But he was trying. And he was talking—a lot—about his family and his brother, who was slowly, painfully trying to recover down in the clinic.
Behind closed doors, though? It was magic, without any barriers at all.
Exactly what Blay had always wanted.
“Are you going down to First Meal?” Blay asked as the shutters began to rise from the windows.
“Maybe I’ll just stay here and wait to eat you when you come back.”
Ah, yes, that naughty growl was in Qhuinn’s voice again, and didn’t that make Blay want to hop back in between the sheets.
“You are—” As a groan echoed up, Blay stopped in the process of heading into the bathroom. “Where is your hand?”
“Where do you think it is.” Qhuinn arched, one fang biting down on his lower lip.
Blay thought of the text that he didn’t intend to ignore. “You suck.”
“Yes, I do, don’t I.” Qhuinn licked his lips. “And you like me to.”
Blay cursed and marched into the bath. At this rate, he was never going to get out of their room….
And sure enough, one hot shower and a shave later, Qhuinn was still in bed, lounging like a lion, his black hair tousled from Blay’s hands, his half-lidded, mismatched eyes promising all kinds of pneumatics when Blay returned.
Horny motherfucker.
“You’re just going to lie there?” Blay chided from over at the exit.
“Oh, I don’t know…might get some exercise in while you’re gone.” A hiss was followed by another one of those groans—and what do you know, under the sheets and duvet, the up-and-down motion of his arm made Blay remember all kinds of messy, sweaty, marvelous things. “Working out is so important, you know.”
Blay gritted his molars and wrenched the door open. “I’ll be back.”
“Take your time. Anticipation just makes me harder.”
“Yeah, like you need help with that.”
Shutting things firmly, he rearranged himself in his loose nylon track pants and cursed again. Butch had better have a good fucking reason for needing Blay’s opinion.
And a problem that could be solved quickly.
The second Blay was out of Dodge, Qhuinn threw back the covers and leaped out of bed. Grabbing his phone off his bedside table, he hit send on the text that he’d pretyped and then beelined for the shower. Fortunately, the water was already warm.
Soap at a dead run. Shampoo in a New York minute. Shave—
“Ow!” he barked as he cut himself on the chin.
Closing his eyes, he forced himself to slow the fuck down before he sliced off his nose: razor on the cheek, moving carefully, going around the jawline, down the neck. Repeat. Repeat.
Why the hell did he insist on doing this in the shower? On a night like tonight, he should be in front of a mirror….
“Yo, beauty queen, you ready?” Rhage’s voice cut through into the bathroom. “Or do you want to wax your eyebrows.”
Qhuinn did a quick whisker check with his hand. Clear. “Fuck off, Hollywood,” he yelled over the spray.
Cutting the water, he stepped out, and dried off on his way into the bedroom.
Standing next to a smiling Tohr, Rhage had his arms behind his back. “That’s a helluva way to talk to your frickin’ stylist.”
Qhuinn leveled a glare at the Brothers. “If that shit is a Hawaiian print, I’m going to kill you.”
Rhage looked over at Tohr and grinned. When the other Brother nodded, Hollywood brought forward what he was hiding behind his big body.
Qhuinn stopped dead. “Wait a minute…that’s a…”
“Tuxedo, I believe is the name,” Rhage cut in. “T-U-X-E-D-O.”
“It’s in your size,” Tohr said. “And Butch says the designer is the best there is.”
“Named after a car,” Rhage muttered. “You’d think a high-falutin—”
“Hey, have you been watching Honey Boo Boo, too?” Lassiter demanded as he barged in. “Woooow, nice tux—”
“Only because you insist on putting that godforsaken traffic accident of a show on in the billiards room.” Hollywood glanced over as V came in behind the angel. “He didn’t even know what it was, Vishous.”
“The tux?” V lit a hand-rolled. “Of course he didn’t. He’s a real male.”
“That makes Butch a girl, then,” Rhage pointed out. “Because he bought it.”
“Hey, it’s a party already,” Trez called out as he and iAm arrived. “Oh, nice tux. Isn’t that Tom Ford?”
“Or was it Dick Chrysler,” Rhage interjected. “Harry GM—wait, that sounds dirty….”
“Better get dressed, Rapunzel.” V checked his watch. “We don’t have a lot of time.”
“That is a beautiful tuxedo,” Phury announced as he and Z pushed the door wide. “I have one just like it.”
“Fritz has the candles lit,” Rehv said from behind the twins. “Hey, nice tux. I have one just like it.”
“Me, too,” Phury agreed. “The fit is fantastic, isn’t it.”
“The shoulders, right? Tom Ford is the best—”
Total. Fucking. Pandemonium.
And as Qhuinn took it in, all of the males talking over one another, slapping hands, slapping asses, he had a moment of breathlessness. Then he looked down at the ring Blay had given him.
Having a family was…really, incredibly wonderful.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
Everyone froze, all those faces turning and locking on him, those bodies stilling, the din settling.
Z was the one who spoke up, his yellow eyes shining. “Put the zoot suit on. We’ll meet you downstairs, lover boy.”
Lot of shoulder claps as all the fighters checked in on their way out the door. And then he was alone with the tux.
“Let’s do this,” he said to the thing.
The shirt went on fine, but the buttons weren’t regular ones. They were cuff link–like, and took forever. Then he faced off with the slacks…and decided to keep it real and go commando. Finally, a pair of shiny shoes had been dropped on the messy bed by one of that cast of thousands—as well as a set of black silk socks that were just this side of being panty frickin’ hose.
But he was going to do this right.
When he finally put the jacket on, he braced himself for feeling constricted, but Phury and Rehv were right—the material went over his bulk like a dream. Heading into the bathroom, he took the strip of black silk off the top of the hanger and confronted himself in the mirror.
Man…he looked pretty hot, actually.
Popping the starched collar, he wound the bow tie around the back of his neck and pulled it left and right a couple of times to make sure that it was in the right place. And then he did what he’d seen his father and his brother do when they hadn’t been aware he was watching…he tied a perfect knot at the front of his throat.
Probably would have been easier if he’d taken the suit jacket off.
And if his hands weren’t shaking so badly.
But whatever, he got the job done.
Stepping back, he checked himself from the left and the right. From behind.
Yeah, he was totally spank. The trouble was, he just didn’t look like himself. At all.
That was a problem for him. Authentic had recently become totally important to him.
Thanks to a lack of attention, his hair had settled flat and smooth, and on impulse, he went for the product Blay and he shared, slicking up his palms and running them through the nap, spiking things up.
Better. Made him feel less like a tool.
But something still wasn’t right….
As he tried to figure out what was so off, he thought about how things had been rolling: After he and Blay had had their big talk at the Iron Mask, he’d been amazed at how light he felt, the burden he’d been unaware of carrying freed from his shoulders. It was so weird…but he’d caught himself taking these random deep breaths from time to time, his chest rising slowly and sinking back into place on an easy fall.