Read The Dead (The Thaumaturge Series Book 1) for Free Online

practice and it hurt. I tried to breathe it out, to force myself to relax, to associate the stretch with something sexual. I felt as tightly wound as a guitar string, my body thrumming with nerves. Above me, Leo closed his eyes, his mouth hanging open. He gave a low groan, and thrust his hips a little harder, all gentleness forgotten. I winced a little, the pain cramping my guts.
    “Fuck, Ebron,” he moaned. “I always forget how fucking tight you are. Forget what I said. I don’t want to share you.”
    There was no possible response; I made an inarticulate noise and clutched at his forearms, still bracketing my head. A thread of bitterness pulled tight at his words, at the reminder that though I had no one else, I didn’t really have him either. It was sex, I reminded myself, same as it had been for the last few years. We were fuck buddies. Friends with benefits. Nothing had changed.
    Yeah, and that was exactly the problem. I hadn't changed. I was still hopelessly, agonizingly in love with him and he still didn't care. I was pushing thirty now, still living in a dirt bag trailer hoping for a pity fuck whenever he showed up, which, let's be honest, was less and less often. One of these days, it was going to be the last time. One of these times, he would walk out the door and never came back. I wondered how many months and years I would go, waiting for him. How long I would keep hoping, alone with no one to touch?
    “Hey, where are you?” he murmured into my ear. “Come back.”
    I'd gone soft, lying limp and he slowed his movements, looking down at me with an utterly flummoxed expression.
    “Sorry,” I said, embarrassed and angry both. “Got a lot on my mind.”
    Leo looked at me steadily, not replying. Under my hands, I could feel the muscles in his arms trembling a bit. I relented, tugging him down and kissing him lightly on the lips. “Sorry,” I said again, and undulated beneath him to signal my willingness.
    His eyes closed at the sensation, and he began thrusting again. Emotions swirled in my chest, and I clamped down on them relentlessly, ignoring everything but the physical. Soon enough, I was moaning for him, my eyes squeezed shut. Our bodies moved together with practiced ease, his hips snug into my thighs, his forearms hooked under my shoulders. He kissed me while we fucked, and when I came again, I gasped into his mouth.
    Later, afterwards, we lay together. He draped himself over me, his head tucked against my shoulder and his legs nestled comfortably between mine. He mouthed my neck, a habit that he had started early on and that he did frequently after sex. He would suck a little, then lick, and then rest his fangs against my skin, as though imagining what it would be like to bite me. It had made me nervous as fuck the first few times he did it, but now I liked it, the slow and easy attention on my neck.
    I made a little purring noise and I felt him smile, his lips moving from below my ear to trail down to my jaw.
    “Do you like that?” he whispered, sucking a little.
    I didn't have to reply. The moan that escaped me was answer enough.
    “So what's the matter?” he asked after a bit.
    “Hmm?” I was too relaxed to remember my earlier moodiness.
    Sudden sharpness against my throat and I went still. But he didn't bite, just lightly held my throat between his teeth, like he was practicing. I let out a breath when he drew away and he said, “You said that you had a lot on your mind.”
    “Oh. Nothing. It's nothing.” I shivered when the air touched my neck, wet with his spit.
    “Ebron.” he kissed me, very gently, and I slid my arms around his shoulders, tracing the muscles there, squeezing a bit to feel the firmness of them. I looked up into his face, and ran my palm over his scratchy stubble. His bottom lip was swollen. I touched that, too, my thumb just resting against the warm swell. I'd do anything for you , I wanted to tell him. I wanted to tell him that and so much more.
    He pulled away