Page 14 of Ride the Whirlwind

Smiling, turquoise eyes filled with endless love and adoration, Ardan slid his hands up and down the redhead's back, his soft touches setting the other one's skin on fire. A certain part of his Spitfire's anatomy started to react to his slow, deep trusts and sweet caresses, making him grin at the sight.

Using his spit as lubricant, Ardan started to stroke Alasdair's cock, lazily at first, then gradually quickening the pace as he felt his own orgasm building up in the pit of his stomach. A few minutes later, and with a triumphant cry, the older man shot his load deep inside his husband's tight, hot ass while the redhead spilled his seed over Ardan's tunneled fist.

The insistent beep of his phone woke Alasdair from the pleasant dream he was having, making him grunt in frustration. His first impulse was to ignore the call, but then he changed his mind and fished the device from between the pillows where he’d been keeping it since Ardan’s arrest.

“Hello, Alasdair MacNamara speaking. Who are you and what do you want?” The redhead realized the question sounded rude, but he wasn't in the mood to apologize.

“Hello, my beloved, beautiful Spitfire. I’ve missed you like the desert misses the rain. I almost forgot how gruff you sound right after you wake up,” the voice at the other end of the line seductively purred.

“I miss you, too. Every night you’re not next to me in our bed is a torture for me,” Alasdair answered, his brain still foggy with sleep.

“I'll be home before you know it, and I'll make up for all the days and nights we were apart. Until then, take care of you and tell the kids I love them.”

Ardan's voice, gentle and low, made the redhead's heart beat faster, his husband's words caressing his soul. “I'll tell them. Take care of you, too, wherever you are, husband of mine. I love you with everything I have.”

“I love you, too, my beautiful Spitfire, with every drop of blood running through my veins, with every fiber of my body, until my final breath.” The words, although barely a whisper, were spoken with fire and passion.

The line went dead, and Alasdair stared at the phone for a little while before putting it back between the pillows. Taking a look at the clock on the nightstand, the redhead decided he could nap for another hour. He would have plenty of time to take a quick shower and make himself presentable for the meeting Peyton told him about.

Alasdair's best friend mentioned something about hiring a private investigator to look into Ardan's case, but when the redhead asked more, they suddenly became elusive. However, he knew them for a long time and knew they must have had their reasons to behave like that. With that thought in mind and the image of Ardan before his eyes, Alasdair went back to sleep.

Right after his husband's arrest, he’d listened to his Uncle Fabian's suggestion and took some days off from the clinic at The Base and the Van der Meerwe Institute to spend more time with his stepsons, but also with Paisley and Axel, who missed their Papa a lot. Although Alasdair's friends, especially Peyton, offered to help him with the little ones, he preferred to take care of everything by himself, going back to work at the same time.

The redhead didn't notice how much that draconic schedule affected him until one evening when he crawled under the blankets and slept for eighteen hours straight. That was when Rayne Stark stepped in, both as Alasdair's uncle and as his boss at the Van der Meerwe Institute, ordering him to stay at home and rest.

Sebastian, the youngest of his Bloom uncles, offered to help him with the little ones so he could rest at noon for three hours, according to Rayne's recommendation, made in a firm, stern voice. In time, those hours he spent napping or just relaxing did wonders for Alasdair's body and mind, so, when the news of Ardan's alleged death was delivered by the mysterious voice at the other end of the line, it didn't catch him unprepared.

While the redhead was enjoying the second round of deep, restful sleep, a car was waiting for permission to get inside The Base. The driver, a woman with long, light-brown hair tied in a tidy ponytail and soulful, chocolate eyes, started to get nervous under the inquisitive stare of the guards.

From time to time, she glanced to the back of the vehicle where two children, a boy of about sixteen and a girl no older than twelve, were sleeping, huddled under a blanket. The boy's lower lip was split, and he also sported a black eye and a few other ugly bruises on both cheeks. From time to time, he sighed heavily, curling around himself.

“What kind of monster did that to the poor kid?” The woman flinched at the sound of the man's voice and started to shake when she saw the said man's imposing stature. “Lothier De Lavaliere, at your service,” he politely spoke, dipping his head a little.

“Nicole Osborne, nice to meet you,” the woman said in a voice she tried to make sound neutral, “and the boy is my stepson, Norbert Victor Lauritsen. Some kids at school outed him, my husband found out, and...”

“Hey, Lothier, what's up?” Another man, slimmer than the first one and looking younger, came next to the car. “Hello, ma'am, my name is Andrew Ralston, but everyone here calls me Drew. I was told to accompany you to Principal Bloom-Hunter's office. They are waiting for you.”

“They? I thought that the only person present at the interview was going to be the one who placed the ad.” The woman frowned. “I don't like this sudden change.”

“Speaking of change, I think we should go first to your temporary home so the little ones can sleep comfortably. I'm sure they would rest better on a soft mattress than in the backseat of your car, especially the boy,” Drew said, looking in the rear-view mirror. “And don't worry, Peyton is caring, sweet, and funny. You'll end up loving to collaborate with them.”

“I hope so, I really, really need this job and the advantages it comes with, especially a safe place for me and the children far away from their father's madness. Sorry for burdening you, a virtual stranger, with my family problems. Usually, I'm not like that. On the contrary, I was raised to keep everything to myself and...”

“Here we are,” Drew softly spoke, cutting the woman short. “I don't mind you sharing your problems with me, if that's what you feel. We are a family of sorts, and this is what families do. They are there for each other.”

“Thank you.” The woman tentatively smiled, climbing down from the car and waiting for the man to unlock the door of the house. “It looks big on the outside,” she said, visibly impressed.

“Two bedrooms with adjoining bathrooms, one small office, one large living room that can partially be converted into a bedroom for you, and a kitchen,” Drew enumerated. “Have you told Peyton about the kids. They would have given you a bigger house.”

“Oh, so my employer identifies as nonbinary! Why didn't you tell me that from the start?” The woman sighed in relief, letting out a short, happy laugh. “This means Noortje is among friends here. You seem very nice and helpful. Do you know some gay kids my stepson can hang out with?”

“Thank you for the compliment”—Drew blushed slightly—“and yes, I know a few nice, very friendly and funny gay boys who would be thrilled to have Noortje as a friend.”

“I don't think I've told you my name.” The woman smiled, extending a hand. “It's Nicole, and I'm really happy to know you and work for someone like Peyton Bloom-Hunter.”

Drew smiled small, gently squeezing the woman's hand, then took the boy in his arms, carrying him into one of the bedrooms and carefully placing him on the bed. After removing the teen's shoes, he pulled the warm blankets over his fragile, sleeping form and lightly kissed his forehead.

After putting her stepdaughter to bed, Nicole passed by the other bedroom's door just in time to see Drew tucking Noortje in. The sight brought tears into her eyes as she compared the man's behavior with the cold, cruel indifference her husband Ron treated his own flesh and blood. She used the pads of her thumbs to wipe off the tears that appeared at the corner of her eyes, then headed to the house's front door.

---