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Thankfully, Ashwood kept his promise of remaining silent. His lips brushed up Bellamy’s arm to his shoulder, making his stomach tremble, and he could’ve sworn he felt Ashwood’s pulse thumping through his fingertips, unless it was his imagination.
He felt Ashwood move above him, and when he opened his eyes, Ashwood’s face was suspended near his own. After an elongated moment of eye contact, Ashwood’s mouth lowered to kiss his cheek. The affectionate gesture was certainly not part of the healing process, so Bellamy tried to ignore his stomach’s swooping sensation.
Their gazes clashed again, Ashwood’s lips hovering above his mouth as if he was considering kissing him but knew it would not be welcomed. It couldn’t be, not after everything, Ashwood had to understand that, at least.
Though…if Ashwood only knew Bellamy’s deepest desires—to rewind time and feel Ashwood’s mouth against his own again, the weight of his tongue as it swept inside…
Fucking hell, he’d known this might feel unbearable, but he was not prepared for the abject torture of his restraint. “Ashwood,” he breathed out. “You cannot—”
Chapter 11
“Of course not.” He blinked slowly, which only drew out Bellamy’s torment. “I wouldn’t dare.”
Instead, Ashwood’s lips brushed along Bellamy’s jaw and down the line of his neck as Bellamy trembled all over, his cock growing stiffer.
He hissed when Ashwood’s mouth landed on his throat, his tongue licking in slow circles. Bellamy’s hand automatically reached for his hair, to stave him off or urge him further, he didn’t know which. Perhaps both at once. His fingers wound around the strands, gripping them tight, and Ashwood stiffened.
What was he doing? This was supposed to be clinical, not seductive, but unfortunately, he couldn’t help himself where Ashwood was concerned, and he thought perhaps it was the same for him. In that moment, Bellamy didn’t think it possible that they could feign their attraction to each other. That seemed true, at least.
Ashwood didn’t speak, only waited as Bellamy released his hold on him and placed his shaky hand down at his side. It didn’t sit well with him, though—he wanted to direct Ashwood to the places where his blood pumped through his veins most rapidly. Ashwood somehow brought that out in him. Always did. Perhaps it was that fated thing. It would surely haunt them forever.
He felt Ashwood’s teeth gently, ever so gently, nipping at him, and now he wondered about his fangs. How would they feel biting into his skin, and why did he want so desperately to feel them right then?
He curled his hands into fists, trying to control his reactions. He had the urgent need to flip Ashwood on his back and nip him. To bite into him both viciously and sensuously. His tongue slid across his teeth as if searching for his own fangs, and the idea of it was rather heady. That he would be able to use them for any number of things…
Where was all this coming from? He’d never felt the tug of his wolf so distinctly before.
Despite being quite ill, his body was not responding in kind. Instead, with Ashwood balanced above him, Bellamy’s ravished body felt suspended in time, his libido dominating his senses. As Ashwood shifted to place his knees on either side of his bare legs, Bellamy could feel Ashwood’s hard prick against his thigh, and he was glad for the barrier of Ashwood’s pants, though he almost wished they were both bare. In all the times they’d been intimate, Bellamy had never been able to fully feel Ashwood’s form against him, never like this.
Ashwood shifted again, his arms shaking with the effort to hold himself up, and Bellamy felt momentarily guilty for putting him through the same torture. He watched Ashwood as he worked to cure him. From his position, he could see the top of his head and feel the tufts of hair near Ashwood’s ears tickling his arms as Ashwood moved downward, delivering licks to the affected areas on Bellamy’s chest, and he moaned, not only because it felt good but because it was Ashwood. No doubt about it. He was already feverish, but this felt surreal all the same.
Ashwood paused momentarily as if attempting to rein himself in.
“I’m sorry,” Bellamy said. “I’ll try not to make any more noise.”
“No need to apologize,” Ashwood replied, and when Bellamy looked at him, Ashwood’s eyes had turned a molten gold, similar to what Bellamy had witnessed as he’d looked toward the forest. He held in his gasp. “I just want to make sure I’m not hurting you.”
“You’re not. I would let you know.” His cheeks heated. “Unless you plan to use your fangs. That might smart a bit.”
A flush moved across Ashwood’s face as their eyes connected. “I wouldn’t dare. You might hate me for longer, possibly for all eternity.”
It was a moment of levity that made Bellamy’s heart constrict. “True,” he said, feeling breathless because he was so close to admitting he wanted to feel his fangs, among other things, which was dangerous. “A lifetime is enough, I suppose.”
