Page 69 of Pistols & Peonies

“Fuck, you’re so damn sexy,” he groans, cock thickening against my tongue. “I can hardly fucking take it.” The muscles in his thighs flex under my hands, body going taut. “Shit,” he chokes. “I’m gonna–”

He releases his grip on my hair, but I stay locked in place, lips stretched around his cock as he comes with a savage growl. His salty taste floods my mouth and I swallow every fucking drop as he rides out his climax, licking and sucking until he’s spent.

I pop off him and rock back on my heels, wiping my mouth with the back of a hand. Lifting my chin, I gaze up at Kane, a little breathless, a little proud.

The look in his eyes says he’s not done with me yet.

Before I can even blink, he leans down and grabs me under the arms, hauling me up onto his lap. I assume he’s going to fuck me, but instead he lifts me even higher, up over his head.

“What are you doing?” I yelp as I slap my hands against the wall to brace myself, completely caught off guard.

“You didn’t come,” he growls, coaxing my legs apart as he positions me over him. “So now you’re gonna ride my face until you do.”

I don’t argue. I’ll never argue about this. I’ve been dreaming about that magic tongue of his, desperate to experience it again.

My knees dig into the back of the sofa cushions as I straddle his head, thighs trembling with anticipation. Slowly, I lower myself onto his waiting mouth.

And it’s every bit as good as I remember.

CHAPTER 24

Kane

My office is quiet, the soundproofed walls sealing it off from the constant hum of the Tower’s activity. The insulation is there for practical reasons– wouldn’t want anyone eavesdropping on enforcer logistics– but I won’t pretend I don’t appreciate the benefit. Noise is an irritating distraction that I work best without.

Violet’s the opposite. She keeps the TV droning on even when she isn’t watching it, or music pulsing from a portable speaker she carts from room to room. Noise seems to be a comfort to her. It must make her feel less alone in that apartment.

She won’t be alone for much longer. My workday is nearly done, and it’s been satisfyingly productive. A morning meeting with Alpha– brief, efficient, and mercifully free of posturing– followed by getting out of the office for the first time in weeks to conduct patrol audits in person. It’s good for the lower-level enforcers to be reminded who they answer to. And even better to remind them that when they’re on the clock, someone’s always watching.

There’s still a mountain of shit in my inbox. Disciplinary reports, patrol logs, an endless drip of requests for security details. None of it feels particularly urgent. My wolf is more content than he’s ever been, his energy as calm as the surface of the lake at sunrise.

Violet’s to blame for that. Or to credit, depending on how you look at it.

Somehow, she and I have settled into something dangerously close to a routine. Work, home, eat, fuck, sleep. A nice steady pattern. Last night, she offered me her leftover takeout. The night before, I sat through half an episode of some shitty reality competition show while she ranted about her favorite contestant being eliminated. The temperature in the apartment isn’t hostile anymore. It’s almost… normal. Peaceful, even. And that alone should be a warning.

Peace never lasts. Not in my line of work, not in my life in general. It’s a fragile thing, easily shattered, and I’ve learned the hard way that when things start to feel easy, it usually means something else is about to go to hell.

The sharp ring of my cell phone cuts through the silence, jolting me out of my thoughts. I snatch it up before it can ring a second time, not bothering to check the caller ID before answering.

“Kane.”

“Long time, big brother. What have you been up to?”

I smile despite myself at the sound of Whit’s voice– my little brother and a goddamn thorn in my side. “Some of us work for a living,” I reply, rubbing at the edge of my jaw, tension easing a fraction.

He snorts a laugh. “You still drowning in pack bullshit, or did you finally get over your control issues and learn how to delegate?”

“You know what Dad used to say,” I sigh, swiveling in my chair and letting my gaze drift toward the skyline beyond the window. “If you want something done right, do it yourself.”

“Isn’t that what put him in an early grave?” Whit jokes lightly. “Might wanna rethink that strategy. I’d like you around till you’re old and gray.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter.

Humor may be his coping mechanism, but it’s not mine. Our parents dying in the line of duty isn’t a punchline. It’s a constant reality for me; a weight I carry every time I send enforcers out on assignments that might turn sideways. Every decision echoes with the reminder that sometimes doing everything right still isn’t enough.

“Anyway,” Whit says, mercifully changing the subject. “We need to catch up. You got time to meet up at the lake this week?"

"Uhhh” I draw out the word, dragging a hand through my hair. “I’ve been staying in the city lately. But I’ll see what I can do.”