Ryan shook his head. “I wasn’t talking about appearance.” He gave Salathiel another quick kiss, but it turned into a long, lingering sensual one. The mood changed between them. Passion flared.
Ryan could feel the rising of nearly a year of wanting and lust, waiting to be fulfilled, starting to drive both their bodies. Now that he was free to touch and take, his mind was filled with possibilities, with potential. His hand trembled as he stroked Lathe’s body, sliding his hand down to cup the man’s hard buttock and squeeze it. He was rewarded with a groan and the shift of Lathe’s hip. The jerk of his pelvis, which made his rigid shaft brush softly against Ryan’s hip. The delicate brush was like the touch of a chill breeze on a hot summer’s day. It sent ripples down Ryan’s spine and tightened already screaming nerves to fraying point.
Salathiel was the first to fall to his knees and Ryan clenched his jaw to hold back a deep moan as Salathiel slid his hands the length of Ryan’s thighs.
The first touch of Lathe’s hand around his member drove Ryan’s hand into his hair, to curl around his thick, wavy locks and clench. Ryan’s breathing became heavier.
Lathe’s lips slid over the tip of his shaft, driving him deep into his mouth. Heat and moisture. Delicious sensations slammed through Ryan’s mind and body. His hips jerked and he heard himself groan again. But Lathe didn’t spare him. His mouth worked his shaft with a knowing touch and Ryan’s pleasure swiftly built toward a stunning peak. He vibrated with the intensity of it. “Lathe,” he breathed. “Have mercy...”
But Lathe did not spare him. The climax blasted through Ryan like a volcanic eruption and he cried out as his body seemed to lock and drain in hard, furious jerks.
There was no chance for recovery or ease. His heart still thundered as Salathiel stood, a crooked grin on his face. “That was worth it, just to hear that sound from you.” His own shaft was thick with blood, dark with it, proving that Lathe had enjoyed himself more than a little. He circled around behind Ryan again, only this time, he was not nearly as cautious. His body brushed and bumped against Ryan, his shaft stroking his hip in a hot swipe of flesh that made Ryan shiver in reaction.
Lathe ran his hands up Ryan’s back. “You are so pale.”
“It comes from being a vampire,” Ryan said. “I can only withstand a little sun, especially here.”
“Your flesh is much whiter than a Byzantine’s,” Lathe said. “It’s not just the vampire in you.”
“It’s the Celt in me,” Ryan replied. He caught his breath as Lathe’s fingertips brushed between his buttocks. Then the big hands were on his shoulders, pressing on him. Pressing him over. Bending him.
Excitement flared in him as he realized what Lathe intended to do to him next. “You will need oil,” he said and his voice was hoarse with the pleasure already building in him.
“I have it,” Lathe replied. “I found it while I was waiting for you to return. How long have you had it hidden away here in your room, waiting for a moment that might never happen, hmm?”
Ryan closed his eyes as he balanced himself with his hands on the edge of the low bed. “In truth, I forgot it was there.”
Lathe pushed Ryan’s feet apart with his own. Even that simple movement brought a thrill to the pit of his stomach as he was exposed to Lathe’s gaze.
Then the touch of the oil, warmed from Lathe’s hand. Lathe let it drop gently between Ryan’s cheeks, then his finger spread it. The touch of his finger was enough to make Ryan clench and bite back a deep groan. His shaft was hardening once more. His heart was thrumming.
Lathe spread the oil with leisurely, teasing strokes, from his anus down to his sac and that touch was almost more than Ryan could bear. He gripped the edge of the bed and gritted his teeth, fighting to remain still. “You’re killing me,” Ryan muttered.
“You can’t be killed,” Lathe pointed out. But he at last gripped Ryan’s hips with his big hands and Ryan felt the touch of the thick end of Lathe’s shaft against him. The pressure increased and then Lathe was inside him—and the pressure transformed into a deep pleasurable building lust.
Ryan gasped, his grip on the bed tightening. He heard the rip of fabric under his grip but was unable to loosen his grasp. Not now. He was held by the rising tide of need.
Lathe groaned as he thrust. “Too much. Much too much.”
“This time,” Ryan breathed.
