The tease of cock and balls but nothing more made Kisho determined to suck all the reason from his mate. He used his tongue, the suction of his mouth, and his firm lips to pull Morgan into a glorious shout of ecstasy as he came hard down Kisho's throat. On the verge of coming himself, Kisho fought not to spill as he swallowed the thick cream over his tongue.
Unable to stop himself, Kisho eased his hand over his own cock.
“That's it, little fox. Bring yourself off. Let me watch you. Take your shorts down. Show me that rosy shaft. Yeah, and spread your legs.” Morgan pulled back. He tucked himself back inside his jeans and refastened them. Then he stared down at Kisho, his expression one of need and affection.
Kisho couldn't resist. Though his beast wanted to fuck and be fucked, he wanted to play as well. Morgan commanded; he obeyed. The thought of doing whatever Morgan told him to do only increased his desire. Kisho pushed his shorts down, and his cock sprang up, wet and hard.
His balls ached, especially when Morgan licked his lips again.
“Want to come in your mouth,” Kisho muttered as he stroked himself, on edge and hard as hell.
“No. I want to watch. I want to see you spill, that milky white cum sliding down that long cock. Then I want to lick it up.”
Kisho moved his hand faster and widened his legs, hungry for Morgan. Eager to please, though he should have stayed far away from the sin of temptation packaged around that handsome face.
“I love your spice. Cinnamon, my favorite,” Morgan said on a sigh as he inhaled. He never took his gaze away from Kisho's rapidly moving hand. “Oh, yeah. That's it. You're wet, little fox.
And so thick. You're going to feel so good inside me.” Kisho groaned, unable to keep his pleasure silent.
“So pretty. I wish I had the words to describe you, kitsu.” Hearing the special name pushed Kisho further.
“Come for me. Right now. Let me see how much you'll give me. How much I need to lap from that fucking hot cock.”
Kisho groaned as he gripped himself and spewed. Morgan watched him as if mesmerized.
And Kisho continued to come, his beast urging him to display himself to the fullest.
Morgan dropped to his knees and brought his mouth over Kisho, catching the fall of cum and drinking it down in greedy gulps. When Kisho finally ceased, Morgan gently laved Kisho with his tongue.
Then Morgan backed away and stood. After wiping his mouth, he leaned close and kissed Kisho hard.
“Write about that.” He winked, then turned and left before Kisho could gather his wits to speak.
The door closed solidly behind him.
Kisho stared at it, then down at his flaccid shaft. The incident seemed more a dream than reality, but the connection that continued to grow between them refused to go away.
“Morgan, what am I going to do with you?” He sighed and looked down at desk. It was then he noticed the white rose sitting where his journal had been moments earlier. No thorns.
White. Sweet and rich.
And another of Kisho's inner walls came crumbling down.
He woke the next morning with the intention of confronting Morgan about the flowers and only the flowers. He entered the kitchen to find Jules once again missing. No sign of Morgan either.
Mrs. Sharpe sat with the rest of the team, minus Jack and Melissa, who were busy working on the grounds. “Kisho, come sit next to me. Fallon tells me you found Montaña's footprint yesterday.”
Kisho grabbed a plate and filled it up from the buffet laid out on the counter. He joined Mrs. Sharpe and the others at the long table. “I think I did. We traced the bills of some private docks to one of Montaña's lesser-used aliases. And no, I didn't
see
it. I happened on the coincidence after Fallon read some thug's mind.”
“The guy's in custody in New Orleans on attempted murder,” Fallon added. He leaned back and put an arm around Olivia's chair. “He tried to cut a deal with the state by sharing information about one of Montaña's mercs. He didn't tell the feds anything we didn't already know, but I dug through his thoughts and found the docks. I think the dock in Florida is where we should look next. Morgan mentioned Montaña's boat, and the coast of Miami is a logical place to search. I'm betting one of those places will get us closer, but we need to move now.”
“Morgan and Jules are already down there.” Mrs. Sharpe kept her eyes on Kisho, and her knowing look bugged the hell out of him. She said something else, but he couldn't hear her.
Morgan was gone. With Jules. They were alone.
Together.
A rush of fury made him itch to
change
. He gripped his fork in a tight fist, no longer hungry for eggs and bacon but for violence.
