The Administration Series (144 page)

It felt so good, so perfect. Warrick's tongue moved against him, and he couldn't tell if it was participation or protest. He shifted his hands, twisting his fingers in the hair at the back of Warrick's head, holding him as he took him.

Toreth flung his head back and gasped, relishing every stroke. He could hear Warrick's hands scrabbling at the wall, but he didn't want to look down. As long as he didn't see Warrick's hands then he could honestly say that he hadn't ignored a signal to stop. Riding a fine line between the game and something awful, adrenaline firing him higher. He heard Warrick choking, felt his head jerking, the movements meaning nothing compared to the muscles spasming deliciously around his cock.

If he's telling me to stop, and I don't . . .

He crushed the thought ruthlessly, keeping the rhythm, hard and deep, in time to the litany in his mind.

Mine. You're mine. You're mine. You're mine.

Now he couldn't resist looking. He saw his own hands, fisted in Warrick's hair, holding him prisoner. He saw his own cock, thrusting fast and deep between the wet lips. He saw Warrick's dark eyes, open wide, but Toreth couldn't read them, couldn't tell if Warrick wanted this or if he had finally, once and forever, fucked things up irrevocably. Then he didn't even care because it was too much — all too much, and he was coming hard, his grip tightening in Warrick's hair, crushing Warrick against him.

Mine, mine, mine, and he wasn't sure if he was saying it out loud or not.
Mine
.

Then it was over, and Warrick coughed, pushing weakly at his hips. Toreth let him go and pulled back, wincing at a hint of teeth over his tender cock.

"Fuck," Toreth breathed, jealousy and anger surrendering — temporarily at least — to the post-orgasmic buzz. "Ah,
fuck
."

Warrick shoved him away sharply, and Toreth almost stumbled. He caught himself with a hand on the wall, touching the cool glass of the mirror with his fingertips. Blinking, he attempted to bring the world back into focus.

Warrick sat with his back against the wall, breathing hard. Not looking happy. Toreth didn't know whether to crouch down and kiss him, or start trying to pull together some half-convincing apology. In the end, he simply held out his hand.

Warrick stared at it for a long moment, then shook his head slightly and accepted the offered help.

He pulled Warrick up, then forward, wrapping one arm around Warrick's shoulders and dropping the other hand to the front of his trousers, because it was the easiest way to answer the question. Warrick hissed as Toreth touched him, but he pressed towards him, not away. And thank fucking God, Warrick was hard. If it was a fuckup, then it wasn't a bad one; not so bad that Warrick didn't still want him, anyway. Maybe there'd be an argument about it after the party, but that would be no worse than the usual not-in-public crap.

He rubbed the heel of his hand hard against Warrick's cock, drawing out a gasp.

"Let me," Toreth whispered. "Let me."

They stood for a moment, then Warrick stepped firmly away.

"Later, I think," he said. He straightened his collar, where Toreth had held it, then smoothed down his jacket front. "How do I look?"

Relief loosened his tongue. "Fucking fantastic."

"I meant, am I fit to return to civilised company?" He ran his hands through his hair, then wiped the corners of his mouth.

"More or less. Hang on a moment." He flicked the stray bits of Warrick's hair back into place, and brushed his thumb over his lips, just to feel the slightly swollen softness.

"I think we should go back, before we're missed." Warrick glanced down significantly. "When we're both respectable."

"Yeah." Toreth reached to fasten up his own zip, feeling the last knot of anger in his chest finally untie. "Security was a bit keen earlier about tracking down straying guests. I'm surprised they aren't hammering on the door." Then he had to laugh at Warrick's expression of alarm. "Joke."

Warrick shook his head. "Not funny."

Fortunately, there was no one waiting outside, guest or security. They walked back in silence, but instead of returning to the main room or the buffet, Warrick turned left into a small room, full of floor-to-ceiling shelving holding paper books.

Toreth spotted them at once — the Indian woman Warrick had been speaking to and, oddly, the blonde woman he'd met by the buffet. From the inside of the house, the security glass in the windows seemed clear; the women stood together by one of the long picture windows, looking out at the floodlit garden. The blonde had her arm across the other woman's shoulders, pale against her thick curtain of hair. In return, the shorter woman had her arm around the blonde's waist.

