Black And Blue (Quentin Black Mystery #5) (7 page)

His fingers tightened in my hair before I could fully wrap my head around that train of thought, either. Then he was kissing my mouth, dragging my leg up and around and between his and pressing it up against his crotch. I let out a low gasp when he did it a second time, and his light flooded mine, turning hotter and more liquid.

Gaos, Miri.

Pulling his light back with tangible frustration, he glanced past me in the direction of the curtain separating us from the rest of the restaurant. Once he had, I felt him tense. Without looking, I could tell he’d seen something. Whatever it was, it sent a flood of aggression running through his light.

“Gaos,” he muttered.
Have mercy on me, Miri, please.

In what respect?
I glanced over my own shoulder to see what he was looking at.
 

A man in a dark blue suit stood at the bar. He wasn’t close, but he’d positioned himself right in line with where the curtain parted a few inches, and was watching us with overly-interested eyes that pretended to be casual. I felt Black wanting to close the curtain on his stare, or maybe get in his face. Touching his jaw to get him to look back at me, I spoke aloud.
 

“In what respect, Black?” I repeated.

He looked up at me, scowling.
In all respects. We’re both fucking hypersensitive right now, okay? So just... please... remember it’s not only you. I’m really trying not to be an asshole.
 

A hotter plume came off his light, along with more frustration.

That being said, if that fucking guy keeps looking at you like that, I’m going to do something that might get me arrested... and then probably drag you out of here by your hair and fuck you in the car.

He looked up at me again, exuding another pulse of that hotter frustration, along with a denser feeling that might have been embarrassment.
 

Miri, I’m being somewhat serious. I felt you in the car. I’ve felt you thinking this bullshit for awhile now, about how you think you’re reacting to us more than I am. You’re wrong. You’re really fucking wrong. I might know more about it, and I might be able to control it marginally better at times, but trust me, I have all the same issues. Pretty much all the time. I’m paranoid as fuck about you, Miriam...

I looked down at him, pursing my lips. I wasn’t surprised that he’d been reading me, but his actual words surprised me.
 

He’d seemed fine with us. Cocky, even. Now he seemed genuinely frustrated by me. Where was this coming from?

Did you hear what I said at all?
he sent, sharper.
Or are you selectively interpreting it with your analyst’s brain again?

“Of course I heard you,” I said, stiffening.

Was he actually pissed at me?

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No... I’m sorry.”

Exuding more frustration, he looked away, taking a sip from his wine glass without letting go of me.

I’m not saying there’s some problem with us, Miri. There’s zero problem with us, as far as I’m concerned.
He glanced up at me again, gauging my reaction as he swallowed the wine in his mouth.
I just want you to know you can ask me anything, ilya. Anything at all. I know I’ve been really bad about that. Especially with how easily distracted I’ve been. With you, I mean.

He made one of those graceful gestures with the hand holding the wine glass.

...I’m not even sure what you want to know anymore. I can figure some of it out by reading you, but you’re still really damned good at blocking me.
Pausing, he gave me another of those more penetrating looks.
So if you want to know something about me, ask me. I want to ask you things too. I want to ask you a lot, truthfully... I also want to talk about intimate things. But if we go there I really am going to want to fuck. I can’t control that. You get that, right? So we probably shouldn’t do it here.

Feeling my jaw harden slightly, I nodded. That denser pain in my chest started dissolving though, and I realized at least some of that had been fear.

Fear of what? Did I panic because he got serious on me all of a sudden? Was I worried this was going to be one of those “relationship talks” where he told me something I didn’t want to know? Like he was bored, or I was too controlling? Or the woman in the white micro-dress made him realize he wanted other women?

Some part of me had actually been waiting for him to comment on her.

What the hell was the matter with me?

“Nothing!” he growled, yanking me tighter into his lap. “There’s absolutely
nothing
wrong with you, Miriam! I’m telling you, the same shit goes through my head.
All the fucking time.
Neither of us can help it right now. It’s just something we have to work around right now. Both of us.”

“Work around?” I started to pull out of his lap, but he only gripped me tighter. After a pause I realized he was right, that I was avoiding. I rested my weight on his thighs, exhaling in frustration. “I know you say I’m putting some kind of human judgment on all this, but it’s really
not
healthy, Black. And according to you, you’re not even telling me what’s happening on your end... which isn’t exactly healthy, either.”

“I’ll tell you,” he said, sharp. “I just said I’d tell you anything you want to know, Miriam. What do you want to know? You mean the sex? The wanting to fuck all the time? Or the rest of it?”

I pressed my lips together.

Truthfully, I was having trouble thinking past the intensity I felt coming off him again. I tried to hear what he was saying, that it was like some kind of hormone surge, not something we could totally control.

I believed him. But it scared the hell out of me, truthfully.

Black sighed. “Look, I know the possessiveness thing bothers you. And the controlling stuff. But it’s not working, is it? For either of us? So what difference does it make?”

I let out a humorless laugh. “Seriously? You think I shouldn’t worry about our controlling behavior because our attempts to control one another aren’t working?”

