by J. R. Ward
Blay stopped him with a kiss. “You’re plenty male enough now—the rest of it’s in the past.”
“I just…God, I really am shaking, aren’t I?”
“Yeah. But it’s okay—I’ve got you.”
Qhuinn turned his face into one of the male’s palms. “You always have. You’ve always had me…and my heart. My soul. Everything. I just wish it hadn’t taken this long for me to man up. That family of mine…nearly killed me. And not just thanks to that Honor Guard of theirs.”
Blay’s eyes drifted. And then his hands dropped.
“What,” Qhuinn blurted. “Did I say something wrong?”
Oh, God, he knew this was too good to be true….
There was a long moment when Blay just stared at him. But then the male held out his palm. “Give me your hand.”
Qhuinn obeyed instantaneously, as if Blay’s command ran his body more than his own brain did.
When something slid onto his finger, he jumped and looked down.
It was a signet ring.
Blay’s signet ring. The one the male’s father had given him immediately after his transition.
“You are perfect the way you are.” Blay’s voice was strong. “There is nothing wrong with who and what you have always been. I’m proud of you. And I love you. Now…and always.”
Qhuinn’s vision got wavy. Hard-core.
“I’m proud of you. And I love you,” Blay repeated. “Always. Forget about your old family…you have me now. I am your family.”
All he could do was stare at the ring, seeing the crest, feeling the weight on his finger, watching how the light reflected off the precious metal.
He had wanted one of these all of his life, it had seemed.
And what do you know…as usual, as always, Blay was the one who had come through for him.
As a sob ripped up Qhuinn’s windpipe, he felt himself get pulled in close to a big, powerful chest, strong arms wrapping around him and holding him. And then, from out of nowhere, a dark spice wafted up, the scent—Blay’s bonding scent—the single most beautiful thing that had ever been in his nose.
“I’m proud of you, and I love you,” Blay said yet again, that old, familiar voice cutting through all of those years of rejection and judgment, giving him not just a rope of acceptance to hang onto, but a flesh-and-blood hand to lead him out of the darkness of his past….
And into a future that didn’t require lies or excuses, because what he was, and what they were, was both extraordinary—and nothing out of the ordinary.
Love, after all, was universal.
Qhuinn closed his fist up tight, and knew he would never, ever take that ring off.
“Always,” Blay murmured. “Because family is an always kind of thing.”
Sweet Jesus, Qhuinn was sobbing like a pussy. But Blay didn’t seem to mind in the slightest—or judge.
And that was the point, wasn’t it.
“Always,” Qhuinn echoed hoarsely. “Always…”
EPILOGUE
TWO WEEKS LATER…
Whereupon life was pretty frickin’ awesome.
“So did you like last night?”
As Qhuinn spoke into Blay’s ear, Blay rolled his eyes in the near darkness. “What do you think.”
With their naked bodies under warm, weighty covers, Qhuinn was pressed in behind him, their arms linked, their legs entwined.
Turned out Qhuinn was a snuggler. Who knew—and how fabulous.
“I think you liked it.” Qhuinn licked his way up the side of Blay’s throat. “Tell me you liked it.”
By way of reply, Blay flexed his spine and drove his ass right into the other male’s erection. The resulting groan made Blay beam.
“Sounds like you were into it,” Blay murmured.
“Fuck, yeah, I was.”
The night before they’d both been off rotation, and after a workout in the gym and a pool game against Lassiter and Beth—which they’d lost—Blay had suggested they hit the Iron Mask for a very specific reason.
As Blay remembered what had transpired after they’d gone back there, Qhuinn’s cock got into places where it was very much welcome…and Blay once again gave himself up to the delicious penetration and the slow, riding rhythm his mate established.
The things that he recalled from the club just made everything hotter: The pair of them had gone over and sat at the bar and had a couple of drinks, Herradura for Qhuinn, and a couple of G&Ts for Blay. And then Qhuinn had gotten that look in his eye.
And Blay had gotten down to business.
