For the Bite of It (17 page)

Vincent smiled, but the familiar glint of mischief was missing in his grin. John missed it. Man, he’d been a jerk. John scuffed a dusty trail with his boot. “Hi. I thought we might talk…”

Vincent’s dark brows rose almost to his hairline. “About?”

“Uh…you know.”

“No I don’t, but come in while you prevaricate.” Vincent opened the door wide and swept a bow, waving John in with his hand.

The gesture should have looked ridiculous—who the hell bowed anymore—but Vincent made it look sexy. Even the fancy words he used should have sounded snobbish. Instead, his speech added spice to the total sexy package. Was there anything about the guy that wasn’t hell-on-wheels-sexy?

John followed Vincent into the air-conditioned foyer of the house. Walls in two shades of taupe served as the backdrop for a series of stark black and white photographs. The scenes were all of snow-covered mountains, a thick forest of towering pines, and a two-story log cabin. A favorite rendezvous spot? Maybe the cabin in the Italian Alps he went on about during their one dinner together.

Vincent led the way past the framed pictures into a large L-shaped, airy sitting area, flanked by a kitchen at one end and a dining room at another.

“Drink?” Vincent asked walking over to a compact teak bar invitingly laid out with an open bottle of wine. “I found this ‘83 Tignanello the other day.” He gestured in the graceful way he had. “Ever had it?”

John whistled his appreciation. “Too rich for my blood. But yes, a glass of red would be great.”

Vince forced his body to relax by leaning against the leather couch. He dipped his eyes to the rich ruby liquid in his hand, watching John from the corner of his gaze. John looked nervous, sitting on the edge of his seat, twirling his wine glass.

Why was he here? Vince could try to dip into his thoughts but respect for John held him back. He had tried all evening to banish the cop from his mind. Not that he had succeeded for even one damn minute. On second thought, who cared? John was in his house, sharing the rare vintage Vince had purchased for such an evening in mind.

All he had to do was reach out, remove the glass from John’s hand, run his fingers through his dark blonde hair. True to form, his balls got tight, his fingers itched to inch under John’s t-shirt, kiss the mouth he knew would be eager. His breath rushed out as he squirmed to get comfortable.

Vince touched John’s shoulder. “So what did you want to talk about?”

John shrugged but he leaned closer. “I need to apologize. For earlier. I acted like an ass.”

Vince’s traitorous heart skipped a beat, then several more. His fingers traced over the broad shoulder. “No apology needed,
amante
.”

Vince stood and placed his glass on the coffee table. As irresistible as his John was, the wine had set him back at least two hundred dollars. He held out his palm to John. After a moment’s hesitation, John handed over his glass and pushed to his feet.

Vince placed a hand in John’s open one, their fingers touched, curled, clasped. Under the lighting, John’s hair gleamed. His eyes crinkled at the corners, and the open need on his face called to Vince. They came together in a rush, bodies slamming together, mouths seeking blindly.

John’s lips locked onto Vince’s. The light, breezy taste of John filled Vince’s mouth. Like coming home. Like a winter fire on a cold alpine evening. Like everything warm and comfortable that Vince treasured.

John tunneled his hands into Vince’s hair, holding his head still for a kiss.

Whoa.

Surprised, Vince paused. He loved John taking the lead, but he would have to be careful not to rush given how badly he wanted John. It hadn’t even been a whole day since John had milked Vince’s cock with his mouth and already he was starved. With every ounce of his will, Vince latched onto John’s shoulders, clamping down his lust. He needn’t have bothered. John held nothing back.

John grasped Vince’s aching cock. Through the thin linen, every one of John’s fingers scorched him like a fire-brand.

“Looks like you’re ready for me.” John’s hot breath tickled Vince’s ear. John slid his other hand around Vince’s butt, thrusting their hips together.

“Always,
amante
, always,” murmured Vince, intrigued, excited at this new side of his lover. “I’ve been meaning to ask what that meant,” murmured John as he dipped his head and tongued Vince’s nipple.

Vince’s breath hitched, his heart rate sped up. “Aah. Yes.”

John’s teeth nipped the already sensitive bud on his chest. “It means yes?” He paused and blew a gentle breath across Vince’s nubs.

Vince tangled his hands in John’s short hair and chuckled. “It means lover.”

