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Jesse blinked. The command made his skin ripple from his toes to his scalp. “Huh?”
“I said…leave it.”
Jesse clenched his jaw. His groin throbbed. Heat warmed his face, and his nerves buzzed. The shadowed eyes pinned him to the spot. He felt exposed, helpless, and the excitement coursing through him threatened to make him tremble.
Finally, Magnusson stood and stepped into the light. He wore no tie. His shirt was crisp, snowfall white and open at the collar. Jesse gazed at his neck muscles sliding into his clavicle and watched in dazed fasciation as he swallowed. The haemophile’s blue-black eyes were like twin wells into nothingness, but the way they roamed over Jesse’s body caused a very human reaction to stir in his chest. He cursed inwardly and willed his body to calm.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re an extraordinarily striking young man?” Magnusson murmured as he approached.
“Sure,” Jesse said, astonished he didn’t choke on his rising desire.
Magnusson circled Jesse like a shark. Jesse couldn’t move. Magnusson stopped behind him and was still for so long that Jesse almost gave in to the urge to run. But then the haemophile leaned close enough that his warm breath brushed Jesse’s neck.
“But has anyone ever made youfeelit?”
Jesse swallowed painfully. His fingernails were digging into his palms. His skin was on fire. The thin cushion of air between them was maddening.
“Look, mate,” he started, but Magnusson inhaled deeply, like he was smelling his skin, and the words dried in his mouth.
“I suggest you call me ‘sir’.”
Jesse shut his eyes tight, clenching his jaw to stop the helpless sound attempting to escape his throat. “Are we…are we really doing this?”
“You like this, yes?” Magnusson whispered, like Jesse hadn’t spoken. “To be commanded?”
“I…”
“Don’t move.”
Magnusson’s clothing brushed against his back. Jesse went rigid. He longed to lean into the large body, to feel the muscles against his skin, to dig his fingers into it. But the low noise of warning Magnusson made had him gasping and clenching his fists harder.
“That’s good. Well done.”
Magnusson ran his fingers up Jesse’s arms—a touch as light as feathers, hardly enough to push the water drops over his skin. Jesse swallowed a moan.
“Do as you’re told, and you’ll be rewarded,” Magnusson rumbled in his ear. “Disobey and I will be forced to punish you.”
Jesse nodded stiffly. “Yes…”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes,Sir.”
“That’s better.”
Jesse’s blood heaved through his body as Magnusson glided his fingers up his arms and across his shoulder blades.
“Your tattoos are very interesting,” he said as he traced a finger over the wordsBurn Outinked across his shoulders in Tudor lettering. “We can’t have them, you know. The Blood washes them away from the inside.” The finger swept down the ivy twirled over Jesse’s spine, making him quiver. “What do they mean?”
Jesse forced his eyes open but then he realized he could see himself in the window, pale and mostly naked, shaking, his erection painfully obvious through his damp shorts. Magnusson stood behind him, his eyes on Jesse’s in the window. He inhaled as Magnusson slid his finger farther, to the death’s head moth inked across his lower back.
“I asked you a question, Jesse.”
Jesse bit his lip and lifted his gaze to the ceiling. “I’m sorry, what? Sir?”
“What do the tattoos mean?” he repeated, sliding a hand around Jesse’s ribs.
Jesse made a strangled noise. “Nothing. I just thought they looked cool…ah.” He clamped his mouth shut as Magnusson tweaked his nipple bar. Fire blazed along his nerves and hot gold pooled under his belly.
