Hellsinger 01 - Fish and Ghosts (P) (MM) (19 page)

He struggled a bit, nearly unmanning himself, but somehow, his shins found the curve of Wolf’s legs. Tristan was open, much more open and vulnerable than he’d ever been before. Even when he’d been stripped of his family’s affection and left to drift about, doubting his sanity, Tristan had some small delusion he’d be okay.

With Wolf leaning over him, his weight pushing down on the bed between Tristan’s knees and a line of slick running down the crease of his ass, Tristan had nothing to hold onto… no experience to tell him he’d come out the other side of what they were doing and he’d be okay.

He almost stopped Wolf right then. It would have been simple. A touch of his hand on the man’s shoulder. A simple push of his palm on his chest. Even a single shaking no from his kiss-swollen lips and he knew Wolf Kincaid would stop… and probably cuddle him to tell him it was all right. That he didn’t need to go anywhere he didn’t feel ready to go.

Realizing that, Tristan suddenly understood he wasn’t going to fall. Not if Wolf had anything to say about it. Wolf
would
take care of him. He’d hold him and guide Tristan along to where they both could be entangled in the mystery of their bodies.

Something on his face must have made Wolf curious, because the man paused, a hiccup of a breath held between them as his tumbled-sky gaze searched Tristan’s face. A single dark eyebrow swooped up, a question posed to give Tristan time to sort out his thoughts. Kincaid wouldn’t go any further until Tristan said the word.

He knew it. In his bones. He could trust Wolf with anything. His body. His ghosts. His soul.

Life, sex, and the messy tangle of their personalities suddenly made perfect sense, and Tristan let loose the stagnant fear he’d been holding inside of him for as long as he could remember, breaking it free with a single word.

“Yeah.”

Wolf’s mouth descended on his, breaching him as the man’s fingers found his entrance. His tongue played at being the aggressor, pushing past Wolf’s lips to tease at what he could find in the man’s mouth as Wolf’s touch invaded him. The intrusion was slight at first, then grew, an almost burn of a promise along the crest of his body. He thrust his hips up, mewling with the need Wolf stroked out of him. Clutching at the man’s shoulders, he pulled Wolf down as close as he could, holding him in a fierce embrace as he suckled out the man’s breath.

It warmed him. The hot air tasted of sweat and man, and it burned going down like a fine whiskey. Much like the push of Wolf’s fingers pulling him apart and inebriating his skin with a tantalizing bite of sensations.

The breach of his body began slowly. A nudge at the edge of his entrance followed by the soft coaxing of Wolf’s fingers on his chest. Tristan wasn’t prepared for the intense shove of his flesh as it contracted over the tip of Wolf’s cock, refusing the man entrance. A few quick breaths and murmuring encouragements from his now-lover helped. Bearing down, Tristan felt Wolf’s push again and clung to the man’s shoulders as his body was pulled apart by Wolf’s thick-headed cock.

“Oh fuck,” Tristan panted.

“Want me to stop?” Wolf was bent over Tristan’s body, his arms rigid from balancing his weight on his hands. “Anything you want, love. Talk to me.”

“I never touched your dick.” It was the stupidest thing to think about as the man’s cock was entering him. “I didn’t even see it. Fuck.”

“Don’t worry about that. You can look at it later. Pretty sure we’ll be doing this again.” His laugh teased Tristan’s shock, coaxing it away into nothing. “’Sides, your hands are pretty fucking dirty. That’s not something I want inside of you. Just me there, Tristan. Just me.”

His hands were still dirty. Flaking from the dried mud, his fingers and forearms were leaving dusty smears on Wolf’s skin. His chest bore a slash of dirt, nearly a sumi-style circle around one nipple. Emboldened, Tristan arched up and licked at the clean nub framed by the Grange’s dirt.

The aroused hiss he pulled from Wolf when his teeth nipped at the tender bud was enough to drive them both over the edge of their want. Tristan pushed his hips up, some primal inkling rising up from its burrow deep under his awkwardly civilized layers. His hands couldn’t get full enough of the man pushing through him. Neither could his mouth. He wanted to fill himself with Wolf. Taste every part of the man’s body until he could swallow his scent and feel it seep out from his own skin.

