Page 122 of Playing with Fire

"I want you to make sure nothing leaks out," I said, pressing the plug into his hand. "All of that belongs to me now."

His hands trembled as he carefully withdrew, immediately replacing his cock with the plug. I felt the solid weight of it settling inside me, keeping his release trapped in my body. The thought of walking around the rest of the party with this secret—with Leo's essence sealed inside me by the same plug I'd been wearing all night—sent another jolt of pleasure through me.

"Perfect," I said, reaching back to press the plug a fraction deeper, making sure it was seated properly. "Now help me clean up. We're going back to the party."

We put ourselves back together in comfortable silence, Leo fixing his tie while I combed my fingers through his hair, erasing the evidence of my grip. He looked thoroughly debauched despite our best efforts—lips swollen, color high in his cheeks, that particularly dazed look in his eyes that only appeared after I'd taken him apart.

"You look like you've been thoroughly fucked," I said with satisfaction, straightening his collar one last time.

"I feel like it too," he admitted with a smile that still quickened my pulse, still made my chest ache with an intensity I'd never experienced before him.

When we finally emerged from the closet, the celebration was beginning to wind down. Guests mingled in smaller groups now, many having already departed. Yuri caught my eye from across the room and gave a knowing smirk that made me wonder if our absence had been more noticeable than I'd thought.

We rejoined the gathering smoothly, Leo immediately drawn into conversation with Shepherd while I accepted a fresh whiskey from the bar. From my vantage point, I could see the entire Laskin family spread across the renovated space. Annie and Tatty surrounded by photo albums at a corner table. War and Pax watching their children with fond exasperation. Xander regaling a group of funeral directors with dramatic gestures while Ash looked on indulgently. River and Theo were in the far corner, maintaining their usual careful distance in public despite the occasional lingering glance between them.

“Do you have any idea how many industry regulations you two just broke?” Misha muttered, sliding up beside me.

I grinned over at him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He sighed. “At least tell me you cleaned up the mess. I had that supply closet exactly the way I wanted it.”

“Hey, come on now. Of course we cleaned up. I’m not a monster.”

Misha gave me a doubtful glance.

I nodded past him to where Reid stood by Algerone. “What happened with you and Reid? I thought you two had some chemistry.”

Misha’s cheeks flushed, and he squirmed uncomfortably. “Not…Not really. I mean, maybe. But I’m not his type. You know?”

"Did he have a problem with you being trans?" I asked directly, my tone making it clear there would be consequences if that were the case.

"No! God no," Misha said quickly. "Reid was actually very respectful about that. He just..." He sighed, looking over at the commander. "He's married to his job. When we did hook up once, it was clear he only wanted something casual—a fun night here and there when our schedules aligned. But I want something real, you know? Someone who'll be there. Not just when it's convenient between missions."

I studied Reid across the room. The commander was engaged in what looked like a serious discussion with one of the security staff, the epitome of professional detachment. "Fair enough. Not everyone is cut out for actual relationships."

"He's a good guy," Misha added, looking down at his drink. "Just not... available in the ways that matter. He made that clear upfront, so I can't even be mad about it." He sighed, watching the way his own fingers fidgeted with his jacket. "Still, sometimes I wonder if anyone will ever want something serious with me. Not just a fling or an experiment."

I studied him for a moment. "You'll find someone who wants what you want. Someone who sees how adorable and loyal you are."

Misha looked up, surprised at the uncharacteristic validation. "That's... actually kind of nice, Xavier. Even if it makes me sound sort of like a puppy."

"Well, you are kinda like a puppy. I mean that in a nice way," I said. "Now go enjoy the party before I say something sentimental again and ruin my reputation."

As Misha moved away with a more genuine smile, my attention turned to the high-backed chair near the windows, where Algerone sat with his silver-tipped cane, observing everything with those sharp eyes that missed nothing. Six months of physical therapy had restored much of his mobility, though the warehouse collapse had left him with a precision to his movements that hadn't been there before. Our relationship remained complicated. Not quite father and son, not merely allies, but something undefined that carried the weight of blood and fire and shared survival.

As if sensing my attention, his gaze met mine across the room. He raised his glass slightly in acknowledgment, a gesture I returned with equal reserve. We'd reached an understanding of sorts in the aftermath of the mill fire. Not forgiveness, not yet, but a recognition of what bound us together despite everything that had come between us.

Maxime approached him with another drink, setting it within reach without making contact. Their interaction was a study in strained formality, professional courtesy barely masking the weight of betrayal and thirty years of shared history. Something twisted in my chest at the sight—not sympathy exactly, but recognition of how thoroughly Felix Burns had succeeded in destroying the foundations of Algerone's life, even in death.

My attention was pulled away by the sound of Leo's phone ringing. He glanced at the screen, his expression shifting to something vulnerable and hopeful before he excused himself from Shepherd to answer.

"Mom," he said, voice soft as he moved to a quieter corner. "Yes, I got the photos you sent... No, they're perfect, exactly what I was looking for."

The fragile rebuilding of his relationship with his parents had been ongoing for months, starting with that video call we'd shared three weeks after the mill fire. It hadn't been easy. There had been tears, recriminations, uncomfortable silences. But they were trying—all of them. Weekly calls had become dinners once a month. His mother sent care packages now. His father had even asked about Leo's cosplay work the last time they'd spoken.

I kept a careful distance, giving Leo privacy while remaining close enough to intervene if the conversation turned painful. The protective instinct I felt toward him hadn't diminished with time; if anything, it had deepened into something more complex, more all-consuming than simple possession.

Leo caught me watching and smiled, a quick flash of gratitude before returning to his call. "Yes, Xavier will be there too... No, Dad, you don't need to make the spare bedroom up. We'll get a hotel... Yes, I'm sure."

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