Easy, unobtrusive, with the comfortable intimacy of long familiarity, and it made Toreth's heart sink.

Shit. He stopped dead. "Warrick — "

"There's someone I'd like you to meet," Warrick said evenly, and it was only because Toreth knew him so well that he caught the gleam of steel in Warrick's voice.

"I didn't know," Toreth said in an undertone. "How the fuck could I have known?"

Now the steel was plainer. "You could have asked me."

"Look, Warrick, I'm s — "

Then he gasped at the sharp pain as Warrick dug his hand into his arm, just above the elbow, hitting a nerve on the first pinch.

"It won't take long," Warrick said, tightening his grip until Toreth's hand began to go numb and Toreth surrendered and started walking.

"Tavi — Suzanne," Warrick called as they neared the couple.

They disengaged and turned, and at the same moment Warrick released Toreth's arm. The nerve tingled at the release from pressure, the semi-pain a welcome distraction from the growing embarrassment.

"This is Val Toreth," Warrick said.

The blonde woman — Suzanne, presumably — smiled. "And not a waiter after all."

Warrick raised an eyebrow, then continued when neither of them explained further. "Toreth, this is Suzanne and Tavi Lennox-Phull."

Shared surname, even.

"A couple of my oldest friends," Warrick said. "Even though we don't get together as often as we ought to do. We were all at university together. Suzanne and I went to the same college — did the same course, even. Now she's deserted the technical world and illustrates children's books. Tavi I think you met earlier. She started working for P-Leisure a couple of months ago, handling partnerships with smaller corporations."

"It was quite a surprise when I found myself at SimTech," Tavi said.

"It's a small world," Warrick said. "Full of coincidences. Although a surprising number have logical explanations if you can be bothered to look for them."

Toreth nodded, trying not to look at Warrick. This was the worst part of the insane, stupid fucking jealousy — when he let Warrick see it, and Warrick didn't pretend not to see. Sometimes he was annoyed, sometimes he was patient, sometimes he held it up and pointed it out and generally made Toreth feel as pathetic as he was.

Still, on the plus side, it had been a great fuck. Toreth smiled at the women. "Nice to meet you both."

"Tavi," Warrick said, "Toreth was wondering what you said to me earlier in the ballroom — when I pointed him out to you. But I didn't think he'd believe me if I told him."

Tavi laughed. "Another coincidence — I was just telling Suze about it before you came in." She looked up at Toreth. "I told Keir that if I hadn't been a lesbian all my life, I might envy him."

"We need to talk," Warrick said as the door to his flat closed.

"You talk if you want to. I'm going for a shower." Toreth started walking down the corridor, away from the imminent row. "You can send me a memo in the morning, let me know what you decided."

To his surprise, Warrick didn't follow him.

In the bathroom, he stripped, feeling a dim shadow of the earlier anger. He should have expected a demand for a bloody conversation. Why the hell couldn't Warrick leave it alone? So he'd said no fucking in public. Big deal. The door had been locked. And if he mentioned Tavi and Suzanne . . .

Wadding up his DJ and trousers, he threw them onto the towel hamper. He shouldn't have come back here, Toreth decided. The rest of the party had been okay. A bit strained, but Warrick had seemed to feel his ace up the sleeve over his long platonic friendship with Tavi-the-fucking-lesbian had balanced out the scene in the toilet. On the way back to the flat, though, Warrick hadn't said a word. The silence had grown in the car until it felt too dangerous to break. How the hell had Toreth been supposed to know that Tavi didn't fuck men?

'You could have asked me'.

Yes, he could have. He could have, and he hadn't, so he'd made an idiot of himself. He could live with that. What he didn't want was a post-mortem of the whole sorry mess.

Once in the shower, he turned up the temperature and pressure, trying to wash away the irritation. After a couple of minutes the bathroom door opened and closed. Toreth rinsed shampoo out of his hair, wanting to be ready to tell Warrick to fuck off.

After a minute of silence, Warrick opened the shower door and stepped in. Naked, of course, which was instantly disarming. "Toreth — "

"Fine," Toreth said. "Talk, if you have to."

