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Emory was quiet for a long moment. “He disapproves?”
Jesse snorted. “Understatement.” He picked at his fingernails. “He’s banned me from seeing Olly. He thinks I’m dangerous.”
“You,liebling? Dangerous?”
“He thinks I’m a pervert,” Jesse said, the words raw. “Maybe he always has.” Jesse closed his eyes. “It’s all gone so wrong so fast. And I don’t know what I should have done differently.”
“Nothing,” Emory murmured. “No one should make you feel ashamed for who you are, Jesse—least of all the people you love.”
Jesse swallowed his emotion with an effort. “He’s just looking out for Olly.”
“Having a loving uncle in his life can only be to the child’s benefit,” Emory insisted, putting a hand on his leg. “Your brother will realize that, eventually.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“He’s angry and probably scared.” Emory gazed at the curtained windows. “There’s a lot of fear going around. But give him time, Jesse. Give them all time. It will all come right.”
“You think so?”
Emory smiled. “I have lived several hundred years. If there’s one thing I’ve become confident of, it’s the healing power of time.” He squeezed his leg. “Trust me on this.”
The tension in Jesse’s chest eased. He let out a breath and nodded.
“Now,” Emory said, pushing the hair back from Jesse’s forehead and studying the bandage, “I would very much like to fix this, if you’ll allow me.”
“Fix it?”
“I don’t approve of haemophile Blood being abused for recreational purposes,” he said, his voice hard. “Darragh and I are campaigning on a number of fronts to strengthen the laws around that. But, if I have your permission…” He peeled the dressing away from Jesse’s wound. “The tiniest drop applied here should heal this instantly, with a minimum of side effects.”
“These side effects…they, uh…”
“Yes?” Emory promoted gently with the start of a smile on his face.
“I heard it makes you horny as hell.”
“That is accurate,” Emory replied. “But I believe I am more than capable of mitigating that particular side effect.” Jesse’s heart began to beat in a very different way. Emory held his gaze. “I would like to take your pain away, but only with your permission.”
Jesse nodded dumbly. Emory smiled, ran his fingers into Jesse’s hair, drew his face forward and kissed his forehead gently.
“Just relax,” he whispered, then pressed the pad of his thumb against his canine. A bead of dark red Blood welled up like a jewel. The air was filled with a heady smell, red wine and bonfires. Jesse’s own blood began to pound. Emory smeared the Blood over the cut on Jesse’s head.
Jesse’s head filled with fire. He gasped and grabbed onto the bed. The sensation was almost worse than the pain. For the longest second of his life, he thought he might expire with the strength of it. But then it dimmed and washed down though his flesh like a strong whiskey, leaving a glowing simmer behind.
He was aware of every centimeter of his body. Everything tingled. He could smell the paint on the walls and the cleaner in the carpet. He blinked. The pain was gone. He touched his fingers to his head. The skin was smooth. He blinked at his fingers and his eyelids drew a shimmering veil across his vision, like there was phosphorescence in the air. Even the oxygen he breathed tasted different, like it was heavy with strong but sweet alcohol.
“How are you feeling?”
Emory’s voice swam in his ears, rich as melted chocolate. Jesse gazed at him. The hue of his eyes was now composed of a hundred blues. The smoothness of his pale skin was delectable and perfect as fresh cream. Jesse could see, feel and smell the power in him, as well as the seething mass of ebbing, swollen emotion just below the surface.
He grabbed Emory’s jumper and yanked him in for a fierce kiss. He inhaled his smell, plunged his tongue deep into the hot, copper-tasting mouth. The sharp teeth grazed his lips, sending tendrils of fire through his body. Emory made a low growl and ran his hands inside Jesse’s shirt, setting his skin ablaze. Jesse climbed into his lap, feeling like he couldn’t breathe fast enough to keep the oxygen in his body. His cock was rock-hard. He thrust against Emory’s belly with a moan, never breaking the kiss, running his hands feverishly over the haemophile’s iron-hard shoulders and chest.
“Fuck me, Emory,” he panted against his lips. “Tie me up again. Fuck me. Make me scream.” Emory moaned and rolled Jesse under him, tugging his shirt over his head and layering kisses over his neck and chest.
“Being restrained,” Emory whispered against the skin under Jesse’s ear as he slowly unfastened Jesse’s jeans, “it’s all about power…control. You like to give your control up to someone else. Have them set the pace. Make the decisions. Drive your pleasure.”
“Yes,” Jesse gasped, tugging impatiently at Emory’s clothing. “Yeah. Do that. Quick.”
Emory took his wrists and pinned them above his head. He smiled enigmatically.
