“Don’t come until I say or I won’t let you get off for a month,” Sullivan warned, a far more effective threat of punishment, and sank into him.
Tobias threw his head back and held on for dear life.
* * *
Later, as promised, Sullivan cuffed Tobias’s wrists and ankles, and caned lines of agony into his skin and muscles until Tobias begged, and then he came with furious, painful jerks of his hips at a single stroke of Sullivan’s hand. And later still, Sullivan rubbed lotion into the marks on Tobias’s ass and thighs, soothing the burn with light, tender touches and soft, devoted kisses along the curve of his spine.
“That’s my good boy,” Sullivan whispered and Tobias smiled dozily at his leather cuff and felt hugely, impossibly loved. “You’re so sweet for me. How’s the pain?”
“Perfect,” he murmured.
He surfaced slowly over the next hour, rolling so that he could slide a thigh over Sullivan’s hip, and he was both wonderfully, delightfully sore, and thunderously, ridiculously content. They talked about school and work and the arcane, ordinary details of grocery shopping and laundry that made up a shared life, and gradually the conversation tapered toward sleep.
On Tobias’s side, at least. Turned out Sullivan wasn’t sleepy at all, because Tobias felt Sullivan take a deep breath before he murmured, “Eske ou ta vle marye avèk mwen?”
Tobias’s head jerked up so fast it almost hurt.
Sullivan was pale, but his eyes were as steady as ever. He meant it. Not that Sullivan would ask Tobias that and not mean it, but it was...Bondye, this was really happening. There’d been a few dropped hints from Sullivan over the past six months that this might be their eventual destination, but Tobias hadn’t given it too much thought. He knew where they stood, he knew how they loved. The collar and cuff told him everything he needed to know.
Turned out he’d been cavalier about how grateful he would feel when they got here.
“In Kreyòl no less,” he managed.
Sullivan’s lips twisted up into a self-conscious smile. “Mirlande helped me with my pronunciation.”
“Remind me to thank her.”
“Sure thing.” Sullivan chuckled, laughing at Tobias probably, but he didn’t care. He was dumbstruck, and when his brain stopped working, it fell back on the default, and as far as defaults went, manners wasn’t a bad one. But it also meant that once he’d gotten the polite thing out of the way, he could only stare at this beautiful, whip-smart, sly man who was staring back with growing expectation.
Finally, Sullivan said, “Seriously? You’re killing me here.”
Tobias laughed, low and—he could be honest—a little damply. Right. It hadn’t occurred to him that he would need to say the word—sometimes it felt like Sullivan was in his brain with him, like he knew what Tobias was thinking almost before he thought it—but for some things, words were priceless. “Yes.”
Sullivan’s grin was slow and wide and so very warm. “Yeah? You’re saying yes?”
“Yes,” Tobias whispered. “Of course, yes.” He pushed Sullivan on his back and sprawled over him so they could kiss. Tobias couldn’t breathe, couldn’t imagine how this could possibly be his life. He kissed Sullivan again and again, eager, bruising kisses because he’d lost all semblance of propriety and all he could think was that this man was his, his to kiss and talk to and touch and laugh with and have, forever.
“You want a ring?” Sullivan asked.
“What do I need a ring for? I have a cuff.”
“What am I supposed to wear?” Sullivan’s grin was audible.
“We’ll get you a cuff too.”
“Oh, really?”
“You belong to me as much as I belong to you.” Tobias twisted in Sullivan’s arms so he could peer at his face. “Don’t you?”
Sullivan’s expression softened. “Oh, yeah, sweetheart. I’m all yours. Do with me as you will.”
Tobias smiled and sank back down into his arms. “I think I’ll start with making you the happiest man alive.”
“Too late,” Sullivan whispered, nosing at his ear. “Been that for a long while now.”
“Can’t be. I am.”
Sullivan snorted. “We’re so fucking sappy. It’s embarrassing. I’m profoundly embarrassed on behalf of both of us. But I guess that’s how engagement goes, yeah? Like, if you can’t get sappy when you make a promise like this, when can you? Hey, you know what I read the other day? Apparently in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries there were these interlocking engagement rings called Gimmal rings, and they would be worn separately during the engagement and then linked during the wedding. Kinda romantic, huh? And Gimmal rings likely led to the development of puzzle rings, which are cool, you’d like ’em...”
Sullivan rambled on, segueing from betrothal rings to diamond rings to the four Cs of diamond shopping, and Tobias closed his eyes and held on tightly, unwilling to miss a single word.
* * * * *
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Embry was sure nothing but vengeance would satisfy him—until Brogan offers him something far more tempting.
Read on for an excerpt from
BAD JUDGMENT
Chapter One
“There are men you wouldn’t mind dying for, Brogan,” Timmerson said, his gaze distant, as if he were daydreaming about one of the good presidents. Lincoln, maybe. “Then there are men like Joel Henniton.”
Brogan Smith sighed. He’d been working for Security Division for three years now and this was the first time he’d heard his boss—polite, reserved Pete Timmerson—willing to bad-mouth a client.
“By that you mean...”
Timmerson reluctantly admitted, “He’s a dick.”
“And I’ve worked with dicks before,” Brogan said, resigning himself to another detail of annoying client behavior. Then he realized exactly what he’d said and added, “That’s not how I should have phrased that. Sorry.”
Timmerson’s lips twitched. He was tall and dark-skinned, with ears that stuck out and a low, soothing voice that he put to good use calming down people
