Page 36 of Redeemed
“What?” He sits back on his heels, loosening his grip on my dick.
“Nothing,” I whisper, in that quavery voice that sounds like a lie.
“Do you think Trajan would mind us doing this? Because I don’t.”
He sounds defensive, as if he’s trying to convince himself. I reach down and take hold of his hand, wrapping it tighter around my cock. I take a four-count inhale and let it go more slowly. “I agree with you. He wouldn’t mind, and I”—probably should shut my mouth now—“really want you inside me.”
I must be convincing because in a couple of heartbeats, the head of his cock nudges my hole. He grabs ahold of my thighs, bending me in half.
His first thrust stretches me and I rock my head back so he can’t see me wince. It doesn’t hurt, exactly, and I really don’t want him to stop. It just takes me a minute or two to accommodate his size.
Did I mention he’s hung like the horse he can shift into?
He works his way in, and only when his balls slap against my ass does he whisper, “You’re a wonder,mo mhuirnin.I’m so glad we have each other.”
I am too, I want to say, but the words get caught up in the steady rhythm of his thrusts. He fills me, his hands forcing me to bend further till my knees are close to my ears. His rhythm changes, pounding me faster with short, hard strokes, and he lets go of one leg so he can stroke my dick again.
Oh god that’s going to undo me. I thrash underneath his onslaught, my head rocking side to side, my hips straining to meet his pace. This feels so damned good. Different than when there are three of us, but it’s like comparing filet mignon to prime rib.
They’re both fucking delicious.
Connor loses his rhythm and with a growl, he stiffens, his cock so deep in me I can feel it in my throat. I add my hand to his where it’s wrapped around my dick, finding the perfect speed and pressure and soon I’m coming, too. Pleasure pulls me up higher than sound and sends me floating slowly to the too-small bed in the odiferous hotel room. Connor’s still inside me, but he’s softening. He’s braced on his elbows so I’m not bearing his full weight.
But if he wanted to lie on me, that’d be okay, too. I’ll carry him as far as he needs to go.
After a while, Connor’s dick slides out of me. He catches hold of my hands and stretches them up over my head so we’re lying belly to belly, forehead to forehead. The moment turns heavy, as if there are things we both want to say but don’t.
To make sure we don’t, I tip my head so I can kiss him, long and slow. He lets go of one wrist, propping himself on his elbow, taking control. I’m more than happy to let him, and we kiss until I think our spirits are melding and I’m breathing hard.
Connor breaks the kiss, tracing the line of my lower lip with his thumb. “We should probably—”
“Yeah.” I interrupt him because if we keep doing what we’re doing someone’s going to get hurt. “Did you and Brodie cover all of Jacques’ beach houses?”
“At least the three we know about. I mean, we’re pretty sure he’s staying in that house in the hills above Malibu. I can also email Melinda Barwell. She’s a Sensitive with Securitas and she may be able to help us narrow our search.” He rolls to my side and I drape one leg over his, letting him know we’re still connected. In response, he puts a hand on my thigh, because we might have started out linked through Trajan, but we’re building bonds of our own, too.
Covering his hand with my own, I pick and choose from a pile of ideas. “I could text Lydia and see if she’s heard anything useful. Actually, it might be a good idea to check in with her anyway to see if that Los Feliz pack leader has given her any more shit.”
“Sounds good. You shower and I’ll see if I can find any houses I might have missed, then I’ll shower and you can ping Lydia.”
I pout. “But we could shower together.”
He pinches my thigh and I thrash to get away from him. “The shower in this place is barely big enough for one of us,” he says. “And if we do manage to fit, we’ll never want to get out.”
The heat in his gaze makes me smile. “True dat. Let’s stick with Plan A and we’ll see what trouble we can stir up tonight.”
“Don’t even say that.” Rolling his eyes, he climbs out of bed. “We find enough trouble when we’re not even looking for it.”
He’s not wrong. I climb into the shower, and something about the fall of warm water makes me think of that copycat Mirror of Derised that the viscount had in his pretend basement. I’d told Connor I saw the three of us with my sister and Marcus and all, but what I hadn’t told him is that we were all in tuxedos—well, except mine was a vintage tailcoat worn with a lace cravat, a blue brocade vest the color of the ocean near the horizon, and knee-high riding boots.
I also didn’t tell him that the three of us were holding hands and someone, honestly it might have been Lydia Sanchez, was in front of us with a small black book that looked a lot like a Bible.
Could it be that my secret desire was to get married? Or were they officially appointing me as alpha? I side-eye both options and soap up.
Massaging my scalp to get rid of any leftover product, I’m reluctant to get out of the shower. The water pressure is surprisingly good for an airport hotel and, well, it’s nicer in here than whatever I’m about to face. There’s no way we’re going to find Trajan and get rid of Jacques without a whole lot of sturm and drang, and not the heavy metal kind.
Of course, no one is actively shooting at us, so maybe I should count my blessings and stop being a whiner.
I turn the water off and get dried and dressed as fast as possible. I’m wearing cropped yoga pants and a loose sweatshirt, hoping I can work in some sun salutations between text messages. Connor and I smack hands and yell “Tag” and I find my phone.
