Guilty as Sin by Denise Rossetti

furious than he ‟ d been in his
    life, he glared into Michael ‟ s eyes, an inch from his own. The man ‟ s chest was sealed to
    his. Through the linen of the thief ‟ s shirt, he could feel the rapid drumming of a single
    heart, the two points of warmth that were Lise ‟ s featherpearls.
    “I need to talk to you.” Michael was so close, he spoke almost into Dax ‟ s mouth,
    and for a split second, Dax remembered the firm press of a masculine mouth on his, that
    erotic bite on his lower lip.
    Rage sparked in his blood, hot and sweet. With a growl, he exerted all his strength,
    pulling at the chains, biceps swelling with the effort. The bedframe creaked and pain
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    ground into his wrists. He absorbed it, used it as a spur. His tail lashed, thudding into
    the thief ‟ s ribs.
    Michael grunted. “Don ‟ t—” He leaned forward, a warm palm sliding up the
    underside of Dax ‟ s arm, all the way to his wrist. “Stupid bastard. Stop fightin ‟ .” Pulling
    back, he thrust bloodstained fingers under Dax ‟ s nose, the smell coppery and rank in
    his nostrils. “Look what ye ‟ ve done to yerself.”
    Dax whipped his tail around the thief ‟ s neck and began to squeeze.
    Michael choked out an obscenity.
    Instead of using the blade, as Dax half-expected, he fumbled something soft out of a
    pocket and slammed it over Dax ‟ s nose and mouth. Desperately, he twisted his head,
    but the other man held on. Drug fumes turned his brain to mush, his vision filling with
    black spots that overlapped, morphing into a long, dark tunnel. On a slurred curse, Dax
    toppled forward, the sensation not unlike tumbling headlong into an abyss.
    When he opened his eyes, nothing seemed to have changed. The thief still sat
    astride him, grinning. “Useful things, tails,” he said. “Wish I had one.”
    Dax flexed it. Fuck, the bastard had lashed his tail to one ankle. A growl of
    frustration rumbling in his chest, he heaved with his hips.
    Smirking, Michael ground down to meet him. “Mmm.”
    Another wriggle and a squirm that pressed the ultrasensitive place at the base of his
    tail hard into the mattress. Dax ‟ s breath hissed between his teeth. Little sparks of
    pleasure ricocheted in his balls, the root of his cock humming with the beginnings of
    interest. Bastard, bastard, bastard . How did he know? He fought his way through the last
    of the drug fumes. No, Michael was a Grounded. He couldn ‟ t know that a touch where
    tail met spine was sometimes all it took for an Aetherii.
    When he arched up to relieve the pressure, the other man ‟ s eyelids dropped to half-
    mast. “We can do that too, if you want.”
    “No. Bastar ‟ .” Dax fought to enunciate. “Don ‟ wan ‟ .”
    “You sure?” A dark brow arched up. Michael grinned like a lusty boy. For the first
    time, Dax noticed he wore tight-fitting trews and a knit shirt, both dead black. He ‟ d be
    no more than a shadow in the night, a dark shape seen out of the corner of the eye,
    silent and sure-footed.
    As Dax licked his lips, the other man leaned closer, staring at his mouth. “Ge ‟ on
    with it,” Dax mumbled.
    He marshaled his resources, exerted his will. “Talk if you wan ‟ , but kiss me an ‟ I ‟ ll
    kill you. Swear.” He pressed his tongue against his teeth, welcoming the tingle of
    returning sensation.
    “All right,” said Michael agreeably enough. “No kissing.” He chuckled deep in his
    throat. “On the mouth.”
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    He sat up, fingertips skating from the pit of Dax ‟ s throat over the planes of his
    chest, all the way to the edge of the sheet at his waist. Shivers trailed in their wake,
    despite everything Dax could do.
    “Feathers,” said the thief, brushing the fine down on Dax ‟ s chest in a meditative
    fashion. “Amazing.” His teeth flashed. “Pretty.”
    “Talk.” Sheer desperation deepened Dax ‟ s voice by an octave.
    All amusement vanished. Michael folded his arms. “What have you done with
    Bitsy? And the