“Gods!” Lathe cried. His thrusting increased. Deepened. Ryan could feel the trembling in the man.
“Come for me,” Ryan coaxed.
With a roar, Lathe climaxed, slamming himself into Ryan in good, hard strokes.
Then Lathe withdrew and fell on the bed, curled up on his side and Ryan could see he was shaking with the lingering effects of his pleasure.
Ryan eased himself onto the bed beside him and rested his hand on Lathe’s shoulder. He could feel the trembling through his hand. “What is the matter?” he asked.
Lathe covered his eyes with his hand. For a long minute he lay silently, the shaking growing worse. Then he swallowed. “I’m happy,” he said, sounding anything but happy. He pulled his hand away from his eyes and Ryan was startled, for his eyes were swimming with tears.
“Why do you not sound happy, then?” Ryan asked.
“Because I’m terrified for what the lamplight will bring.”
* * * * *
The Agency satellite station. 2263 A.D.
Cáel waited while Ryan signed reading boards, took calls, answered messages and completed a dozen other tasks. Sleep threatened but Cáel forced himself to stay awake even though by his internal clock, dawn was coming and it had been a long, astounding night full of revelations. He wouldn’t take back a moment of this evening, but he did envy Ryan and Nayara their lack of need for sleep, food and rest.
Ryan stood up and moved around the desk, dousing the light that shone directly over it and strode toward the sofa where Cáel sat waiting. “I mean this in the most respectful way, Cáel, but do you intend to return home at any time in the next few hours?”
Cáel shook his head. “You said ‘clear your calendar’. I did. I am at your disposal until however long it takes to hear your tales, you and Nayara.”
Ryan halted, five metres away from the coffee table, surprise etching itself across his face. “When did you do that? I didn’t see you send any messages.”
“At the ball, not long after you made the conditions of this bargain clear,” Cáel replied. “I intend to live up to my side of it.”
Ryan perched on the arm of the chair that flanked the table. “I also meant ‘how”. How did you send the message? You barely left the table except to dance with Nia, or to talk to Lyle Bean.” He lifted a brow. “Ah. You did it then. You work fast, Assemblyman.”
“I’ve learned the value of efficiency.”
“Your affairs will not suffer from your absence?”
“If they did suffer from a few days absence, my affairs aren’t structured well enough and I need to know that.” Cáel shrugged. “My people are all good people. They’ll cope.”
Ryan smiled. It was a warm expression that caught Cáel by surprise, for it touched his eyes and made them seem far less remote. Far more...human. “Then we’d better find you a change of clothes and some food.”
“Breakfast would be wonderful,” Cáel admitted.
They sat in Nayara’s office for breakfast. Espresso, fried eggplant and bacon and even Ryan and Nayara sniffed appreciatively as the tray was brought in. Cáel’s stomach rumbled emptily as he sat down.
“The news about the ball has been released to the nets, by the way,” Nayara said, as Cáel picked up his knife and fork.
“Bad?” Cáel asked.
She wrinkled her nose.
Ryan made a sound in his throat. Cáel didn’t know if it was a growl or if he was clearing it. Ryan looked annoyed.
“Brenden...not so bad,” she summarized. “But there are lots of long, slow close ups of Ryan’s incisors and the juice dripping down his hand. It doesn’t
look good.”
Cáel sighed. “I have to believe any exposure will end up being worth it in the long run. Let’s move on.”
“’There’s no such thing as bad publicity’?” Ryan quoted. “Have you ever been the victim of a bad news cycle?”
“Actually, yes,” Cáel told him. “It will pass.” He took a bite of bacon and deliberately changed subjects. “What happened at lamplight?”
Nayara glanced at Ryan. “You’ve not told him that yet?”
Ryan shook his head. “The details take longer to tell than I thought they would.”
Nayara nodded. “You need more practice. You can tell him that part, too.” She sat back in her chair, moving it around so that she was facing Ryan just as Cáel was. She poured the thick black coffee into the demitasse cup for Cáel and dipped her finger into the liquid and licked it, then sat back again.
Cáel hid his smile. He wondered if Nayara was aware of the familiarity in what she had just done.
From the surprise in Ryan’s face, he didn’t think so.
