His cock was rock hard between his legs, but he wasn’t planning on sticking it inside of his pet, not today anyway. He curled his fingers around his organ, tugging on it furiously as he continued to eat at Conall until he heard what he’d been chasing: a whimper so beautiful that Sloan’s cock jerked in his palm.
Conall moaned and stiffened.
Sloan pulled away to spread his arsecheeks again, staring at the flushed hole, as gorgeous as the rest of Conall. The inner cheeks were red now from beard rash, and it was just as sexy. No one else would see Conall like this, Sloan would make sure of it. He’d ruin his pet so he only ever begged for Sloan’s mouth and cock.
Laying a hard slap on one arsecheek, he watched it bounce under the force. It left behind a dark handprint that flushed beautifully against the pale skin.
“Mm. You’re so pretty, pet. Come for me while I eat out your arse.”
If Conall had a retort, he didn’t have a chance to say it before Sloan was licking and mouthing kisses against his hole again. He knew Conall was jerking himself off by the sound of skin slapping skin, and then he stilled, groaning. Globs of cum slid down the glass wall of the shower, quickly washed off by the stream of quickly cooling water that hit the screen above Conall’s head.
Sloan wasn’t far behind him, though. His balls hurt, and they tightened against his body. His cock shuddered against his hand, which he’d returned to it, and cum shot from his slit, hitting the shower floor and swirling into the drain alongside Conall’s cum and the excess water.
Sloan only stopped licking when Conall’s limbs seemed to fold in on themselves and his knees shook. Sloan shot to his feet to grab his pet, holding him upright, and turned him around.
“Did you like that, pet?” Sloan purred, kissing the curve of his neck.
For once, Conall didn’t seem to have a rebellious reply, but he wouldn’t be himself without a narrowed look.
“Come on, let’s get you dried and in bed.”
Sloan made sure to help Conall out of the shower and dry him. If his pet wanted to protest, he didn’t have the energy, because he kept his mouth shut until Sloan had him naked in the bed, the extravagant, fluffy thousand-thread blanket covering him.
“I have business to attend to tonight. When you wake up, go ask the chef for some food. He’ll make you the finest breakfast a pet could ask for. I’ll see you in the morning, pet.” With a gentle kiss on the forehead, Sloan left the room and headed back to his office.
By the time he’d arrived, his soldiers had cleaned up the bloody mess and disposed of the body. Fionn sat on the sofa against the far wall to Sloan’s right, his gaze intent on the papers in front of him. When Sloan entered, he glanced at him, before returning his attention back to his work.
Sloan tsked. “Are you mad at me?”
“Why would I be mad at you, uncle?” Fionn’s jaw clenched.
He walked over to Fionn and fell into the seat beside him. While the body and blood had gone, the smell of bleach and disinfectant lingered in the room, but it was a scent he’d grown used to ever since taking over as boss for his dad after his death.
“Don’t you like my new pet?”
Fionn’s lips twisted in disgust. “He’s disobedient.”
“I know. It’s so sexy.” Sloan grinned and nudged Fionn’s shoulder with his own. “Wait until you get your own pet.”
“I don’t want one.” His nephew glared at him, so unlike Conall, though. There wasn’t hidden desire behind those narrowed eyes, but rather an annoyance that Sloan would have to watch carefully. While he trusted his nephew, he also knew discontent could quickly turn to betrayal, even among family members.
Sloan crossed his legs and rested his hands in his lap. He’d dressed in something more comfortable for the night, a pair of loose pajama pants and a plain T-shirt, before he came back down again. He could relax with his soldiers guarding his home. He’d made a point of training some of them himself, while others were close friends he grew up with.
“What have you discovered about Mr. Jones and what the Italians know?”
Fionn’s back straightened and he fell into business mode. Sloan had trained him well, too. “They know about our port and how we get our drugs past customs.”
“What’s the damage?”
“Two dead paid-off customs employees.” Fionn passed him some photos, and Sloan stared at them. The man and woman they’d paid off to look the other way each had a bullet hole in their forehead, their brains scattered across the cement.
“How bad is it?” Sloan asked, passing the photos back.
“The DEA suspects drug play. They are swarming like bees on honey.” Fionn’s nose screwed up and he glared at the photos in his hand. “Harry really fucked this up for us.”
“We could twist it to look like the Italians,” Sloan said.
“The Italians knew what they were doing, Sloan. They wanted to destroy our drug trade, and they did it by killing two meaningless associates.”
