Page 100 of Slow Heat
Vale’s thighs shook and he spread his legs, offering himself. Jason took his time, playing with the sweet wetness that clung and worked around his fingers.
Closing his eyes, he breathed in Vale’s scent. He couldn’t help but catalogue the ways Vale was different from Xan. Older, taller, and hairier for starters. But inside he felt different, too—stronger, more gripping, though the texture was similar, quite nearly the same. His wetness was intoxicating, another thing he’d never had with Xan. And the sensation around his fingers—Vale opening, loosening—was mind-numbingly sexy. He breathed in Vale’s concentrated scent and come-covered skin.
“You’re perfect,” he whispered. “I’m so happy I found you.”
Vale brushed the hair out of Jason’s eyes and gazed up at him, seeking something.
Suddenly, he hissed, and jerked on Jason’s exploring fingers. “Sorry, darling,” he whispered. “That’s tender there.”
Jason frowned, tempted to touch the place again. It’d felt like a denser wall of less velvety-slick inside, a ridge that thickened deeper in. “What’s wrong?”
“Scar tissue,” Vale said, burying his face in Jason’s neck. His beard tickled Jason’s sensitive skin when he shook his head and sighed heavily. “You’re right. We should clean up.”
Jason tightened his grip on Vale, not removing his questing fingers. “How did you get it? Did someone hurt you?”
Vale shuddered in Jason’s arms, his ass gripping against Jason’s fingers. “Yes.”
“Who?” A thunderclap of rage splintered his tenderness. “What’s his name?”
Vale gently pulled at Jason’s arm, dislodging his fingers, moaning at the loss. “It was a long time ago. It doesn’t matter now.”
Jason’s jaw tightened. Whoever had hurt Vale would pay. “My father’s private investigator could find him.”
“It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was an accident.” Vale’s voice trembled, and he leaned against Jason for support. “Please. I can’t talk about this right now.”
Jason kissed Vale’s pale neck, sucking a bright red mark at the tender juncture at his shoulder. “I don’t mind. You’re still perfect. I’ll be careful with you.”
Vale made a sound close to a sob and then pulled out of Jason’s arms. He rose slowly, standing on shaking legs, and used Jason’s shoulders to hold himself up. “The shower’s upstairs. Help me get to it?”
Jason stood, wishing he was twenty pounds heavier and muscular like Urho. He’d lift Vale up and carry him to the shower. Instead, he kept his arm around Vale’s waist and guided him, kissing his shoulder and forearm at nearly every step.
Zephyr raced up the stairs and then lurked in the hallway before darting into the bedroom ahead of them with an outraged yowl.
“Someone’s jealous.” Vale laughed tiredly. “She’d claimed you for herself.” He pointed at her as they entered the bedroom and rasped, “I told you he was mine, demon cat.”
“She’s not a demon.”
As if to prove him wrong, Zephyr jumped onto Vale’s dresser, knocked over a framed photo, pushed an empty mug to the carpet, and then yowled at them again like it was their fault.
“She’s rotten,” Vale muttered, steps faltering. “But she keeps my butt warm at night, so I’ll keep her.”
Jason laughed. “She what?”
“I’m a stomach sleeper. She thinks my ass is a pillow. You can figure it out. I’m too exhausted to explain right now.”
It turned out Vale’s room wasn’t the one with the lace curtains. Instead, his room was at the other end of the hallway, near the back of the house with a view of the garden. And there were no curtains at all, just dark shades that were halfway up, letting in the pale light of a fast-falling evening.
Jason was going to be late to dinner. Not just dinner but to The Feast of the Expectant Wolf. Pater would be upset, and that meant Father would be angry. He darted a glance at Vale who had let go of him and was now holding himself up against the doorjamb to the bathroom.
Jason took it all in quickly. There was a big bed in the middle of the room with a thick, decorative wooden headboard, carved with roses in bloom. The unmade bedclothes were plain, though: white sheets and a light brown comforter. Nothing patterned or ornate. There was a dust-covered matching chest of drawers with roses carved into the panels. A brown-and-cream round carpet lay across the exposed hardwood floor, along with puffs of silver hair that must have come from Zephyr. And lastly, there was a plush chair in the corner so covered with discarded clothing that Jason couldn’t begin to tell what color it was.
“My friends weren’t exaggerating about my housekeeping skills. Or lack thereof,” Vale said, sagging against the doorframe and watching Jason carefully.
“It smells like you in here.” Jason had to fight the urge to fling himself on the bed and roll around ineau de Vale. He tried to name the scent—mint, musk, and rose, and sweet skin, and slick—but there was something so delicious and indescribable in it that he finally gave up.
His cock was interested again, though, and he shifted so that it hung more comfortably in his pants.
“Youth,” Vale said, laughing softly and shaking his head.