Cáel looked at Ryan. “At lamplight?” he prompted.
* * * * *
Constantinople. 1443 A.D.
Lathe and Ryan lingered in Ryan’s chamber all day. They made love interspersed with talk, caresses and more talk, for now they were free to acknowledge their feelings and what lay in their hearts.
The only thing they did not speak of was what would happen in the future and as the shadows lengthened and the day drew to an end, the silences between their talk also grew in length and became more tense.
As the criers called the sunset, Ryan moved to the edge of the bed.
“Where are you going?” Lathe demanded sharply.
“It is time, Lathe,” Ryan said quietly. “She will be back soon, if she isn’t already. We’ve had our day.”
“And that is the end of it?” Lathe demanded.
“I don’t know,” Ryan replied honestly. “I can’t see how any of this can end happily for anyone. But I do know I don’t want her to find us here a second time. I don’t want to rub salt in the wound.”
“Too late, Ryan,” Nayara’s voice murmured from the vestibule.
Ryan turned to face the shutters hiding the vestibule from his view, his heart sinking, much as it had this morning when he realized that Nia had watched and heard him and Lathe speak truths she would find unbearably painful.
“Nia...” he began, but could find nothing else to say.
“Nayara, you have returned when you said you would,” Lathe said. “I can’t tell you how that pleases me.”
She pushed open one of the shutters and stepped through.
Ryan’s breath locked in his chest at the sight of her.
She wore an old fashioned tunic, like the women would have once worn when this city had been called Byzantium, before Constantine renamed it New Rome and the citizens called it Constantinople after him, instead. The tunic swept the ground, but it was made of the most diaphanous, soft white fabric to ever leave a loom. Despite the drapes and folds of the garment, Ryan could see Nayara’s long slender body clearly behind it. She wore no belt. The tunic hung from two brooches holding it together at her shoulders and apart from the twin rises of her breasts, it fell straight to the floor.
Her hair was loose and free, with one red curl lying over her shoulder, the rest tumbling down her back.
In her hands, cupped in the palms, she held a bronze chalice.
Peace offering? Temptation?
Her green eyes were afire, blazing with an inner light, as she walked toward them slowly. Did she give them time to take in her beauty, the ethereal quality of her appearance? Or to tease them?
For her appearance had the effect of an hammer against Ryan’s heart and storm for his sails. He had thought himself utterly replete, but now he found himself back to a agonized state of wanting again.
Lathe gave a wheezy exhalation and Ryan knew he felt the same.
Nayara stopped before them. The last of the red light of a hot summer’s evening flooded the room and bathed her in an unearthly glow that made her look like she was ablaze.
Ryan was afraid to speak. He didn’t want to break the spell.
Nayara lifted the cup to her lips and appeared to sip the wine in it. Then she wordlessly held the cup out to Ryan.
Understanding blazed in his mind and heart. The old pagan symbolism of this little ceremony reached back not just into his people’s myths, but tapped into Byzantine roots, too.
She had found a way to unite them all.
Ryan’s hands trembled as he reached out for the cup and took it from her. It didn’t surprise him that the wine was red. It was a substitute for blood. He lifted the cup to his mouth and let the wine touch his lips. Then he handed the cup back to Nia.
She turned to Lathe and gave the cup to him. He was solemn as he took it and sipped, then handed it back.
Nia turned and placed the cup on the table by the door and returned to the bed.
Ryan got to his feet. “Lathe,” he said softly and lifted his hand, indicating Salathiel should stand, too. Ryan moved to Nia’s side, knowing what he needed to do next. He reached for the brooch on her shoulder. “You honour us,” he told her.
Salathiel slid the pin from the brooch on his side. “Indeed. Beyond our hopes or expectations.”
Nayara closed her eyes as the tunic fluttered to the ground in two separate pieces. “Or mine, when this day began.” She smiled.
They pushed the tunic away from her naked body. Ryan bent and kissed her, turning her face up to his. It was an outpouring of relief, gratitude and love.
And happiness.
For there was the stirrings of happiness deep in his soul. Salathiel’s mood was infectious and now Nayara had removed the last shield against that infection. Ryan was free to love and enjoy that love, if he dared to break with the ingrained habits of a long life of looking over his shoulder.
