Page 20 of Roguefinder

“Fuck,” he whispered, pressing his other fist into the mattress.

I gathered cum from his skin and forced the sticky mess inside again and again, sinking two fingers to the second knuckle. When I rubbed his prostate, he jerked hard and made a small, wrecked sound.

“Fuck, Jesse.” His hole clamped hard around my fingers, and he shivered. “I can’t take any more.”

“You can take a little more,” I coaxed. “This hole is so hungry for it, sweetheart. Gobbling me up.” He whimpered, and I eased my fingers deeper and worked his gland. He gave a soft cry as his walls contracted around me. “There you go,” I said. “You’re going to keep every drop where it belongs.”

He cursed again. But he sank to his forearms and pressed his cheek to the bed. With a sound that was half-sigh, half-whimper, he tipped up his ass in surrender.

Pride, lust, and satisfaction jumbled together in my chest. “There’s my good boy,” I murmured, smearing cum around his rim. I kept going, catching the trails of seed and pushing them back inside.

He shuddered, goosebumps rising on the backs of his thighs.

“You okay?” I asked, leaning over and kissing his shoulder. Lycanthropy came with advanced healing, but I’d been…vigorous.

He twisted to look at me, his eyes bleary and his face flushed. “I’m fine.” His lashes swept down as he sucked in a breath. “But if you don’t stop fingering me, I’m going to blow another load and then pass the fuck out.”

I pressed a final kiss to his damp skin, a smile curving my lips. “That’s one way to keep you quiet in front of Sterling.”

He groaned and turned his face into the bed. “You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?”

Chuckling, I pulled my fingers from his body and patted his ass, checking for broken skin. The bruises were already fading, and I urged him to his stomach and smoothed my palm down his spine. “You took your punishment, and it’s done. We don’t carry it past this bed. Understood?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, his voice muffled by the bedding.

I gave him a minute. Outside, the storm rattled the townhouse, the windows shuddering in their casements. Caleb lay boneless, his muscular body a landscape of red handprints and bite marks. Gorgeous.

“I’ll be right back,” I said. His grunt of acknowledgment followed me as I left the bed and fetched a warm washcloth from the bathroom. When I returned, he was still facedown, one arm dangling off the mattress. I sat beside him and drew the cloth over his shoulders and down his back.

“Roll over,” I murmured, and he obeyed, peeking up at me through gold lashes as I worked the cloth over his abs, his cock, the mess I’d made of his thighs. I guided one of his knees up, and he bit his lip when I blotted his hole. When I stepped back, a lazy smile curled the corner of his mouth.

“Thanks for the bath,” he said. “You going to tuck me in, Daddy?”

Snorting, I crossed the room and tossed the washcloth into the hamper. Then I returned to the bed and pulled him into my arms. He sighed and pressed his nose against my throat. I closed my eyes, breathing him in.

We lay like that for a while, tangled together with his head on my chest and one of his thighs hitched over mine. Rain pummeled the roof. The sounds of the London night intruded, distant horns blaring and the occasional car splashing past.

Eventually, I ran a hand down his hip. “How do you feel?”

“Like that chicken you made the other night,” he said.

A startled laugh escaped me. “What?”

He looked up. “You spent half an hour pounding it flat. That’s my ass right now. Bread me and stick me in the oven.”

More laughter shook my chest. Then my amusement faded, and worry crept in. “Was I too rough?”

“No.” He pulled free and lifted onto his elbow. “You don’t have to worry about hurting me, Jesse. I might be a slut, but I’m not a martyr. I’ll safeword out if I can’t handle something.”

Relief washed over me. I found his hand and threaded my fingers through his. “I didn’t mean to suggest you can’t handle yourself when it comes to sex. But I love you. It makes me irrational.”

His breath hitched. Emotion darted through his eyes so quickly that I might have missed it. But I’d seen it before. Disbelief—not that I loved him, but that he deserved it.

“I love you,” I repeated. “I also respect you. I want to make that very clear. What we do in bed doesn’t mean I think of you as any less capable. You’re young, not stupid, and you’re learning all the time.”

Silence stretched as he seemed to pick through my words, probably looking for traps or hidden meaning. He did that often, and I was certain he didn’t realize it. He was like a feral animal wary of kindness. Always, Caleb waited for the mask to come off and reveal the cruelty beneath.

He broke my heart. He made me want to gather him up and hold him until he trusted me. But trust didn’t work like that. I had to be patient—to continue loving him until he let down his guard for good.