Lover at Last (Black Dagger Brotherhood #11)(10)
Author: J.R. Ward

Holy inappropriateness, Batman. And too bad that fact did nothing to change his thought pattern.

The trouble was, Blay knew from firsthand experience what an orgasm did to the guy – although not because he was one of the cast of thousands who’d been a recipient. Oh, no. Never that. God for-fucking-bid the guy who’d stick his dick in anything that breathed – and maybe some inanimate objects – would ever do Blay.

Yeah, because that discerning sexual palate, which had led to Qhuinn balling everything in Caldwell between the ages of twenty and twenty-eight, had filtered Blay out of the f**k pool.

"She’s…starting to move…" Tohr gritted. "Get under her!"

Blay and Qhuinn snapped into action, releasing their holds, crouching down, shoving their shoulders under the lip of the roof. Facing each other, their eyes met as breath exploded out of their mouths, their thighs going into action, their bodies pitted in a war against all that cold, hard weight – that happened be slippery thanks to the snow.

Their added power was the turning point – literally. An axis formed on the opposite tires, and the Hummer’s four-ton burden started shifted on them, getting lighter and lighter –

Why the hell was Qhuinn looking at him like that?

Those eyes, that pair of blue and green, were locked on Blay’s – and they were not moving.

Maybe it was just concentration – like, he was actually focused only on the two inches in front of his face and Blay just happened to be on the far side of that.

Had to be…

"Easy, boys!" Tohr called out. "Or we’ll flip the damn thing all the way over again!"

Blay let up on the graft, and there was a moment of suspension, a split second where the impossible happened, where an eight-thousand-pound SUV balanced perfectly on the edge of two tires, where what had been excruciating became…exhilarating.

And still Qhuinn stared at him.

As the Hummer landed with a bounce on all fours, Blay frowned and turned away. When he glanced back…Qhuinn’s eyes were exactly where they had been.

Blay leaned in and hissed, "What?"

Before there was any kind of answer, Tohr went over and opened the SUV’s side door. The smell of fresh blood floated over on the breeze. "Man, even if this isn’t totaled, I’m not sure you’re going to want it back. Cleanup in here is going to be a bitch."

Qhuinn didn’t respond, seeming to have forgotten all about the Allstate Mayhem commercial his SUV was living out. He just stood there, staring at Blay.

Maybe the SOB had stroked out standing up?

"What’s your problem?" Blay repeated.

"I’ll bring the flatbed over," Tohr said as he started for the other vehicle. "Let’s leave the bodies right where they are – you can dispose of them on the way home."

Meanwhile, Blay could feel John pausing and looking across at the pair of them – something Qhuinn didn’t seem to care about, naturally.

With a curse, Blay solved the problem by jogging over to the tow truck and walking alongside as Tohr backed the thing up toward the Hummer’s collapsed hood. Going for the winch, Blay unclipped the claw and started to free the cable.

He had a feeling he knew what was on Qhuinn’s mind, and if he was right, the guy had better stay quiet and stay the f**k back.

He did not want to hear it.

Chapter Five

As Qhuinn stood in the stiff wind and watched Blay hook up the Hummer, loose snow blew up over his boots, the quiet, soft weight gradually obscuring the steel-toed tops. Glancing down, he had the vague thought that if he stayed where he was long enough, he would be completely covered by it, from head to toe.

Weird goddamn thing to come into his brain.

The roaring of the flatbed’s engine brought his head back up, his eyes shifting over as the winch began to drag his ruined ride off the snowpack.

Blay was the one working the pull, the male standing to the side, carefully monitoring and controlling the speed of the draw so that no undue stress was put on the various mechanical components of this automotive Good Samaritan production.

So careful. So controlled.

In order to seem casual, Qhuinn went over by Tohr and pretended that he, like the Brother, was just monitoring the progress of the lift. Not. It was all about Blay, of course.

It had always been about Blay.

Trying to add to all the nonchalance, he crossed his arms over his chest – but had to drop them down again as his bruised shoulder hollered. "Lesson learned," he said to make conversation.

Tohr murmured something back, but damned if he heard it. And damned if he could see anything but Blay. Not for a blink. For a breath. For a beat of the heart.

Staring across the swirling snow, he marveled at how someone you knew everything about, who lived down the hall, who ate with you and worked with you and slept at the same time you did…could become a stranger.

Then again, and as usual, that was about the emotional distance, not the same job, under-the-same-roof shit.

The thing was, Qhuinn felt like he wanted to explain things. Unfortunately, and unlike his slut cousin, Saxton the Cocksucker, he had no gift with words, and the complicated stuff in the center of his chest was making that mute tendency worse.

After a final grind, the Hummer was up off the ground on the bed, and Blay started running chain in and out of the undercarriage.

"Okay, you three take this piece of junk back," Tohr said as flurries started to fall again.

Blay froze and looked at the Brother. "We go in pairs. So I need to leave with you."

Like he was beyond ready to bounce.

"Have you looked at what we got here? An incapacitated hunk of junk with two dead humans in it. You think this is a play-it-loose situation?"

"They can handle it," Blay said under his breath. "The two of them are tight."

"And with you they’re even stronger. I’m just going to dematerialize home."

In the stretch of silence that followed, the straight line that ran from Blay’s ass up to the base of his skull was the equivalent of a middle finger. Not to the Brother, though.

Qhuinn knew exactly who it was for.

Things moved fast from then on, the SUV getting secured, Tohr departing, and John hopping behind the wheel of the flatbed. Meanwhile, Qhuinn went around to the truck’s passenger-side door, cranked it open, and stood to the side, waiting.

Like a gentlemale might, he supposed.

Blay came over, stalking through the snow. His face was like the landscape: cold, shut down, inhospitable.

"After you," the guy muttered, taking out a pack of cigarettes and an elegant gold lighter.

Qhuinn ducked his head briefly in a nod, then shuffled inside, sliding over the bench seat until his shoulder brushed John’s.

Blay got in last, slammed the door, and cracked the window, putting the lit end of his coffin nail right at the opening to keep the smell down.