An instant later, he was full of Wolf Kincaid, his body pierced by a hot, hard length seemingly designed by the hand of a God with intimate knowledge of Tristan’s core.

Wolf fit everywhere. The burn was still there. Not quite a heat or pain but more an unfamiliar throb of his nerves suddenly raked and stroked, as if lightning had touched his pulse and sent a current through his blood. He lost touch with the world around him. There were no ghosts, no storm, and not even the worry of the Grange’s now-resident serial killer crept past the muscular, golden man plunging into him. Everything stopped and started a few inches above and inside of him, becoming lengths of tanned skin, laughing blue eyes, and a wicked mouth intent on leaving its mark on Tristan’s tender skin.

Then the tightening in his ass unfurled when Wolf hit a spot inside of him, and Tristan howled, clenching Wolf in a death grip as he rode out the shock wave hitting him.

There were no words for what he had searing his nerves. The man filling his ass stroked it again, and Tristan broke, trembling around Wolf’s plunging cock. His heart couldn’t catch up, skipping and falling over itself in an attempt to keep up with the blood shooting through his veins. He was barely aware of the ache forming in his thighs and back, his muscles worn from the adrenaline ebbing from his tissues. Then Wolf found that spot again and Tristan was riding out the tempest again.

He needed something to hold him through it. Wolf’s arms were around his shoulders now, and the man’s weight held him down, keeping Tristan in place as Wolf’s hips snapped hard against his ass. Wolf’s sac slapped at him, a flinging weight adding to the overwhelming sensations tearing him apart, and the slick of their sweat rubbed between them, capturing his aching cock in a wet clench.

Tristan found what he needed at the same moment Wolf’s hand crept between them and closed over his heavily leaking cock. The curve of Wolf’s neck needed to be between Tristan’s teeth, and it felt delicious when he sank them into the man’s flesh and dug his canines in deep.

Wolf didn’t miss a stroke. Keeping up the pounding on Tristan’s ass, Wolf stroked up the length of Tristan’s sex, palming his hypersensitive cockhead and smearing mingled sweat and precome into his skin. The jerking thrusts grew shorter, stabbing through any meager resistance Tristan’s body might have had left. Time and time again, Wolf found the nub of Tristan’s nerves and slammed his cock against it, drawing out his strokes only far enough to give Tristan the briefest respite before hammering at him again.

He lost it. Plain and simple. Any fragile hold he might have had on his sanity was gone, cut loose by the keen edge of Wolf’s cock running through him. The blade they’d honed with their bodies cut through the Gordian knot Wolf discovered inside of him, and Tristan broke free, snapping outward in all directions from the tension released from his coils.

Somehow, he’d grown wings and flew up into an emotional storm, driven higher by the pounding wind and the salted rain of sweat from their skin.

His cock jerked, stripped of its tight hold on his seed. Wolf’s fingers gripped him, working him faster, until every bit of his release gushed free. It boiled up out of him, a virtual Alpheus harnessed by a wicked smile and gentle touch to shear the innocence from Tristan’s body.

He regretted none of it. Lying in the final throes of his release, Tristan reluctantly let go of Wolf’s throat and clenched down on the man’s jerking cock as it pulled off its own climax. Shuddering and trembling, Wolf bowed his head and came, his shoulders locked and rigid beneath Tristan’s hands.

It was over before Tristan could catch another breath, and a warm molasses lethargy crept over him, loosening his bones from their sockets and soothing his stimulated senses into a murmuring numbness. Wolf slid from him, the heaviness of his lax cock still hefty enough to leave Tristan with a gaping emptiness when he pulled free.

“I’ll be right back,” Wolf murmured into Tristan’s ear.

He returned with a couple of washcloths and a towel. After slowly washing Tristan’s hands and arms, he used the second cloth to wipe away the mess they’d made on his thighs, rubbing him dry with the hand towel. Tossing the linens somewhere onto the floor, Wolf lay down, then hooked one arm around Tristan’s waist, spooning his still throbbing ass against Wolf’s hips.

“Fuck.” Tristan huffed his cheeks out. “No. Words.”