He’d led the male back to one of the bathrooms, and as they’d gone inside together, it had been a fantasy come to life, the kissing, the hands in the pants, the frantic get-naked from the waist down….
A moan came out of Blay’s mouth as what was happening, and what had happened, mixed, the erotic cocktail taking him to the brink of an orgasm—and then, thanks to Qhuinn’s grip pumping him off, right over the edge, his cock coming hard into his lover’s hand, his body jerking and sending Qhuinn into a release as well….
After a period of recovery, and a very satisfying round two, Qhuinn drawled, “Any chance you were thinking about that bathroom?”
“Maybe.”
“We can do that any night, if you like.”
Blay chuckled. “Well, I guess we’re free again this evening, so…”
The Brotherhood had been ordered to stay in, and as there had been no explanation in Tohr’s text, Blay figured it had to be a meeting with the king. The Band of Bastards and the glymera had been quiet for two weeks—no e-mails, no troop movements downtown, no phone calls. Never a good sign.
Probably an update or a strategy session about that Council member’s death and its implications. Although Blay really couldn’t see any downside to Assail’s having killed the dumb son of a bitch.
Bye-bye, Elan. P.S., Next time you implicate someone falsely, try to pick a pacifist.
The prospect of a meeting made him think about Qhuinn’s integration into the Brotherhood—which had been seamless, as it turned out. The fighter’s behavior was no different, his attitude just the same. And that was one more reason to love the guy. Even with the elevated status he’d been given, he hadn’t let shit go to his head.
And that teardrop tattoo that had been changed to purple on his face? Totally hot. Just like that new star-shaped scar on his pectoral.
“We’re defo going to be doing that again,” Qhuinn said as he slowly retracted himself and rolled over on his back. Putting his arms above his head, he smiled and stretched, the far-off light from the bathroom illuminating things just enough so that Blay could make out the lift to those incredible lips. “That was fucking hot. You are totally fucking hot.”
“What can I say, it’s been a fantasy of mine for a long time.” As Qhuinn got serious, Blay touched the male’s frown. “Hey. Stop that. Fresh slate, remember?”
After the night of the big reveal at the Mask, they’d had a number of long talks, and decided that they were going to take the relationship thing step by step, without making assumptions. They had been friends, then sort of enemies, then lovers of a kind…before they’d finally gotten their shit together. And just because they’d hung out for years, and they knew each other in a lot of ways, boyfriends was a different thing.
“Yeah. Fresh slate.” As Qhuinn leaned in for a kiss, Blay’s phone went off with a text.
Naturally, Qhuinn wasn’t interested in communications from the outside world, and continued to lick his way into Blay’s mouth, even as Blay reached out for the cell.
Blay had to hold it over Qhuinn’s heavy shoulders as the guy maneuvered on top, rubbing his still-hard cock on Blay’s—
“What the hell?” Blay said, breaking the lip contact.
“Have we been interrupted?”
“Yeah…Butch says he needs me in the Pit for a wardrobe consult?”
“Well, you do have perfect style.”
For some reason, the comment made him think of
Saxton. As soon as Qhuinn and he had decided to make things legit, Blay had told the lawyer what was going on—and the gentlemale had been gracious beyond measure…and not at all surprised. He’d even said it was a kind of relief in a strange way, a sign that all was right in the world, even though it had sucked for him.
At least Blay had gotten his true love, he’d said.
Now, if only Saxton could find his.
“I’d better head over there,” he muttered. “Maybe it’s date night.”
As he went to get out of bed, Qhuinn’s hands locked on his hips and pulled him in for another long, lingering kiss.
When Qhuinn eased back, his eyes were half-closed. “Date night’s a great idea. You wanna go dancing with me sometime?”
“Dancing?” Blay laughed. “You would go dancing. With me.”
It was everything Qhuinn hated: kind of schmaltzy, lot of eyes on them, and, assuming they did it in public, they had to be fully clothed.
“If you wanted me to, I would in a heartbeat.”