“I like it.” John’s hands wandered over Vince’s torso, dangerously close to the tie of his pants.

“Me too.” Vince couldn’t help the thrust of his hips. His head dipped to nuzzle John’s neck.

Warm, with the musky smell of John’s scent, it drove Vince half-crazy with cock-lust. And bloodlust. He forced his head back trying not to think about sinking his fangs into John’s flesh. Trying not to think of how sweet his lover’s blood would taste. Nectar emphasized in the throes of their own lust for each other.

Focusing on John’s actions made the thirst for blood recede somewhat. It wasn’t all that difficult, after all to resist as long as he focused on John’s actions. John untied Vince’s loose pants, and they fell with a soft slither. He pulled Vince down on top of him, as he lay half-sprawled on the couch, widening his thighs to accommodate Vince’s rock-hard erection between his legs.

With a hand on Vince’s nape, John pulled his head close for another kiss, the heat from it sent a thrill all the way down to his toes. Vince’s hands were braced on the couch’s back, holding himself in place, but he jerked in surprise as John palmed his butt, using a finger to rub along the crease between his cheeks. Vince’s body sagged, their cocks touched, bounced, rubbed. Grinding against each other, they caught the rhythm of their previous dance. Hard, fast, furious.

Cock against cock. Wait, when had John stripped? He’d been commando under those now open jeans.

This was madness, pure madness. They had left so much unspoken. But Vince didn’t care. He didn’t even know if he could last until John came, he was close to shooting off.

Vince edged a knee onto the couch, to brace his hips against John, his chest conveniently within reach of John’s mouth. The same, gorgeous, clever mouth kissed one of Vincent’s nipples and tongued the nub, circling, hard, and tight.

“
Amante
, don’t…slow down,” Vince hissed, his balls tightening. Just when he thought he couldn’t get any more aroused, John cupped his ass, slid his finger in Vince’s channel. Vince tightened his cheeks, loving his new bold lover.

John grabbed Vince’s hip with his free hand, and meshed their cocks. Slick heat and sticky precum scented the air. John’s moving finger, thrusting in rhythm with his rock-hard erection was like adding another log on a fire already out of control. Vince nuzzled his head into John’s chest, the springy hair tickling his nose. He tasted the salty skin and let his tongue wander the contours of John’s pecs. John’s taste and smell set him off, everything in him contracting for the big release. John’s scorching hot dick buried beneath Vince’s constricted, sweaty balls and electricity jolted through Vince’s body. With a long groan, he came, his body jerking against John.

Like a randy teenager. Except John followed seconds later, his hips grinding into Vince. Stiffening, his shout was music to Vincent’s ears.

John clutched t Vince close. Their breathing slowed, harsh pants giving way to softer breaths. Legs curled around each other’s waist, the heat between them cooling. John rocked Vince gently as he stirred back to reality.

Vince started to pull back, sure his weight was crushing John. But John grunted a
no,
digging his fingers into Vince’s hair. Not letting him go, not letting him get a grip on what they had done.

Vince looked down at their messy, splattered chests. “
Amante,
I’m going to get us a towel,” he murmured.

John licked Vince’s earlobe in response. “In a minute,” Vince settled back against him, still bracing his hands on the couch on either side of John’s head. A feeling of calm, peace settled over him. He couldn’t think of a time recently he’d felt such harmony with someone.

“We’re good together.”

John rubbed a lazy hand over Vince’s back. “Yeah, the sex was great.”

“It’s more than sex. Admit it.”

“Let it be. Let’s talk about it tomorrow.”

Vince could wait. He’d waited a lifetime, more than a human life-time actually, for this man to come along. For now, he’d savor the closeness, the warmth.

John woke with the sound of voices coming from the kitchen. He’d fallen asleep on the sofa, his muscles paying for it now. He stretched like a cat trying to clear his head and make sense of what he was hearing.

“Why are you here so late?” Vincent’s whisper carried.

“Vin…”

The woman’s voice faded and then John heard what seemed like a kiss. What the fuck? He peered over the sofa, careful not to be seen. A woman had her hand on Vincent’s shoulder, standing way too close. The single light above the sink cast a dim light on the two of them. From where he lay, John could see she was a striking woman, tall and commanding like Vincent. They had similar hair coloring, and she wore a robe of some sort. Where the hell did she come from?

