Byzantine Heartbreak (12 page)

He groaned and pressed Ryan hard against him, his hands on Ryan’s back. His body, already half-aroused from the earlier kiss, seemed to explode with fizzing need. His nerve ends were live wires.

The kiss broke.

“God, you smell good,” Cáel said. His lips brushed Ryan’s jaw.

“I have a pulse and body heat. Sweat glands that work.”

“Shut up with the biology lessons. For an Irish poet you haven’t got a romantic bone in your body, Deasmhumhain.”

Ryan’s mouth lifted in a smile. “I’m out of practice.”

“I noticed.” Cáel reached for the buttons on Ryan’s shirt and slid them undone, surprised his fingers could even work the small disks, for they felt like thick useless slabs, throbbing with excitement. He got the shirt open and pulled it off his shoulders and down his arms. “Nayara is right. You hide your muscles away.” He slid his tongue down the shallow valley between the soft rounded mounds of Ryan’s pecs, down between the defined abs, to stop just above the belt that held up his trousers. The skin there was soft. He swirled his tongue over it, feeling heat and the clench of muscles beneath.

But when he put his hand on the belt buckle, Ryan stopped him. “Indulge me,” he said. “Let’s not let history repeat.”

It took a moment for Cáel to understand what Ryan was afraid of. Then he got it. Ryan had been utterly candid about Salathiel’s first seduction, down to the smallest detail.

Cáel had been unconsciously shadowing those movements. So instead he stepped back, putting space between them and took off his clothes, letting Ryan watch. When he was completely naked, he walked over to the bed and lay across it, facing Ryan. His cock was stiff, red and underscored the raging anticipation building in him.

Ryan swiftly stripped. He was far more used to the closures than Cáel and his shirt was already gone. Naked, he padded over to the bed. His cock was also jutting up from his thighs. Like Ryan himself, his cock was long, with ridges and veins showing along the shaft.

He paused to slide open the drawer of the table beside the bed and remove a small pot and open it.

“Then I’m not the first you’ve brought here,” Cáel said.

“But you already guessed that,” Ryan replied. He put the pot on top of the table, opened. “In one respect, you are utterly unique.”

He pushed at Cáel’s hip, rolling him onto his back. Cáel barely had a chance to form the natural question that followed such a response in his mind, when Ryan thrust a knee between Cáel’s thighs, leaned over and ran his tongue from the base of Cáel’s testicles, along the length of his rearing cock, to swirl for an endless second at the tip.

Cáel gave a hoarse cry that was a mix of surprise and delight, his hips lifting.

Ryan ran his fingers along his cock, not quite encircling it, making Cáel hiss. He kept up the teasing, going backward and forward, until Cáel was panting and trembling, his hips quivering as he tried to lift them to drive his cock into Ryan’s hand. He clenched the bedcover, his palms slick with sweat. “Ryan...” he rumbled warningly.

Ryan reached for the open pot on the table and dipped his fingers into it. They emerged glistening. Moving with deliberate teasing slowness, he slicked the lubricant onto Cáel’s perineum, making him moan at the close-but-not-there touch.

Ryan pushed his thighs further apart. Cáel felt his fingers slide downward, then the light touch around his ass. He realized he was holding his breath, but couldn’t help it.

Ryan’s fingers pressed inside him, easing the muscle open.

Cáel closed his eyes as the intimate invasion created delicious surges of need in him.

Ryan’s fingers withdrew.

Cáel opened his eyes as Ryan settled on his knees between his thighs. The first probe of Ryan’s cock forced a groan to Cáel’s lips. Ryan edged his way in and Cáel’s breathing grew shallow as his pleasure built from the pit of his belly outwards, radiating from what Ryan was doing to him.

He clutched at the bedcover again, trying to remain still until Ryan came to rest. His cock jerked against his belly, telling of his growing excitement. “Hurry, will you? I can take it.”

“I’m savouring,” Ryan replied.

“You’re going to finish me,” he groaned.

Ryan just smiled and thrust deeper, inching his way forward, until his cock was fully lodged inside.

