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‘Cept, usually, he only holds a few seconds before he’s storming away or barking me onto my knees.
I stroke his neck, feeling the prickly pieces of his perfectly gelled brown hair. He vibrates my fingers when I drag him closer. Even his scent is tense. Sharp and fizzy. “What’s up?”
Soon as I break the sound barrier, Bishop struggles free. “My cock if you don’t stop clinging.”
Always salty.
“That’s not a problem.” I lick my lips, but when he starts counting his buttons like he’s hiding something, it’s impossible to go full chub. The fuck happened now? “What was your call about?”
“Jin’s on his way,” Bish answers. “He’ll tell you himself.”
I squint, planning an attack, but before I can force another hug, I hear my favorite sound—the door beep.
Reese has a stack of pizzas, a case of beer, and our fearless leader at his side.
I rocket between them, hooking their shoulders and grinding into the stormy scent of Jin’s suit collar like the golden retriever they left caged all day with no treats.
“Dude. Pizza.” Reese wriggles away, balancing his boxes, so I have both arms to go after Jin.
I’m not much less dominant than him, but there’s alpha and there’s alpha. I’m man enough to admit that Jin’s energy is everything I need.
‘Sides. Our leader has enough juice to spare me an extra squeeze.
“You’ve been working too much,” I complain, rubbing his shirt.
Jin strokes my neck with a dark chuckle. “Hard work is about to pay off.”
He doesn’t push me out, all shy and shady like Bish. Even without an official bond, Jin knows what I crave.
Never letting go, he backs me to the futon and rubs his cheek against mine, giving me his scent before he drops me on my ass, sitting me between him and Reese.
I wish Bishop would pile in with us instead of sitting in his special armchair throne, but with the four of us around the coffee table, ‘least my heart pumps blood instead of dust bunnies.
Thigh-to-thigh, shoulder-to-shoulder, skin-to-skin.
So warm.
So fucking good.
I never feel home unless they’re here.
Wish we could be together alllllll the time.
“Tell them.” Bish folds his arms over his starched shirt, deflating my high before I can hit the ceiling.
Right. The simmering under-problem.
The scent of pepperoni pizza hides the swirling pheromones, giving zero clues. I squint at our packleader. “What’s going on?”
Jin whips out an envelope. “Kairo gave us a job.”
“You took it?” Reese mirrors my squint—the one that says you must be fucking kidding me in the secret language of our pack.
Bish and Jin trade a bullshit look that tickles my bones and spells trouble.
“We have to stop an auction.” Jin slaps a bougie gold invitation on top of the pizza box tower.
I blink.
