“Why are you crying?” You snaked your arms around me, seeking my warmth and sanctuary.
“I’m just so very happy to be here with you,” I said and forced a smile.
You looked at me thoughtfully, not believing my reason.
“You can tell me,” you said softly and drew your hands down my back, trying to comfort me.
“I can’t, cucciolo.” I shook my head. I’d have to wait for a sign.
You accepted my answer without argument. Your hand dipped inside my loose trousers, seeking me out. In spite of my dour mood, my body craved you all the same, and it wasn’t long before I firmed up in your capable hand.
“Maybe I can make you feel better,” you said generously and dropped down to your knees. Your lovely mouth swallowed my cock as you endeavored to drain away my misery as one sucks the venom from a snakebite. I rocked gently into your eager mouth. Your soft murmurs were a salve and your sleepy brown eyes a treasure to behold. How many more times would I be blessed with this view?
I warned you I was close to climax, and you only hugged me tighter and let me spill my seed down your throat while you stared up at me devotedly.
To have kept you as my beloved was both my greatest joy and my deepest sorrow.
What had I done?
31
Orlando
Iwas going to save my present for the end of our week together, but I decided not to wait. You were hiding something from me—something big—and every time I tried to pry it out of you, we ended up having sex. Not that I was complaining. But I figured a little blood might cheer you up. That had always invigorated you in the past.
That morning, I woke up before you, set the champagne on ice, and made breakfast—toast and scrambled eggs with hot sauce, which was something I couldn’t screw up. I served you in bed while you eyed me with curiosity.
“I got you something,” I said after you’d finished eating and I’d cleared away the dishes. I presented you with a white box tied up with a blood-red bow.
You were still reclined in bed with your torso propped up on pillows. I sat in your lap and handed it to you. You took the box gingerly, glancing up at me with a kind of dread in your eyes.
“Henri, what’s wrong?”
Your face looked grim as you studied me closely. “You got this for me?” you asked in a quiet, hesitant voice.
“Yes, it took me—well, it took Xavier—a really long time to find just the right one. I mentioned it to you months ago. The present, I mean.”
“Yes.” You nodded solemnly. “I remember.”
You were acting so strange. What if you absolutely hated it?
“You don’t have to open it,” I said, thinking I could snatch it back out of your hands and hide it under my bed forever, right next to Derek’s finger.
You laid your hand on my shoulder and whispered, “So calm, so calm, so calm.” That relaxed me, but your expression still had me worried.
“I must open it,” you said like I’d stuffed the box full of Anthrax.
I sat back a little and nibbled my thumb while you slowly removed the ribbon. It fell off in a whisper. I was on the verge of tears. I’d spent a lot of time thinking about just the right gift for you and even longer waiting for Xavier to find it. This was supposed to be an awesome surprise, and the perfect expression of my love for you.
You slowly removed the lid. Nestled in the soft white satin was a claw-like contraption that was designed to be worn on your index finger. It was made of stainless steel and tipped with a long, sharp talon, perfect for making delicate cuts on skin.
“It’s called a reaver,” I explained. “It’s made for—”
“Yes, I know.” You swallowed tightly and stared at the gift with a bizarre expression. Like you were fascinated and repulsed by it at the same time.
“You hate it.” My stomach sank as I realized my mistake. You’d told me before you didn’t like your demon side, and there I was throwing it in your face. I’d basically just called you a monster.
“I don’t hate it,” you said slowly, but you were only saying it to spare my feelings.
