“Here” was the conservatory. The panels in the glass walls that could be unsealed were all fully open, so the cool of the evening could pass through the room. That was why a breeze was playing on his face and why he could smell growing things and soil.
Carefully, he sat up. Considering how much he’d drunk, he didn’t have nearly enough of a headache. He should have been comprehensively sick, but wasn’t. His head hurt like crazy and that was all. A gallon of water would fix that.
As he sat up, he found he had been dumped on one of the pair of loungers that sat tucked away behind a pocket of big, green leafy palms. Sasha was sitting on the other of the pair. He was drinking a bottle of water and there were another five of them at his feet. In the moonlight, he looked ghostly, his pale flesh glowing.
Dante’s throat closed up tight at the sight of the water.
Silently, Sasha bent and picked up one of the sealed bottles and held it out to him.
Dante took it eagerly. He cracked the lid and drank quickly, almost draining the bottle in three big swallows. It tasted heavenly.
When Sasha handed him another bottle, he put the empty one down, opened the second and took a few more deep swallows. His throat no longer felt like it would hurt if he tried to talk.
Sasha opened a third bottle and sipped. “I think it’s after midnight,” he said softly. “None of the humans left in the house are up, that I can hear.”
“This is a unique way of adjusting our sleep patterns for nighttime hunting,” Dante observed. He winced as his head pounded. “Not that I would recommend it.”
Sasha shook his head. “It’s ten in the morning, Moscow time. I was already adjusted. What I do want is coffee. Lots of it.”
“Black coffee. Yes.” Dante finished the second bottle and put it on the floor.
Sasha looked offended. “Strong coffee, with lots of cream and sugar. Black is an offence to the palate.”
“Do you know your way around the kitchen at all?” He had moved straight through the kitchen that morning, with no chance to do more than look around.
Sasha shook his head. “I keep walking through it, that’s all. There’s a big pot hanging overhead that we can use.”
“For what?”
“To make the coffee,” Sasha said, as if it was perfectly obvious.
“You don’t want to use the espresso machine on the counter?” Dante asked, amused.
Sasha grimaced. “You don’t know how to make real coffee. I will show you.”
“With a saucepan?” Dante asked.
Sasha got to his feet. “With a pan,” he said in agreement. “Come.” He moved toward the kitchen. Slowly.
Dante followed just as slowly. The ache in his limbs disappeared as he moved, which left him with just the headache, which was a doozy. Coffee would fix a lot of that. So would food.
The kitchen was dimly lit, with only the little lights under the overhead cupboards turned on. Dante found the light switches and flicked them all on one by one, then adjusted them, until there was a good working light over the island and the range, while the table in the alcove was left in shadows.
Sasha reached up for the copper pot he had referred to and unhooked it from the cast iron frame hanging from the ceiling. He put the pot on the range. “Find the coffee,” he told Dante.
Dante tried the narrow, full length door in the corner of the kitchen. It was the pantry, as he had suspected it would be. He found three different types of coffee in bags and took them all out to the kitchen and dumped them on the counter. “Take your pick.”
Sasha read the labels and pushed two of them away. “Fine grind will have to do,” he said and scooped spoonfuls of it into the pot. He added water, then salt from the shaker sitting in the middle of the counter.
“Anything I can do?” Dante asked, as Sasha turned the burner on underneath the pot.
“Is there cream in the fridge?” Sasha asked.
Dante checked. “Coffee cream,” he said, pulling out the carton. “If you want whipping cream, you’re out of luck.”
“It will do. Put it in another pot, about two cups of it. Four spoons of sugar and vanilla essence and stir it up.”
Dante followed his directions, then settled the pot next to the big one Sasha was stirring.
“Keep stirring it,” Sasha said as he turned the burner on.
“What do you do if there’s only one of you when you want a cup of this stuff? Stir with both hands?”
“You make the coffee, then cook the cream.” Sasha shrugged. “This is faster.”