Blay put his hand on the male’s face. Qhuinn was trying really hard, and Blay was more than willing to wait for the day when the guy was ready to be into the PDA. The Brotherhood and the household knew that they were together—it was kind of obvious after Qhuinn had moved his stuff into this room. But you didn’t spend a lifetime in denial and automatically feel comfy sucking face with your boyfriend in front of God and everyone else.
But he was trying. And he was talking—a lot—about his family and his brother, who was slowly, painfully trying to recover down in the clinic.
Behind closed doors, though? It was magic, without any barriers at all.
Exactly what Blay had always wanted.
“Are you going down to First Meal?” Blay asked as the shutters began to rise from the windows.
“Maybe I’ll just stay here and wait to eat you when you come back.”
Ah, yes, that naughty growl was in Qhuinn’s voice again, and didn’t that make Blay want to hop back in between the sheets.
“You are—” As a groan echoed up, Blay stopped in the process of heading into the bathroom. “Where is your hand?”
“Where do you think it is.” Qhuinn arched, one fang biting down on his lower lip.
Blay thought of the text that he didn’t intend to ignore. “You suck.”
“Yes, I do, don’t I.” Qhuinn licked his lips. “And you like me to.”
Blay cursed and marched into the bath. At this rate, he was never going to get out of their room….
And sure enough, one hot shower and a shave later, Qhuinn was still in bed, lounging like a lion, his black hair tousled from Blay’s hands, his half-lidded, mismatched eyes promising all kinds of pneumatics when Blay returned.
Horny motherfucker.
“You’re just going to lie there?” Blay chided from over at the exit.
“Oh, I don’t know…might get some exercise in while you’re gone.” A hiss was followed by another one of those groans—and what do you know, under the sheets and duvet, the up-and-down motion of his arm made Blay remember all kinds of messy, sweaty, marvelous things. “Working out is so important, you know.”
Blay gritted his molars and wrenched the door open. “I’ll be back.”
“Take your time. Anticipation just makes me harder.”
“Yeah, like you need help with that.”
Shutting things firmly, he rearranged himself in his loose nylon track pants and cursed again. Butch had better have a good fucking reason for needing Blay’s opinion.
And a problem that could be solved quickly.
The second Blay was out of Dodge, Qhuinn threw back the covers and leaped out of bed. Grabbing his phone off his bedside table, he hit send on the text that he’d pretyped and then beelined for the shower. Fortunately, the water was already warm.
Soap at a dead run. Shampoo in a New York minute. Shave—
“Ow!” he barked as he cut himself on the chin.
Closing his eyes, he forced himself to slow the fuck down before he sliced off his nose: razor on the cheek, moving carefully, going around the jawline, down the neck. Repeat. Repeat.
Why the hell did he insist on doing this in the shower? On a night like tonight, he should be in front of a mirror….
“Yo, beauty queen, you ready?” Rhage’s voice cut through into the bathroom. “Or do you want to wax your eyebrows.”
Qhuinn did a quick whisker check with his hand. Clear. “Fuck off, Hollywood,” he yelled over the spray.
Cutting the water, he stepped out, and dried off on his way into the bedroom.
Standing next to a smiling Tohr, Rhage had his arms behind his back. “That’s a helluva way to talk to your frickin’ stylist.”
Qhuinn leveled a glare at the Brothers. “If that shit is a Hawaiian print, I’m going to kill you.”
Rhage looked over at Tohr and grinned. When the other Brother nodded, Hollywood brought forward what he was hiding behind his big body.
Qhuinn stopped dead. “Wait a minute…that’s a…”
“Tuxedo, I believe is the name,” Rhage cut in. “T-U-X-E-D-O.”
“It’s in your size,” Tohr said. “And Butch says the designer is the best there is.”
“Named after a car,” Rhage muttered. “You’d think a high-falutin—”
“Hey, have you been watching Honey Boo Boo, too?” Lassiter demanded as he barged in. “Woooow, nice tux—”
“Only because you insist on putting that godforsaken traffic accident of a show on in the billiards room.” Hollywood glanced over as V came in behind the angel. “He didn’t even know what it was, Vishous.”
