Lover at Last (Black Dagger Brotherhood #11) - J.R. Ward Page 0,170

silence.

Lest there be any question as to whether he’d welcome a quickie before the whole shower-dress–First Meal thing, Blay arched, pushing his ass into the seat of Qhuinn’s pelvis. The groan that shot into his ear made him smile a little, but things got serious as Qhuinn’s dagger hand snaked downward and found Blay’s cock.

“Oh, fuck,” Blay breathed as he moved his leg up and out of the way.

“I’ve got to be inside of you.”

Funny, Blay was thinking the exact same thing.

As Qhuinn mounted him, Blay eased onto his stomach, crushing Qhuinn’s palm into that hard ridge of arousal.

It didn’t take long for the rhythm to get fast and furious, and as Blay’s balls tightened with yet another release, he marveled that his desperation for the guy only seemed to grow—you’d think the number of times the pair of them had come together—literally—during the day would have taken this burn down to a rolling boil.

Not the case.

Giving himself over to the pleasure, Blay gritted his teeth as his release shot out at the same time Qhuinn’s hips locked up tight and the male grunted.

There was no second round. Not that Blay didn’t want it and Qhuinn wasn’t able—the clock was the problem.

When Blay reopened his eyes, the digital readout told him that Qhuinn’s alarm provided for only fifteen minutes of get-ready—time for a male’s quick shower and arming, nothing extra. Kind of made him wish the fighter had been more of a mousse, double-shave, cologne, matching-outfit sort of guy.

With another of his trademark erotic groans, Qhuinn eased them onto their sides, keeping them joined. As the guy breathed deeply, Blay realized he could have stayed like this forever, just the two of them in a silent, dim room. In this moment of peace and quiet, there was no overhang of the past, or anything that needed to be said but wasn’t, or third parties, real or fabricated, between them.

“At the end of the night,” Qhuinn said in a gravelly voice, “will you come to me again.”

“Yes, I will.”

There was no other answer that occurred to him. In fact, he wondered how he was going to wait through the twelve hours of darkness and meals and work until he could slip away and come back here.

Qhuinn muttered something that sounded like, “Thank God.” Then he moaned as he disengaged, withdrawing himself. In the aftermath, Blay stayed where he was for a brief moment, but ultimately he had no choice save to get up, go out the door, and return to where he belonged.

Thank God no one saw him.

He made it back to his own room without anyone playing witness to the walk of shame, and yup, within fifteen minutes he was showered, leathered, and armed. Stepping out of his door, he—

Qhuinn came out of his at exactly the same moment.

Both of them froze.

Ordinarily, walking down together would have been marginally awkward, the kind of thing that they would have made small talk during.

But now…

Qhuinn dropped his eyes. “You go first.”

“Okay.” Blay turned to walk away. “Thanks.”

Blay cast his chest holster and his leather jacket over his shoulder and strode off. By the time he hit the stairwell, it felt like years had passed since they’d lain so close together. Had the day between them even fucking happened?

Jesus, he was starting to feel insane.

Entering the dining room below, he took a random empty chair and hung his stuff over the back as the others did—even though Fritz hated weapons around his food. Then he thanked the doggen who presented him with a fully loaded plate, and began to eat. He couldn’t have told you what had been served to him, or who was talking around the table. But he knew exactly when Qhuinn came through the jambs: His core started to hum, and it was impossible not to glance over his shoulder.

There was an immediate physical impact as he took in that huge body clad in black, and dripping in weapons—like a car battery had been hooked up to his nervous system.

As Qhuinn didn’t meet his eyes, he supposed that was a good thing. The others around the table knew them both too well, especially John, and things were complicated enough without the benevolent peanut gallery getting a chance to weigh in—not that anything would be said publicly. Privately, though? Pillow talk ran rampant through the household.

Something to envy.

Qhuinn started forward, then abruptly changed direction and walked allllll the way around to the other side of the table, to the only chair,