Page 65

Logan knew what to do with his tongue, treating Roark to a slow, tortuous rimming that led to him writhing against the comforter, trying to rub his aching cock against the mattress. Logan’s evil side reared its head again and he grabbed Roark’s hips, yanked him back, impaling him on his tongue as he pinned Roark’s hips to the bed.

“F-fuck…fuck…please…” Roark moaned, trying to squirm, but Logan’s hands were like iron, or maybe it was just that tormenting tongue that left Roark unable to wiggle free enough to get the friction he craved.

Logan chuckled, the sound going right through Roark, who whimpered, on the verge of uttering another desperate plea until Rusty reached for him.

“H-hands,” Roark gasped, groaning when Logan stopped what he was doing.

“I will be ordering rope in the morning,” Logan declared. “As long as I only bind your wrists, you’ll still be able to drape your arms around my neck when you’re in my lap.”

Rusty moved his hands right back where they were supposed to be before grinning at Logan.

“Ropes, cuffs, shackles, you have fun ordering and I’ll have fun wearing them.”

“Noted,” Logan replied, prodding Roark’s entrance again, only this time it wasn’t with his tongue, it was with his short, thick cock.

The achingly slow stretch didn’t just torment him, it made Rusty groan and grip the sheets so he wouldn’t be tempted to move again and try to get in on the fun.

“What’s the view like?” Logan asked.

“He’s frustrated that you won’t let him rock and take more than you want to give him right now,” Rusty said, flicking his tongue out at Roark. “He’s glaring at me for telling you that, too. Been telling him for years that it’s more adorable than scary, but he keeps narrowing his eyes at me anyway.”

Rusty chuckled and flicked his tongue out again as Logan bottomed out and rocked instead of withdrawing, making Roark’s eyes start to roll back in his head.

“Now he’s flippin’ me off,” Rusty said, chuckles growing deeper the way they always did when he was growling in Roark’s ears, only this time he was tormenting him without laying a finger on him.

Logan thrust, driving the air out of Roark, forcing him to grab onto the pillow as his mate decided fun and games was over and started fucking him for real. Roark was more than ready for it. There was power behind every thrust and the way Logan yanked him back on his cock each time, skin slapping together, the pleasure so white hot and overwhelming that he closed his eyes, shuddering when he heard Rusty’s voice added to the constant slapping.

“Not flippin’ me off anymore, are you?” Rusty taunted. “You’re just squeezing that pillow, taking everything he gives you, the same as you do for me. Love the way you whine and those groans of pleasure he keeps fucking out of you. One of these nights we are both going to knot you at the same time, and you’re not going to be able to sit at your desk in the morning without thinking of us.”

Roark came, hard, the image taking root in his mind, shattering and then reforming hotter and dirtier than before just to shatter again. He heard Logan snarl as he pulled out, gasping, panting, because he hadn’t come yet, while Roark couldn’t have fucking moved, or opened his eyes, or told someone which direction the ceiling was if they asked. He felt the bed jostle as he melted against the comforter. Too blissed out to care about what they got up to next.

Chapter Nineteen

(Logan)

“Fudgin’ finally!” Logan hissed once he was finally able to hug Lysander, being careful not to tip the wolf over in his wheelchair.

Black and chrome, extremely maneuverable, and outfitted with more sheaths and blades than Logan cared to think about.

“Uncle Lysander!” Wren bellowed, nearly knocking Logan over in their haste to get to him.

Lysander leaned and scooped Wren up, holding them over his head while they laughed.

“Missed you, silly bean,” Lysander said.

“I missed you too!” They said, hugging him when Lysander lowered them enough to reach. “You have to see my new room and meet my brothers and sisters.”

“You know I will.”

“No hugs for us?” Ridge said, the golden-haired owl pouting, until Logan caught him in a headlock and mussed up his hair.

“Really? Not even thirty seconds before you start ruffling my feathers?” Ridge grumbled.

“How can I resist when it’s so easy to do?”

“You start ruffling mine, and I will bury you in the snow and leave you for your mates to dig out,” Tate threatened.

“Our usual greeting will suffice,” Logan said before fist-bumping him.