Fury of Desire

his breath.

“Okay.” Her breath hitched as Venom delved deep between her thighs. Lips parted, breasts rising and falling, her eyelashes flickered. As she shuddered in pleasure, the female plugged Wick with a heated look. He went on high alert, then grimaced when she moaned, “I want your friend first.”

Wick stayed silent, knowing what was coming.

“No.” Nipping her bare shoulder, Venom shook his head. A quick shift put the female in his lap. Some nifty maneuvering later, she sat astride his friend, the fabric of her dress up around her hips. Widening his stance to shield the couple, Wick looked away. Venom groaned, the sound cresting a bliss-filled wave. “I ride first.”

Busy settling on what Venom fed her, she didn’t argue. Neither did Wick. Particularly since he wouldn’t be riding. Not her or any other female. He couldn’t bring himself into close enough contact. The handful of times he’d tried had ended in disaster, telling him clearer than words sex wasn’t his thing.

But as Venom ramped up, getting hot and heavy, working the female hard, Wick wished for something different. For something that didn’t begin and end with him standing in a club watching his friend have sex. Not that it was Venom’s fault. The male was simply looking after him, doing what Wick couldn’t do for himself… ramping a female into an orgasmic frenzy. Elevating her energy levels high enough to feed both of them. Forcing him to tap into the Meridian’s electrostatic stream to draw the nourishment all Dragonkind males needed to stay healthy and strong.

The fact Wick couldn’t feed himself shamed him. Made sorrow rise and disgust circle.

After all this time, he ought to be strong enough to do it on his own. Instead, the idea gave him a raging case of indigestion. A shiver rolled up his spine. Wick shut it down, holding himself steady as the urge to run nudged him again. A mere matter of moments, a few seconds, that’s all it would take, and he’d be—

“Wick.”

His head snapped back toward his friend.

“Now,” Venom said. “She’s ready.”

Cursing under his breath, Wick cringed. Logic told him to move. Uncertainty wouldn’t let him. Stupidity to the next power. The quicker he started, the sooner it would be over, but…

He didn’t want to touch her. Would prefer to go hungry if given a choice. He’d done it before. Had gone months without nourishment and never succumbed to energy-greed. But as he met Venom’s gaze over the top of her head, Wick knew tonight wouldn’t be one of those times. If he turned tail and ran, his friend would come after him. Be right on his heels. Drag him back and force him to feed, so…

No. There wouldn’t be any free passes tonight. No way out either. Just full-on commitment.

“Do it, Wick… right now.” Venom raised his head, ruby eyes aglow, and mind- spoke, “And you don’t stop until I tell you to. She’s prime… able to handle us both. No flaking out this time. You feed until you’re full, or I’ll kick your ass.”

The bossiness should’ve pissed Wick off. It barely registered. Threat, no threat, it didn’t matter. He was too nervous to do anything other than obey. Being told what to do helped. Clear. Concise. No room for error or misinterpretation. Which, oddly enough, gave him courage to move toward the female instead of away.

With a quick flick, Wick shoved the table aside and stepped in behind the female. His leather jacket brushed her shoulder blades. His chest touched down next. She moaned, welcoming his heat, undulating into another thrust, her hips moving in concert with Venom’s. Tainted by alcohol, her breath washed into his face. Wick clenched his teeth, but didn’t stop. Now or never. Quick in. Faster out. He could do this. Could ride the wave, stay the course, all while making Venom proud.

The thought twisted the screw tighter.

Courage made him reach out and cup her throat. As his hand settled against her skin, she moaned and tipped her chin up, giving him more room. Terrible. Without mercy. Voracious. The beast inside him rose on a greedy growl, begging for sustenance. Driven by instinct, he obliged, and pressing his hand to her lower back, lowered his head. She keened, pleading for pleasure as his mouth brushed the nape of her neck.

Energy surged.

The Meridian opened, blasting him with white-hot energy.

Unable to deny his need, Wick drank deep, pulling the electrostatic current through her into his core as Venom picked up the pace. An erotic switch flipped, powering into orgasm. As the female screamed in bliss, Wick fought a tidal wave of nausea and swallowed another mouthful. Venom growled, encouraging him to take more. He did, drinking hard, feeding fast, taking one pull after another.

But as he fed and his stomach cramped, he faced the awful truth.

He was irredeemable. A bastard beyond redemption for his shortcomings. An honorable male wouldn’t need his best friend present when he fed. A normal male would be able to please a female on his own. A dutiful male wouldn’t humiliate himself in such ways. And as the female came again, hammering him with another round, shame came calling. Fate had done him a bad turn and twisted his path. Now he lay beyond help. Fucked up in ways that couldn’t be reversed, never mind cured.

5

Waiting wasn’t Ivar’s strong suit. He’d never acquired the skill. Had never needed to either. As leader of the Razorbacks, no one ever made him wait. His word was law. The commands he issued absolute. The only voice that mattered in a pack accustomed to taking orders, regardless of the outcome. But as the elevator’s smooth ascent took him out of the underground lair, toward street level and the rundown firehouse he now called home, he marveled at the irony.

Hamersveld was late.

All right, not by much. Still the slight bothered Ivar more than he liked. He inhaled long and exhaled smooth, tightening the screws on his temper. No one was ever late. Not when meeting with him. Then again, Hamersveld wasn’t just anyone. He was a breed apart, a water dragon with a brutal nature, a keen mind, and the wherewithal to use both. A fantastic combo, one Ivar not only admired, but coveted, wanting the male’s intellect—along with his propensity for violence—for himself.

And the Razorback pack.

The problem? Accepting Hamersveld put him in the middle of uncharted territory. The male was a true gamble. Powerful. Pissy. And unpredictable. The descriptions fit Hamersveld to a T. So did “severe aversion to authority.” The water dragon wore the badge with pride, and by all accounts? Preferred his own company. With a snort, Ivar shoved his hands into the front pockets of his favorite jeans and leaned back. As his shoulder blades touched the mirrored surface of the wall, he ran through the possibilities.

After a moment, he shook his head. Jesus. Talk about an understatement. The male elevated dangerous to whole new levels. Excellent in some respects. Dicey in others. Good thing Ivar had never been averse to underdog odds. Long shots were his specialty. Sometimes playing both ends against the middle worked to his advantage. And Hamersveld? Ivar was betting all he owned, laying it all on the line in the hopes of bringing the lethal SOB onside and into the fold.

Huge risk. Big payoff… if he could swing it.

And if he couldn’t? Well, death was always an option.

Ivar grimaced, preferring option A over B. He wanted Hamersveld in his corner, kicking Nightfury ass, not spread like fertilizer across his new backyard. But necessity—bitch that it was—demanded a certain amount of practicality. Neither hesitation nor sentiment belonged in the equation. Either the male committed to the Razorback cause or he died. Simple as that. No middle ground. No in between. No going back, changing his mind or the game plan.

All or nothing. Yippee-ki-yay.

The elevator hummed, leveling to a smooth stop, making his heart dip. As it rebounded, settling into a steady rhythm, he stared at his reflection in the steel panels, waiting for the doors to open. It was now or never. Taking a calming breath, Ivar pushed out of his slouch. He checked the contents of his back pocket one last time.

The pads of his fingertips touched hard plastic.