Cáel felt like he was barely holding onto his control. He clamped his jaws together, breathing heavily, trying to stay on top of the beating, throbbing climax that was pushing at him. He had never been pushed so hard and fast toward orgasm in his life.

“Take care,” he warned and his voice emerged in a ragged whisper. “The touch of a feather will set me off right now.”

Ryan shook his head. “No, you don’t get to come until I say.” He wrapped his forefinger and thumb around the base of Cáel’s cock and squeezed—firm, but not quite to the point of pain.

Then he started to thrust.

The immediate danger of climaxing subsided, but instead, Cáel was tipped over into a new plane of pleasure. He lost track of breathing, his heart beat, his surroundings. Everything narrowed down to the building orgasm that Ryan was holding back.

When Ryan began to stroke the upper end of Cáel’s cock with his still slick other hand, Cáel closed his eyes and relinquished any control. The pleasure was too great, the sensations too overwhelming. He let himself drown in them.

“Now come,” Ryan told him, his voice as harsh with excitement as Cáel ’s.

The pressure around the base of his cock was removed and Cáel’s climax leapt with what almost felt like a roar to sweep through his body. Nerve ends snapped and sizzled and his cock and balls pumped, ejecting cum in a hard, hot stream in a way he hadn’t done since he was a teenager. He heard himself cry out. It was a ragged, used sound.

I’m screaming, he realized. Ryan made me scream.

At the same time, he felt Ryan’s cock flaring as it thrust in frantic little jabs inside him. Ryan gasped, his hand gripping Cáel’s thigh, his fingers digging in hard, as he came in three last thrusts.

Cáel opened his eyes, still breathing hard. His heartbeat echoed in his mind and his temples. His cum pooled on his belly and chest.

Sweat glistened at Ryan’s temples, but there was a small smile lifting one corner of his mouth.

Cáel licked his lips. “I’ve never done that before.”

“Liar,” Ryan said. “You’re too practiced.”

“I mean scream.”

“Girls scream. Men...cry out.”

“I screamed,” Cáel shot back. “You did that.”

Ryan withdrew from him, strode over to the shower stall in the corner and lifted down the towel from the hook hanging next to it. He tossed it to Cáel and sat on the bed once more. “If you insist.” But Cáel could tell he was pleased by the back-handed compliment.

Cáel wiped the cum from his torso and sat up facing Ryan. “I will make you scream, Ryan. You’re human here. Your nerves and sensations are all on-line and work better than usual. I will make you scream like you just made me.”

Ryan laughed. “You can try,” he said. “But sex stopped being mind-blowing for me a long time ago, Cáel.”

“We’ll see about that,” Cáel said.

Forty-three minutes later, as Cáel stroked Ryan’s cock with his mouth, his hands around the shaft and Ryan’s testicles, plus two probing fingers in his ass, Cáel let Ryan finally climax, after holding him off seven times. And Ryan did, indeed, scream.

Chapter Eleven

The Agency satellite station. 2263 A.D.

“It...could do with some improvement,” Christian said judiciously, placing the reading board on the table between them.

Ryan snorted.

Cáel lifted a brow. “You read all that in the ten minutes you were on the sofa? Speed reading?”

“Yes, sir,” Christian replied. “Once you have been through your first medical degree, you learn the value of speed reading.” He smiled and sat next to Nayara, which filled the table, as Ryan, Cáel and Brenden were already seated.

Nayara sighed. “Can we get on with this? We need to deal with this disaster. Stelios’ idea of raising our public profile seems to be backfiring wildly. This...this...thing,” and she tapped the reading board Christian had placed on top of the other copies, “is the latest bad news. The writer, this Lyle Bean, makes us look like...” She stopped. Words escaped her.

“Freaks,” Cáel said softly.

Everyone looked at him. He grimaced and sat up. “I read the damned thing, too,” he said shortly. “It made me feel sick reading it. This draft is a complete misfire.”

“
Draft
?” Nayara repeated, astonishment curling through her. “If you think we’re going to go through that all over again, Cáel, you’re—”

Ryan gripped her wrist under the table and squeezed.

Nayara shut up. She realized that Christian was looking at her, his face neutral as always, but his brow had lifted just a fraction. She sat back, and recalled what she had just said to see what would put that touch of surprise on Christian’s face.

