Page 6 of Devil May Lie

“Blood shows up too easily on light colors,” Berga said.

“That why you’re always dressed in black?”

“I’m always dressed in black because I’m a senior at Vail University, and black is the senior uniform color,” he stated. “But you know this already. Are you stalling? You’re not very good at it. Try choosing a topic that we can actually converse about. Like…How is your sister doing? Is she still working at the hospital?”

“Rebecca?” Madden frowned. “Since when did you talk with my sister?”

“I don’t.” He shrugged. “We interacted a couple of months ago when I was helping Bay and Sila out with something.”

“With what?” Bay Delmar was one of Madden’s racers and a professor at Berga’s school.

“It’s not nice to share other people’s business without consent.”

“Right…” Madden cleared his throat a second time. “This has been fun and all, but shouldn’t you—” There was a sharp pang in his lower abdomen, followed quickly by a rush of unmistakable heat that had him inhaling sharply.

A move that brought with it a whiff of whatever cologne Berga was currently wearing, something gourmand with a hint of salt that instinctively had Madden leaning in closer for another smell.

Wait.

He stared at the beer bottle in his hand. “Did you…?” Another pang, this time the sensation even more intense, and he had to set the bottle down on the coffee table or risk smashing it across the Butcher’s head.

Which would be satisfying for two point five seconds—maybe—but would come with far too many repercussions.

Actions equaled consequences, and Madden wasn’t willing to pay up for the ones that would come with injuring a Satellite member.

But still.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he growled, sitting down for good measure. His cock lengthened in his jeans, the tight squeeze uncomfortable, and without much thought, he popped the button on his pants and slid down the zipper to free it.

The drug was insanely fast acting, his cock springing free to push against the thin material of his boxer briefs. A wet stain was already forming, and with a curse he pulled it away, hissing at the rush of cool air against his exposed member.

“It’s helpful that you’re already shirtless,” Berga stated, tipping his head afterward. “Why is that? I’ve noticed you have an aversion to shirts. You’re very often without.”

“Is now really the time to discuss this?”

“No, I’d rather be fucking already, but I figured you needed more coaxing. The effects of the drug still need to take a stronger hold on your mind. I fear you’ll react poorly to my advances otherwise.”

“You drugged me,” he snapped, even though that was painfully obvious. “You just admitted it.” His hand wrapped around his girth and he started to stroke himself, too livid to be embarrassed when the Butcher’s gaze dropped there and held.

“You said you weren’t interested in sleeping with me before,” Berga said. “Are you interested now?”

“Good Light, what is wrong with you?”

“We don’t have enough time before the drug makes it hard for both of us to focus,” he replied. “If you’re still interested in my condition afterward, I’ll give you my official medical diagnosis.” Berga undid the buttons of his black shirt carefully, each one coming undone in a slow, almost strip tease. “Fair warning, the list is long and a bit contradictory—according to Bay, at least, but I trust his judgment when it comes to these sorts of things.”

“Right.” Madden didn’t want to, but he found his gaze drawn to the movements of Berga’s fingers, watching as swath after swath of that creamy skin was exposed to him. Unclothed, the Butcher wasn’t as soft as he’d imagined, with hard, well-defined muscles and shoulders broad enough to rival Madden’s.

“Condoms?” Berga asked then, and when Madden met his eyes, there was more emotion there than there’d been a second ago. The ruby shade of those orbs seemingly glowing.

He wanted to resist and put the brakes on this before they went too far, but his arm shot out as though of its own accord, pointing toward the metal desk the holo-tv was set on top of.

Berga went to it and fished out a handful of condoms from the top drawer, coming back to drop them onto the coffee table in the first almost careless motion he’d made all evening. He had his pants off and was kicking out of them almost before he’d fully straightened, unabashed by his nudity in front of Madden.

He’d hid it well, but the drug had clearly been affecting him all this time. His dick was full and rosy, a bead of precome leaking from the flushed crown to roll halfway down his long shaft before breaking free. It plopped onto the concrete between Berga’s spread feet, and the Butcher paused and grimaced at it before tearing open one of the condoms and slipping it on.

“What are you doing?” Even as Madden asked it, he found himself standing to do away with the rest of his own clothing, his gaze still trapped on what the other man was packing. He had an impressive girth, a full set of balls that would fit perfectly in Madden’s palm.

“I don’t come inside,” Berga stated. “Too messy.”