Hellsinger 01 - Fish and Ghosts (P) (MM) (17 page)

His jeans were suddenly gone, stripped from him in an easy swoop of quick fingers and strength. Tristan tried to remember what pair of underwear he’d put on that morning, hoping he’d worn at least something mildly interesting. At best, they’d be black. Worst-case scenario, he’d be sporting Hello Kitty briefs, depending on how lazy he’d been with his wash.

When Wolf sat up onto his knees to peel off his own shirt, Tristan dared to peek down the length of his belly, hoping to catch a glimpse of his own briefs. He tried to ignore the contrast in their bodies. Where he was lean and pale, Wolf gleamed golden, either from the sun or some swarthy ancestor who’d left a kiss of the sun on his descendant’s skin. A dark trail of hair ghosted around Wolf’s navel, winding down the lower half of his muscular stomach and burrowing under Wolf’s jeans.

Seeing Wolf’s strong thighs straddling his crotch brought the fire in Tristan’s bones up to his face, and his blush burned away nearly all of the lust he’d tangled himself into, dusting him with a fine coat of shyness like a falling ash. His arousal burst back with full force when Wolf’s fingers brushed over the bulge in his underwear, coaxing a response from Tristan’s cock.

His underwear was a pair of eggplant boxer briefs, freshly decanted from the packet he’d opened a few days ago. The color no longer seemed to matter, especially since it appeared to be soaking up the weep of his precome, turning the fabric nearly black where his cock head rubbed against it.

“Grape,” Tristan muttered insensibly. “They’re supposed to be grape.”

“What?” Wolf stared down at him, shirt halfway off his shoulders and behind his neck.

The pose did everything right for the man’s body, pulling out the strength of his arms and the line of his abdomen. The V cut down along his hips pushed Wolf’s crotch forward, and Tristan eyed the heavy pouch of his aroused sex through Wolf’s jeans. His dark-brown hair clung, its damp, mink-soft strands falling over his cheekbones and jaw, and his smile slowly turned sensual, a sly tilt to lips Tristan still could feel on his throat.

“God, you are so beautiful.” Tristan was pretty sure he said those words, but strangely, the voice was Wolf’s. He wasn’t totally convinced until Wolf tossed aside his shirt and bent over until his nose touched the end of Tristan’s. “Anyone ever told you that before? You, Pryce, are just so fucking beautiful.”

He didn’t feel beautiful, but there under Wolf’s deep-blue gaze, an ocean of need and desire he’d put there, Tristan felt the first stirrings of being wanted.

And something inside of him opened up beneath the heat of Wolf’s smile.

“Tell me you have something here.” Wolf’s next murmur dashed all of the warm feelings and tingling awe into a craggy iceberg he’d not seen floating there in the fog of his arousal.

“Something?”

His brain short-circuited. Something meant…
something
. Things that oiled and covered… allowing that heavy, thick meat Wolf sported between his legs to go places Tristan’d only explored tentatively with a probing finger. No, Wolf intended to go there, and Tristan wasn’t sure he
had
anything to do that with.

“Yeah, because, babe, I can’t wait to be deep inside….” Wolf cocked his head, and something shifted in those blues Tristan was drowning in. “You hate ‘babe’? It just slipped out. I can change it.”

“No one’s ever called me babe before,” Tristan whispered. “Or beautiful either.”

“Someone should have,” Wolf replied huskily. “So babe’s okay?”

“I’ll think about it,” he grunted, still thinking about what they needed and where he could find it. Tristan was certain he actually had picked up something they could use but couldn’t remember where he’d put it.

Wolf’s weight still felt good, especially where his dick was pressed up against Tristan’s cock. The rub of denim against precome splattered cotton was nice. Even nicer was Wolf’s hand finding its way down to Tristan’s balls and the rasp of his fingernail beneath the elastic on Tristan’s thigh.

“You’ve never done this before, have you?” Wolf’s soft words cut straight through Tristan’s doubts and desire.

“Not everything,” he confessed slowly, easing his gaze up to Wolf’s handsome face. The man’s hair tumbled down over his forehead, and Tristan’s fingers itched to stroke it back. Or maybe just to play with it. He wasn’t sure which. “Some.”

