Page 55 of How to Bite Your Neighbor and Win a Wager
VINCENT
Wesley and Vincent were dating.
Of course they were dating. The moment Wesley had questioned whether they were, it seemed ridiculous that they had not been, and just as ridiculous that Vincent had been afraid to ask. He and Wesley were friends, yes, but they had always been something more than that.
Not only were they dating, but Wesley and Vincent were kissing, too.
That seemed equally right, Vincent straddling Wesley as his lips pressed Wesley’s open, his chin twisted and his nose bumping into Wes’s cheek. He gripped Wes’s curls, pinning his head in place because he knew now—had maybe always known—that this was what Wes wanted. The man made a delicate yearning sound, soft and tight, and his mouth moved against Vincent’s in desperate, urging gulps like he was trying to drink Vincent in all at once for fear he’d never have him again. His teeth tugged at Vincent’s upper lip and Vincent’s fangs caught on his lower, tearing as he tugged free. Vincent sucked on the cut long and hard, the bright taste of Wesley’s blood blooming through his mouth. He moaned as he finally closed the tiny wound with his tongue, his nose bumping against Wes’s.
Wesley gasped. His hands dragged up Vincent’s thighs to clutch at his hips, one wrapping a little lower and further than the other. “Do that,” he breathed. “Do that, but everywhere, to all of me.”
“Eat you like a delicacy?” Vincent asked, dragging one fang along Wesley’s cheek, his lips brushing along behind.
“Hell yes.” Wes sounded rough, hoarse in the best possible way, like a dam about to burst. He went tight beneath Vincent as his skin finally broke, then loose again in a delirious sigh as the venom slipped from Vincent’s fangs, shuddering when the cut closed over. One of his hands moved a bit lower, rubbing down the front of Vincent’s thigh.
The building pressure made his dick ache. He moved his way along Wesley’s jawline, nipping and sucking and slowly shifting the angle of his hips to ride toward Wes’s touch against his thigh, just a little terrified to say what he wanted with more than body language. But hedidwant this, even if he wasn’t quite sure whatthiswas, other than to have Wesley—moaning, writhing Wesley—be a part of it.
Vincent nibbled at the crook of Wesley’s neck, nuzzling and kissing just as often as he bit down. For a moment he lost track of Wes’s hands altogether. He worried he’d finally have to tell the man what he wanted, but then Wes clutched his fingers around Vincent’s ass with one hand and pressed the other in a rhythmic motion against the front of his pants. Vincent moaned into Wesley’s skin. It should not have wrecked him that thoroughly, with the thick jean fabric still between him and Wes’s palm, but all his nerves were alight in a way they never had been on his own and Wes seemed to know exactly how to rub to make Vincent’s lashes flutter involuntarily and stars build behind his eyes.
He had to pay the man back somehow.
His cheeks flushed hot, then hotter still at the thought of what he wanted to try in response, but before he could psyche himself out of it, he reached between their legs, only fumbling against Wes for a moment before he dragged his nails up the bulge in the front of Wesley’s jeans.
“Fucking—” Wes hissed, arching into him.
Their hips brushed like a spark.
And from somewhere below them and down the hill, Babcock’s assistant said, “Did you hear that?”
Vincent froze. His heart hammered in his ears. Wes’s fingers closed around his wrist. Slowly, he let Wes go, shifting off him. His erection still ached threateningly but the chills running up his spine at the sound of two pairs of approaching footsteps were far from sexual.
On this side of the roof, they had momentary cover, but as soon as Babcock and his assistant came around to investigate they were doomed.
Vincent slid off the edge, hooking his feet into the edge of the window below. He held onto the roof as he lowered himself to the sill. His dick protested the position, but he tried his best to ignore it. He had already broken the stained-glass window loose when he’d moved in at the beginning of the summer, and now he pushed it open with all the stealth he’d gained from years of breaking and entering. He helped Wesley to the sill, then inside, managing not to die of embarrassment as the front of Wes’s pants brushed against his cheek, the man clearly still just as hard as he was.
They had been kissing, after all. Touching, even if there was still a layer of fabric between them. Vincent didn’t have anything to be embarrassed about.
As Wesley tried to drop from the window, his phone slipped from his back pocket. Vincent caught it for him, tucking it away and closing the window. The hunters rounded the mausoleum.
Vincent and Wesley went still, backs against the cold wall. The shuffling from outside was laced with the low mutters of two people. A flashlight beam shot through the window, then rose to the rooftop. Wes’s fingers closed around Vincent’s. He squeezed. Vincent squeezed back.
“He can’t have gone far,” Babcock’s assistant hissed.
“By now he might have found a chance to feed.” Babcock sighed. “We’ll look for another hour or so. I don’t want to keep wasting time on this damn feral. They’re not usually this much of a pain.”
“Did you check inside?”
Babcock grunted.
Vincent pulled Wesley behind the ornamental stone coffin as one of the flashlights moved back around the mausoleum. The thick metal door only had a little intricately ornamented gap to look through, but Babcock rattled it so hard that Vincent worried he might break something. He lifted his light. Vincent checked that his bundled sleeping bag and spare clothes were still out of view of the door slit. The sarcophagus created a dark shadow over it as the beam passed, but Wesley’s gaze still caught on the spot. He kept staring at it even as Babcock dropped the light, casting the mausoleum back into darkness.
“This one’s sealed tight.”
Babcock moved to the other mausoleum, but his rattling turned to background noise against the aghast expression on Wesley’s face. As soon as the hunters were out of earshot, the man sank the rest of the way to the floor in a slump. Vincent dropped his head against the stone behind him, staring up at the ceiling so he didn’t have to see Wesley. All the sexual tension they’d just built between them had been snuffed out, replaced by something Vincent liked a whole lot less.
“What?” he asked. He didn’t have to see the man opening and closing his mouth, trying to form his awkward question into something that wouldn’t sound so terrible. He knew Wes well enough by now. “Just say it.”
“Vincent.” He sounded like he was moving quickly from shocked to broken.
