Chapter Three

 

He pulled back after a minute, both of them gasping for air. And when Sam felt ’s hand at his fly, he acted. As if possessed, he reversed their positions, shouldered Keirnan against the door, and in one fluid move, dropped to his knees, slid Keirnan’s zipper down, and pulled out his cock. Massive, it hardened instantly in his hands.

Keirnan brought his hands into play then, flexing them, perhaps to push Sam away, perhaps to pull his head nearer. They did neither, but flattened themselves palms-down against the painted wood supporting Keirnan’s back, hitting it with a hard knock when Sam touched a finger to the bead of fluid seeping from Keirnan’s slit.

Sam flicked his gaze up, both asking for permission and warning his partner of what was to come. He touched the tip of his tongue to the head of , swiping it back and forth to taste his salt and musk and learn the feel of his skin. Tormenting, he ran one finger along the heavy vein that pulsed with promise. Keirnan inhaled, and when Sam licked away the next bubble of precum his actions called forth, Keirnan gasped. When Sam ran his tongue across his lips after, Keirnan groaned.

“You filthy little tart!” There was not a syllable of condemnation in his tone. Instead, dark pleasure rippled its approbation.

Sam, getting his measure, swiped at the tip of Keirnan’s cock, smearing the precum around it, coating it, leaving it shiny. He gave Keirnan no time to process that first hot burst of pleasure before he opened his mouth wide to suck Keirnan’s prick in, hard and sudden, deep throating the eager flesh he’d aroused. Keirnan’s hips bucked, thrusting his cock to the back of Sam’s throat, choking him a little, making Sam grab Keirnan’s hips to hold him still. He rewarded the man’s obedience by caressing his shaft with his tongue.

Keirnan slid the fingers of one hand up Sam’s neck. He left them lying there, resting against the jump of Sam’s heartbeat in his neck. Sam had expected Keirnan to grab his head, perhaps to pull his hair or force him down deeper on his cock. He hadn’t anticipated this almost sweetness, a contrast to the tight command he was exerting over Keirnan.

Sam sucked harder, feeling Keirnan was close. He got a hand to the root of Keirnan’s cock, the part he couldn’t take in his mouth, to pump, then brought his free hand to the sac that lay heavy between Keirnan’s legs, cradling the warmth of it in his palm, feeling it draw tight to his partner’s body.

Then, like a roar, like a wave, Keirnan stiffened, arched, heaved, shouted, and came, spilling down Sam’s throat, almost choking him. Sam swallowed, wanting Keirnan to see him, but Keirnan’s eyes were closed for long moments, His mouth was partly open though, and he heaved in gulps of air through it. When he did open his eyes, it was only part-way, the lids slumberous and heavy. With his rumpled hair and flushed face, he looked wrecked. When Sam wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, Keirnan tracked his movement, his irises dark green and heated. He reached to pull Sam to his feet.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but if this was an Adonis A-Go-Go bar in Quezon City, Manila, instead of a stuck-in-the-past nightclub in Mayfair, London, I’d happily pay three thousand pesos for that.”

Loving the languorous, sensuous note he’d brought to Keirnan’s voice, Sam smiled, then frowned. “I’m not sure there’s a right way to take that.” His voice was strained, and he coughed to clear his throat. His lips, when he saw them in the mirror, fumbling for his glasses on the sink, were puffy and red. “What else would you do, in this mythical male Manila go-go bar?”

“Nice alliteration. You must be a writer or something.”

“Or something. Answer the question.”

“What would I do?” The naked intent in the up-and-down look Keirnan shot him from under half-lowered eyelids almost had Sam coming on the spot. “I’d ask, do you fuck as well as you suck?”

A slow smile curved Sam’s swollen lips. “And I’d answer, only one way to find out.”

“Which prompts the subsequent question.” Keirnan curled a hand around Sam’s nape and pulled him in to kiss him hard before asking it: “My place or yours?”

