Page 36 of Soulmates
We leave Stone’s place without telling everyone where we’re headed. Not that I recognize anything anyway. As near as I can tell, Los Angeles is an endless confederation of strip malls linked by slow-moving freeways.
We end up at a three-story walk-up Trajan tells me is in the city of Pasadena. The hotel room is decorated in shades of pink and green. Seriously. Someone back in the day made that fine decision. Now the carpet is minty except for the gray paths cut by uncountable pairs of dirty shoes, and the plaid bedspread sags in line with the mattress.
I don’t care as long as there’s a shower. That’s my first stop. I scoop up every sample bottle of shampoo and body wash and whatever and leave Trajan to settle himself in the attached vampire room. I hope his room is orange and brown and we can have an ugly comforter contest.
After the shower, I feel slightly more human—or as close as I get. Trajan has emptied my scorched suitcase and spread my clothes all over the room, and I’m the only thing in the space that doesn’t smell like smoke. “What the hell?”
He shrugs. “Gotta air things out.” There’s half an apology in his voice. “You should sleep. The sun’s going to come up in a couple of hours, and one of us will need to stay awake.” He rubs his eyes, looking as tired as I feel. “I don’t want to tell anyone, even Sheena, where we are.”
The air-conditioned chill battles with the exhaust-heavy air from the doorway. He’s right. I’m going to have to pack in a good eight hours between now and sunrise. It’s a physics problem, or something. All the drama has me wired, though. “Not sure I’ll be able to close my eyes.”
He moves, smooth and fast, pushing me back against the saggy mattress. “Let me help you.”
“Wait.”
But he doesn’t wait. He tugs on my jeans. They’re so loose, they slide right down. Then he slides down too, landing on his knees. I want to protest, but the best I can do is twist my fingers in his hair, holding on while he pulls my hips to the edge of the bed.
His lips trail along my inner thigh, but as my pulse races, I hearsoul mate soul mate soul matewith every beat. He tongues my balls, sending shivers up from my belly. He’s been so good. Loyal, protective, kind. And I can’t figure out why.
“I’m confused.” The words come out all fragile and whiny.
He sucks on a tiny bit of skin, hard enough to scratch with his incisor. After laving the nip with the flat of his tongue, he grasps the base of my shaft and gives it a stroke. “Not all of you is confused.”
His eyes are dark and warm, and it wouldn’t take much to lose myself in them for a good long while.Soul mate.“Why are you blowing me if the love of your life is out there somewhere?”
Trajan jerks away, a hank of black hair falling across his face. “Don’t.” His fingertips dig into my thighs.
“Don’t you.” I scoot my hips away from the edge. He’s moved into the gray zone between “adventure fucking” and “oh shit my heart’s involved” and I don’t like it. “Things are complicated enough.”
Because I might talk a bunch of bullshit about a guy in every orifice, but I know what it means to be deeply connected with another man. And I know how hellacious it is when things end. I may or may not have a mate out there somewhere, but he’s not going to be a vampire, and I can’t afford the feels ol’ Tony is bringing up in me. “You chose a raccoon, Rocky.” It’s a lame defense, but it’s pretty much all I got.
Sighing, he rests his forehead against my thigh. “I don’t know what we’re caught up in, David, but I don’t see the harm”—he tips his head so his lips brush my skin—“in taking care of each other.”
Chills spread in his wake, and my dick bobs.Fucking traitor.Trajan takes that as a sign and kisses his way to my bull’s-eye. For a second, I worry about unruly hair, because the current shenanigans haven’t left time for manscaping. In the end, though, I’m warm from the shower, and his lips are cool. The body gel sample reeks of lavender, clean and astringent in a room full of smoke. When he swallows me down, I drown in waves of relief and joy, sadness and regret.
Despite all the emotional bullshit, my dick’s an iron rod. The vampire sucks, hollowing his cheeks, and I send up a keening cry.So good. He works me, bobbing and swallowing. Heat builds, coalescing between my hips and the small of my back. Part of me still hates how he gets behind my defenses.
The rest of me is ready to go off like a rocket.
I’ve got one hand in his hair and the other clutches the bad plaid bedspread. My hips rock in time with his motion, driving deeper and deeper. So warm. So wet. The scratch of his fangs tightens my balls. I glance down, and for one second, I see behind his walls. There’s affection and confusion and white-hot desire. I can absolutely relate, and the realization is the spark that sends me off.
I let go and fly down the cataract of pleasure, my body rocked by the storm. I thrust hard, shooting down his throat. He takes it all.
I fold to the side, my cock slipping from his mouth. I’ve got no reserves, no energy. He helps me get my head onto the pillow and covers me up.
“I’ll set the alarm,” he says.
I curl up on my side, tugging the bad plaid up to my chin. I don’t answer him.
Chapter Twelve
“ORDER WHATEVER YOU want.” Trajan’s stretched across his side of the white vinyl booth.
He wants me to think he’s relaxed. I’d believe him except that he’s tapping the table with one finger. Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick; steady as a metronome. The menus are black and heavy, and the tabletop is covered with white linen under glass. We’re at The Darden, an old Hollywood hangout. Think Gary Cooper and Rock Hudson in boxy suits, Marilyn or Katherine in silk chiffon and pearls, and Lew Wasserman chasing down a deal.
These days, the customers still talk about scripts and contracts andwhat’s your next project?but they’re as likely to be wearing shredded denim and a man bun as tailored trousers.
The glass globe candles are dim, the place smells like garlic and perfume, and we’re waiting for Sheena. She called Trajan and said she had some ideas about Connor, and asked us to meet her here at nine p.m. It’s almost nine thirty, and I’m pretty sure Trajan is losing it.Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick.