She had used Cáel’s first name. Damn. And she had shown signs of temper. Damn. Damn.

She glanced at Ryan and pressed her lips together.

Ryan took over for her. He pushed at the reading board. “Stelios, you can’t expect us to do this again.”

Cáel shook his head. “The basic idea is sound. Christian...may I call you that?”

Christian inclined his head.

“I’m presuming Ryan and Nayara asked you to read the draft manuscript of the book because you have some public relations expertise?”

“A little. I was a communications consultant in the twenty-second century.”

“He’s being modest as always,” Ryan said. “He owned his own global communications network. He built it from scratch.”

“Which one?” Cáel asked curiously.

“I was passing, then,” Christian replied. “I’d rather not say.”

“Of course. Forgive me for prying,” Cáel said smoothly. “But it confirms my presumption that you know the worth of public relations. You would appreciate the value of a biography, how it could help ease the perception humans have of vampires. It is an enormous leverage.”

Christian shrugged. “Only if it is done correctly. And that is a delicate business.” He nodded toward the reading board. “That would alienate us even more.”

“Agreed,” Cáel said flatly. “So the solution is to continue with the biography, but get it right.” His dark gaze moved to Nayara and pinned her in her chair. “We still have the recordings because you insisted I listen and record your stories. You don’t have to do it all again. You just have to finish the rest of them.”

It felt like he was speaking only to her. And perhaps he was.

“And find a writer who can do the job properly,” she insisted.

“What about a fan?” Brenden said. It was the first time he had spoken since he had sat down.

Nayara blinked and pulled her gaze away from Cáel ’s. “Excuse me?”

“We have fans?” Ryan asked dryly.

Brenden grinned. “More of them than you’d think. Some of them are smart, too.”

“Brenden should know,” Christian said. “He has been squiring many of the richest of them since the ball.”

Brenden rolled his eyes at Christian. “But that’s my point,” he said. “Fans don’t all have to be crazy. They can be rich, they can be professionals. They might even be writers, but even if they aren’t, they know so much about us already and they like us. They have sympathy.”

“A decent writer could clean up a manuscript once it was written,” Ryan suggested. “But he couldn’t inject the passion a fan would put into it.”

“Nor the energy and enthusiasm,” Cáel replied. “It would be expensive. We’d have to have the book written twice over, more or less.” He looked at Nayara. “What do you think?”

Everyone was looking at her. She realized that they’d all agreed on this, except for her. Everyone liked the idea of her exposing her life this way. Even Ryan. There was no more get-out-of-jail-free cards left to play.

Nayara made herself smile. “Fine,” she said stiffly. “Find your fan, Cáel.”

* * * * *

Ryan and Brenden slid the double metal doors open. “Through here,” Brenden said, making way for Cáel.

Cáel stepped through into the kitchen on the other side. It was a small, well-equipped commercial kitchen and just about the last thing he expected to find on a station filled with vampires. There was even a dining section, separated by a servery, with a dozen faux-wood tables and chairs.

“You may as well learn the run of the place,” Ryan said. “We can’t always fetch and carry for you, if you’re taking up residence for a while.”

“I appreciate that,” Cáel said.

There was a girl lying on one of the tables, a bar of unwrapped chocolate resting on her stomach. Her fingers were coated with the stuff and she was humming to herself as she alternatively licked her fingers or picked up another piece of the confection. One knee was cocked, her booted foot on the table. The other leg swung backwards and forwards, the knee resting over the edge. A great deal of the girl’s thighs were on display and to Cáel’s eyes, they looked surprisingly womanly and mature and at odds with the girl’s child-like mannerisms.

“Pritti,” Ryan said. “You have yet to meet Assemblyman Stelios.”

The girl sat up, licking her fingers dreamily.

The name tripped off cascading details in Cáel’s mind. Pritti was the psi-filer who helped train all the vampires in how to time travel. She was a file P, one of the last purposely-bred psi.

Pritti cocked her head to look at Cáel. “You’re beautiful,” she said. “Inside and out.”

“Pritti,” Ryan rumbled warningly.

“Take no notice, Assemblyman,” Brenden said soothingly. “You know what psi-filers are like.”