He'd let Warrick have his say, and hope that he could then come up with some apology that would be enough to shut Warrick up.

"What happened in the toilet at the Tefferas' — " Warrick began.

Somehow, he couldn't keep quiet. "You wanted it," Toreth interrupted. "It turned you on, don't fucking deny it."

"Toreth, that isn't the point."

Toreth turned to face him, crowding him a little, enjoying the height difference, watching as Warrick's gaze swept down and up. "What is the point, then?"

"It was — " Warrick gasped as Toreth took his cock in his hand.

"What was it?" Toreth pressed closer, lowering his head to breathe the words into Warrick's ear. "Tell me what you were thinking about."

"Stop that." But Warrick's hands were stroking his back and sides, eager and restless, and he was hardening quickly in Toreth's hand. "I can't — I can't very well explain if you're doing that."

I know. Toreth ignored the protest, and Warrick took a deep, shivering breath and closed his eyes.

"All right, if you insist," Warrick said. Toreth slid his free hand up, resting his thumb under Warrick's ribcage, feeling his voice resonate. "You're right that — that it turned me on. But I can't keep risking that sort of thing in public. We'll get caught in the end, and while it might be very funny for you, it certainly won't be for me and — and — "

Toreth smiled, speeding the rhythm. "You loved it. You loved it when I was raping your fucking throat."

"I — Oh, God."

"And you love hearing about it now. Do you want me to tell you how good it felt, taking you like that?"

When Warrick spoke again, his voice was firmer. "Toreth, it was too close to the edge. It was too damn real."

The words set his heart hammering. Determinedly, he kept pumping. "You wanted it like that."

"Yes, I did. A great deal — far too much to stop it. And that's why it was too close. Dilly made me — " He moaned softly as Toreth released his cock.

Toreth felt as though Dillian's name had switched the shower from hot to cold. He stepped back, letting the water make a curtain between them. "What the fuck does she have to do with anything?"

"Dillian asked if what I do with you is safe, and I promised her that it was." Warrick opened his eyes and reached up to angle the shower head down, clearing the air. "I've broken that promise once already, with the cabinet. I can't break it again. I won't."

Now he might as well have been standing under a snowmelt waterfall. "The cabinet's not a problem."

"Not now. But it was for a while, and it could have been a disaster, except that you prevented me from turning it into one. For which I'm extremely grateful." Warrick was looking straight at him, and his gaze pinned Toreth's helplessly. "I can't control it, not all the time. When it's happening, I can't see what's safe. Or even sane. That's — " He brushed the back of his hand across Toreth's ribs. "That's part of what makes it so good, of course. I trust you to take control, you know that. But if I'm not in control, and you're not either . . . " He shrugged.

Now he felt sick. "Warrick, I'm sorry."

"I'm not asking for an apology. What I need to know is whether or not you were still in control tonight. Whether you could have stopped."

"Of course I — "

"No. Not 'of course'." Now he had his palm against Toreth's chest, pressing slightly for emphasis. "Whatever the answer is, this isn't goodbye, or never again, or anything melodramatic. I just need to be clear about it. And if there is a problem, then we can find a way to work round it." He smiled faintly. "I'm an engineer — I like solving problems. Think about it, please."

He pretended to consider it for a few moments, then wondered why the hell he was only pretending. Why was he worried? Although it wasn't easy to reach back into the maelstrom of anger and lust, Warrick had had his hands free all the time; he'd had his teeth round Toreth
cock
, for Christ's sake. If he'd used either of those options with serious intent, Toreth sure as hell would've stopped.

And if something else had happened? If he'd twisted the collar too tight, or if Warrick had really choked . . . ?

So he thought about it, staring down at the water running over Warrick's fingers, until he was sure of the answer and he let the tension out in a long breath.

"Toreth?"

He looked up. "Yeah, I think so. I sure as hell didn't want to stop, but if you'd really fought me, or if something had gone wrong . . . yeah. Then I could've."

"You only think?"

"It's the best I can do. I mean, you didn't fight, did you? Nothing did go wrong. But I think it would've been okay." He didn't let his gaze waver — Warrick had to believe this. The consequences if he didn't were too sickening to think about. "Yes, I was angry, but I hadn't lost it. I was still in control."