Ice Man (4 page)

Rowan brushed a fingertip over Theron’s nipple. His warm flesh reacted, tightening into firm, beaded pebbles. Theron was the only warm-blooded vampire he’d ever encountered. Theron had many unique qualities. Powers others either didn’t know they had, or if they did, they wouldn’t know how to command. Mind control, manipulation of kinetic energy and the ability to sire. At least, Rowan assumed that was a skill only Theron possessed since he’d sired all vampires Rowan had met and fed.

Heaviness crushed his chest. Rowan knew too much about Theron, vampires and their sect. Before he could follow the thought, Theron snapped awake. A feral growl erupted from his chest. His eyes glowed crimson. Rowan, anticipating the bite, braced for the attack. He turned his head, exposing the vein in his neck that was swelling with blood, anticipating the surge of power—the high.

The violence was fleeting. Theron reared up and on top of Rowan. His mouth opened and fangs slipped from his gums. Pain flashed through Rowan’s neck then endorphins released and his mind numbed. He sank into the mattress, Theron’s weight holding him immobile. Blood bubbled to the surface and trickled down his neck. Theron bit harder, thrusting his tongue against Rowan’s flesh, increasing the flow.

Then he was there. In his head, arousing his body. And Rowan was powerless to resist.

Theron’s strong arms held him tightly and his long silken locks feathered against Rowan’s skin. He drank, soothing the pressure in Rowan’s veins with each hungry pull. The tug traveled into his balls and his cock swelled. Finally, fangs retracted and warm breath caressed his neck.

Rowan sighed. He lay cradled in Theron’s arms, his bloodlust sated but not his drive for sex. Never before had Rowan refused Theron. If he fed him, he fucked him. However, there wasn’t a rule that said a blood slave had to have sex. Why wouldn’t a slave want to? The erotic sensation of hosting naturally led to desire of the flesh. But not tonight. Rowan desired another.

Resting between Theron’s thighs, his back to Theron’s front, the vampire’s erection pressed into him. His fingertips traced a pattern on Rowan’s forearm. Rowan didn’t speak but he didn’t have to. That he still wore jeans and hadn’t gone down to suck on Theron’s dripping cock head spoke volumes.

Why are you angry with me?

“I’m not.”

I haven’t forbidden you from—anything or anyone.

Rowan stiffened. How much had Theron gleaned from his thoughts?

Everything.
“And I should be angry.”

“Are you?”

Theron pressed warm, smiling lips to Rowan’s temple. “No.” He laced their fingers. “We’ve been together a long time. I don’t want to see Brett come between us.”

“He won’t.”

Theron chuckled, a deep aural lure into surrender and the vibration seeped into Rowan. “He already has. And don’t say you’re sorry because I know you aren’t.”

Raking his nails over Rowan’s thigh, Theron inched closer to his groin and his body responded. He swallowed the lump in his throat as blood rushed into his shaft and his heartbeat thrummed in his ears.

Why fight what we are?
Theron kissed his neck, opening his mouth and flicking his hot tongue against his sensitive flesh. Heat flushed through Rowan’s veins, answering the primal call of the vampire.

“What
you
are. I’m not like you.” He pulled away but Theron tightened his hold. “I told you, I choose.”

Theron grew so still Rowan wondered if he’d pushed too far. Was it anger or hurt?

I assure you, only one of us will hurt.

Theron cupped Rowan’s crotch.
Do not mistake understanding for weakness. Wearing clothing when you are in my bed is insulting and I won’t tolerate further disobedience. Do not push this, Rowan. I will not be undermined. Nor will I be ignored. This conversation is over and this fascination with Brett will go no further.

Rowan pried away from Theron. “You don’t have a right to tell me who I can and can’t see or who I want to fuck. I have a right to a life.”

“I gave you life,” he roared. A muscle ticced in his jaw and his eyes narrowed. “When I found you, you were a street urchin with blood so sweet I could nearly taste it from scent alone.” Tension rolled off his imposing form in waves.