“I’ve never met one before,” Cáel replied. “It’s nice to meet you, Pritti.”

“You
think
you’ve never met one before,” Pritti replied. “But how do you know for sure?”

“True,” Cáel replied. “A sobering thought.”

The door to the kitchen smashed open, hurled aside before the mechanism could slide it away. A man—a vampire, Cáel assumed—strode into the kitchen. He had unruly hair and wore a long jacket or coat in dark green velvet, which gave him an antiquated air.

“Demyan, what the hell?” Brenden said, turning around.

The man, Demyan, came straight up to the table and addressed Ryan. “The Psi have figured out how to jump through time. And now they have a marker for ancient Rome. They took it from me.”

* * * * *

Chronologic Touring Inc. - Sydney Division Office. 2263 A.D.

Justin minutely tweaked his appearance, brushing at his lapels, as he rounded the reception counter. Rosalinda saw him and lifted a brow. “She’s in the Kelly room. I thought it was appropriate.”

“Why appropriate?”

“She asked for you. By name.”

Justin smiled. Rosalinda was new and enthusiastic. “I get referrals all the time, Rosa.” He turned to head for the consultation room.

The young human shook her head. “She asked for you by your
full
name.”

Justin paused. “Who is it, again?”

“A Deonne Rinaldi.”

Faint memory stirred. “I do know that name,” Justin said. “But I don’t know it personally. Do me a favour? Do a quick search on the nets. Who am I dealing with, here?”

Rosa swiped the name out on her board. Her lips pursed together in a sexy pout. “Oh...” She handed the board over. “She’s famous.”

“Not
that
famous,” Justin told her. “I didn’t recognize the name—” The image halted his words. Now he knew who she was. “
Her
?” He had seen her countless times on media clips, explaining away yet one more transgression by someone famous, or bragging about the exploits of another friend of hers. Dionne Rinaldi had turned being friends with famous people and gossiping about them into a very lucrative art.

“And she wants a tour?” Justin added, staring down at the many photos and clips the search had thrown up. Rinaldi was blonde, leggy, tall, green eyed and always wore the latest in designer fashion.

Yeah, he remembered her now.

“I guess she wants a tour,” Rosa replied. “All I know, she asked for you. By name.”

By all his names.

Justin put the board down and walked down the corridor to the Kelly room and went in, his mind turning over the puzzle.

The room was a replica of a 19th century New South Wales one-room farmhouse, but with considerably more comfortable chairs. Dionne Rinaldi was sitting in the rocker by the fake open fire. She was smaller than he expected...until she stood up at his entrance. She wore high heels to make herself look taller, but she was unexpectedly fragile. Delicate.

She still had very long legs, compared to the rest of her body. And her jaw was pointed, framing a perfect bow of a mouth, that smiled professionally.

“You asked to see me?” Justin said, dispensing with the usual Agency lead in. His gut said this woman wasn’t here for a tour. “Why?” He stayed standing a pace inside the door, his defences up.

Her smile slipped a tiny degree. Then she packed it away altogether. Down to business. “I see you know who I am, then. Good.” Her voice was a husky contralto and the sound of it brought back reminders of the many clips he had seen of her in the past. Talking, laughing. Explaining. “I asked for you because of all the agents in the Sydney office—well, the southern hemisphere, really—you’re the only one who is vampire.”

Justin held his shock in check. “That’s not a fact we hand out to just anyone. Do you want to explain where you got that from?”

“I have my sources,” the woman replied. “I mention it not as a threat, but to demonstrate that I have useful information.” She smiled at him. “I have a proposal for Ryan Deasmhumhain and Nayara Ibarra and their human co-conspirator, Assemblyman Cáel Stelios. You can get me into the same room with them.”

Justin could feel his jaw unhinging and clamped it closed again. “What on earth makes you think I’m going to do a barmy thing like that?”

Dionne smiled and this time it was a slow, knowing smile. “Because I’ve dropped enough tantalizing facts in the last fifteen seconds that
you
weren’t aware of, Justin Edward Kelly, that you will get me into that room just to find out what else I know.”

Damn, but the bloody sheila was right.