The only bloodheat I’ve ever responded to was Wesley’s. Two years ago.
I open my eyes, noting Wes sprawled out across my bed, naked, his cock gleaming with precum. He looks up at me with those pristine blue eyes, like a lamb waiting tobe slaughtered. The scent of cinnamon and cayenne mixed with his bloodheat arousal perfumes the air, and I can see even from here, his pupils are blown.
All I want is to tell him I’m sorry. Tell him I didn’t mean to upset him earlier, that I want to bite him. That Iwantto claim him. But instead, I say nothing. I simply throw my wet shirt on the floor and move to undress myself, letting my cock bounce free as I meet his gaze.
I should tell him to leave. I really should, all things considered. I’m prolonging the inevitable, only hurting myself more.
But when it comes to Wesley, I am weak.
Gods, I am fucking weak.
“Something like that,” I say, wrapping my hand around my cock and stroking it as I saunter towards the bed. Wesley looks up at me, then at my cock, like he truly is starving for it. Forme.
That look is my undoing. No one’s ever looked at me the way Wesley does. Like I’m truly a sight to behold. Like I’meverything.
“Can I help?” he asks, his voice smooth and sweet. I don’t understand what he sees in me, truthfully. All I do is hurt him. Over and over again.
“I’m not sure you can,” I tell him honestly. “Help me.”
I carefully saunter onto the bed, finding my spot between his legs. Wesley looks down at me, those crystal eyes sparkling with hope and love.
Love I don’t deserve.
Love that will do nothing but destroy our chances of redemption.
“I’m not sure anyone can, Wes.” I catch his gaze, imploring him with my own, needing him to understand. I can’t let him in. But fuck, Iwant to.“But you can make me forget,” I whisper.
“What if I don’t want you to forget?” he whispers back. I settle between his legs, reaching for his cock. His lips part for the faintest moment, and his eyebrows furrow.
“Adrien—”
My fangs ache and I absentmindedly adjust my cock since this position isn’t the most comfortable by any means, but this isn't about me. It’s about Wesley. I can’t say the things I want without breaking the delicate glass ledge we are perched on. So I say the words I wish to say with my lips on his thigh, slowly stroking his cock and spreading his wetness along his shaft. I write the words with my tongue along his skin until he’s thrusting himself in my hand and squirming beneath me, begging me to let him come.
His strained voice always gets me. It’s equal parts arousing and addicting.
I love to hear him like this, love knowing I have this effect on him.
The scent of his bloodheat is thick this close up. Spicy cinnamon mingles in the air and I swear I can still smell the sweet caramel notes of someone else, as if it lingers like a ghost. My cock twitches and a strange vision pushes forth in my brain. Of my head between pale,porcelain legs, my tongue sliding through gleaming pink lips and I stop abruptly.
What the fuck was that?
Wesley whines, panting like he’s run a damn marathon. His cock bobs as I try to shake the strange thought from my mind.
“Adrien, please, I…I’m sorry,” he mewls.
I blink, feeling put off by the odd intrusive thought. I don’t know where that came from, but I know what Idoneed to focus on.
Wesley.
“Sorry? For what?” I ask, my voice harsher than it should be. Wesley’s chest rises and falls and his body tenses. He looks at me with watery eyes.
“Everything,” he says, and I realize his voice is shaky, not strained, and he sounds on the verge of tears. Something about that pulls me from my stupor, and I abandon his cock, moving to crawl over him and pull him into my arms without thinking.
“Wesley, it’s alright, I?—”
Wesley wraps his arms around me, burying his face into my neck.
For a moment, neither of us says a word. I hold him in my arms, his heartbeat heavy against my chest. I close my eyes for a moment and breathe him in. He smells like heaven.
