Blind Warrior (The Weavers Circle 3)

“It’s not that bad. Flesh wound. Nothing you can’t heal,” Clay assured Dane.

Cort was too silent. He didn’t need his powers to guess that the man was barely holding together his fear and/or rage. When Cort roughly grabbed his arm, he went with angry.

“I’d better go back to my place and shower this oil off before Lucien lets loose a stray flame and burns me up.”

“Lucien’s at the front of the house, checking the damage,” Cort said, tightening his fingers. “But a shower is just what you need. I’ll go with you. There’s a ton of debris on the floor and outside.”

Grey and Cort navigated the destroyed breakfast room and went through one of the broken French doors. Grey headed toward his apartment, Cort helping him steer around the destruction outside. He could fairly feel the man vibrating with anger, his fury like a separate presence between them. Grey wasn’t sure what had happened between his cool head after the disaster and now, but he knew he was going to get an earful, and Cort didn’t let him down once they stood in his living room.

“Holy shit! Holy shit!” Cort yelled.

“What? You were all cool in there. What changed?”

“It hit me once I got a good look at the place. Those fuckers tore it up. You could have been killed!”

“But I wasn’t.” Grey felt for Cort’s arms and held them in tight fingers. “We’re both fine.”

“We’re not fucking fine! Those guys were trying to kill us and the whole time, you were trying to get me out of the way.”

“I wanted to protect you!”

“Maybe I want to protect you too. And I can’t believe what they did to that beautiful house. Do you have any idea how special this place is? It’s a safe haven for two gay couples in the south. There’s a Black man with superpowers, for Christ’s sake! It’s like a dream come true for me, and those fuckers shot it all to hell. They shot Clay!”

“Clay’s fine. We deal with those sorts of injuries all the time, and Dane can heal him.”

Cort’s shoes scraped the carpet as he began to pace. It seemed to be his go-to when he was upset, prowling about the small living room. “This is crazy!”

“Calm down. We made it through it.”

“I don’t want to calm down,” Cort yelled. “I feel like being pissed. And if you think I’m letting you out of my sight now, you’ve got another think coming. I’ll be sleeping on this damn couch.”

Grey realized most of Cort’s anger was for him, and something inside him warmed to that knowledge. He stopped Cort’s pacing and ran his hands up Cort’s shoulders until he was holding his neck. He stepped closer and leaned up to put their foreheads together. “It’s okay. It’s really okay.”

“No, it’s not.” Cort was breathing hard, his breaths brushing over Grey’s face. His hands came up to tug Grey even closer, and he buried his face in Grey’s neck. “I fucking hate this.” He held Grey against him, and Grey could feel his heart beating hard through his sleeveless T-shirt.

He moved one hand to cup Cort’s head, feeling his soft, short hair under his palm. “I’m sorry I got you into this.”

“Don’t be,” Cort muttered into his neck. “Shit.” His mouth slanted over Grey’s. He kissed him with a desperate hunger that had blood rushing to Grey’s cock. Cort’s tongue thrust into his mouth, and Grey opened wide, desire flooding every inch of his body. He forgot about the olive oil and kissed Cort, loving the stroke of his tongue, the softness of his lips. Cort bit his lower lip before sucking it into his mouth. Grey opened for him, and Cort’s tongue slid inside to twine with Grey’s.

Grey wrapped his arms tight around Cort as the man licked deep into his mouth. Their kisses grew hungrier, more devastating, and Cort pressed him into the wall between the living room and bathroom. Hands swept along his chest, pausing only to fumble with the bottom of his shirt and slide underneath. He groaned as Cort’s palms ran over his belly. Cort traced the trail of hair from his navel to the waistband of his sweat pants. He didn’t stop there, slipping his hand inside.

Panting against his lips, Grey closed his eyes tight and moaned when Cort grasped hold of his cock. His hands were slick from the olive oil, and he quickly grew frustrated with the sweat pants and stopped kissing him long enough to tug them to Grey’s thighs. Cort’s hand returned to Grey’s cock and he stroked it with a firm, steady grip. Grey was completely overwhelmed with sensations as Cort’s mouth covered his. Cort bit at his lips and thrust his tongue in deep.

“Fuck,” Cort whispered. “Your dick feels so good in my hand.”