“Kisho,” Mrs. Sharpe snapped, “pay attention. I want you to focus for me after breakfast.
I've tried to give you time, but we have important work to do.” He glanced around the table to see the others staring at him. He drew in a deep breath and told his beast to relax.
We belong to Jules. It's okay. No problem. Jules doesn't want Morgan that
way
. After a heartbeat, his beast backed off before snarling,
He'd better not.
Tersch smirked at him and mouthed,
Lucky you
. He wiggled his brows at Mrs. Sharpe, as if the woman couldn't see him from the corner of her eye.
Kisho saw her try to smother a smile.
“Gunnar, I want you to meet with me after Kisho's done. We have work to do downstairs.” In the labs, she meant.
Tersch lost his smirk.
“Have fun, buddy,” Kisho rasped, trying hard to stem the jealousy that continued to course through his veins.
He picked at his food during the rest of the meal and ignored Fallon's attempts to communicate mentally. He left for Mrs. Sharpe's office before Olivia could intercept him.
Once inside, he sat on her couch and clutched his head in his hands.
What the fuck is going
on with me? Why should I care what Morgan does or doesn't do?
Within his mind, his beast roared.
He's my mate. Mine!
“Fuck off,” Kisho warned through gritted teeth. He clamped down on the urge to shift just as Mrs. Sharpe arrived.
She smoothed down the light pink skirt of the suit she wore. The lighter color emphasized the richness of her dark skin. The pearls around her throat accented those at her ears and enhanced her femininity while contrasting against the power in her chocolate brown eyes. The older woman seethed with energy, and Kisho's beast withdrew under her withering stare.
“Much better.” She huffed her approval and sat across from Kisho in a hard leather chair.
“Now it's time you used that foresight for something more than fearful glimpses into your own future. I want you to close your eyes, breathe deep, and focus on Morgan.”
“Huh?”
“We both know you have strong feelings for the man, be they positive or negative. Don't focus on the feelings, focus on Morgan. He's the one who found Delancey first. So use him to leapfrog to Delancey. Trust me. This will work. Push your personal feelings aside, Kisho.” Her voice lowered. “I'm afraid that if we don't find your ex-captain soon, bad things will happen to the team. Bad for Gunnar, especially.”
“Tersch?” He stared at her, wide-eyed. “I never saw him hurt. Jules and me, but not Tersch.”
“Like I said before, the future changes all the time. It's fluid, Kisho. Now flow with it.” Kisho took a deep breath, prepared to look beyond his issues to help the team. He needed to do whatever it took to ensure his friends' protection.
He lay down on the couch, slowed his breathing, and allowed his mind to trace the familiar pattern that showed him a world and timeline beyond his own.
“That's it,” he heard Mrs. Sharpe say. “Nice and easy. Flow with it, son. That's my boy.” She used the comforting words whenever he went under, and it soothed him, the way a small child felt comforted by his mother. He tried not to think of it in that light, but under the influence of her soft speech, he relaxed—protected, safe—and reached into the tendril of tomorrow.
Morgan's handsome face smiled back at him, warmth overflowing in those green eyes. The feel of his slick body surging against Kisho's excited him, but he forced the feeling aside.
Because after the excitement the dread came, and he needed to look for Jules and Tersch, to help his friends escape death.
Kisho concentrated. Mrs. Sharpe's soothing voice blanketed him, and he looked deeper.
Pressed closer. Something very near, very soon. And it was important…
Morgan gritted his teeth and wondered again why he'd agreed to let Hawkins tag along.
Jules was a pain in the ass, and not in a good way. The bastard tried to take charge of everything, and to a dominant male like Morgan, control meant everything.
“You know, I let you come along. I even let you drive this shitty boat. But I'm not letting you come aboard that cruiser with me. You'll scare my contact before I even get a good look at him.”
“
I'll
scare him?” Jules had the nerve to grin, and a hint of fang peeked out.
“Asshole.”
Jules chuckled. The cool breeze blowing by did nothing to wipe away his grin, but it made Morgan shiver.
“Believe it or not, I don't work for you.”
That
wiped away the smirk. “I work for Mrs.
Sharpe. Now, I found your boy Delancey.”
“Great, he's in the Southeast. Maybe you could narrow it down some,” Jules said with sarcasm.
