"Where the fuck are you?" he growled, unsure in the dim glow who he was talking to. Lassiter. No'One. The merciful Fates - if there were any.
On some level, he couldn't believe he was waiting for another female - and the fact that the tipping balance between urgency and guilt was quickly shifting to the former was a -
"If you say my name while you do that, I'm going to throw up a little in my mouth. "
Lassiter's voice was rough and disembodied as it came from the far corner of the room where the chaise was.
"Is this what you meant. " God, was that really him? Tohr wondered. Hungry, impatient. Cranky because he was juiced up.
"It's a better direction than you walking out into a bullet shower - " There was a shuffling sound. "Hey, no offense, but do you mind if you put both your palms where I can see 'em?"
"Can you make her come to me. "
"Free will is what it is. And palms, motherfucker? If you don't mind. "
Tohr outted both his arms and felt compelled to declare, "I want to feed her, not fuck her. I wouldn't put No'One through that. "
"I suggest you let her make up her own mind about the sex. " The guy coughed a little bit - but then, yet again, fucking was an awkward subject between guys if they were talking about females of worth. "She may have her own ideas. "
Tohr thought back to the way she had looked at him in the clinic when he'd worked himself out. She had not been afraid. She had appeared captivated. . . .
He wasn't sure how to handle that -
His body arched on its own, as if to say, The fuck you don't, buddy.
As another cough sounded out, Tohr laughed a little. "You have allergies to those flowers?"
"Yeah. That's it. I'm going to leave you now, 'kay?" There was a pause. "I'm proud of you. "
Tohr frowned. "What for?"
When there was no answer, it was clear the angel had already taken off -
A soft knocking at the door shot Tohr upright, and he barely felt the pain of his wounds: He knew exactly who this was. "Come in. "
Come to me.
The door opened a crack, and No'One slipped inside, shutting them in with each other.
As he heard the click of the locking mechanism, his body shut his mind down completely: It was going to feed her. . . and, God help them both, fuck her if she let him.
For one brief moment of lucidity, he thought he should tell her to go, so they could be spared the aftermath when sex cooled down and heads cleared up. . . and two people learned that those Molotov cocktails that had seemed like such a fun, exciting idea to make and throw, had, in actuality, decimated their landscapes.
Except he just extended his hand to her.
After a moment, she reached up and removed her hood. As he rememorized her face and form, he saw that she was nothing like his Wellsie. She was smaller and more delicately built. Fair of coloring instead of vibrant. Proper instead of blunt.
He liked her, though. And it was easier, in a strange way, that she was so different. Less of a chance of ever replacing his beloved in his heart with this female: Even though his body was aroused, that was the least important marker of connection. Males with the kind of bloodline he had, when in good health and well fed, as he now was, could get hard over a sack of potatoes.
And No'One, in spite of her opinion of herself, was a hell of a lot more attractive than root vegetables. . . .
Christ, the romance was just awesome all up in here. Wasn't it.
She approached slowly, her limp barely noticeable, and when she got to the edge of the mattress, she looked down at his bare chest, his arms, his stomach. . . and went even lower with her eyes.
"I'm aroused again," he said in a guttural voice. And fuck him, but you'd think he brought that up to warn her off. The truth? He was hoping to get that look back, the one that had been on her face when he'd made himself come -
And, what do you know. . . there it was: heat and curiosity. No fear.