“You’ve more than tasted.” He scrambled from the bed, putting distance between them. “You didn’t give me life.” He balled his hands into fists. “I give
you
life every night when I descend those stairs.”

Theron stood from the bed. His cock stretched toward his navel, erect and dripping pre-cum. Rowan tried to ignore the manipulation in his mind. He wouldn’t submit to Theron, wouldn’t take his big beautiful cock between his lips and suck him dry. “No, Theron. Stop this. I don’t need you.” Nausea rumbled in his stomach. “I don’t want you.”

Theron crossed the room and faced Rowan. He cupped his chin and lifted his face to meet his gaze. “That I know is a lie. You don’t want to want me. That isn’t the same.” He pressed a soft kiss to Rowan’s trembling lips. “And I do need you. That I acknowledge.” He kissed him again. “It’s also why I won’t let you go.”

Unable to resist his tenderness, Rowan wrapped his arms around Theron, curling his fingers into his hair. “Then give me tonight.” The solemn supplication expressed his vulnerability.

Angling his face, he kissed Theron, opening his mouth and slipping in for the familiar flavor. His hand itched to cup Theron’s cock and stroke the silken length, but not tonight.

Theron chuckled and pulled away. “Go then, before I shred the clothes from your body. Reading your thoughts and experiencing your encounter with Brett will be hard enough.” He glanced at his erection. “I already have a hard problem to deal with.”

“Finding someone to play with has never been a problem for you.” Rowan smiled and turned. He took a step toward the door.

Only tonight. I’m tolerant to a point.

Rowan spun toward his lover but Theron had already turned his back. Rather than continue to argue and test the already delicate truce, he walked out of the room.

And Rowan, don’t ever again come to my bed dressed.

Chapter Three

The Catacombs. Brett didn’t really have the wardrobe to fit in but he had the desire. For years, he’d had to pretend, keep his needs locked away for fear of what Karen would say, what she would do. Once the kids had come along, his future had been set. Now that his life was his own, trepidation merged with excitement. He knew what he wanted but a part of him still questioned whether he deserved an openly gay relationship that included activities that happened in The Catacombs.

After the phone call, he’d slept but his dreams revolved around Rowan. He’d woken refreshed and with an impossible-to-ignore erection. Now he was on his way to the club. Rowan hadn’t specified a time, hadn’t said whether he’d be working or what Brett could expect.

God, his palms sweated on the leather steering wheel of his Audi TTS Coupe. He made a left and weaved his way through light traffic. He buzzed with excitement. Stranger encounters weren’t new to him. During the years of his marriage, he’d strayed a few times during his travels. He didn’t consider it cheating since he could count on one hand how many times he’d fucked his wife since telling her of his preference for men. He’d never had a committed relationship with a man. He wasn’t looking for one now. However, Rowan did intrigue him.

Downtown, he found a parking spot on the street a half block away from the alley leading to the rear club entrance. Crisp, cold wind stung his cheek as he exited his vehicle. Beeps sounded as the auto locks engaged. Men didn’t mingle outside the club and not because of the temperature. The nondescript building had a “no loitering” sign, a simple reminder to everyone including members not to draw unwanted attention to the establishment. Blackened windows lined each floor of the old three-story warehouse. From the inside, the windows were hidden behind walls thick enough to keep light and sound from seeping out to the public.

He raised the collar on his trench coat and hunkered into the fur-lined warmth. He squinted against the bitter, prickling air and walked down the alley. At the recessed entryway, he entered his membership code into the keypad and the door buzzed open.

Once inside, he shrugged out of his coat and checked it.

He sidled close to the wall and scanned the sparse crowd. Perhaps he’d arrived too early. Perhaps he should have asked for more details. The phone call had rattled him. Rowan had gone to the trouble of searching him out. Lust maybe, but not desperation. The man worked in a sex club. Knowing he appealed to someone as hot as Rowan sent awareness and heat to his groin. It felt damn good to be noticed—to turn someone on.

He glanced toward the bar, searching for the object of his fixation. Chills crawled across his skin, yet he was hot. Sweat damped the hair at his temples. He raked his nails over his scalp, slicking his hair away from his face.