“Maybe I could, if some dumbass squid wasn't breathing down my neck.” Jules gripped the steering wheel of the small boat they occupied.
Probably to keep from wrapping his hands around my neck.
Jules snarled, “When this is over, you and I are due for a long-ass talk.”
“Sorry, handsome, I'm taken.”
Before Jules could choke him, Morgan laughed his way out of the boat and jogged around the curve of land toward the nearly empty pier, where a large yacht named the
Emerald
floated.
Out here in the middle of nowhere, near some asshole's private island, his contact had told him to come alone.
Morgan stopped at the edge of the yacht. A feeling of wrongness overcame him. But before he could pull back, a familiar face stepped out of the shadows and put a finger to his lips.
He motioned hurriedly for Morgan to join him.
A glance up showed two swarthy men descending the stairwell to the upper level. They hadn't yet seen him, still engrossed in a heated conversation in thick Portuguese, Morgan's native tongue.
“He said Montaña killed Vicki. Why the hell would Tomas lie?” one of them said to the other.
“Shit, Francisco. I didn't want to tell you, but your sister is gone, man. Turned up a floater early this morning. Montaña hurt her bad.”
“
I'll kill him
!” Francisco swore and began ranting threats and curses against his hated boss.
Dissent was good, but Morgan wasn't exactly a welcome visitor. Sticking around to increase unrest wouldn't be wise.
He hurried to join his contact in the darkened interior of the cabin. Leather, teak, some Brazilian redwood inlaid in the glossy floor, glass tiles that probably cost a small fortune. All in all, an expensive boat, and one Tomas—his contact, a clever, talkative man Morgan had convinced to be his eyes and ears—shouldn't have been on. Tomas normally worked as his cousin's lackey.
And speaking of said cousin, Morgan whispered, “Where's Pablo?” Tomas nodded for him to ease back. They entered a smaller room off the main cabin, and Tomas closed them in the bathroom. Handcrafted ceramic tiles lined the full shower and accented the dual sinks, made of gold-veined marble.
“Pablo is in trouble. Montaña and his American friend, Delancey, have been partying on a yacht for a week, and just yesterday, the Florida authorities found three dead women in the waters.”
Morgan stilled.
Gotcha, you bastard
. “Where are they?”
“I don't know, exactly. Near Miami, I think. Pablo isn't answering my calls. When he found out one of the girls was Francisco's sister, he told. That's Francisco.” Tomas pointed to the door, through which Morgan heard the deep voice of a seriously pissed-off brother.
Banging and clanging sounded, followed by the pounding of running footsteps. What the hell was Francisco doing?
“This boat is Colonel Montaña's. I think he come back for it in a week or two. But I have to find Pablo. Can you help me?”
Morgan nodded. “Yeah. Can you get me on board as a crew member?” Tomas gave an emphatic shake of his head. “No. They kill me if they know I talked to you.
I—”
A loud boom that rocked the boat cut Tomas short. Without thinking about it, Morgan dragged Tomas out of the bathroom and hurtled them both out the backdoor of the cabin toward an open veranda.
The world suddenly went black as Morgan slammed through the railing and through the air. Fire, the scent of burning flesh, and pain, the likes of which he'd felt too many times before, filled him from head to toe. And then he heard a familiar voice that eased his worry.
“I knew you'd come.”
He stared at Kisho in wonderment and confusion. “When the hell did you get here?
Where's Tomas?” Morgan looked around but could see nothing but darkness. The light slowly
filtered in, and he saw Kisho's bedroom. Two jade foxes sat next to each other on the nightstand,
and Morgan sighed.
“Hell, I'm gone, aren't I?”
“Gone?” Kisho frowned. “What do you—”
“Never mind, kitsu. Now why don't you give me what you've been denying me for so very
long?”
Darkness pulled him under, and then Morgan broke through to incredible pleasure.
Warmth gloved him as he surged in and out of Kisho, finally joining with the man he'd been
destined for.
“That's it, little fox. Give me what I need.”
Pain in Morgan's chest flared and receded, but he couldn't stop fucking his mate. So right,
so perfectly right.
He groaned as the slow orgasm overtook him in a tidal wave of pleasure so strong, it
literally hurt. Blackness descended once more, but this time, he couldn't breach the fog of
heaviness around him.