Page 11 of Roguefinder

His smile remained as pristine as his hair and suit. “You know I don’t meddle in werewolf or vampire business, Jesse. But I’ve always appreciated your help.” He gestured to the photos. “I’ve passed this information on to you as a favor. If I require more help from you in the future, I hope you’ll feel inclined to give it.”

Without warning, the photos slid across the desk and into the folder, which promptly snapped itself shut.

Sterling stood, the office’s soft lighting gilding his hair and the hint of stubble on his square jaw. “I have a dinner meeting at eight. The storms are unusual. Traffic will be even worse.”

We’d been dismissed.

I stood, and Caleb rose with me. “Thank you for the lead on Gesualdo,” I told Sterling.

His eyes warmed, the green like jade as he moved his gaze from me to Caleb. “The pleasure was mine.”

Chapter

Three

CALEB

Jesse was silent on the cab ride to the townhouse. He was locked down tight, not even a hint of his emotions leaking across our bond.

But I didn’t need the mate bond to know how he felt. The blast of anger he’d sent my way in Sterling’s office had been hot enough to singe my eyebrows.

Jesse was pissed off, and I couldn’t blame him. I’d agreed to keep my mouth shut and then did the opposite. Way to go, me. I’d be lucky if he ever trusted me again.

The cabbie dropped us a couple streets from the townhouse. The rain came down in sheets now, and Jesse and I fell into a jog without speaking. By the time we reached home, my hair was plastered to my head and the back of my neck had turned into a small river.

Jesse let me in first. Two steps into the foyer, I rounded on him.

“I’m sorry about—” My sentence ended in a grunt as he planted a palm in the center of my chest and pushed me against the wall. Then his tongue was in my mouth and his big body was crowding mine. He pinned me in place, his hand splayed over my chest while he stroked and sucked. Pressing harder on my chest, he nipped my lower lip before going deep again.

Confusion and desire swirled in my head. My brain was like a circuit board frying, sparks and smoke filling my skull. Jesse was angry, but he tongue-fucked my mouth like I was a bag of cotton candy.

My mind couldn’t process it, but my dick handled it just fine. I slid my hands into Jesse’s hair and rocked my hips against his, grinding our erections together. Lust fired hot in my veins, and I deepened the kiss, tasting rain on his lips.

He pulled back and stared down at me with eyes the color of whiskey. “Are you ready for me?”

My hole clenched in anticipation. “I could be,” I managed, sounding like I’d eaten sandpaper for dinner.

He stepped back, taking his body heat with him. His face was inscrutable, his emotions still firmly tucked behind whatever wall he’d conjured in his head to keep me out. “Then go upstairs,” he said. “Come find me when you’re finished.”

My dick had no complaints. My stomach remembered how annoyed he’d been since Sterling’s office. “You don’t want to talk about what happened?”

He didn’t move. He just stood there, pinning me without touching me. Then, slowly, his eyes lightened to champagne. Between one breath and the next, his wolf stared down at me.

The slightest smile curved Jesse’s lips. “We’ll talk,” he said softly.

Oh…shit. The circuit board in my head burned hotter, wires melting and turning to goo. But my dick, which apparently possessed zero sense of self-preservation, perked up like a dog hearing the rattle of its leash.

“Okay,” I said, my voice all fluttery and pathetic. Jesus, I sounded like Blaine.

The memory of the secretary’s silver collar was seared into my brain like someone had branded it there. I’d wondered if Sterling was gay, but he was clearly bi. And if I had to guess, Blaine had wanted to be tied up in those red ropes instead of filing paperwork and emptying trashcans.

Jesse gave me a knowing look like he’d read my mind. “Be quick about it,” he said, then turned and stalked toward the kitchen.

I leaned against the wall, my head spinning a little. Dick drunk. What the fuck was he planning? Maybe Sterling had given him ideas, and he was on his way to find rope and a crop. He’d tied me up before. Maybe he’d bind me and edge me until I earned his forgiveness. He might leave me hanging all night, so to speak, my orgasm dangling like a prize I couldn’t quite reach. He was really fucking good at rushing me right to the brink only to haul me back. Ad nauseam.

God, this was going to suck. Why couldn’t I have minded my own business in Sterling’s office? And where did that arrogant asshole get off calling me a himbo?

He’d claimed he heard it around. So who the fuck had told him that? Stefanos? I tried to imagine the slight, elegant Greek elder using that kind of slang.