The Dead (The Thaumaturge Series Book 1) (23 page)

He made wonderful little inarticulate sounds, which was nice, and tugged on my hair hard enough to hurt, which was nicer. My knee dug into a spring in the couch cushion and I awkwardly jerked my leg forward, bracing one foot against the floor. I started wondering if I should take my pants off, or keep going.

Christ, I was too fucking nervous. I kept glancing up at him, trying to measure the extent of his pleasure by the frequency of his groans. The length of time between us talking and me having his cock in my mouth felt too short. I felt hopelessly behind, like I had missed some vital part of a conversation.

Well, maybe enthusiasm could make up for my confusion. I let some spit dribble down behind his balls and slicked up my fingers without taking my mouth off his cock. Then I carefully pressed his thighs apart, and slid one finger in between them.

“Good, good,” he panted from above me, and encouraged, I pressed harder, crooking my finger inside him. Marcus let out a long hiss and exhaled a moan, his hands groping at my shoulders.

I lifted my head, meeting his eyes, and his were burning, intense. I wondered how I looked to him. I wondered what I felt.

He nodded, his lips parted and his eyes bright. “Get your clothes off,” he said heavily, and swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing.

“Oh,” I said, and stood up to tug my pants off gracelessly. There was no real way to do it sexy, and I probably would have died of embarrassment if I had tried, so I just shucked them off as fast as I could and tossed them on the rest of the laundry. My shorts came off next, and I felt about a second's worth of acute humiliation before he just lunged forward and pulled my naked ass on top of him, clamping his mouth to mine.

We kissed wildly for a bit. His hands were all over me, running up and down my back and squeezing my ass and then flying back up to my face to cup my jaw. I tried to reciprocate as best I could, sucking on his neck and thrusting against him slowly.

“Oh, God, Ebron, please, please . . .” he moaned and that just got me all kinds of bothered. His body bucked underneath me, and I slid down between his knees again.

“Okay?” I asked. It seemed impolite to not at least get permission.

“Yes, God, fuck, come on.” He gripped my hair, holding me in place. I took him into my mouth again and sucked. My shoulder wedged too tightly under his thigh and I couldn’t get a good angle, making his cock bulge against the inside of my cheek.

“Sorry,” I said again and drew back to arrange myself better. I could still feel myself blushing, feeling utterly ridiculous for all my clumsy fumbling.

But God, when it worked, it
worked
, and he gasped when I thrust my finger back inside him. A long shudder went through him and I felt him relax, his asshole loosening and drawing me in. Honestly, it had been a while since I had been on this end of things, and I couldn't remember Leo ever feeling like
this.
Marcus's insides felt like molten lava, and the way his fingernails scratched into my hair, and how his knees slid up my arms - God, it was all so perfect.

“You feel so good,” I told him. I ran my tongue against the underside of his erection and he groaned. With Leo, I liked dirty talk, even surprised myself sometimes at my own lewdness, but now I couldn’t shake my self-conscious awkwardness. Everyone loves a compliment, though, and the brief, breathless smile he gave me made me want to just fuck him until he screamed.

“You, too, fuck yeah,” he replied, clutching at my back. “God, sorry, not gonna last, sorry, God, babe, suck me.”

I groped for my own hard cock, the pleasure building up inside me. I found to my surprise that I was moaning a little too, my face smashed up between his legs. Too much, I thought frantically, I was being too rough, shoving my finger ruthlessly against his prostate and bobbing on his dick mindless of my teeth, but he wasn't complaining, just gasping and panting beneath me. He whispered things that were hardly more than pleas.

“God, Ebron, yeah, gonna come ...” he gasped and I redoubled my efforts, hollowing my cheeks to suck him harder. He threw his head back and howled, his whole body going rigid. The cock in my mouth pulsed, the come caught in the condom and my rhythm faltered a bit in sort of dumb amazement. It seemed like a shock, that
I
had made him come.

He recovered quickly, grabbing me behind the neck and pulling me down for a searing kiss. “Come on, baby,” he said against my mouth. “Don't hold back. Come for me.”

My hand had started back up again on its own, jerking with determination. He slid against me, moving so that I could kiss him again, sucking on his lip and bracing my free hand against the arm of the couch. It didn't take long. The pleasure had been building slowly, but it almost surprised me when I came, jerking into my fist with a long, low gasp.

