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Qhuinn recoiled ever so slightly. “Saxton is a slut.”

“Well, I guess you would know what makes one.”

“He’s a slut, a very classy, very elegant slut.”

“Maybe all I want is some sex.” Blay cocked a brow. “It’s been a while for me, and those females I did in bars just to keep up with you weren’t all that good to begin with. I think it’s about time I got some, and in the right way.”

The bastard had the gall to pale. He honestly did. And goddamn it if he didn’t falter back and lean against the door.

“Where are you going?” he asked roughly.

“He’s taking me to Sal’s. And then we’re going to that cigar bar.” Blay did his other cuff up and went over to the dresser for his silk socks. “Afterward . . . who knows.”

A wave of dark spice wafted across the bedroom, and stunned him into silence. Of all the ways he’d thought this conversation would go . . . his triggering Qhuinn’s bonding scent was so not it.

Blay pivoted back around.

After a long, tense moment, he walked toward his best friend, drawn by the fragrance. And as he came closer, Qhuinn’s hot eyes tracked him with each step, the link between them, that had been buried on both sides, abruptly exploding into the room.

When they were nose-to-nose, he stopped, his rising chest meeting Qhuinn’s. “Say the word,” he whispered harshly. “Say the word and I won’t go.”

Qhuinn’s hard hands clapped onto both sides of Blay’s throat, the pressure forcing him to tilt his head back and open his mouth so he could breathe. Strong thumbs dug into the joints on either side of his jaw.

Electric moment.

Incendiary potential.

They were going to end up on the bed, Blay thought as he locked his palms on Qhuinn’s thick wrists.

“Say the word, Qhuinn. Do it and I’ll spend the night with you. We’ll go out with Xhex and John and when they’re through, we’ll come back here. Say it.”

The blue-and-green eyes Blay had spent a lifetime looking into locked onto his mouth and Qhuinn’s pecs pumped up and down as if he were running.

“Better yet,” Blay drawled, “why don’t you just kiss me—”

Blay was whipped around and shoved hard against the dresser, the chest of drawers slamming against the wall with a thunder. As cologne bottles rattled and a brush hit the floor, Qhuinn forced his lips down hard on Blay’s, his fingers biting into Blay’s throat.

It didn’t matter, though. Hard and desperate was all he wanted from the guy. And Qhuinn was clearly on board, his tongue shooting out, taking . . . owning.

With fumbling hands, Blay yanked his shirt out from the slacks and went for his own fly. He’d waited so long for this—

But it was over before it started.

Qhuinn spun away as Blay’s pants hit the floor, and the guy positively lunged for the door. With his hand on the knob, he rammed his forehead into the panels once. Twice.

And then in a dead voice, he said, “Go. Enjoy yourself. Just be safe, please, and try not to fall in love with him. He’ll break your heart.”

Between one blink and the next, Qhuinn left the room, the door closing without a sound.

In the aftermath of the departure, Blay stood where he’d been left, his slacks around his ankles, his fading hard-on an utter embarrassment even though he was all alone. As the world grew wavy and his chest constricted into a fist, he blinked fast and tried to keep the tears off his cheeks.

Like an old male, he bent down slowly and pulled up the waistband of the pants, his hands fumbling with the zipper and fastenings. Without tucking his shirt in, he went over and sat on the bed.

When his phone rang over on the nightstand, he turned and looked toward the screen. On some level, he expected it to be Qhuinn, but that was the last person he wanted to talk to and he let whoever it was go to voice mail.

For some reason, he thought of the hour he’d spent in his bathroom fussing over his shave and clipping his nails and arranging his hair with the goddamn gel. Then the time in front of the closet. It all seemed wasted now.

He felt stained. Utterly stained.

And he wasn’t going out with Saxton or anybody tonight. Not