Page 58 of Wolfgang

Eric nipped him again, on the tender skin where Wolfe’s thigh met his pelvis, his teeth still blunt. “Here?”

“Are you hungry, pet? You know my blood can’t nourish you.”

Eric shook his head, his stubble tickling Wolfe’s skin. “Not hungry.” He paused. “Well, a little. I wouldn’t mind that blood bag later. I just want to…do it again, I guess. Is that okay?”

What a beautifully greedy creature.

Wolfe leaned his head back, threading his fingers through Eric’s hair—still too short, but it would grow. “Be my guest, darling.”

There was a brief, sharp sting and then that lovely wash of sensation from the night before—Eric’s pleasure at Wolfe’s taste, Wolfe’s own pleasure at the feel of the bite.

Wolfe may not have been getting his cock sucked, but this was its own form of perfection. Eric would drink, the greedy thing. Then Wolfe would direct that cheeky mouth to his cock, feed his mate essence of a different sort. And then…well, he’d simply decide from there. So many delicious choices. Suck Eric off as well? Use his hand and capture those lips again? Have Eric bring himself to completion, perhaps in front of the mirror, so he could see how gorgeous he became in his lustful state? Or possibly edge him for hours, see what desperate sounds he could tear out of him.

The harsh sound of a phone ringing broke through Wolfe’s delightful daydreams.

Eric lifted his head from Wolfe’s lap, his lips bloody. A vision like no other. “That’s mine.”

“Ignore it.”

But Eric was already leaning over the bed to peer at the damned thing, most likely conditioned from years of being the doctor on call.

Wolfe could feel Eric’s dismay through the bond before he saw it on his face. “My mom.”

“Ignore it,” Wolfe said again.

Eric’s brow was furrowed, his reddened lips twisted in a frown. “But she’sbeencalling. For days now. I can’t just—”

“You can.” Wolfe picked up the offending device and tossed it on the floor, where it slid beneath the dresser.

Now Eric’s frown was directed at him. “Hey!”

“You’re an adult, Eric. You don’t have to answer.”

Eric sat up with a huff. “And you don’t get to dictate who I talk to. Or am I a prisoner after all?”

It was a laughable accusation. The good doctor had been walking all over Wolfe since the moment he’d gotten there. Wolfe tried to rein in his annoyance and stick to the facts. “I don’t like what I sense through the bond when she calls.” More to himself than Eric, he muttered, “She’ll have to be dealt with.”

His beast agreed with every ounce of its unnatural being.Kill what hurts our mate.

Eric eyed him with suspicion. “What does that mean?”

As their interlude had been so painfully interrupted, Wolfe rose from the bed, striding to the closet to grab his favored silk robe.

“Wolfe,” Eric prompted.

Wolfe grabbed a second robe for his mate and tossed in on the bed.

“Wolfe.”

Perhaps he’d run them both a bath.

Eric slid to the edge of the bed, trying to catch Wolfe’s eye. “Hey. Psychopath. You can’t kill my mom.”

Wolfe ran a hand through his unacceptably disheveled hair. “Are you so attached, then?”

He didn’t understand it, this loyalty to someone who clearly made Eric so miserable. This woman who had the irritating power of ruining his mate’s good mood with one measly phone call. Wolfe may have been grateful she’d created such a needy void in Eric, but she’d already played her role. He had no more use for Eric’s dissatisfaction. He wanted his mate content, joyful, lustful. Anything but this strange mix of shameful and distressed.

Eric was gawking up at Wolfe like he’d come from another planet. Wolfe tried again. “I won’t have you upset, darling.”

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