They stood and stirred for a few minutes. Dante could already feel a difference from all the water he had drunk. The cinched-in spiked band that had been squeezing his head had loosened up. “Was the water there when you woke up?” he asked.
“It was.”
“Someone was thinking ahead,” Dante said.
“They do that a lot, these people.”
“You know them well?”
“I was here, nearly two years ago. I got to know many of them, then. I have known Marcus for much longer, though.”
“Then you knew Rick, the vampire who died?”
“I don’t think anyone knew him as well as they thought they did, except for Marcus and Ilaria.” Sasha kept his gaze on the coffee. There was a tiny frown between his eyes. The blue of his eyes under the overhead light was very clear. Most blue-eyed people had flecks in their eyes, spoiling the color. There was nothing marring the tone of Sasha’s eyes. His jaw was very square and shadowed with growth.
“Watch the cream,” he murmured.
Dante pulled his gaze back to the saucepan and stirred carefully. He wasn’t much of a cook. He did know how to warm milk because it was one of the go-to sleep remedies he used instead of chemical inducements.
“You’re a full time hunter, now you have retired?” Sasha asked.
“That’s why I retired,” Dante said flatly. “So I could hunt. Only vampires don’t need sleep.”
“It bothered you, then, to give up your career.” It wasn’t a question.
“Not when I made the decision.”
“After, then. When you realized what it really meant.”
“It was a no-brainer decision,” Dante said roughly. “People don’t get killed playing football, while people were being killed for food, every single night, out in the streets and suburbs. The idea of running out onto the field with pretty girls cheering me on…it made me feel sick, to think that was how I got to spend my time, while others were dying. So I quit. Easiest decision in the world.”
“But…?”
Dante sighed. “But I miss the game,” he admitted, his voice rough.
Sasha nodded thoughtfully. After a minute, he said, “I will not miss my job at all.” He sounded almost surprised by that.
“Then you’ve quit the spy business, too?”
Sasha gave him a look that seemed to hold infinite wisdom and weariness. “You don’t get to quit the business. Not until they say you can and usually, they don’t like to let you go. Ask Marcus. He’s still tied to the CIA, despite handing in a formal resignation. For now, though, I am here and I will help Nial and his people because like you, it seems to me to be a more honorable way of spending my time.”
The cream began to simmer and Dante turned his attention to keeping it from boiling over, while Sasha did something with the coffee in the pot that involved it boiling furiously while he stirred and stirred. The smell of coffee in the kitchen was enticing.
“Glasses!” Sasha said.
“Fuck that. We’re using mugs with handles,” Dante told him. He had spotted the mugs while looking for a spoon to stir the milk. He got out two of them. “You’re not going to strain the grinds out of that?” he asked Sasha as he poured the thick coffee into the mugs straight out of the pot.
“No.” Sasha looked offended again. “You leave the dregs at the bottom, like a civilized man.”
“Excuse my pointy head, then,” Dante shot back.
Sasha
grinned and pushed the mugs toward him. They were both two-thirds full. Dante topped them off with the cream mixture. A layer of froth settled at the top of each cup.
His mouth watered. “I usually hate these frou-frou drinks.”
Sasha picked up his mug and leaned against the counter. “This is as far away from Starbucks as you can get. This is real coffee. Na Zdorovie.”
Dante leaned back against the counter opposite Sasha and took a cautious sip of the piping hot liquid. Rich flavors registered, along with the silky smooth taste of warmed cream. The sugar, which should have made him gag, seemed to be the perfect accent, mixed up with the vanilla as it was. He couldn’t taste the salt at all. The coffee flavor was smooth and delicious. “Damn, that’s good,” he said softly, surprised.
“Of course.” Sasha shrugged.
“What does the salt do?”
“It takes out the bitterness. It just leaves coffee taste behind.”
“I guess you know something about how to make coffee after all. Not that I could drink this every day.”
“It’s better with vodka,” Sasha said judiciously.
“In the coffee?” Dante was startled.
“Next to it. Everything is better with vodka next to it.” Sasha grinned. “I have had enough vodka for today, though.”
