Page 186 of Golden Eagle

“I think,” Dante said, “that you’re very lonely, and very sad, and you want to feel something honest.” A hand slid forward, down, covering his cock, and squeezing in just the right way.

Alexei’s mouth opened on an unbidden gasp, and he felt Dante press a smile to his throat.

Honesty. Had he ever had that?

As a boy, yes. His mother’s honest love; his father’s honest doting; his sisters’ honest teasing and kindness.

But there’d been nothing honest about government. About Grisha. About the revolution, and the regime that had replaced his father’s own flawed rule; nothing honest about the life he’d lived in the intervening century. Every time he started to feel something like affection for anyone, every time he thought it might be possible to build himself another family, it all crumbled.

He’d hoped, with Sasha, and Nikita, and their pack, around people unimpressed by him, who treated him like a person, and not like a prince or a pawn, that he might have finally,finallyfound a place to belong. A pack to which to contribute. A new family.

But then he’d met Gustav, and been reminded of Nikita’s sins, and he just…he couldn’t decide…he…

“You’re thinking too much,” Dante chided gently, and opened his jeans. “Just relax, and let me take care of you.”

Yes. Yes, that sounded wonderful, to be taken care of.

He closed his eyes and gave up the last of his forced tension. Tipped his head back against Dante’s shoulder as he touched him; drew him out of his jeans and stroked him, firm and steady, his grip expert. Caring, even.Loving, he lied to himself. He wanted honesty, yes, but for a little while, it would be so nice to allow himself a little lie, to cling to the idea that Dante – Basil – reallycared.

Afterward, when he went boneless, Dante spun him gently around, let him sag back against the counter, and cupped his face with his clean hand, kissed him with leisurely thoroughness, a lush play of lips and tongues that Alexei chased with a little whine when Dante pulled back.

He looked lovely in the low light, his cheeks flushed, his hair disarrayed. His sharp features were becoming familiar, becoming alluring in a way wholly disconnected from the swaggering appeal he tried to project out in public. A loveliness that was purely his, purely a trick of bone structure and a warmth in his gaze.Honest.

That word again.

Alexei brought shaking hands to his shoulders, and clung to him, too wrung-out to feel shameless. “What am I going to do?” he asked. Because hehadto do something, he realized now, with startling clarity. He’d been rocking along, letting himself be tugged in two directions, bowing to Nikita’s leadership, and being swayed by Gustav’s suavity and chatter. His father had been the Tsar of all Russias, and he still played the part of the terrified, bullet-riddled boy who’d crawled out of a mucky hole in the Siberian soil.

Dante thumbed at his chin, his smile fond. “I don’t know, love. But I think you must do something.”

~*~

The women had gone, and Jamie looked like he might be in some sort of wakeful coma. Dante had given him a blanket, and he’d wrapped it around himself and settled back into a chair. His eyes were open, staring sightless into the middle distance, his face totally slack. His hair stuck up ridiculously, there was lipstick smeared all over his throat, and a dab of dried blood in the corner of his mouth. Every few seconds, he’d lift the bottle of water Dante had given him and take a mechanical swallow.

“I think you broke him,” Alexei remarked, from his position sprawled across the sofa, his head in Dante’s lap.

Dante chuckled and ran his fingers through Alexei’s hair. “Not me, that would be our lovely lady friends.” He made a thoughtful sound. “Perhaps four was too many at one time. They’re a rather…experienced lot.”

“You weren’t a virgin, were you?” Alexei asked, raising his voice. “Jamie!”

“What? Oh, um.” He blinked a few times, shook his head, and a fraction of life came into his expression. “No, um. I wasn’t.” He blushed; as much blood as he’d ingested, it was a miracle he wasn’t blushing constantly. “I wasn’t. But.”

But fumbling in your dorm room was very different from what had happened tonight.

His blush deepened, and he brought his free hand up to press to his forehead with a groan. “Shit. Did that really happen?”

“Yes,” Dante said, gleeful, “and it was quite the show. Bravo, old chap.”

He groaned again, louder, cheeks tomato red. “God, I can’t believe I…and in front of you guys…damn it, I’m a–”

“Nope,” Dante said, tutting. “We don’t disparage ladies that way.”

“I’m disparagingmyself.”

“We don’t do that, either. You’ve done nothing wrong. Pleasure isn’t wrong.”

Jamie gapped his fingers and peered at them between them, swallowing, expression miserable. “I didn’t mean to get so carried away,” he said in a small voice.

“You didn’t mean to enjoy yourself, you mean? That’s all it was: innocent fun. You didn’t hurt any of them, didn’t take too much blood. They’re on their way home satisfied, happy, and none the wiser of the existence of vampires. There’s no need to self-flagellate like your captain,” Dante said breezily.

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