“Never thought I’d see the day you couldn’t find something to say,” Wolf laughed. “You’ve got a mouth on you.”

“Don’t get too cocky, Kincaid.” He snuggled back, finding an odd security in the curl of Wolf’s arm. “I might still be pissed off at you. I’ll have to think about it.”

“You do that, Pryce. You do that, and I’ll be more than happy to take the time to get you to let it go again.” Wolf shifted, then hissed, and Tristan turned, looking at the man behind him.

The last thing he wanted was another visit from Matt’s crazy-eyed grandmother, especially since they were both naked as the cherub statues in the garden. Frowning, Tristan asked, “You okay? She didn’t come back to knife you or something, did she?”

“No, not her this time,” Wolf grumbled, then held up a small red rubber ball. “You’re just going to have to talk to Jack, babe. Because from now on, there’s not going to be any toys in this bed but the ones I might want to use on
you
.”

Chapter 11

W
OLF
WAS
warm. Not in an overheated and need-to-let-his-skin-breathe kind of warm but the soft, toasty heat of being wrapped around a man who smelled of lemon curd soap and sex. His back ached a little bit. He halfway recalled slamming his hip into one of the faucet knobs in Tristan’s multi-head shower, but at the time, he was more focused on the mouth closed over his cock than the dig of metal into his skin.

For a beginner, Tristan’s tongue seemed to hit every erotic spot Wolf had on his body… including a few he hadn’t even
known
would drive him insane. He’d never scratch the inside of his wrists again without thinking of Tristan’s teeth nibbling along his soft skin while the man’s graceful fingers stroked him to a bone-shattering spill.

They’d been at it all night. At some point… probably around three in the morning…Wolf gave half a thought to the couple he’d left downstairs, then went back to what he was doing. The virginal Tristan learned quickly, and the prickly, shy blond proved to be playful and willing to experiment… as much as their meager supply of condoms allowed. They’d both given as good as they got, and Wolf felt every inch of his body tingling with the memories of Tristan’s hands and mouth on him. It was a good way to wake up.

It would have been even better if they’d not run out of supplies at five in the morning after they’d changed the sheets and crawled back into the bed’s warmth, slightly damp from a hot shower and contentedly aroused from a kiss-and-tug under the spray.

From the way he felt, his bones were still off someplace besides holding up his flesh. Groaning softly at the light creeping in from the outer room, Wolf closed his eyes and snuffled against Tristan’s neck, blowing away the man’s hair to get to his skin. The light grew stronger, brightening up the darkness behind Wolf’s eyelids.

Mumbling into his lover’s hair, Wolf tried to bury himself further into the shadows of Tristan’s back. “Tris, tell me that’s a UFO come to probe us and not someone waking us up.”

“I’m sorry, but there is a problem, and I need you two sex monkeys to get out of bed and downstairs,” Mara proclaimed through Wolf’s contented lethargy. “Your boy’s grandmother is back, and she’s off killing her husbands in the lobby. Can’t you hear them screaming?”

“Shit.” Tristan punched the bed. The loose and cuddly man beneath him tightened up immediately and slid out from under Wolf’s embrace. “Okay, I’m up. Shit… why now?”

“Really, she’s already dead. Just make sure she doesn’t have any weapons,” Wolf grumbled. “We can go salt her bones. Or maybe salt Matt’s bones. That might work. He’s related.”

Taking a brief moment to look up the length of Tristan’s legs, Wolf settled on the tight clench of the man’s ass as he pulled on a pair of cotton pants. He was about to object to the loss of his pillow when his underwear hit him full in the face. They still smelled freshly laundered, and Wolf did a quick tally in his head. He’d had them on for maybe an hour tops. He could wear them long enough to check on Lady Belladonna’s Manor Tour before heading to his own room for a change of clothes.

“Get dressed, Kincaid.” Tristan tugged a T-shirt over his shoulders. “Did she do anything, Mara? I mean to anyone?”

“No. The men are screaming that she’s killing them, but she’s scaring the hell out of the lovebirds downstairs.” The woman shook her head, then sniffed at the air. “It smells like a barnyard in here. Not that I’m a prude, but really, both of you need to put some clothes on and deal with this. She’s rattling everyone’s nerves.”