He inhaled his scent greedily, wondering if the heady way it went straight to his head was how Saint felt when he’d taken those shots. His lips parted slightly, wanting the taste of that scent coating his tongue.
Saint trembled. “Knight.” His voice was just as hoarse as the demon’s. He spun around again, his hands going up to wind around Knight’s neck, fingers buried in the locs at the base of his skull. Knight’s hands automatically went to his hips. “Kiss me.”
Knight’s lower belly clenched hard with desire. “You’re drunk.”
Saint grinned, not refuting the point. He pulled Knight down by his neck, closer, until his lips were brushing against the shell of Knight’s ear. “Kissme,” he whispered.
Knight gripped his hips, trembling. “Saint,” he said gruffly, his defences quickly crumbling.
“I love the way you say my name,” Saint murmured.
Almighty.
“Kiss me, Knight.”
Fucking hell. Knight pulled back, making sure Saint met his eyes. “I don’t want you to regret this in the morning.”
“I won’t.” His heartbeat was steady. “Kissme.”
Knight gave in. Their lips connected in the middle of the busy dancefloor, and they both came alive.
Saint’s lip gloss was all gone, his lips swollen from Knight’s kisses as they searched around the house for Teresa, their sweaty hands tangled. Knight’s internal clock told him it must be nearing three in the morning.
They’d done nothing but kiss and dance and drink for the past few hours, each kiss firing them up, leaving them shaking and desperate for more. But Saint never asked or even hinted for more, so Knight didn’t doany more, no matter how badly they both seemed to want it.
By now, he knew every intimate dip and curve in that full mouth; he knew every sweet sigh, every little breath, every tiny moan and gasp Saint made when he had his mouth being thoroughly explored. He knew every subtle movement Saint’s body made when he wanted more, when he was overwhelmed with pleasure. Despite the multitude of scents in the house, he now intimately knew the sexy, mouthwatering scent of Saint when he was full of contentment and lust. Knight was probably going to die before the sun rose.
They found Teresa upstairs in one of the rooms with a group of other people, all of them passing around a small, white rollup. Smoke curled out of the end of the little stick and the air was thick with the scent of something pungent and earthy. It reminded Knight of his fellow nicquiris in Hell, of them passing around some druntreame as they prepared to dreamscape.
Teresa stumbled to her feet when she spotted them, giggling, just as indisposed as Saint.
Her kisses on their cheeks were sloppy after she’d walked them to the gate. “Don’t be a stranger, stranger.”
“I won’t. I love you so much. Thank you for inviting me.” Saint hugged her tight.
She hugged him just as tightly. “I love you, too. So, so much. Did you have a good time? I’m sorry I kept leaving you—”
“I had the best time,” Saint interrupted, pulling back to meet her eyes. “And you’re the host! I get that you were busy. I won’t change today for anything, you hear? I had thebesttime.”
Teresa laughed. “Oh, I’m so glad. And before you say anything, I’m only crying because of the weed.”
Saint laughed, sniffing. “And I’m only crying because I’m drunk.”
She giggled. “And of course! Text me when you get home, okay? Can I have Knight’s number? He’s looking a little more sober than you and I want him to text me too, just so I know you got home safe.”
“Of course,” Saint said, swaying. “Can she have your number?” He seemed to find that question very funny as he began to giggle.
“Of course.” Knight quickly manipulated the aether before either of them could blink, creating a carbon copy of the electronic device that Saint had and handing it over.
Not noticing anything odd, Teresa imputed her number. “Wonderful. Text me,” she said again. “Both of you.”
“We will.”
“Don’t miss me too much.” She winked and disappeared back into the house. Saint fumbled in his pockets for his phone, his bottom lip pushed out into a cute little pout.
Knight wrapped his arms around him from behind, smiling, heartbeat tripping all over itself when Saint easily pressed backward into his warmth.
“What’s with that pout, little bunny?”
