his gun belt. The scent of freshly cooked lamb with rosemary filled the foyer, and a quick glance into the dining room showed that the
No’One wasn’t among them as was usually the case.
Jogging up the stairs, he couldn’t deny the arousal that got harder and harder the higher he went. But the erection didn’t exactly make him happy.
When he got to his door, he gripped the knob and closed his eyes. Then, forcing the panels wide, he said, “No’One?”
Her shift would have been over for about an hour—Fritz had insisted that she have some time to ready herself for dining, something she had fought initially, but seemed to have been taking advantage of lately, as the Jacuzzi was always damp at its drain when he came back after fighting.
He hoped he wouldn’t catch her in the tub. He wanted a shower, and didn’t know how to handle the two of them in the bathroom naked together.
“Shut. Up.” He dropped his weapons and started to shuck his muscle shirt and his shitkickers. “No’One? You here?”
Frowning, he leaned into the bathroom, and found a whole lot of nobody.
No fragrance in the air. No draining water in the tub. No towels out of place.
Weird.
With a scattered head, he went back out into the corridor, hit the grand staircase and put the hidden door underneath it to good use. As he went through the underground tunnel, he wondered if she was in the pool.
He hoped she wasn’t. His cock prayed she was.
For godsakes, he didn’t know what the fuck to think anymore.
Except… she wasn’t floating, naked or otherwise, on its surface. And she wasn’t where the washers and dryers were. Not in the weight room or the locker room or the gym restacking towels. Not in the clinic area putting fresh scrubs in the shelving, either.
She wasn’t… there.
His trip back to the mansion took half the time of the jog out, and when he got to the kitchen, all he found was a shitload of
Stretching his senses out for the first time, he discovered… she wasn’t anywhere in the mansion.
A striking panic went through him, making his head hum—
No, wait, that was the sound of a… motorcycle?
The deep, rumbling growl made no sense. Unless Xhex had come home for some reason—which was good news for John—
No’One was out in front of the house. Right now.
Tracking his blood in her veins, he ran out across the foyer, shot through the vestibule, and… stopped dead on the top step of the entrance.
Xhex was on her Ducati, her black leather form fitting perfectly with the bike. And right behind her? No’One was sharing the seat, her hood off, her hair a frizzy mess, her smile as bright as the sun.
The expression changed as she saw him, tightening up.
“Hey,” he said, feeling his heart rate start to return to normal.
Behind him, he sensed someone else come out of the vestibule. John.
Xhex glanced at her mate and nodded, but did not cut the engine. Looking over her shoulder, she said, “You okay there, Mom?”
“Yes, indeed.” No’One dismounted awkwardly, her robe resettling down at her feet as if it were relieved to have the joyride over with. “I shall see you tomorrow night?”
“Yup. I’ll pick you up at three.”
“Perfect.”
The two females shared a smile that was so easy, he nearly teared the fuck up: Some kind of something had been reached between them… and if he couldn’t have his Wellsie and son back… yeah, he would want No’One to find her true family.
Looked like a step in the right direction had been taken.
As No’One walked up the steps, John traded places with her, going down to the bike. Tohr wanted to ask her where they’d gone, what she’d done, what had been said. But he reminded himself that sleeping arrangements notwithstanding, he didn’t have a right to any of that.
Which told him exactly how far they hadn’t come, didn’t it.
“You have fun?” he said as he backed up and held the door open for her.
“Yes, I did.” She gathered the hem of her robe and limped into the vestibule. “Xhex took me for a motorcycle ride—or is it motorbike?”
“Either one works.” Death trap. Donor cycle. Whatevs. “Next time, you wear a helmet, though.”
“Helmet? As in an equestrian one?”
“Not exactly. We’re talking about something a little sturdier than velvet with a chin strap. I’ll get you one.”
“Oh, thank you.” She smoothed the wisps that were all over her cap of blond hair. “It was so… exhilarating. Like flying. I was scared at first, but she went slowly. Later, though, I learned to love it. We went very fast.”
Well, didn’t that make him want to shit in a bag for the rest of his life.
And for once, he found himself wishing she was afraid. That Ducati was nothing but an engine with a goddamn seat bolted to it. One bounce off the back, and that delicate skin of hers would be nothing but red paint for the road.
“Yeah… that’s great.” In his head, he started to give her a safety lecture that revolved around the fundamentals of kinetic energy and medical terms like
“I’m famished. All that fresh air.”
In the distance, he heard the roar of that bike taking off, and then John came in looking like death.
The kid went directly to the billiards room, and ten to one, he wasn’t after a handful of honey-roasted—but there would be no talking with him. He’d made that pretty damn clear at the beginning of the night.
“Come on,” Tohr said. “Let’s go sit down.”
The usual din of conversation around the table quieted as they came through the arches, but he was too focused on the female walking ahead of him to care. The idea that she’d been out in the world on her own, roaring along in the night with Xhex, made her seem… different.
The No’One he knew would never have done something like that.
And, shit… for some reason, his body juiced at the thought of her in clothes other than that robe of hers, straddling that bike, her hair free from that braid and trailing into the night.
What would she look like in jeans? The good kind… the kind that hugged a female’s ass, and made a male want to do some riding of the non-cycle variety.
Abruptly, he pictured her naked and up against the wall, her legs spread, her hair unbraided, her hands cupping her breasts. Like a good boy, he was on his knees, his mouth on her sex, his tongue licking at that place he had learned so much about with his fingers.
He was sucking on her. Feeling her against his face as she arched up and got tight—
The growl that came out of him was loud enough to echo in the silent room. Loud enough to bring No’One’s surprised face around over her shoulder. Loud enough to make him seem like a total ass.
To cover his tracks, he made elaborate work out of pulling her chair from the table. Like the shit was brain surgery.
As No’One sat down, her own arousal drifted up into his nose, and he nearly had to strangle himself to keep another growl from vibrating up out of his chest.
Parking it in his own seat, his erection got pinched big-time behind his fly, and that was just fine. Maybe the blood supply would get cut off and the bitch would deflate—except… well, going on the cock-ring theory, the opposite would likely be true.