“Sorry,” I said immediately when I could form words again, glancing down between us at the stickiness on my fingers, on his thighs.

He laughed a little, high and giddy. “Why?”

“I was too rough.”

“No, you were perfect. Come here.”

“But - “ he cut me off with a lazy kiss, his body all languid and warm.

“Don't worry about it,” he said when he let me up for air. “I'm fine.”

“Yeah, but . . .” I started again, and he sighed in exasperation.

“Ebron. I'm fine. Will you shut up and cuddle me?” He grabbed my shoulder, pulling me down against his warm belly.

We burrowed together, our bodies wrapped loosely around each other. It was warm enough in the trailer to lie comfortably without a blanket, and for a while it was lovely, basking there in post-coital bliss with Marcus nuzzling my neck and his fine large hands tracing my ribs. But I heard my phone buzzing somewhere in the vicinity of my clothes, and that woke me up to the realization that the light outside was failing fast, and despite being 85% sure than Leo wouldn't really care that I had been with someone else, I really didn't want him to show up while we were still in such a delicate state.

“We got to get cleaned up,” I said, and he stretched a little in that reluctant-to-move way, but sat up and glanced around for his clothes.

I struggled out of the tangle of limbs and grabbed my pants, tugging them on while taking out my phone. Fuck.
Fuck
. It was already past four thirty. Leo would be home soon and there was no way that he wasn't going to walk in and get blasted in the nose with our sex smells. I looked at Marcus and saw him watching me with a guarded look in his eyes.

“You okay?” he said, smiling a little ruefully. “Regrets already?”

“No,” I said, softening. I leaned over to kiss him on the lips. “No, just . . . Leo will be here soon and I don't want him to walk in on us.”

“Is he going to be mad?” I watched him pinch off the condom, holding it between two fingers.

“I'm . . . not certain.”

He nodded, and gathered his clothes. “Can I use your shower? Little gooey over here.”

“Yeah, sure,” I said, relieved. That was good. Maybe he would at least be able to wash off some of the smell.

He gave me another of those careful smiles, and headed down the hall. I waited until I heard the door click before I checked my text messages.

It was Dahlia again. “Possible witch sighting!” it read. “Downtown near your store.”

My mind immediately supplied the image of Corvin and Morgan, watching me from across the street of Hot Shots cafe. I thumbed a quick response, “How many?” and then tossed my phone down to pick up one of the towels and wipe at the semen drying on my hand. I should have gotten into the shower with Marcus, at least to get rid of some of the physical evidence. I looked out the window at the darkening sky. My stomach rolled, tightening painfully. I couldn’t stop myself from drumming against my own knee. The sound of the shower seemed absurdly loud.

I should have a plan, I decided. Something to distract Leo right off the bat. He was all action, and he would want to move, to fight, and get our problems out of the way. The best way I had of doing that was to offer the evidence I had collected during the day - Aubrey's story about the people at the reservoir, Cody finding blood up on Blacktail, and Dahlia's text. And of course, Marcus's confession, as it were. We'd be heading out to hunt the witches within the hour, I guessed.

I found my shirt and pulled it on, then stood up to grab my socks. I was very aware of my index finger on my left hand. My cock felt tingly, and I thought again that I should shower. Leo would think that I had left the scents on me deliberately.

The clock on my phone read ten to five. I looked back towards the bathroom. Maybe I'd have time. At the very least I could wash my hands. I was just starting back in that direction when I heard boots on the front steps.

I just went deer-in-the-highlights still, frozen standing there with a come rag in one hand and my phone in the other. My eyes darted around the room, noting the discarded condom wrapper lying on the floor near my scattered laundry, right on top of a ragged, old Van Halen tee shirt. The couch looked rumpled, the pillows all shoved against one arm where Marcus had been resting his head. There was no wet spot that I could see, but even with my weak human nose I smelled sex. I dropped the come rag and hastily pulled some of my clean clothes off the laundry pile to cover it.

Keys jangled in the lock and then Leo stood there, entering in his silent, fluid way. He looked at me for a long time after he closed the door behind him, his eyes fixed on me, but his nose delicately flaring. The expression on his face was one of surprise, rather than anger or hurt.

“Leo . . .” I said, and then my voice broke and I was surprised to find that my eyes were swimming with tears.

