Bricks lowers his mug with theatrical care. “Well, I guess the president has been summoned.”
Oisín doesn’t look away from me. “He has.”
Moth looks down at his tablet, but the corner of his mouth does something almost human. “We can continue the rotation review without him.”
“Don’t encourage this,” I tell him.
“I’m encouraging efficiency.”
“You’re encouraging mutiny.”
Oisín steps farther into the office, bare feet silent against the floor, and lifts one hand in my direction. He wiggles his fingers once, lazy and sweet and absolutely aware of what it does to me. Four months together, and he still gets away with looking at me like that in my own office, in front of my men, like the whole club can wait because he’s decided I belong somewhere else for the night.
“We still have a few things to finish,” I say, even though my body has already made its decision. My cock presses against the seam of my pants, the need to sink into his sweet ass overruling every other rational thought.
Oisín hums like he’s considering being reasonable and finding the idea disappointing. “That’s fine. I’ll go back to bed alone.”
Bricks snorts. “Terrible fate.”
“It is,” Oisín says, finally glancing at him. “The bed is too big, and Saint gets difficult when he pretends he doesn’t need sleep.”
“I’m not difficult,” I mutter.
Oisín’s mouth curves, the softness in him sharpening just enough to drag heat through my spine. “Fine. Stay here with your maps. I’ll be very tragic about it. Or you could come to bed, bruise me properly, and fuck me unconscious so I can finally sleep.”
Bricks makes a sound like he’s trying to choke on coffee and laughter at the same time. Moth closes his eyes with the weariness of a man who has endured too much.
I stand so fast my chair hits the wall behind me. “Harlan gave you the all clear?”
Oisín chuckles, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe like he knows exactly how close I am to forgetting there are witnesses. “I’m nearly good as new.”
“Nearly isn’t all.”
“Saint.” His voice dips around my name. “I am healed enough to know exactly what I’m asking for.”
Bricks sets his mug down. “For the record, I am still in the room.”
Oisín smiles at him. “Then stop listening so closely.”
“That is not how sound works,sweetheart.”
Moth, still staring at his tablet, says, “Bricks, your objection would carry more weight if you weren’t smiling.”
“I’m smiling from trauma.”
“You’re smiling because Saint just got yanked out of a logistics meeting by a sleepy man in his shirt.”
Bricks points at him. “And I’m grateful. I was about two minutes away from throwing this coffee at your board.”
Oisín looks back at me, and whatever joke had been sitting in his mouth softens into something more dangerous. “Come to bed, Saint.”
That’s all it takes.
The growl comes out of me before I can decide to contain it, and Bricks makes a satisfied sound like I’ve proved a point he intends to bring up for the rest of my life. I cross the office, every map and route and argument falling behind me with each step.
My hand closes around the side of Oisín’s throat, firm enough to feel his pulse jump but not enough to hurt before dragging him into a rough kiss. He melts into it with a pleased sound that goes straight through me.
Four months, and he still ruins me with one breath against my mouth. His fingers catch in my shirt, pulling me closer, and I crowd him back against the doorframe without taking him anywhere he doesn’t want to go. The kiss tastes like sleep andheat and the kind of trust I still don’t think I’ve earned enough to stop being careful with. He bites my lower lip lightly as my grip tightens by instinct before I ease it again.
