Renner Morgan Read Online Free PDF Page A

left off.
    They were silent, but somehow that only made Quintus more acutely aware of Renner. His breathing was choppy, and his chest was tight. His eyes were too big, making him look guilty. But most telling of all was the fact that Renner had a bulge straining against the front of his shorts.
    Quintus tried not to look, but he couldn’t help himself. Despite the fact the shorts were loose—presumably for movement while he worked—his cock was big enough to tighten them up in the crotch. Having never seen any cock but his own and those at crime scenes, which really didn’t count since they were usually flaccid and battered, Quintus found himself almost desperate to see what Renner’s looked like. Would his prick be bronze like the rest of him, or would it be pale since he likely didn’t work in the nude?
    “Show me.”
    “Sir?” Renner’s brows lifted as their gazes met and held.
    “I was wondering how big—bad it is. My wound.” Quintus lost his nerve halfway through. The last thing he wanted to do was have McBride walk in on him examining Renner’s privates. McBride might have been permissive with one of his men and his father’s companion, but he doubted McBride would want him if he were caught in an inappropriate situation with a slammer. Clearly, McBride bent the law a bit on his land, but it was unlikely he’d want a mate who had such perverse desires.
    “It’s not that bad.” Renner shook his head. “I don’t mean to downplay your pain. I know it must hurt terribly because it scraped right along a very nerve-rich area, but it didn’t penetrate.”
    The word caused both of them to look at the other.
    “And penetration would be bad?”
    “It would hurt much worse than just a grazing.” Renner swallowed.
    Quintus found himself fascinated by the movement of his throat. His attention returned to the untouched side of Renner’s neck. Unable to stop himself, he reached out and stroked his finger where he wanted to bite. Just the idea of marking him excited Quintus, reminding him that it was probably a good thing he’d never owned a slammer. If he had, he probably would have broken the law a dozen times over.
    After a gasp, Renner moved incrementally closer and tilted his head. He was offering himself to Quintus. But it was probably only instinct and not attraction. By their very nature, slammers were driven to give themselves up to gentrymen. From what Quintus had learned about the breeding of slammers, they were compelled by a cunning combination of nature and nurture. Pheromones emitted by gentrymen lured them into submission, but then they were also conditioned to submit by the way they were treated in prison. Slammers were big, often several times bigger than gentrymen, but they were taught to surrender themselves to their master. Those in town must have been pushed by extraordinary circumstances to break through their innate natures.
    Hunger that had been suppressed his entire life suddenly consumed Quintus. It wasn’t just a need for blood but a longing for this man’s blood. Quintus had always managed to control himself and subsist on bagged blood, but something—his injury, his relief that he’d escaped the gang—something made the thirst he’d suppressed since puberty suddenly dominate his mind, body, and soul.
    Cupping his hand to Renner’s shoulder, Quintus drew him closer while using his hold to lift himself up. He used his other hand to push Renner’s shirt out of the way, and then he was close enough to smell Renner’s light sweat and the rich, earthy scent of the dirt that clung to him. Compelled closer, Quintus opened his mouth, but rather than bite, he licked along the pulsing vein and swore he could smell the blood below his bronzed skin.
    Renner whimpered and angled himself so that Quintus was able to part his lips and sink his teeth into his flesh. His growl of bliss was echoed in Renner’s cry of surrender. Hot blood gushed into his mouth, making him latch on to the