Jealousy seared across his chest, and he flopped back down.

“I’m so happy you accepted the
Jurisdictio’s
offer.”

“Fine, Sera, but you must go. Now.”

A lighthearted laugh rang out. “I see you have someone here. You are not going to introduce me?”

“
Dio
. Stubborn as ever. No, I am not.”

“I will find out sooner or later who he is.”

John shook his head. Her teasing reminded him of his sister, always butting into his life too. So was she a sister, or a friend?

He listened, as the room grew quiet. Did she leave?

Vincent rounded the sofa, carrying a blanket. “Oh, you’re awake,
amante
.”

“Don’t…” John sat up and held out his hand to stop Vincent from approaching him. “Who’s the woman? I saw you two just now. Where is she?”

Vincent leaned over him, his mouth set firm. “Ah, I’m being interrogated now in my own home?”

“Who the hell stops in for a visit at this time of night?”

Vincent laughed. “Yes, I see where you might be suspicious. She’s my sister. Serafina.”

So he’d been correct about who she was. Her teasing tone had reminded him of Julie—the way she liked to rag on him—and she looked like Vincent, so he had to be telling the truth.

Ah, shit, there he went again, not trusting Vincent completely. Would he ever give the man one hundred percent of his trust?

John reached for his wristwatch on the carpet and lifted it up to read the time. “It’s three in the morning. Is everything all right?”

“Yes, yes, she’s a night owl. She drops by at the oddest hours.”

John glanced over by the kitchen. He never heard the front door slam shut. “She left? I didn’t hear her leave.”

“Sera moves stealthily like a cat.” Vincent sat next to John and kissed him, “Enough about my sister. Now that you’re awake…”

That grin caught at John’s heart. Damn. He wouldn’t be taken in by that grin. “I thought she lived in Italy? You never mentioned she lives here.”

He had too many questions to ask. And what was the Juris-something? It sounded political. Was Vincent part of a political family? He never mentioned that. Come to think of it, he knew shit about the man’s past.

Vincent wrapped the blanket around their shoulders, snuggling them into a tight embrace. He spoke softly, his accent thicker than usual. Vincent’s voice weaved around his heart and his head, and every part of him seemed to be boneless, relaxing. Vincent’s hands stroked his pecs, made small circles in the small of his back. Caressing, soothing hands.

“Let’s talk of this in the morning.”

John massaged his temple. Vincent was right. Why get angry over a sister’s visit. “You could have introduced us.” At least he’d get in the last parting shot.

“I didn’t want to wake you.”

Yes, he’d been asleep. Why was he getting all riled up? So what if Vincent’s sister wanted to visit him in the middle of the night? He dealt with Julie’s irritating habits all the time. “You’re right. We have better things to do.”

John grabbed Vincent’s shoulder and brought him in for a kiss.

John swiveled in his office hair, his mind a million miles in space, floating and useless. Sex the other night with Vincent had reached a new level of intimacy. Emotions had developed, and that raised the stakes. Discovering his newfound feelings, he desired more than a fuck in bed. He massaged the back of his head, vaguely recalling their late night discussion about Vincent’s sister. Strange, that visit, but somehow once morning arrived it had slipped John’s mind to ask any more about it.

His cell phone beeped. “John here.”

“Oh, honey, did I catch you at a wrong time?”

His mother’s voice sounded anything but apologetic. “No Mom, what’s up?”

“Don’t forget dinner this Sunday.”

His jaw tightened. “I never do.” So why call and remind him?

“Well, I got off the phone with your sister.”

Now what? Jules had a way of making trouble for him. “Yeah?”

“She mentioned you have a special
friend
you’re seeing. Why don’t you bring her to dinner, dear? It’s the Italian girl, isn’t it?”

Jesus, Mary and Joseph!

He was so going to kill Julie. “Ah, well, you see, she’s busy on Sundays.”

“Oh, you never told me what she does.”

“Look Mom, I’m not serious about her, we’re just friends. You know Jules. She exaggerates when it comes to my love life.”

He heard the disappointment in his mother’s deep sigh. Shit. He ran his hand over his hair and wished like anything that he could be the normal red-blooded American male of his parent’s dreams. But he wasn’t, and he liked men not women. One man actually. Dammit, he wouldn’t end the relationship because he feared disappointing his parents.