“How much is some?”

“You’re not the first guy I’ve kissed,” Tristan admitted. Oh, and that was a hard admission. The few times he’d actually crossed into something more daring than a kiss, he’d pulled back, not feeling the
rightness
of the man touching him. With Kincaid it was different. There was actually a continuous tightening under his skin and the need to press into the man’s hands.

“Kissed?” Wolf’s frown was a small flitting crease on his forehead. “And the rest?”

“Not so much on the rest.” He flung his relative virginity out there, splattering it onto the walls around them. “I want the… rest. And God help me… maybe Uncle Walter’s right and I am nuts, because I want it with you, Kincaid.”

There. He’d said it out loud and there was no taking it back. As much as Wolf pissed him off, and he was slowly flaking off a cake of mud from the Grange’s front lawn… not to mention the aches and bruises he’d gotten from slamming into Wolf when they’d both gone through Matt’s killer great-granny, he
wanted
the man.

Wolf said nothing. He stared down at Tristan, his bulging arms and spread knees supporting his weight. Studying Tristan, he must have found something promising or willing in Tristan’s face because his sensual, wicked grin came back, and Wolf dipped his head to suck Tristan’s lower lip into his mouth.

“Well, every guy you’ve met has been stupid or blind. Because, Pryce, you are fucking, deadly beautiful, and I promise I will take very good care of you.” Pinching the swell of Tristan’s lip between his teeth, Wolf suckled on it briefly, then let go. “So, do you have something? Or am I going to have to hit Matt up? Because that’s definitely not something I want to ask for from someone who works for me.”

“Oh God no, he’d… know. We….” He gulped. “Shit….”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure they’re going to know anyway. Your face is too open. You’d be a shitty poker player,” Wolf broke in gently. “And there’s nothing wrong with what we’re doing… what you want. However far we go here, Tristan, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good. Now, about what you might have…?”

“Um… I think there might be….” Tristan tried to remember what his agent once shoved into his luggage during a Las Vegas convention. “There was a hotel package. It had condoms in it. I think I dumped all of it into my nightstand.”

“Stay. Right. There.” Wolf tweaked Tristan’s right nipple. It responded hungrily, pearling up into a nub Tristan thought he could use to cut glass later. Perhaps even a steel beam if he needed one. “I’ll be right back.”

He missed Wolf’s weight. More importantly, Tristan missed Wolf’s heat and the press of the man’s legs against his thighs. Still, Wolf was gorgeous to watch when he slithered off of the bed and crouched in front of the nightstand, then looked at Tristan until he nodded silently.

Tristan wasn’t sure what he was agreeing to, the location of the red-foil-wrapped condoms he knew were there or if he wanted to use them.

“Yeah, they should be in there,” he murmured, taking a step toward easing the hard ache of his cock and the emptiness inside of him. “I think I came home and just dumped them in there. It was… there were people dressed in latex catsuits in the hotel lobby. They were sword-fighting with dildos. I wanted to kill my agent for booking us there.”

“So no dildos, then?” Wolf laughed. “Maybe you should have grabbed one as a parting gift.”

“They kept dropping them on the floor.” Tristan wrinkled his nose. “I don’t care how dishwasher safe they are. Do you know what kind of bacteria most hotels are crawling with? I could have gotten pregnant with an alien Elvis baby or something.”

Wolf’s jeans slid down to the curve of his hips. The nightstand’s rails squeaked, refusing to give up its secrets, but Wolf wrestled it into submission. Turning over onto his side, Tristan studied the long line of Wolf’s back, smiling at the peek of his feet from under his jeans legs.

“God, I must be horny if toes are exciting.” Tristan lay back and flung an arm over his eyes. He heard Wolf whistle. Then the bed dipped once more, and he peeked out from under his forearm at Wolf sitting cross-legged on the bed next to him.

“Where did you get this shit again? Vegas?” The man had definitely found the stash he’d shoved into the drawer. There were at least seven of the hotel guest pouches. His literary agent was a tiny evil woman who felt he should experiment more with life. Having plundered a housekeeping cart, she’d shoved her booty into his suitcase, telling him to have at Vegas like the painted whore it was.