He frowned, studying my eyes. “Yes. It helps, right?”

Thinking, I sighed, rubbing my face with a hand. “Maybe a little. But I hate it. I really do.”

Gripping me tighter, he massaged my leg, sending me another pulse of warmth.

“It’s temporary,
ilya.
And please believe me when I say this... it’s affecting me a lot more than I’ve been telling you. I got a lot of fucking warnings from your uncle about this, which made me even more paranoid, truthfully. I didn’t want to freak you out... so I just didn’t say anything. But I realized today it’s not just paranoia I’m feeling on you. You really
do
think I have some handle on the situation that you don’t. I’m telling you that you’re wrong... I just haven’t been communicating with you very well.”

I stared at him. “Just how much have you been talking to Uncle Charles?”

He grunted, glancing at me, then clicked under his breath.

“Not as much as he’d like.” At my silence, he waved off his words, taking another sip of wine. “The point is, I’m not trying to hide anything from you. I was trying to be considerate, but I’m worried it’s backfiring, so I’m going to try transparency instead.” He rubbed my thigh harder. “As long as we’re both conscious of what’s happening, we’ll be fine. We can ride this out, Miriam. Both of us.”

When I looked up, skeptical, he made another of those vague, graceful gestures with the hand holding the wine glass, then used the same hand to set the glass on the table behind me. I found myself watching him do that too, noting the way his muscles slid under his skin.

Forcing my eyes off him––again––I bit my lip, then took a sip of my own wine.

Still thinking, I shook my head in annoyance, primarily at myself.

“I just don’t understand why it’s
worse
now.” I glanced at him, flushing a little. “You know. Worse than when we first got together.”

“We’re still bonding.”

“But why is it
worse?”
I repeated.

“We still don’t know each other that well.” When I looked down at his face, he smiled reassuringly, caressing my neck with one hand. “We kind of had a crash marriage and now we’re doing some things backwards. The more we get to know one another the more intense that bonding impulse gets. Also...” He shrugged apologetically, making another of those graceful gestures. “Well, you know... the more we get into this, the more we’re forced to deal with our own intimacy issues. And commitment issues... and sex issues. And whatever else.”

I stiffened. “Sex issues?”

He shrugged, his voice neutral. “Seers are weird about sex.”

“Weird in what way? And
what
commitment issues?”

I started to pull away, but his hand tightened on my leg.

“I was talking about
you
with the commitment thing, Miri,” he growled. “Not me.”

“Me?” I stared down at him incredulously. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, I’m fucking serious...” Stopping, he clenched his jaw, as if forcing himself to be silent. Before I could argue, he clicked under his breath, waving away his own words. “...Look. I’m just saying it’s likely going to happen in stages. Traditionally, seers went into seclusion for the worst of this... and probably would have held off on the fucking part until they knew each other better. But it doesn’t matter now. And it’s
temporary,
like I said.”

Pressing my lips together, I regarded him skeptically.

“Ilya,
please hear me on this. It’s fine. It really is.” He smiled. “Honestly, if I could stop being distracted constantly by sex, it would be a lot easier... as it is, I keep meaning to tell you things and then I forget five minutes after we’re alone together.”

I snorted at that in spite of myself, shaking my head.

Before I could think of a reply, he wrapped his hand into my hair, bringing my mouth back down to his. Enough of his light hit me that time, it slanted out my vision when he leaned up into me. I found myself wrapping my arms around his neck, kissing him back, opening my light to coax him deeper into me. When I did that, I felt Black’s breath stutter in his chest, right before he pulled away, gasping a little.

He glanced over my shoulder while I combed his hair with my fingers.

I’m really going to fucking kill that guy,
he murmured in my mind.

Or, you know, we could
not
be doing this in public,
I murmured back.

I got the private booth. What the hell else are these for?

I laughed, pushing at his chest, but he kissed me again, flooding me with more liquid heat. I felt him wanting to do more again, then pulling back, his light coiling around me in frustration. When he finally ended the kiss a few seconds later, my hands slid back into the open collar of his shirt, caressing his bare chest.

More pain shivered through him as I massaged his muscle and skin.

Tilting his head back on the padded booth, he smiled, but his eyes remained predatory.
You’d better eat a lot tonight, Miri. We might not be leaving that room for awhile.

I let out a snort.
Someone’s feeling confident.

Just determined... and whatever that other word is, the one you said you’d use instead of spoiled.

Entitled?
I teased.
Self-absorbed?

Unwilling to compromise.
He pulsed another line of liquid fire at me, making my skin flush. He wrapped his hand around my thigh under the table.
I already told you I’m going to take my time tonight, Miriam. That little twinge of jealousy about the hostess... the one you’ve been trying to hide from me? It’s only going to make things worse for you.

I rolled my eyes.
You’re imagining things.

Oh? Am I?
He smiled.
That just made things worse for you, too.

I leaned my face towards his, about to answer––

When someone above us cleared their throat.

Four

DINNER GUESTS