“Hell, yeah,” Dante said. He drank again, feeling the warmth in his belly. This was food and caffeine in one hit. It was great.
As he reached the bottom of the mug, he realized that Sasha was watching him. There was speculation in his glance.
Dante’s heart gave a little flip of surprise and a quickening of pleasure. Then he realized that the whole time they had been standing at the stove, working on the coffee, his body had been growing tighter with anticipation. He had been subconsciously measuring Sasha, taking in his fine features, listening to the hint of exotic accent and foreign attitudes and liking them.
Only now he was aware of the potential. He could see in Sasha’s eyes that he had recognized what was happening, too.
Sasha put his cup down, very slowly, his gaze not moving away from Dante’s face. He took the three steps that separated them, stopping very close in front of him. Sasha was not much shorter than Dante, which surprised him.
Dante put his cup down, almost fumbling it because he didn’t look at what he was doing with it. “Don’t you think,” he said and his voice was hoarse, “that this is just a bit too convenient?”
Sasha wasn’t smiling. “I think flying all the way from Russia to get laid is stretching the meaning of ‘convenient’ out of proportion.”
Something deep in Dante’s belly jumped and fizzed. “Who said anything about getting laid?” he demanded. His voice was heavy with lust. His cock was stirring. His body had already decided that this was a very good idea.
“Would you prefer I seduce you into a more agreeable mood?” Sasha asked. He still hadn’t moved. His hands hung by his sides.
Yet something grabbed at Dante’s throat and squeezed his heart, too. He couldn’t look away from him and marveled at the flawless color of his eyes once more. “I’m agreeable,” Dante said roughly.
Sasha brought his hand up against Dante’s jaw, cupping his cheek. His thumb slid over his cheekbone. “Just for the record,” he said softly. “I came here to kill Summanus and help my friends. You, I did not expect.”
That did make a difference. Dante pushed forward, pressing his mouth to Sasha’s. The first contact was electrifying, full of sensory novelties. The shape and taste of Sasha’s mouth, the smell of him and the sound of his uneven breath. He explored it all. Enjoyed it all.
Their bodies were still not touching. It was purely their mouths that were driving the building tension between them. Even Sasha’s hand had fallen away. Yet Dante’s blood was thundering in his veins, building the pressure in his body, making his nerves sizzle.
He pressed his tongue between Sasha’s lips and met his. Unexpected softness. Lingering traces of cream and coffee. Heat.
Someone groaned and Dante realized with a small shock that it was him making that sound. It acted like a signal. They shifted and their bodies came together. The single thought Dante had was one of muted approval because Sasha seemed to fit against him so well. It had been a very long time since he had felt a man’s hard angles against him. Women tended to fold into him with ease, their pliant curves and smaller sizes made for him to plunder. Sasha, though, was not giving way and melting. He was an iron column beneath warm flesh. It felt as though Dante was coming up against the true core of his nature, the one he’d only caught the barest glimpses of today. He had spotted it when Sasha had dealt so peremptorily with the football, showing an off-hand marksmanship Dante doubted anyone could have matched. He had seen hints of his deep-running core of values and honor in little comments, like his reasons for coming to America.
That made kissing him all the more powerful and arousing. That made this more than just getting laid. It should have scared the crap out of him, yet Dante didn’t care.
Where their hips met, the heat of their cocks mashed together was delicious.
Sasha’s arm pulled him up against him more tightly. They were both breathing heavily. The layers of denim and cotton between them were an encumbrance.
Reluctantly, Dante pulled his mouth from Sasha’s, withdrawing just enough to look at him. “I could drop you across the counter behind me and take you. Right now. Except…”
Sasha nodded. “There are children in this house.” He stepped away from him and picked up his hand and tugged. “Whoever’s room we get to first,” he said.
Dante let him lead him through the big living room and up the graceful curve of the staircase that looked as if it had been transplanted directly out of a grand costume drama. The house was dark around them, with moonlight shedding silvery beams through the windows they passed. They were two dark shapes moving among the other shadows, although Dante suspected that if someone had seen them through a heat sensitive lens, they both would have lit up the scene with brilliant white heat signatures.