Salathiel’s hand briefly touched Ryan’s where he held Nia’s face. Then Nia gasped. Ryan lifted his lips from hers.
Salathiel was behind her, his big hands cupping her breasts, tugging and rolling the tips, elongating them. Just watching Lathe’s fingers on Nia’s breasts was erotic and arousing. Ryan let out a heavy breath.
“Touch him, Nia,” Salathiel whispered in her ear.
Nia’s eyes opened wider. Then the corners of her mouth lifted as a wickedly sensual look came over her face. She leaned back against Lathe and reached out to rest her hand against Ryan’s chest and caress it. But her fingers swiftly dropped lower, to his jutting, throbbing shaft. Her hand circled around him and stroked. Then she lifted her other hand and cupped his balls, squeezing.
Ryan curled his hands into fists, hissing in his breath. Nia’s light touch was nothing like Lathe’s but it was a powerful goad, all the same, especially with Lathe watching.
At the last minute, Ryan pulled Nia’s hand aside, before it was too late. He was trembling. “I’d rather come inside you,” he said quietly.
“So would I,” Lathe added.
“Both?” Nayara looked startled. Then her eyes took on the half-lidded sleepy expression Ryan had learned meant she was deeply aroused. “Now,” she said, her voice blurry with excitement.
Salathiel smiled and his smile was full of sensual promise. “Pick her up, Ryan.”
Ryan guessed what Salathiel intended. So he wrapped his hands around Nayara’s waist and picked her up. For a vampire it was no effort at all. Salathiel had counted on that.
“Put your legs around me,” he told Nia.
Nia wrapped her legs about his waist and her arms around his shoulders. Ryan kissed her while he held her. His shaft was throbbing with readiness, so he slowly lowered her onto it.
Nia sighed as her tight sheath enclosed him.
“Gods!” Salathiel breathed. “I thought I might feel discomfort watching you with Nia, Ryan. I thought perhaps I might feel awkward. Or fear. Or nothing at all. I did not for a moment think I would feel this...rush.
This pleasure.”
Ryan’s pulse leapt.
Salathiel stepped to their side and turned Nia’s face toward him. “I want you now more than I have ever wanted you.” He kissed her, then looked at Ryan. His blue eyes were glittering in the growing dark. “And I want you, more than I have all day.” His kiss was hard and fast...and arousing.
Ryan heard Nia’s tiny gasp.
Salathiel moved away and he glanced at her. She licked her lips. “I have...that is the first time I have seen you...kiss,” she said.
“It is not to your taste?” Ryan asked.
Nia’s smile was slow. Wicked. “Yes, it is. It very much is.”
Ryan’s heart seemed to leap in his chest, like it was trying to escape.
Salathiel pressed up behind Nia and she stiffened. Lathe kissed her shoulder. “Relax.”
“You startled me,” Nia complained.
“You were too busy seducing my lover,” Lathe replied.
Nia stiffened for a heartbeat, then relaxed and smiled. “True.” She gasped. “Oh!” She arched against Ryan. “Oooh...”
“That is oil,” Lathe said. “Where I will take you, I will need oil. So I must spread it first and spread you, too.”
Nia’s eyes drifted slowly closed as Lathe worked the oil into her anus and stretched the opening. But Ryan could feel her responding, as her body clenched around his shaft in shifts and spasms, stroking him internally. Her nipples scraped across his chest as she arched and twisted.
Her breath quickened.
Finally, Lathe gripped her hips and pressed himself up against her. Nia clutched at Ryan, her eyes opening. Ryan could feel the advance of Lathe’s shaft against his own, for there was only the thinnest of flesh walls between the two channels.
Nia’s breathing became soft panting. She clutched at Ryan, her small hands clinging to his neck as she was claimed by the two of them.
Just the knowledge of what they were doing was so profoundly moving, Ryan knew the moment was not destined to linger. “Lathe, hurry,” he urged the human.
“Not this time. Not with Nia,” Salathiel muttered. Sweat dotted his brow, though, as he continued to ease himself into Nia a tiny portion at a time, to avoid any pain or damage.
Byzantine Heartbreak (Beloved Bloody Time) Page 9
