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Dropping his eyes, he looked down his pecs and his abs, to his enormous arousal just as Rahvyn’s hand circled his shaft. He barely had time to bark out her name before he was tackled by the most powerful orgasm he had ever had. Throwing a hand out blindly, he grabbed on to something, a blanket, a sheet, whatever, and pulled it over his cock.
He caught the jets just in time.
He couldn’t say the same for his balance. As he listed to the side, the bed came up and kept him from hitting the floor—of course it was the other way around, but he was absolutely off the damned planet so it sure as hell seemed like he was still on his feet. And the flop was not the most manly thing, but Rahvyn didn’t seem to mind.
As the initial spasms passed, she moaned in the back of her throat and then did some exploring of her own. Which made him start to release all over again.
Stretching out across the foot of the bed, he watched her face as she peeled the blanket off him and stared at his ejaculations with rapt attention as they marked up his six-pack.
Fuck it.
Those angels could wait a little longer.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Arcshuli, son of Arcshuliae the Younger, was done with the waiting. Pulling his Tesla into the shallow parking area of a modest ranch house, he canned the car and glanced around the quiet neighborhood. Vampires hiding in plain sight. It was genius—and banal as fuck. Middle America, with its average joes who liked football and porno and books about war, sitting in their average houses with the nice hardwood floors, didn’t really interest him. But then, he was an asshole.
Probably why he knew all the words to Denis Leary’s magnum opus.
Getting out, Shuli jacked up his fawn-colored suede pants, then brushed at the thighs just because he liked the feel of the supple leather. And maybe because he was nervous. After that, he fucked with the collar of his animal-print silk shirt. He was pulling a neo-sixties, mod vibe tonight, but he wasn’t sure he was feeling all the Harry Styles style.
The lights were out in the house, which wasn’t right, and he checked his phone just to double-triple-hundredth-time check the no-texts, no-calls state of things.
None. Still.
“What are you doing, Nate,” he muttered as he shoved the cell into his ass pocket and got walking.
Heading around the side of the garage, he noted the coiled garden hose, green as a lawn should be, and the orderly arrangement of recycling and garbage bins. Out the far side, the backyard was narrow and shallow, the porch that anchored the rear of the ranch free of all furniture as part of the winter lockdown that persisted.
No lights on in the kitchen, either. Not even for security.
Then again, the inhabitants lived mostly in the basement, except when it was, hello, dark out, so shouldn’t there have been some lamps on? Unless of course, everyone was at work—
Brrrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinngggggg.
“Fucking finally,” Shuli said as he jammed his hand around his phone and whipped it out of his ass.
Not Nate. Their boss.
He answered. “Hey, yeah, I just pulled up to Nate’s house. I still don’t know where he is—what?… no, it’s cool. I have the codes. I’m just going to—no, his parents gave them to me. They’re chill… yeah, I’ll call you back after I’m inside.”
As he ended the connection, he shook his head. Great, so their boss was looking for Nate, too. Then again, the guy always showed up for work. Always answered calls, even when he didn’t want to. Always was willing to hang out. Even when he didn’t want to.
Stepping up onto the pressure-treated porch, Shuli went over to the sliding glass door. He’d heard that the Black Dagger Brother Vishous had kitted out these satellite homes with all kinds of security—so he was well aware, as he entered a numeric sequence on a keypad, that his breaching the seal would be recorded, and maybe even followed up on.
But Murhder had given him access because they all knew that Nate had some special circumstances he was dealing with.
All of which had gotten even more special a couple of nights ago.
And yeah, sure, he thought as he stepped through and slid the door closed behind him, he could have just hit up the ’rents and flagged the fact that it was weird he hadn’t heard from his best friend in twenty-four hours—but what if he was merely being paranoid? What if he was wrong to be worried?
What if Nate was perfectly fine, going about his business, just not feeling like talking to his ol’ pal Shuli and late for the extra shift he’d picked up to make more moolah. Or what if the guy was turning over a new leaf and getting better friends, and there had just been a miscommunication with the construction company’s work schedule?