Instead he’d gone down the Strip to look at white tigers and watch a fake volcano erupt a few times. Then he’d climbed into a gondola for a couple of trips around a too clean Venetian canal. The only action the pouches saw were probably a TSA agent who searched his luggage, and considering there’d been both a furry and a sex toy convention in town, Tristan’s bag was probably the tamest thing they’d seen all day.

Now he was not so sure the pouches were all that tame, especially when Wolf held up a small jar for him to see. The label was a florid pink-and-brown scrawl that left little doubt about what its contents could be used for.

“Fudge ointment, for when you need something a little dark and delicious between you and your lover,” Wolf read, waggling his eyebrows at a now-blushing Tristan. “Dildos aside, exactly what hotel did you go to when you were in Vegas? The Bunny Ranch?”

“It was downtown. One of the retro hotels. They’d refurbished it or something. I don’t know,” Tristan protested. “I was there for a book convention. I didn’t know it was Sodom and Gomorrah weekend.”

“It’s called Sin City for a reason, Pryce.” Wolf cracked open the jar and held it up to sniff at, then passed it under Tristan’s nose. “Damn, this is nice. What do you think?”

“It smells like chocolate,” Tristan mumbled, sitting up. A few flakes of dirt remained on his hands, but most of the drying mud went with his discarded clothes on the floor. “Isn’t that why they call it that?”

“Babe, it says for your anal pleasure on the label. Fudge… never mind. God, you’re… so innocent.” Wolf’s finger traced under the small print below the company’s logo. He put the lube aside and dug through an open pouch. Pulling out a metallic red-foil packet, Wolf winked at him. “Here we go. You sure about this, Pryce?”

“You keep asking me and I’m probably going to say no, which I don’t want to do, so stop,” Tristan grumbled. “And I’m still pissed off at you. Just so you know. I keep hoping if I get you out of my system, I’ll be able to just kick you out and wash my hands of you.”

“Yeah, you couldn’t even wash your hands of the dirt you rolled in. You think you’re going to be able to get rid of me?” Wolf worked the soiled quilt Tristan’d been lying on off the bed, then pushed him down onto the relatively clean sheets below. Straddling Tristan’s thighs again, he stretched out on top of him, capturing Tristan’s wrists with his hands. “Now, let’s see where exactly on that hot body of yours I left off.”

Chapter 10

“K
EEP
YOUR
hands there,” Wolf ordered Tristan and let go.

Fisting his fingers into Tristan’s wealth of blond hair, Wolf bent down to softly bite the man’s earlobe. Tristan was so damned responsive to his touch, writhing beneath him with every small brush of a finger or a lip ghosted across a spot of pale skin. Wolf felt Tristan tremble under his hands, a shivering ruffle of sinew and bone splaying out onto the bed in front of him. Guiding Tristan with a gentle nudge of his knee, Wolf got the man to spread his legs apart, the jut of his hips pushing Tristan’s cock into the hollow of Wolf’s thighs.

A virgin.

The last time he’d been with a virgin was when he
was
the virgin. Trying to remember back to the days of frustrated hard cocks and aching, clenched asses, Wolf sighed and rested his head on Tristan’s shoulder. Leaving a gentle kiss on the man’s collarbone, he whispered, “If something gets too much for you, you let me know, okay? This should feel good. If it doesn’t, say something. All right, babe?”

“Okay. Sure.” Tristan’s hands clenched Wolf’s shoulders, and he nodded, still caught by Wolf’s fingers in his hair.

Tristan probably didn’t know how sexy he sounded. A smear of posh over a tumbled amber voice did something to Wolf’s innards, and every time the man opened his mouth, a pour of heady verbal liquor flowed from between his kissable lips. There was a rich smokiness to the blond’s words, a slow slide of intelligence and sin, as if God took his time carving out a shard of golden moonlight and decided to use it for Tristan’s voice instead.

“Hold on,” Wolf murmured. “Forgot something.”

“What?” Tristan frowned and looked at the condom, lube, and other sundry surprises from the hotel’s packets laid out next to him. “What else do we need? What else
is
there that we need?”