As it turned out, it was his room they came to first. Dante opened the door and pulled Sasha inside, then closed it softly again.
Sasha pressed him up against the door, trapping him there with the weight of his body. It was a good pressure. The best.
Their mouths met again and this time Dante could feel the urgency in both of them. There was no time for play, for exploration and slow seduction. They were past that, now. Sasha held his head steady and kissed him, until they were both breathless again.
Then he reached for Dante’s jeans. Dante’s pulse zoomed. He held still, trying not to push himself into Sasha’s hands, even though his body ached for the contact. His cock was a steel rod, pulsing against his belly.
Sasha stripped his jeans down to his ankles, taking his shorts with them. He made Dante step out of them, yanked off his sneakers and tossed them away. Dante stood with his feet apart, his cock throbbing, feeling the touch of the air on his shaft like a cool breeze. His balls were two heavy masses.
Instead of taking advantage of his semi-naked state, Sasha ignored the jutting head of his cock, the flesh around it. Instead, he eased his shirt up his torso. Dante realized Sasha intended to strip him naked before he laid a hand on him.
Sasha removed the shirt and Dante reached for his belt buckle, intending to return the favor. Sasha slid out of his reach. He shook his head. In the ghostly light in the room, his eyes were unreadable. He pushed Dante’s hands out of the way and pressed up against him once more, his hand against his back. He kissed him and his hand slid down to cup his ass. The fingers stroked restlessly, then pushed between his cheeks, teasing and making his hips jerk.
Dante hissed in building frustration. The need to come was growing in his belly and his balls, curled up like a serpent about to explode into roaring fire. It was driven by the odd sensation of being naked in the arms of someone still fully dressed. It made him feel exposed.
Sasha turned him and
walked him backward, until the bed came up against the back of his knees. He pushed.
Dante landed on the bed with Sasha right on top of him. Sasha was agile enough to keep his weight propped up. His knee, encased in cotton twill, pushed up against Dante’s crotch, pressing against his balls. Dante groaned as Sasha’s lips pressed against his chest. His tongue swiped over Dante’s flesh, leaving it super-heated, damp and sizzling.
Sasha worked his way south and Dante felt as though his entire body held its breath, waiting for him to reach his aching, so far untouched cock. He realized he was writhing helplessly on the bed, his head pressed back into the cover, panting as he gripped the cover in his fists and kneaded it. So close….
Sasha’s mouth hovered over his cock. He studied it and Dante groaned again at this terrible teasing. Before he could verbally protest, Sasha bent and encased the head of his cock in his mouth.
Heated moisture. The brush of teeth and the hard swipe of his tongue. Sparkling, bone-deep pleasure. Dante sucked in his breath, his eyes closing, as Sasha sucked and stroked, his lips bumping over the ridge of his cock, while his tongue fluttered.
He wasn’t going to last long at all. His climax was already gathering, ready to leap to life and destroy his nerves. It was a massive thing, building and building. It felt as if it would take the top of his head off.
Then Sasha cupped his testicles and squeezed. One knuckle pressed up against his ass.
It tipped Dante over into his climax. He was helpless to stop it even if he had wanted to. It ripped through his body, snapping his tendons taut, stealing his breath, making his brain explode with pleasure.
He could feel his throat straining and he might have cried out, only he couldn’t hear anything.
As soon as he could move independently, even while his heart was still clawing for calm and his belly was still shivering with the echoes of the climax, Dante drove himself off the bed with a low roar. He threw his arm around Sasha’s waist and turned, driving him down onto the bed instead.
Sasha landed face-first. He got his hands up underneath his body, propping himself up.
Dante kept his hand on the back of Sasha’s shoulder, pinning him down, while he ripped his shirt up and his pants down, mindless of belts and zippers and fastenings. He was strong enough to overcome minor inconveniences like that.
Blood Ascendant (Blood Stone Book 5) Page 13
