There wasn’t any urgency in it. Not the frantic need of the night before. This was slower, deeper, a burn instead of a blaze. He had all the time in the world. His tongue explored Ash like a territory he meant to conquer, a landscape he would never let go of. Every kiss was a vow, every suck and press a confession. Ash clung to him, palms tracing Rick’s shoulders, chest, ribs, everywhere at once, and Rick thought he might die from the sheer ache of it, the closeness, the trust.
Their lips never parted, sealing the world away. Not when Ash moaned, not when Rick growled low in his throat, noteven when the friction between their cocks began to drive them higher. All that existed was the wet slide of tongues, the desperate pull of breath beyond melded mouths, the taste of each other’s souls.
Rick felt it then, that strange, impossible communion. Ash inside him, not just his lips but deeper, in his blood, in his bones, in the hollow places he’d carried all his life. He ground closer, their hard cocks dragging between their bellies, but his focus never wavered from Ash’s mouth.
Pleasure built, slow and inexorable, a tide swelling past conscious thought. He felt Ash shiver against him, felt his own body shudder, and knew they were falling together. Their kiss tightened, grew desperate, tongues lashing, lips bruising, salivas mixing—and the heat tore through him, violent and sweet. His cock jerked, shooting between them, and still he kissed, moaned into Ash’s mouth as the boy broke apart in his arms, both of them shaking, spilling, fused at the lips.
Even in the aftermath, spent and trembling, coming down from the orgasm’s high, Rick didn’t let him go. Didn’t break the kiss. Water coursed down, washing them clean, but he held Ash tight, mouths locked, as if sharing the same breath was the only way to live.
(2:42 p.m.)
Rain beaded on the Eldorado’s windshield, the wipers dragging in slow arcs, keeping just enough clarity for Rick to follow the sluggish stream of midday traffic down Bogart Boulevard. Calgrave rose around them in its usual haunted splendor: towers soaring into a sunless sky, soot-stained cornices crumbling above theaters and liquor stores, the classical façades of banks and post offices standing like mausoleums in the afternoon haze. This was his city, rotting and alive, hungry as any beast he’d evermet, and he never felt it pressing closer than when Ash sat in the passenger seat beside him.
Rick was meant to be heading to the hospital to check on Frank, but the route bent elsewhere first. Ash had left his bike at Rick’s—no wardrobe worth riding in—and so Rick was dropping him at his loft to change before facing the world. Rick’s clothes hung on him in a parody of proportions: his sweater three sizes too big, sleeves sagging past his fingers, collar gaping enough to bare the cut of his collarbones. Rick’s gym shorts, cropped mid-thigh on him, nearly reached Ash’s shins. Add his leather jacket and combat boots, and the result looked like some rascalplaying dress-up in his father’s closet. Ridiculous.
And yet, somehow, the kid made it look indecently good. A wash of red from a traffic light spilled across his throat, and Rick had to wrench his gaze to the road before the Eldorado swerved. Beautiful didn’t even begin to cover it. Ash could be dressed in a trash bag, and he’d still be the most dangerous, breathtaking thing that had ever walked into Rick’s life.
“So…” Ash’s lips curved in that sly little way that meant trouble. He slouched deeper in the seat, bare calves peeking out from beneath Rick’s shorts. “We’ve covered the healing. What else? Night vision?”
Rick grunted, eyes fixed on the streaming asphalt ahead. “Goes without saying.”
“Same here. How about enhanced hearing? Smell?”
He tapped the wheel with one thick finger. “Obviously.”
“Right. You were sniffing me like a mutt last night.”
Rick’s jaw worked, the stubble rasping faintly against the collar of his coat as heat crept up his neck. He gave a low, warning rumble in his throat. “Careful. You’ll make me do it again.”
Ash only smirked, tugging the sleeves higher and letting them fall again. “I think pissing on me in the shower was enoughof a territory-marking for one day. Yeah, big guy, don’t think I didn’t notice.”
Rick’s ears burned hotter. He clenched the wheel, leather creaking beneath his palms. “Sorry. Couldn’t help it.” The words came out clipped, his mouth clamping shut, but inside, the wolf gave a smug thrum of satisfaction. Ash carried his scent now. Marked. Claimed. Inside and out. A primitive pride uncoiled in his chest, even as his human side wanted to crawl under the dashboard and hide.
Ash shifted lazily in the seat, drowning in the oversized pullover. The daylight spilling through the windshield washed his skin to pearl, the curve of his collarbone luminous in the dim gray wash. “What about speed? Reflexes?”
Rick shot him a sidelong glance,the brim of his hat shading the top of his face. “Better than yours, I’ll bet. And don’t forget strength.” He flexed one hand on the wheel, bicep bulging up under the fabric of his coat, thick cords running to his neck and shoulders. There were no clothes that could hide the breadth of him.
“And silver bullets?”
Rick gave a quiet huff. “Yeah, that one’s not a myth. Silver hits us hard. Screws with our blood, our nerves.” He shrugged, as if trying to make something ugly sound simple. “It’s poison to us.”
Ash hummed, thoughtful. “Guess even the toughest guys need an Achilles’ heel.”
“Right.” Rick’s mouth twitched. “And yours is being horny.”
A lazy smile unfurled. “Well, I’ve got some tricks you don’t.”
Rick arched a brow, the fedora shifting slightly with the motion. “Yeah?”
“Mind control.” Ash’s irises glinted, catching a neon wash from a passing sign. “And, apparently, telekinesis.” His voice dipped, sultry, teasing. “I think I could take you down.”
Rick huffed a dry laugh. “Try it, and I’ll put you over my knee.”
Ash chuckled low in his throat. “Just remember that demon trumps werewolf. Any time.”
The word made Rick’s gut tighten. He’d already seen what Ash could do, how a single glance, a casual word, could bring people to their knees. Power like that needed a leash, and Ash didn’t seem to realize it. Still, reverence edged through the worry, tangled with a darker, more primal urge. Possessiveness. The wolf wanted him bound close, within reach, under watch. His.
They rode in silence for a while, the tires hissing over rain-slick streets. They passed Willowbrook, where skeletal tenements leaned over alleys like hungry men, and slipped toward the river, the harbor cranes looming like gallows against the fog. The Eldorado rumbled onto the Roosevelt bridge, steel girders rising around them like the ribs of some dead leviathan, the water below muddy and swirling. Rick had his eyes on the road, but kept glancing at Ash, who had gone quiet—too quiet.
