Black Dagger Brotherhood 11 - Lover at Last

were torn, another lamp got knocked over—and he wasn’t sure, but he thought they banged the picture over the bed off the wall.
    When stillness finally replaced all the straining and effort, Blay breathed heavily, and still felt like he was underwater.
    Qhuinn was doing the same.
    The growing wet patch at Blay’s throat suggested things had gotten so out of hand that there had been no sealing up the vein that had been taken. Whatever. He didn’t care, couldn’t think, wasn’t going to worry. The blissed-out, floating aftermath was too glorious to spoil, his body at once hypersensitive and numb, hot and temperate, sore and satiated.
    Man, the sheets were going to need to be cleaned. And Fritz was undoubtedly going to have to find some Super Glue for those lamps.
    Where exactly was he?
    Putting his hand out, he patted around and ran into carpet and a dust ruffle…and a blanket chest. Oh, right—hanging off the far end of the bed. Which would explain the head rush he was rocking.
    When Qhuinn finally eased off of him, Blay wanted to follow, but his body was far too interested in being an inanimate object. Or more like a bolt of cloth, maybe…
    Gentle hands lifted him up and carefully, gingerly, rolled him over onto his back. There was some other movement at that point, and then he felt himself get repositioned against pillows that had been returned to their rightful place. Finally, a lightweight blanket was settled halfway up his body, as if Qhuinn knew that he was just about too hot to have any more coverage, and yet already feeling the chill as the sweat that covered him started to dry.
    His hair was brushed back from his forehead, and then his head was eased to the side. Lips like silk kissed down the column of his neck, and then long, slow lapping sealed the puncture wounds that he had asked for and been given.
    When it was done, he allowed his head to be turned toward Qhuinn. Even though it was pitch dark, he knew exactly what the face staring into his own looked like—flush on the cheeks, half-mast lids, lips red—
    The kiss that was pressed against his own mouth was reverent, the contact no heavier than the warm, still air in the room. It was the consummate lover’s kiss, the kind of thing he had wanted even more than the hot sex they’d just had—
    Panic struck in the center of his chest and resonated outward through him in the blink of an eye.
    His hands shot out of their own volition, shoving Qhuinn away. “Don’t touch me. Don’t you touch me like that—ever.”
    He sprang up off the bed and landed God only knew where in the room. Fumbling around, he hit various pieces of furniture, but then was able to orientate himself by the thin line of light that shone under the way out.
    Grabbing his robe from the floor, he did not look back as he left.
    Couldn’t bear to see the aftermath in any kind of light.
    That made it all too real.

    Eventually, Qhuinn had to will the lights in his bedroom on. He couldn’t stand the darkness any longer.
    As illumination flooded the space, he blinked hard and had to put his arms up to shield his eyes. After things recalibrated in retina-land, he looked around.
    Chaos. Total chaos.
    So all of that had actually happened, huh. And how ironic that the inside of his head made this goddamn mess look military-order in comparison.
    Don’t you touch me like that.
    Ah, hell, he thought as he scrubbed his face. He couldn’t blame the guy.
    For one thing, he’d shown about as much finesse as a bulldozer. Wrecking ball. Armed tank. The problem was, it had all been too much to show any patience: Instinct, as pure as octane and just as flammable, had lit him up—the session had been a case of letting the shit out.
    Oh, God, he’d marked the guy.
    Fuck
. Not exactly good form, considering Blay was already in love and in a relationship…and going back to his lover’s bed.
    Then again, when a male was with the one he wanted, especially if it was the first time, that was what happened. Hell broke loose….
    It went without saying that it had been the best sex of his life, the first right fit after a long history of not-even-closes. The thing was, at the end, he’d wanted Blay to know that, had been searching for words and relying on touch to pave the way to the confession.
    But it was clear the male didn’t want to get close like that.
    Which brought up a second, even more profound regret.
    Revenge sex was not about attraction; it was about utility. And Blay had used