FIFTY - EIGHT

"He came to see you."

From Blaylock's vantage point on the bed, Saxton son of Tyme was showing him his very best side. Which, no, was not his ass. The male was shaving in the mirror in the bathroom, and his perfect profile was bathed in the soft overhead light.

God, he was a beautiful male.

On so many levels, this lover he had taken on was everything he could want.

"Who," Blay said softly.

The eyes that shifted over to meet his were all about the oh-puhlease.

"Oh." To dodge any further conversation, Blay looked down at the duvet that was pulled up to his bare chest. He was naked under the satin weight. As Saxton had been until he'd put his robe on.

"He wanted to know if you were okay," Sax continued.

Since oh had already been used as a reply, Blay spiced it up with, "Really."

"It was out on the terrace. He didn't want to come in and disturb us."

Funny, when he'd been on the verge of passing out after his stomach had been stitched up, he'd dimly wondered what Saxton had been doing out there. But he'd been in so much pain at the time, it had been hard to think too much about anything.

Now, though, he felt a terrible thrill go through him.

Praise the Scribe Virgin, it had been a while since he'd had this old familiar tingle - although the time lapse didn't diminish the sensation. And the rush that followed to ask what had been said was nothing he could act on. It was disrespectful to Saxton, for one thing. And it was pointless, for another.

Good thing he had plenty of ammunition to shut himself up with: All he had to do was think of Qhuinn coming home a week or so ago, his hair a mess, his scent clouded by some man's cologne, his swagger all about the satisfaction he'd grabbed on the run.

The idea that Blay had thrown himself at the male not once, but twice - and gotten shut down? He just couldn't bear to think of it.

"You don't want to know what he said?" Saxton murmured as he drew the sharp blade up his throat, skillfully avoiding the bite mark Blay had given him a half hour ago.

Blay closed his eyes and wondered if he was ever going to get away from the reality that Qhuinn would fuck anyone and anything except him.

"No?" Saxton asked.

As the bed moved, Blay popped his lids. Saxton had come over to sit on the edge of the mattress, the male blotting his jaw and cheeks with a bloodred towel.

"No?" he repeated.

"May I ask you something?" Blay said. "And now would not be a good time to be your charming, sarcastic self."

Instantly, Saxton's stunning face grew grave. "Ask away."

Blay smoothed the duvet over his chest. A couple of times. "Do I ... please you."

From out of the corner of his eye, he saw Saxton recoil and just about died of embarrassment.

"You mean in bed?" Sax demanded.

Blay flattened his lips out as he nodded, and he thought maybe he might explain a little more, but as it turned out, his mouth was dry.

"Why would you ask that in a million years?" Saxton said softly.

Well, because there had to be something wrong with him.

Blay shook his head. "I don't know."

Saxton folded the towel and put it aside. Then he stretched an arm over Blay's hips and leaned up until they were face-to-face.

"Yes." With that, he put his mouth to Blay's throat and sucked. "Always."

Blay ran his hand across the male's nape, finding the soft, curling hair at the base of his neck. "Thank God."

The familiarity of the body poised over his was nothing he'd ever had before, and it felt right. It felt good. He knew every curve and corner of Saxton's chest and hips and thighs. He knew the pressure points and the places to bite, knew exactly how to grip and roll and arch so that Saxton would come hard.

So, yes, he probably shouldn't have had to ask.

Qhuinn, though ... anything about that male unpeeled him and left him raw. And for all he had learned to bandage himself up on the outside, the wound remained just as bad and deep as the moment it had been made - when it became obvious that the one male he wanted above all others was never, ever going to be with him.

Saxton eased back. "Qhuinn can't handle what he feels about you."

Blay laughed harshly. "Let's not talk about him."

"Why not?" Saxton reached out and ran his thumb back and forth over Blay's lower lip. "He's here with us whether we do or we don't."

Blay thought about lying and then gave up the fight. "I'm sorry about that."

"It's all right - I know what I'm in." Saxton's free hand sneaked under the duvet. "And I know what I want."

Blay groaned as that palm rubbed against what immediately became a thick erection. And as his hips lifted and he spread his legs for Saxton, he met the eyes of his lover and sucked that thumb into his mouth.

This was so much better than getting on the Qhuinn roller coaster - this he knew and he liked. He was safe here. He didn't get hurt here.

and he had found a deep, sexual connection here.

Saxton's stare was both hot and serious as he released what he'd found, pulled the covers off of Blay's body and freed the knot on the tie of his own robe.

This was very good, Blay thought. This was right -

As his lover's mouth found his collarbone and then drifted lower, Blay closed his eyes - except as he began to get lost in the sensations, what he saw was not Saxton.

"Wait, stop - " He sat up and took the other male with him.

"It's okay," Saxton said quietly. "I know where we're at."

Blay's heart cracked a little. But Saxton just shook his head and put his lips back to Blay's chest.

They had never spoken of love - and this made him realize they never were going to, because Saxton was indeed clear on things: Blay was still in love with Qhuinn - and probably always would be.

"Why?" he said to his lover.

"Because I want you for however long I have you."

"I'm going nowhere."

Saxton just shook his head against the tight abdominals he was nipping at. "Stop thinking, Blaylock. Start feeling."

As that talented mouth went all the way down, Blay hissed in a breath and decided to take the advice. Because it was the only way to survive.

Something told him that it was only a matter of time before Qhuinn came forward and announced that he and Layla were getting mated.

He wasn't sure how he knew that, but he did. The two had been hooking up for weeks, and the Chosen had been in there again the day before - he'd caught her scent and sensed her blood next door.

And though this conviction could have just been a mental exercise to depress the hell out of himself, he felt like it was so much more than that. It was as if the fog that normally obscured the coming days and months and years had grown unbearably thin and the shadows of destiny were showing themselves to him.

Just a matter of time.

God, that was going to kill him.

"I'm glad you're here," he groaned.

"Me, too," his lover said sadly around his erection. "Myself as well."