a pair of shouts echoing around the room.

  In the midst of the orgasm, Blay happened to glance up. In the big old-fashioned mirror that hung between the two windows across the way, he saw them both, knew they were joined…and it made him come all over again.

  Eventually, the thrusting slowed. Heart rates went down. Breathing grew easier.