* * *

When Keirnan awoke early the next morning, a wave of guilt washed over him like a bucket of cold water. Oh, not at ducking out on his professional obligations. He’d made an excuse, and he and Sam had left—separately. No, the guilt was occasioned by the man sleeping on his stomach next to him, or rather, by what Keirnan had done to the man sharing the bed with him. He risked a peep. Handprint-shaped bruises wrapped around Sam’s hips: Keirnan had gripped him hard and fucked him harder, doggy-style. Sam’s face buried in the mattress, and the howl he’d loosed when Keirnan had bottomed out, balls-deep in the tight clutch of Sam’s arse, had almost had Keirnan transforming on the spot. He’d had to fight hard for control.

Not hard enough. He averted his gaze from the bite marks on the side of Sam’s neck and the line of five scratches starting at Sam’s shoulder to score down his upper back. A gentle tug of the sheet revealed whisker burn on Sam’s upper thighs from Keirnan’s five-o’clock shadow. He’d been insatiable, nipping and sucking and swallowing Sam’s long, delicious prick down deep, edging Sam to the brink over and over until Keirnan had recovered enough to fuck him again. Oh, he’d brought Sam off every time Keirnan had come, wringing his bedfellow dry.

He slid gently from the bed, aching in most muscles. He needed the bathroom anyway. As the bed dipped, Sam half-rolled, his sweat-soaked hair standing up in all directions, and a lazy, sated smile curving his lips. His fair-skinned face was abraded too. In the bathroom, Keirnan stared into the mirror, but all he could see were Sam’s lagoon-blue eyes and when he closed his eyes against that, all he could feel was Sam’s scent, cell-deep. Like a lake full of water lilies deep in the forest.

London was a necessary evil, and the furnished, short-stay apartment his agent leased for him whenever Keirnan had to be there was bland but useful. Keirnan threw on his sweats and running shoes. Sam had recommended mediation to regulate his energy; Keirnan used exercise. When he was trapped in central London, unable to get out to Richmond Park or even Hampstead Heath, a circuit of the Royal Parks allowed him to be near ponds, streams, and rivers. He needed to be by water, so much so that this morning instead of making for St James’s Park, he turned onto the embankment to run along the River Thames, crossing from bank to bank every time he came to a bridge in his own crazy, one-man version of tag, or the river is made of lava.

The city wasn’t properly awake yet, and fewer Saturday workers would be flooding its streets soon, leaving the public spaces free for runners, joggers and the occasional rollerblader. He ran the eight-mile route fast, faster than normal human speed, and his thoughts thudded along to his footfalls. Leaving Sam to wake alone had been cruel. Sam would have questions, doubts, and no one to answer them. They should have had the talk last night. No, you can’t get werewolfism—not that there’s any such thing—from sex. No, you won’t turn into a werewolf—not that there’s any such thing—from a scratch. He hadn’t treated Sam very well at all, in fact, since the moment they’d met.

Keirnan came to a stop on Blackfriars Bridge and stared unseeingly at the waters of the Thames flowing below him. What had he been thinking? That Sam would lap up the opulent hotel, the exclusive nightclub, the attentive staff, be dazzled by celebrity and the trappings of fame? Or had he hoped Sam would be driven away by Keirnan’s behaviour, or by events, either at the press junket or the corporate schmoozing? Either would be a way out for Keirnan, making it easy to despise and dump the journalist or be left in his dust. A quick, painless way to avoid further entanglement. Keirnan ignored the chill that the thought of Sam leaving brought. He inhaled, summoning up Sam’s fresh-water, fresh-floral scent, wrapping it around him, wallowing in it. Drowning in it.

Sam had neither revelled in the luxury lifestyle nor stormed out in disgust. He’d turned the tables on Keirnan in fact, both at the junket and nightclub and last night, too, when he’d matched Keirnan’s stark sexual greed and insatiable demands. Keirnan scrubbed a hand over his face. He had no clue what any of it meant. When he heard a buzzing ringing noise, it took him a minute to realize it was his phone, zipped into his pocket. And when he saw the name on the screen, he smiled.

