As Blay walked over to the desk, he circled his brandy in his palm to warm it, and tried to talk in a sensible way. "I'm surprised you're not doing this more on the computers. "
Saxton discreetly covered his work with yet another leather-bound volume. "The inefficiency of taking notes by hand gives me time to think. "
"I'm surprised you need it - your first instinct is always right. "
"You're surprised about a lot of things right now. "
Only one, really. "Just making conversation. "
"But of course. "
Eventually, he looked over at his lover. Saxton had settled on a silk couch across the way, his legs crossed at the knee, his red silk socks peeking from beneath his precisely pressed cuffs, his Ferragamo loafers gleaming from regular polishing. He was every bit as refined and expensive as the antique he was perched on, a perfectly elegant male from a perfectly appointed bloodline with perfect taste and style.
He was everything anyone could want -
As that fucking chandelier twinkled overhead, Blay said roughly, "I'm still in love with him. "
Saxton dropped his eyes and brushed at the top of his thigh, as if there might have been a tiny piece of lint there. "I know. You thought you weren't?"
As if that were rather stupid of him.
"I'm so fucking tired of it. I really am. "
"That I believe. "
"I'm so fucking. . . " God, those sounds, that muted pounding, that audible confirmation of what he had been ignoring for the past year -
On a sudden wave of violence, he pitched the brandy snifter at the marble fireplace, shattering the thing.
"Fuck! Fuck!" If he'd been able to, he'd have jumped up and torn that goddamn cocksucking light fixture off the goddamn cocksucking ceiling.
Wheeling around, he went blindly for the doors, tripping over books, messing up the piles, nearly knocking himself over on the coffee table.
Saxton got there first, blocking the way out with his body.
Blay's eyes locked onto the male's face. "Get out of my way. Right now. You don't want to be around me. "
"Is that not for me to decide. "
Blay shifted his focus to those lips he knew so well. "Don't push me. "
"Or. What. "
As his chest started to pump, Blay realized the guy knew precisely what he was courting. Or at least thought he did. But something had come unhinged; maybe it was the needing, maybe it was. . . Shit, he didn't know, and he really didn't care.
"If you don't get the fuck out of my way, I'm going to bend you over that desk of yours - "
"Prove it. "
Wrong thing to say. In the wrong tone. At the wrong time.
Blay let out a roar that rattled the diamond-paned windows. Then he grabbed his lover by the back of the head and all but threw Saxton across the room. As the male caught himself on that desk, papers went flying, the confetti of yellow legal pads and computer printouts falling like snow.
Saxton's torso curled around as he looked behind at what was coming at him.
"Too late to run," Blay growled as he ripped open his button fly.
Falling upon the male, he was rough with his hands, tearing through the layers that kept him from what he was going to take. When there were no more barriers, he bared his fangs and bit down on Saxton's shoulder through his clothes, locking the male beneath him even as he grabbed those wrists and all but nailed them to the leather blotter.