His eyes narrowed a little, and he took a small breath, but he didn't say anything.

“Leo,” I said again. My voice sounded strange to me, all thick and low. “I'm sorry.”

He scoffed. “Twice in two days, Ebron, I walk in here to smell that fucking witch all over the place.”

“I know, I'm sorry-”

“Don't be sorry,” he interrupted, his eyes still fixed on me. “We're not fucking married, Ebron. You can fuck who you like.”

I nodded, looking up a little so that the tears wouldn't spill down my face. There was a long, uncomfortable silence, where Leo just stood there and several dozen emotions flooded through me, everything from relief to amusement to hurt. I landed on anger, near the end, and stuck on it. Naturally he wouldn't give a shit if I fucked anyone else. He would have had to care about me to mind, and he never had.

He was watching my face. “Do you want me to go?” he said softly, and wouldn't you know, he sounded sincere.

“No,” I snapped. “No, Leo, I want you to
stay
!”

He started to reply, but I moved forward, and to my own surprised, grabbed the front of his jacket with both hands, twisting and shaking him a little. He allowed this, a new curious light coming into his face, like I was a tiresome pet that had finally done something interesting.

“Stay?” he asked.

“Yes, Leo, stay!” I cried. “I want you to stay. I want you to quit fucking running off every couple of months. Stay with me.” The last bit came out way more desperate than I had intended, a broken whimper.

“Stay with you,” he repeated dully, ignoring my hands twisted in his coat.

“Yes. Stay. Please. Just be with me. Just me. Just you.”

“Is this . . . ?” he cocked his head towards the bathroom, listening and then looked back at me. “Is this a revenge fuck? You fucked him to make me
jealous
?”

“No,” I said, releasing his shirt, but not backing up. I used every inch of my height advantage, staying close enough that he had to look up at me. “I did it because I wanted to.”

“That's good. Because it's awfully rich of you to be pleading with me for monogamy when your dick isn’t even dry.”

He had a point. I felt my face get red and I backed up a bit.

Leo ran a hand through his damp hair and took a few deep breaths. When he looked back at me, he looked older, defeated somehow. “Couldn't you have least taken a fucking shower?” He whispered. “I can smell him all over you.”

I'm sorry,” I said again. My chest ached, my fingers numb. It was entirely possible that I was going to lose him, I realized.

“Why is he here, anyway?” Leo said, finally taking a step into the room. He glanced at the couch and his body stiffened a little when he saw the condom wrapper. He shot me a sidelong look of pure annoyance, and I just looked away guiltily.

“I . . . kinda have a lot to tell you,” I said.

“Yeah? Had a productive day?” He glanced around, and I realized that he wanted to sit, but didn't want to sit on the scene of the crime. Finally, he just sighed and sat in the recliner, crossing his ankle over his opposite knee.

“Leo.” I swallowed hard and crouched down next to him so that we were eye level. My heart felt like it was trying to work its way out of my throat, and it felt a little hard to breathe. God, I wanted to just throw myself at him and beg forgiveness.

“I'm sorry,” I said again. I wanted to take his arm in my hands, but I couldn't bring myself to touch him, and let my hands fall back to my own knees.

“What are you sorry for?” he said, looking right at me.

“Why are you being so fucking nice about this?” I cried in reply.

“Do you want me to be upset?” he asked, his eyebrows coming together. “Cause I am. I hate the thought of him touching you. I hate that fucking smell on you. You didn't let him fuck you, did you?”

I shook my head and he seemed to relax just a tiny bit, the line of his shoulders sloping. “I wish you hadn't done this, for a lot of reasons, but mostly because it makes what I have to tell you now pretty uncomfortable.”

“Hmm? What?” I leaned in a little, the dark look in his eyes making me wary.

“I found the witches last night, Ebron,” he said. “And they know all about you. He knows all about you. They were trying to find you and he was the bait.”

I set a pot of tea on the center of the kitchen table and then eased gingerly into the seat between Leo and Marcus. Leo sat slumped into his chair, his sprawling legs taking up too much real estate under the table and his arms crossed over his chest. He glared at Marcus, who, having realized that a spurned vampire wasn’t quite benign, steadfastly ignored him. Marcus’s knee wouldn’t stop bouncing. He had his hands fisted together and propped against his mouth, his eyes fixed on remnants of casseroles past that had crusted the inside of the glass oven door.