Black Dagger Brotherhood 11 - Lover at Last

you say? ’Cuz I know you didn’t just f-bomb me, did you.”
    Okay. Right. Blay knew firsthand that there were few things in life Qhuinn backed down from; that being said, a Brother the guy respected, who was more than ready to finish the job that a pine tree had started, was definitely one of them.
    Qhuinn looked over to his ruined SUV. “Sorry. Bad night. And I just got light-headed for a split second. I’m fine.”
    In typical Qhuinn fashion, the bastard broke free and walked off, heading toward the steaming pile of previously drivable metal like he’d thrown off his injuries by force of will.
    Leaving everyone else in his dust.
    Blay got to his feet and forced himself to focus on John. “What happened?”
    Thank God for sign language; it gave him something to look at, and fortunately, John took his time filling in the details. When the narration was over, Blay could only stare at his friend. But come on, it wasn’t as if anybody would make that shit up.
    Not about someone they liked, at any rate.
    Tohrment started to laugh. “He pulled a
hyslop
, is what you’re saying.”
    “Not sure I know what that is?” Blay cut in.
    Tohr shrugged and followed Qhuinn’s trail through the snow, motioning with his arm toward the wreck. “Right here. This is the definition of a
hyslop
—precipitated by your boy leaving his keys in the ignition.”
    He’s not my boy, Blay said to himself. Never has been. Never will be.
    And the fact that that hurt worse than any kind of concussion was something, like so much, he kept quiet about.
    Off to the side and out of the glow of the headlights, Blay hung back and watched as Qhuinn crouched down by the driver’s door and cursed softly. “Messy. Very messy.”
    Tohr did the duty on the passenger seat. “Oh, look, a matched set.”
    “I think they’re dead.”
    “Really. What gave that away. The fact they aren’t moving or that this guy over here has no facial features left?”
    Qhuinn straightened up and looked across the undercarriage. “We need to roll it and tow it.”
    “And here I thought we were going to toast marshmallows,” Tohr said. “John? Blay? Get over here.”
    The four of them lined up shoulder-to-shoulder between the sets of tires and dug in with their boots, locking their positions in the snow. Four sets of hands palmed the panels; four bodies leaned into the ready; four pairs of shoulders tightened up.
    A single voice, Tohr’s, counted it out. “On three. One. Two.
Three
—”
    The Hummer had already had a bad night, and this right-the-wrong thing made it groan so loudly that an owl was flushed across the road and a pair of deer took flight on bounding hooves through the trees.
    Then again, the SUV wasn’t the only one cursing. Everybody was going George Carlin under the deadweight as they worked to pry free gravity’s hold on all that steel. The laws of physics were possessive, however, and as Blay’s body strained, all his muscles tightening against his bones, he turned his head and shifted his grip—
    He was standing next to Qhuinn. Right beside the guy.
    Qhuinn’s eyes were focused straight ahead, his lips peeled back from his fangs, his fierce expression the result of total anatomical effort….
    It was close to what he looked like when he came.
    Holy inappropriateness, Batman. And too bad that fact did nothing to change his thought pattern.
    The trouble was, Blay knew from firsthand experience what an orgasm did to the guy—although not because he was one of the cast of thousands who’d been a recipient. Oh, no. Never that. God for-fucking-bid the guy who’d stick his dick in anything that breathed—and maybe some inanimate objects—would ever do Blay.
    Yeah, because that discerning sexual palate, which had led to Qhuinn balling everything in Caldwell between the ages of twenty and twenty-eight, had filtered Blay out of the fuck pool.
    “She’s…starting to move…” Tohr gritted. “Get under her!”
    Blay and Qhuinn snapped into action, releasing their holds,crouching down, shoving their shoulders under the lip of the roof. Facing each other, their eyes met as breath exploded out of their mouths, their thighs going into action, their bodies pitted in a war against all that cold, hard weight—that happened be slippery thanks to the snow.
    Their added power was the turning point—literally. An axis formed on the opposite tires, and the Hummer’s four-ton burden started shifted on them, getting lighter and lighter—
    Why