Page 19 of Thorn of Sorrow

I’d engaged in many battles over my lifetime, had more blood on my hands than I cared to remember, and survived two of the most brutal parents imaginable, but I wasn’t insane enough to open my mouth right now.

“I don’t see why you won’t tell me,” Kyson argued. “What do you think I’m going to do with the information, use it against you somehow?”

I didn’t trust myself to respond, not after my earlier misstep. Anything I said could send this conversation spiraling further, and I didn’t want that look back in Kyson’s eyes. I shifted my weight, giving nothing away.

Silence was safer.

“You act like it’s some big deal,” he added, leaning forward. “You think I haven’t noticed? I’m not blind.”

Blind to what, exactly? I kept my expression neutral, and although my mind was cycling through a dozen responses, none of them were safe to voice.

My gaze narrowed slightly. He sounded so earnest, which only made this worse. “Kyson,” I said, my voice level, “are you sure you want to have this conversation?”

It was a talk I would love to have with him. I’d wanted Kyson for years, craved him in every way a man craved another. But if he was asking, what did that mean? I knew I was missing something. I had to be. Kyson was a guy, which meant he had a cock. I was completely confused.

“I’m asking, so, yeah, I want to have the conversation,” he said. “I’ve seen the way his eyes glow, Giovanni. If I haven’t said anything about vampires, I’m not going to say anything about whatever Dick is.”

Richard. He’s talking about Richard. Right?

The tension in my shoulders eased, and I let out a long exhale. “Kyson,” I said slowly, needing to be certain, “you’re talking about Richard, aren’t you?”

His head jerked back, brows furrowing. “Of course I’m talking about Dick. Who did you think I meant?”

A smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth. “Never mind, petit oiseau. And to answer your question, I don’t know. Malachi brought him here to work, but he’s never told anyone what Richard is.”

“What other beings are there?” he asked, setting his plate aside. “Humans, vampires, and demons… Dick clearly isn’t any of them.”

I really wished Kyson would stop calling him that, especially when I wanted the male with every fiber of my being. My cock was already swollen, the outline in my pants only hidden by my untucked dress shirt.

Kyson was talking, and my gaze was drawn to his lips.

Soft, parted slightly as he spoke, completely unaware of how badly I wanted to taste him. My restraint was razor-thin, my body aching with the need to close the distance between us.

A slow shift, just enough to lean in without breaking the moment. The warmth of his breath brushed against my skin, the scent of barbecue lingering faintly, but a scent I could ignore if it meant finally kissing him.

I moved cautiously, not just because of what I was but because of who he was—because Kyson was scarred, guarded, and I wouldn’t take anything he wasn’t willing to give.

A flicker of hesitation crossed his features, the barest tension at the corner of his mouth. My fingers found the edge of his jaw, a barely-there touch, waiting, watching, giving him the space to pull away if he wanted.

If he did, I would stop. If he hesitated, I would wait.

But he didn’t.

Lashes lowered, his breath caught, a subtle tremor running through him. His pulse fluttered at his throat, his fingers twitching slightly as if caught between instinct and fear.

Still, he stayed.

He let out a quiet sound, not quite a moan, not quite a sigh, but it went straight to my cock, making the ache nearly unbearable. I angled my body, fingers finally skimming along his jaw, then lower, to the side of his throat, where his pulse beat erratically against my palm.

The first touch was light, a whisper of contact, testing. His lips were soft, warm, parting slightly as I deepened the kiss. Slow, unhurried, a careful exploration. His hands twitched at his sides, uncertainty warring with want. My fingers drifted lower, skimming his neck, lingering at the exposed skin of his collarbone, careful to avoid anything that might make him retreat.

The hesitant brush of his tongue against mine sent fire through my veins. The hunger was there, but I reined it in, letting this moment be his to control.

The kiss remained slow, sensual, unrushed. I let him lead, let him set the pace. His fingers curled in my shirt, gripping, hesitant but wanting.

And god, I wanted him too.

When he pulled away, his cheeks were flushed, his breathing ragged.

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