His mother’s childhood friend, who’d been a surrogate mother to him after his had died, the woman with whose family he been sent to live in his turbulent teenage years, and who’d knocked the edges off him, while loving and nurturing him just as she had and did her own brood of cubs.

“Aunty Barbara!”

“What?”

“What do you mean what? You called me.” Keirnan frowned, trying to work out the London-Blue Ridge time difference.

“I know. And I’m asking what? What is it? What’s wrong, baby-boy?”

Barbara Wolfe never changed, mothering everyone from her five children, despite them being grown-up, and anyone else who entered her orbit who she deemed needed it. Her blue eyes and blonde hair were a little like Sam’s, Keirnan suddenly realized. Barbara was a stunning white wolf when she transformed; would Sam be a wolf of that colour? But Sam’s not a wolf.

“So?” Barbara prompted. “Who is she?”

“He,” Keirnan answered without thinking.

“Right. Shifter?”

Barbara. Unflappable. She’d seen him date a few local girls as a teen, but he’d never discussed his tastes with her, that he took pleasure in both women and men. Not that she was a prude—far from it. She was as frank as they came, and Keirnan doubted anything could shock her.

“A shifter? Nope.” Two strikes against Sam. “I’m not even sure I like him!” he burst out, reverting to the adolescent he’d been in Barbara’s care. A man dressed for the office gave him a strange look as he passed. Keirnan started jogging, leaving Mr Suit and Tie on a Saturday in his wake.

“Why not?” Barbara was getting coffee, he could hear. Or perhaps getting the huge pot ready for the morning. He could almost smell the roasted beans, hear the thud of the door being slammed into place on the old coffeepot. His heart squeezed at the memory. He should buy Barbara and Tristan a new, state-of-the-art coffee machine, he thought. Well, not too new-fangled, or Tristan would be suspicious of it.

“He’s different from me. He’s a Londoner, smart, sharp, not impressed by my fame or lifestyle, not that I’ve much of either yet. But you know what I mean. I don’t understand. It or him.”

“Baby-boy.” Barbara exhaled. “You got it bad.”

“I do?” Keirnan was startled. “Well, even if I have, things”

“Deserve a chance.” Barbara’s tone was sharp. “He deserves a chance.” When he didn’t reply, she sighed. “I know it’s not easy for you to trust, or give your heart. You think once you do everything will be taken away. And that’s a risk you gotta take. Because I know you’re not a coward. I don’t raise cowards. And I have a feeling about this. About this one. When you met, when you touched, did it feel like, oh, I don’t know, a zipper being zipped up?”

She took his long silence as confirmation, laughing softly. “Keirnan, honey, open your heart. Just a little, huh? For Angela, if not for you? I know your mother would want you to.”

“Unfair,” Keirnan protested, a reluctant smile starting.

“Go talk to him, please. And if you can’t think of any words to say, just go to him and follow your heart. Humans make things so complicated, don’t they, but you know what? The wolf knows—”

“What the heart wants,” he finished with her, very familiar with that bit of credo.

He thanked her, promised to visit soon, and made his way back through the now more crowded streets. He’d been a while; maybe Sam had left.

But he hadn’t. He was in the shower. Singing. Keirnan made sure he made a noise as he entered the bathroom and approached the large tiled stall that took up one end of the room. He always asked for an extra-big shower whenever possible. Most shifters did, enjoying transforming under the warm water. The majority did it for relaxation, some needing it as a quick fix for sore, overworked muscles. Keirnan fell into both camps. Now he stood, staring through the gap in its waist-high walls, and Sam stared back.

“Are you…okay?” Keirnan asked.

Sam shrugged. “My arse hurts,” he replied, turning under the spray. “I think it must have happened when I fell off my high horse.” And when he turned back, slowly, making sure his spectator got a good view of his lush rear, a mischievous grin lit his face. “Coming in?” he asked, soaping himself.

Keirnan stepped inside the tiled space at once, and Sam raised an eyebrow, as well as he could with water cascading over his head. “Most people take their clothes off before they get into the shower,” he observed.

“I’m not…most people,” Keirnan replied.