When the Dead Speak Excerpt ***NSFW***

When the Dead Speak
Copyright 2010 Total-e-Bound Publishing

Laine shoved his boxers down far enough to grip his heavy length, and before Sev could speak, before he could tell Laine that he wanted that thick slab of meat in his ass, Laine started stroking them both, a prick in each hand, with a grip that was better than anything Sev had ever managed on himself. His arms gave and Sev’s head hit the pillow, his eyes closing no matter how hard he tried to keep them open as pleasure swamped his body. Laine’s strokes became faster, his breath coming out in heavy grunts. Laine’s legs trembled, but the man’s hand never faltered. Skin tingling with warmth as his body flushed, Sev’s back bowed as he dug his fingers into the mattress.

Something that sounded like a mix between a whimper and a yell was torn from him as he came, spraying spunk onto his belly and chest. Sev gasped and struggled for air, then forced his eyes open as he felt Laine’s knees shift. Laine let go of Sev’s cock and dropped down until he was kneeling over Sev, head flung back, one arm planted by Sev’s shoulders as he jacked his prick and groaned as bursts of thick, hot come hit Sev’s chest. Sev forgot to breathe, he was so stunned by the erotic vision of Laine in orgasm. The man’s face almost glowed with the intensity of his climax. His cock pulsed out one last jet of come, then his head dropped, hanging low enough that his hair tickled Sev’s forehead. Deep shudders rocked Laine and jerky breaths sounded harsh in the small hotel room.

Sev pried his fingers loose from their grip on the mattress and slipped his hands inside Laine’s shirt again. Laine hummed in approval as Sev caressed his sides, nothing overtly sexual in the touch, just the two of them enjoying the feel of each others' flesh.

Later, once Sev had spent hours dwelling on his stupidity, he would believe that if his brain hadn’t been melted into a sloppy grey liquid he might not have opened his mouth and screwed up. If he’d been thinking, Sev knew, he would have been cautious, would have waited until he and Laine had touched and kissed and stroked to their heart’s—No! Their body’s—content.

But no, he had to be a dipshit and forget everything he knew about spirits. The nagging presence that had pushed and annoyed Sev until he’d given in and come to McKinton was whispering along Sev’s senses again, buzzing in his brain, pleasantly happy instead of insistently harping as it had done before. Sev was relaxed and felt safe in a way he hadn’t before. Laine knew about Sev’s ability to speak with the dead; it was there in that report, had to be, and he hadn’t mocked him… Well, Laine hadn’t really gotten the chance to, either, since they’d gone at each other in a spectacular frenzy of need. Still, Sev had seen and heard Laine speaking with the spirit, so it didn’t seem like a bad thing at the time to ask him.

“Who’s Conner Sutherland?”

No, it hadn’t seemed like a big deal at the time, but as Sev sat alone in his hotel room, the evidence of their climaxes drying on his skin, the desolation he felt served to remind him just how much of a fool he’d been.