Page 108 of Natural-Born Cullers

Gray snorted a smile. “I don’t think we’d get on any better.”

Martin thought it over for a moment, or pretended to, then shifted a little, body going flat on Gray’s, brushing Gray’s and winning a mumble off him at how Martin’s cock filled, how he infused Gray’s.

“Hm,” said Martin quietly. “Maybe we wouldn’t.” A flash of eye came. “But at least you’d finally be able to figure out how I like my… ego stroking.”

Gray laughed, dipping his head into Martin’s shoulder and staying there. Yeah, he loved the bastard. Then he frowned, hating how close they always came to eating each other alive, how Jack got lost in the mix.

“Professional truce,” Gray said quietly. “For God’s sake, please, Martin. For you, for Jack… Jan.”

Martin eased back, just a little, and he flicked a look to how blood coated driving licences close by. Then he watched Gray for longer.

Gray wished to God he could get into his head, see why he seemed so bloody sad in that moment, but then it was lost as Martin shivered. He shifted into Gray—then flicked at the clasp to Gray’s suit trousers.

“Huh?” Gray arched a moment later as Martin gripped his cock.

“Shush, shush-shush,” whispered Martin heatedly, coming into Gray’s jaw and nibbling at… into the bone. “Let me play, Welsh.” A smile. “Help you figure out how I like my… ego stroked.”

Martin shifted a moment later, then forced a groan from Gray as he freed his own cock and ground back into Gray’s, bare cock against cock.

Martin’s breath came hitched, panted, matching the fight in Gray to let him play there or flip him over and see just how much he’d… need stroking. But Martin gripped both of his hands, keeping him there, and head dipped, upper body raised slightly, he rutted into Gray.

Martin allowed no more than that, everything under his control, leash pulled, quelling fight, the pressure around Gray’s wrists hurting, but the friction between bodies killing him more, and Gray he… he frowned at everything that hit his head and fists under Martin’s heat.

The fucking balls behind him holding him down in his own killing field.

Martin chuckled, then lost pace and breath as he came, his head and body stumbling almost as much as Gray’s as that knowledge seemed to take him with it too, how Martin gave a little of himself away in the field by taking something of Gray.

“Fuck.” Martin eased his grip a touch, head dipped, long black hair hiding his face. “This is twisted… this sex without the games. Pure consent.”

Gray lifted his head a little and tasted his kiss. “Pity I’ll never give it you then.”

“Hm?”

“My consent,” said Gray, cocking a smile. “This is as close as you get to—”

“Fucking you?” Martin watched him for a second, then laughed softly. “Another time, Welsh. Another goddamn fucking time….”

Gray eased free of the hold on his wrists and tugged Martin down to him with a… softer grip in his hair, for once taking the full gentle rawness of his kiss. After a moment, he pulled back and sighed as he briefly closed his eyes.

“How wrong did Jack feel, Mart?”

Martin sighed, then shivered as he eased back and bunched his T-shirt hidden under his jumper. He started to wipe at his abs, then Gray took over from him, recognising that shiver over having come on his skin.

Martin looked at him a moment later, and a frown chased his brow. “Wrong enough,” he added eventually. “Too fucking wrong enough.”

Chapter 31

Paralysed

Martin felt the pull of foot on brake as Gray drew the Merc to a stop on his courtyard. Light had headed back with Simon over an hour ago, and the car Martin had rented sat cooling on the drive as dawn crept up. The need was there to scratch his name all over it, piss Simon off more, but he buried it, needing to run with the tug back into sleep and how it would only cost Jack in the long run.

Although Gray never looked up as he tugged out his phone, a hand rested on Martin’s thigh. “Go get your head down. You look knackered.”

Martin smiled privately at that… breach of personal space.

Back in the cellar, Gray had stayed around with a call of housecleaning going back to Cal to take care of whatever he’d done to the two remaining cullers, and Martin had kept out of the way in Gray’s Merc, because that would include wiping away traces of driving licences and blood in the cellar. No doubt the cullers would have their own team, but Gray’s quiet said he wouldn’t trust putting a call through to them. Martin didn’t blame him.

“How long do you think you’ll get before you get a call to heel to account for her missing cullers?” He rubbed at his eyes, and Gray flicked him a look.

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