A man wearing PVC led another man in chains past him. Pressure tightened his balls and his cock hardened. Imagining Rowan wearing a collar had blood surging into his shaft. Glancing at those in close proximity, he adjusted his position, slid his hand into the front of his black jeans and pulled his dick upright. He nearly groaned aloud. Moisture coated his finger as he grazed the tip. His shaft jerked. Back in high school, he’d been close to coming every time he touched himself but he’d never lost the edge and prematurely ejaculated. Rowan had him creaming his jeans—literally.

Pushing past a small grouping, he stalked toward the bar. Three men—three muscular, bare-chested men—worked behind the counter. One raised an eyebrow in question.

“Corona with a twist.”

The bartender nodded, reached into ice beneath the counter and grasped a longneck bottle of beer. He twisted off the lid, snagged a sliver of lime and squeezed it into the opening.

Before Brett could thank him, he’d moved down the counter. Brett spun on the stool and leaned his back against the lip of the bar. Tipping the drink to his mouth, he sipped. Men milled about. Some clustered together in small groups. This room was open, with just enough light for touches beneath the table and the volume on the music loud enough for casual conversations not to be overheard. Half-moon booths lined the perimeter of the room.

He tapped his toe on the rung of the barstool, not impatient, just enjoying the music, the mood and the anticipation. He took another long sip.

“Have you been waiting long?”

He swallowed, snapping his eyes to the left. Holy shit! Rowan was more beautiful than he remembered. Or maybe it was the intensity flashing in his green eyes. Perhaps it was the chain and leather harness crisscrossing his rock-hard pectorals. Corded abdominals directed his eyes lower to the strained fly of his leather pants. Brett swallowed the excess saliva in his mouth.

“May I have a sip?”

Brett glanced from Rowan to the beer then handed him the bottle.

“Not what I want.” Rowan cupped his face, dragging his hand over the shaven cheek. Then he dipped in for a taste. Soft, yet determined lips touched, sending flames licking over Brett’s flesh. With a subtle nudge, Brett opened his mouth. Rowan groaned and sank deep. Tongue glided over tongue. Raw, dark and male. Rowan tasted of mint and man. Hunger flared in his gut and blood rushed into his shaft.

Brett groaned. The ridge of Rowan’s erection bumped against his hip and the clean fragrance of his cologne titillated his nose. Breathing deeply, he drew in more of his scent.

Without breaking the kiss, Brett set his beer on the counter and spread his thighs. Rowan shifted between them. He placed his hands on Rowan’s hips as he continued to savor the delicious taste of Rowan’s mouth. Hot tongue and smooth flesh.

They parted slowly while he shifted his hands to Rowan’s ass. The firm muscles flexed beneath his fingers. Rowan was probably just as pleased as he was that they were together—knowing how the night would end.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“It was worth the wait.” Brett smiled.

A bartender arrived. “What can I get you?”

“Hey, Ten, club soda.”

The bartender nodded and returned a moment later with the drink.

“His name is Ten?”

Rowan laughed, sliding onto the seat next to him. “No, it’s one of the club rules. No names. But some of the regulars, and most of the staff, pick up nicknames. He’s called Ten because that’s what he conceals beneath his loincloth when he’s not working behind the bar. They call me Ice Man.”

Brett raised an eyebrow and glanced down the bar where Ten poured a draft.

“So you must know…everyone.”

Rowan stilled with his drink poised at his lips. He slowly set the glass on the counter. “It’s my job to know. I run the bar.” He narrowed his eyes and glanced around the room. “I haven’t fucked a single person here.”

Brett scanned the crowd. “What about Tac?”

“He isn’t here…in this room.” Rowan grinned, tipped his glass and drank. “You’ll surprise me if you say that it bothers you. We’re in a sex club.”

He wasn’t bothered. But he also recalled the possessive way Tac had come upon Rowan. “Is that why you’re here with me? Because he isn’t?”

“Fuck, I wish he wasn’t.” A muscle ticced in Rowan’s jaw. “He’s here. Somewhere.”