Page 42 of Thomas
“I am. Would you like to feed now?”
Thomas inhaled a sharp breath. It felt like the ancient entity within his being had done a somersault. A quick, joyous flip at the prospect of something very, very good. “I would, if you’re ready to try?”
Cameron set his shoulders back, visibly steeling himself. “I am. Let’s do it now, if that’s what you prefer… You have consent. Should I?—”
Gingerly, Thomas pushed himself up to stand.
“Thomas, I can?—”
“No, please, let me,” he said, making his way over to Cameron. Even though Thomas felt like a dying man stumbling through the desert toward an oasis, he figured the least he could do was go to Cameron and do this properly.
Thomas slowly sank to one knee in front of Cameron. The large purebred went stiff as a board, his hands clenched in tight fists atop his thighs.
Thomas raised his chin to meet his eyes, careful to give him space. He hesitated with his hand hovering over Cameron’s. “May I?”
Cameron blinked. “Yes…” Thomas laid his palm over Cameron’s clenched fist. His hand was warm and large, and the innocent contact sent a little thrill of energy up Thomas’s arm. His nature was still doing flips inside his belly, but he internally told it to calm the fuck down.
“If it’s easier for you, I could feed from your hand or wrist? You wouldn’t perceive my thoughts that way and you could maintain your personal space.”
Cameron glanced down at Thomas’s hand atop his own. “Isn’t that how children are taught to feed when they’re first weaned from their parents? Lennon said something about this when we found a source for Rachelle.”
“Yes,” Thomas said. “It is common in that circumstance. But there’s nothing wrong with feeding that way if it makes you comfortable.”
Privately, Thomas wanted to feed from his neck. He wanted the closeness and intimacy of it in addition to Cameron’s essence and flavor. But feeding from his hand or wrist would be more than sufficient for his needs. Thomas wasn’t in a position to be choosy.
“Thank you for offering,” Cameron said, resolve in his voice. “But no. We’re not children.”
Thomas exhaled a silent sigh of relief. He spoke quietly. “Okay. Take a deep breath for me, please? Count to five on an inhalation.”
He pushed himself up from his knee and leaned into Cameron’s neck as his shoulders rose and fell. The scent of him pulsed fragrantly around his strong body, alluring and magnetic. Thomas flattened his tongue against the tight skin of Cameron’s neck and his incisors sprang to life.
When Cameron hit what Thomas estimated was five in his silent counting, he squeezed Cameron’s fist in his palm and gently bit down.
The rush of him against Thomas’s tongue was heady and perfect. Satisfyingly nostalgic but concurrently fresh and new. The ginger essence hit his palate first, earthy and raw, but then the taste grew complex as he fed a little longer—interlaced with a sweetness that floated and sang within the peppery sensation.Like the high notes lightly sprinkled atop a luscious and gripping melody.
This is… exactly the same as the bags, yet profoundly elevated. Iknewit.
Despite his euphoria, he felt Cameron tense beneath him, so he lifted his hand from Cameron’s fist and gently cupped the back of his head. Thomas sighed and let his sincere gratitude and relief delicately pour into Cameron.
He was grateful for the purebred’s inherent kindness and generosity. His concern and the way he’d given Thomas just enough space to make his own decisions—to manage his own emotions and healing. Above all, he felt grateful for his trust. That he was willing to give himself over to Thomas, but no one else.
Desiring more, but not wanting to push Cameron too far, Thomas lifted from his flesh and politely licked the puncture wound clean. With his hand still at the back of Cameron’s head, he looked into his face. The man’s eyes were clenched shut as if something pained him.
Thomas spoke tenderly. “Cameron, are you alright?”
Cameron frowned, blinked his eyes open, and Thomas’s breath caught. Cameron’s eyes were alighted in vivid green. Like emerald stones backlit by the afternoon sun. Without warning, Thomas’s own nature thawed in response. His eyes sprang to life like a wildfire and a noticeable glittery sensation ran up the length of his spine.
“Oh…” Thomas breathed, his heart thumping in his chest as he stared at the man staring back at him, their eyes mutually glowing from the ancient, knowing magic within them.
Cameron swallowed. “Is this… Does this always happen? When someone feeds, I mean.”
Thomas slid his palm around to cup Cameron’s jawline and overwarm cheek. He stared into his eyes. “No,” he said quietly. “This does not always happen.”
Chapter Fifteen
Melty.
There was no other word to describe the sensation. Melty, warm and a little weird. As if someone had set a low-burning fire to Cameron’s insides. At first, the fire warped and twisted itself around—but then the intensity of the flame shot up like a rocket, straight to his eyeballs.
