Page 55 of Wolfgang

Wolfe paused, taken aback. “You dislike the decor?”

“It’s fine,” Eric reassured him, too turned on to let this become some sort of argument. “It’s…elegant?”

“I suppose you’d prefer a man cave of some kind?” Wolfe asked, his brow furrowed, clearly affronted. “One with overstuffed cushions and a meteor-sized television?”

Eric couldn’t help his smirk. “Doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Ah.” After a moment, Wolfe’s expression smoothed, and a wicked glint appeared in his eye. “Warming my cock while you watch your American football, perhaps?”

A shock of lust punched through Eric, unexpected in its intensity. “What? I didn’t say anything about that.”

“Bent over some hideous leather sofa, your face pressed into a couch that will ‘work for fucking’? Is that what you’d like, my needy darling?”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Eric was panting now, not sure if he was humiliated or turned on beyond belief.

Wolfe gave another tug to his hair, grinding his erection against Eric’s own. “Come, pet. I trust you have no objections to the suitability of our bed.”

By the time the short trip to the bedroom had taken place, Eric’s bravado had worn off.

How the hell had he been so confident propositioning this?You haven’t had all of me yet? What the fuck was he, some sort of femme fatale?

True, he was no stranger to hookups. The twist of two bodies, soft or hard. Condoms and sweat and awkward goodbyes at three in the morning. But he’d never been…taken. And he didn’t just mean in the sense of never having been fucked. He’d never been the object of such fierce, unholy possessiveness before. Because Wolfe wouldn’t be leaving at three in the morning. Wolfe wouldn’t be leaving at all, would he? And he would probably chase Eric to the ends of the earth if he tried to run instead.

And it was pointless pretending it didn’t thrill him, being wanted in that way. Not just for a few hours or a few nights. For always.

Wolfe slid in ahead of him as they entered through the bedroom, and Eric stood awkwardly, watching as Wolfe made his way to the bedside table before neatly removing a bottle of lube and placing it just so. No condoms.

Vampires couldn’t give or receive STIs; that was what Danny’s helpful little book had said.

Wolfe removed his suit jacket and turned to face Eric, deftly unbuttoning his own shirt as he did so, nodding at Eric to do the same.

Eric frowned at him from his spot in the doorway, even as his gaze followed the slow reveal of smooth, lickable skin. “That’s it? We’re just gonna strip?”

A small twitch of Wolfe’s lips. “I’m sorry, darling. Did you need to be seduced?”

Eric didn’t dignify that with a response, instead holding his breath as Wolfe shrugged off the shirt completely and stalked over, placing Eric’s face in his hands.

He held Eric’s gaze for a long moment, as they both breathed the same air, then one hand trailed down to Eric’s neck, wrapping around the front, using the leverage to tilt Eric’s mouth up toward him. “You like to be kissed, don’t you, pet?”

Eric tried to keep in his moan, was halfway successful. “Everyone likes to be kissed.”

Wolfe clicked his tongue. “Not everyone.”

“What, you don’t like kissing me?” Eric teased. He’d seen how undone Wolfe became after making out; he wasn’t going to be fooled.

“I never liked kissing anyone.” Past tense. Wolfe confirmed it with the next word, his gaze hot. “Before, that is.”

“But now?”

Wolfe leaned in closer, pecking the corner of Eric’s mouth before taking his bottom lip between blunt teeth. “Now I could happily devour you whole.”

He captured Eric’s mouth fully, and Eric lost himself in the kiss, in the sure strokes of Wolfe’s tongue, in that firm hold on Eric’s throat.

He was only halfway aware of Wolfe undressing them both with his free hand, manhandling Eric deftly while he kissed him senseless.

Maybe Erichadwanted to be seduced.

When Wolfe finally pulled away, he kept his hold on Eric’s throat, studying his face. Eric had no idea what he looked like, but he had to assume it was some form of wrecked: his breaths were coming out in desperate pants; his cock was leaking, pressed against Wolfe’s firm stomach; and he’d gone slack and pliable in Wolfe’s hold, practically held up by it.

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