“The tux?” V lit a hand-rolled. “Of course he didn’t. He’s a real male.”
“That makes Butch a girl, then,” Rhage pointed out. “Because he bought it.”
“Hey, it’s a party already,” Trez called out as he and iAm arrived. “Oh, nice tux. Isn’t that Tom Ford?”
“Or was it Dick Chrysler,” Rhage interjected. “Harry GM—wait, that sounds dirty….”
“Better get dressed, Rapunzel.” V checked his watch. “We don’t have a lot of time.”
“That is a beautiful tuxedo,” Phury announced as he and Z pushed the door wide. “I have one just like it.”
“Fritz has the candles lit,” Rehv said from behind the twins. “Hey, nice tux. I have one just like it.”
“Me, too,” Phury agreed. “The fit is fantastic, isn’t it.”
“The shoulders, right? Tom Ford is the best—”
Total. Fucking. Pandemonium.
And as Qhuinn took it in, all of the males talking over one another, slapping hands, slapping asses, he had a moment of breathlessness. Then he looked down at the ring Blay had given him.
Having a family was…really, incredibly wonderful.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
Everyone froze, all those faces turning and locking on him, those bodies stilling, the din settling.
Z was the one who spoke up, his yellow eyes shining. “Put the zoot suit on. We’ll meet you downstairs, lover boy.”
Lot of shoulder claps as all the fighters checked in on their way out the door. And then he was alone with the tux.
“Let’s do this,” he said to the thing.
The shirt went on fine, but the buttons weren’t regular ones. They were cuff link–like, and took forever. Then he faced off with the slacks…and decided to keep it real and go commando. Finally, a pair of shiny shoes had been dropped on the messy bed by one of that cast of thousands—as well as a set of black silk socks that were just this side of being panty frickin’ hose.
But he was going to do this right.
When he finally put the jacket on, he braced himself for feeling constricted, but Phury and Rehv were right—the material went over his bulk like a dream. Heading into the bathroom, he took the strip of black silk off the top of the hanger and confronted himself in the mirror.
Man…he looked pretty hot, actually.
; Popping the starched collar, he wound the bow tie around the back of his neck and pulled it left and right a couple of times to make sure that it was in the right place. And then he did what he’d seen his father and his brother do when they hadn’t been aware he was watching…he tied a perfect knot at the front of his throat.
Probably would have been easier if he’d taken the suit jacket off.
And if his hands weren’t shaking so badly.
But whatever, he got the job done.
Stepping back, he checked himself from the left and the right. From behind.
Yeah, he was totally spank. The trouble was, he just didn’t look like himself. At all.
That was a problem for him. Authentic had recently become totally important to him.
Thanks to a lack of attention, his hair had settled flat and smooth, and on impulse, he went for the product Blay and he shared, slicking up his palms and running them through the nap, spiking things up.
Better. Made him feel less like a tool.
But something still wasn’t right….
As he tried to figure out what was so off, he thought about how things had been rolling: After he and Blay had had their big talk at the Iron Mask, he’d been amazed at how light he felt, the burden he’d been unaware of carrying freed from his shoulders. It was so weird…but he’d caught himself taking these random deep breaths from time to time, his chest rising slowly and sinking back into place on an easy fall.
On some level, he continued to expect that he’d wake up and find out that it was all a dream. But every night, he came to with his arms around Blay, the guy’s bonding scent in his nose, that warm body right beside his own.
I love you. You’re perfect, just the way you are.
Always.
As Blay’s voice rebounded in his head, he closed his eyes and swayed….
Abruptly, he popped his lids and looked at the cupboard under the sinks.
Yes, he thought. That was what he needed.
A couple minutes later, he left their bedroom feeling exactly as he should, tux and all.
When he came to the head of the grand staircase, the votives that had been lined up on either side all the way down glowed and flickered. There were more below in the foyer: on the mantelpieces, on the floor, mounted up and around the archways that led into the other rooms.