Page 64 of Tested
Chapter Nineteen
Trajan
A necromancer. Why the hell not? If things are going to fall apart, they may as well go all the way.
This is the first time I’ve seen Connor since my meeting with Jacques, and the exhaustion in his expression distracts me from my ugliest impulse. “When’s the last time you slept?” I ask, and he rakes a hand through his hair.
“Don’t remember. All the days are running into one.”
Jacques’ command is a slow drumbeat in the back of my mind. So far, I’m not having trouble resisting, but I’ll do better if I remind myself why I need to.
I catch David’s eye. He’s parked against Connor’s side, his arm around Connor’s waist. I gesture to the stairs and David’s grin says he catches my meaning. Pivoting on his heel, he aims Connor upstairs.
“What are you doing? I’ve got to check—”
“Hush.” David covers Connor’s mouth with his hand. “You need some sleep before you do one more damned thing.”
We start up the stairs, David tugging on Connor’s arm and me pushing from behind. “His room,” I mutter. Jacques’ demand is like a stone in my shoe; persistent, annoying, but possible to ignore. If I yield, it won’t matter where Connor sleeps, but giving us both space seems prudent.
But I will not yield. There is a way for me to circumvent Jacques. I just need to put the pieces in place. Stone will help, Sheena will help, and although he doesn’t realize it, David is helping, too. I ground myself in the here and now: Connor’s familiar scent, David’s warmth, the soft hum of traffic rising over the city.
No, Jacques Betancourt, I will not kill Connor MacPherson, even if that means I must kill you.
Connor’s room is as spare as mine. Dark wood furniture and very little clutter, but his has linen drapes over the windows. David had picked him out a deep purple velvet bedspread and coordinating throw pillows, along with a small bedside lamp that turns on with a touch to the base.
David flicks on the lamp. I close the door and, bracing myself against the door frame, I shut off my mind and simply watch.
Connor’s sitting on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped and eyes closed. David’s busily unbuttoning everything with buttons and dragging the clothing off his body. Connor doesn’t help, but he doesn’t resist him, either.
I love to see the care David’s showing Connor. For such a powerful wolf, he can be amazingly gentle. Connor has to scoot up for David to get his pants down over his hips, and when he sits down again, David gives him a push so he’s lying flat on the bed.
Quickly, David sheds his jeans and his hoodie. He’s naked except for a pair of fishnet tights. And damn, even Connor’s dick perks up at that sight. David crawls up the bed over Connor, settling his hips to capture Connor’s dick in his crack.
And then he starts to rock.
I’m still watching but so turned on I’ve got a hand on my own cock. David lifts himself and scatters kisses over Connor’s forehead and each of his eyes. He works his way down over Connor’s cheekbones, stopping to nip the end of Connor’s nose. He kisses around Connor’s lips, then licks across the seam of his mouth. Connor opens, but rather than kiss him fully, David catches Connor’s lower lip in his teeth.
He worries Connor’s lip, then moves lower, licking and kissing Connor’s throat, leaving soft bite marks in his wake. Connor’s still got his eyes shut, and though his cock is at half-mast, he’s not nearly as hard as that good loving should get him.
David reaches Connor’s chest, working on one nipple and then the other. He nips, which makes Connor twitch but doesn’t interrupt his deep, regular breathing. When David reaches Connor’s belly he glances up at me, a grin in his eyes. He slides off the bed, bending over to plant a soft kiss on Connor’s cock.
Connor’s flaccid cock.
Connor responds to the kiss with something that sounds suspiciously like a snore.
“Nighty night,amore mio,” I murmur. David’s attention is locked on my cock, now in my hand. He stalks toward me, his own erection doing its best to bust out of those tights.
David and I couldn’t be less alike. He’s slight and feisty. I’m tall and forbidding. I don’t bother with haircuts or manscaping, because I’d have to do the same thing every day when I rise. His hair is styled to play up his exquisite bone structure and his body is clean-shaven, those fishnets tracing lines over his smooth golden skin.
He reaches me and sinks to his knees. I’m so hard I could cut something.
In our situation, opposites very definitely attract.
He grasps the base of my shaft in a firm, no-bullshit grip. Just the way I like it. With no more preamble than that, he sucks me down. The sudden shift to warm, wet heat makes my head spin.
“I want,” I gasp, “to come all over your pretty face, puppy.”
He nods without breaking his rhythm, sucking me all the way down, then stroking me with his tongue on the way out. I time a thrust with his suck, going deep enough to make him gag. Even that doesn’t stop him. He takes me that deep again, fighting his own gag reflex, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.
