Chapter 3 The Reluctant Protector #2
I glanced at the mirror-lined wall across from me.
My reflection stared back, all sharp angles and old scars.
Pale skin that never saw sunlight. Steel-gray eyes that had forgotten how to hold anything soft.
Dark hair cut military-short because anything longer felt like a liability, like something an enemy could grab hold of in close combat.
But there was color in my cheeks now. Heat under my skin. The ghost of Dom's grip still burning around my wrists.
I looked like exactly what I was.
A weapon someone had forgotten to dismantle. But one that could still feel the warmth of a brother's hands, even if only in violence.
“Feeling human is luxury,” I said quietly, more to my reflection than to Dom. “I cannot afford luxuries.”
He opened his mouth to answer, probably to call me on my bullshit the way he always did, but my comm buzzed. Sharp. Urgent. Adrian's voice crackled through, clipped and formal in the way that meant business, not brotherhood.
“My office. Now.”
I pulled the comm from my ear and wiped sweat from my neck with the towel Dom had been using. He made a face but didn't complain. Smart man. He knew when to push and when to shut up.
“Guess playtime's over,” he said, and there was something in his voice now. Concern, maybe. Or just the awareness that when Adrian used that tone, someone's life was about to change.
“Playtime,” I repeated, and couldn't quite keep the edge of warmth from my voice. “Is that what we call it when you make me work for my morning coffee?”
“I call it keeping you sharp.” He tossed me a water bottle. I caught it without looking. “Someone's got to make sure you don't go completely feral.”
“Too late for that.”
“Yeah.” His grin softened into something more real. Something that looked almost like affection. “But at least you're our feral bastard.”
I didn't answer. Just stripped off the training gloves and headed for the door, boots echoing against the polished floor like gunfire.
Each step measured. Controlled. The way I'd learned to move through the world after Anya died.
After I realized that caring about anything meant watching it bleed out while you stood there useless, powerless, too fucking late every single time.
The door to Adrian's office was already open.
I could see firelight flickering inside, smell the cigar smoke and expensive scotch that always clung to the air around him like a signature.
He stood by the fireplace, tailored suit immaculate despite the late hour, looking every inch the predator he was.
Calculated. Controlled. Dangerous in ways most people didn't recognize until it was too late.
Adrian Calloway. Scarred face. Ruthless mind. The kind of man who'd burn the world down for the people he loved and sleep soundly afterward because he knew he'd made the right choice.
He'd saved my life once. Pulled me out of the gutter when I was half-dead and fully broken, gave me purpose when I had nothing left but ghosts and guilt and a loaded gun I'd been too much of a coward to use. I owed him everything.
Which meant when he said jump, I asked how high and didn't complain about the landing.
Noah was already there, curled in one of the leather chairs with a laptop balanced on his knees.
Dark hair falling into his eyes. Focused on whatever he was working on with the kind of intensity that made the rest of the world disappear.
He looked different than when I'd first met him a year ago.
Softer somehow. Less haunted. Like Adrian had somehow managed to sand down the sharp edges of trauma without breaking what made Noah himself.
He glanced up when I entered. Smiled. Warm. Real. The kind of smile that made it obvious why Adrian had gone to war for him.
“Viktor. Hey.” He closed the laptop. “Adrian said you were coming.”
“Noah.” I nodded. Respectful. He'd earned it.
I stopped in the doorway, waiting. Adrian liked control. Liked making people come to him. I understood it. Respected it, even.
“Close the door,” Adrian said without turning around. “Sit.”
I moved to the empty chair across from Adrian's desk. Before I could sit, Noah stood.
“Actually, take this one. Better angle to see the files.” He gestured to the chair he'd been occupying.
“Is fine where I am—“
“No, really. I insist.” Noah was already moving, laptop tucked under his arm.
He perched on the arm of my chair. Casual. Easy. Then, without warning, slid directly into my lap.
I froze.
Noah settled against me like it was the most natural thing in the world. Back pressed to my chest. Ass nestled against my thighs. My hands came up automatically. Instinct. Years of training. Steadying. Grounding. My palms found his waist. Held there.
“This works,” Noah said brightly, reopening his laptop. “Adrian, you were saying something about the royal contract?”
Adrian's mouth twitched. His eyes met mine over Noah's shoulder. Amused. Knowing. “Viktor is being assigned to the royal family.”
The words slid between my ribs and settled there like a blade I couldn't pull out.
I did not move. Did not breathe. My hands stayed on Noah's waist. Holding. “No.”
“Not a request, Viktor.” Adrian crossed to the sideboard, poured three scotches.
“We are ghosts,” I said, keeping my voice level. “Not palace décor. You taught me that.”
Noah shifted slightly. My hands tightened on his waist. Steadying him. Or steadying myself. His body heat seeped through layers of fabric.
“Décor does not put a man down from a hundred yards in the rain.” Adrian set drinks on the desk. “That is why they asked for you specifically.”
My jaw ached from clenching. “So this is what Sentinels are now. Suits and photo calls.”
“This is what Sentinels are now,” Adrian said. “Visible where it helps us. Invisible where it matters.”
“Actually,” Noah interjected, scrolling through something. “The legitimacy angle is smart. I've been monitoring palace security protocols.” His fingers moved across the keyboard. “Their current detail is adequate. But not excellent. Too many gaps.”
He leaned forward to point at the screen. My hands guided him. Kept him balanced. His ass pressed more firmly against my thighs. Against my cock.
My grip on his waist tightened. Just slightly. Just enough to feel the lean muscle under fabric. Just enough to guide him back. Settling him more firmly in my lap.
Noah made a soft sound. Not quite a gasp. Not quite a sigh. His hips rolled. Testing. My hands on his waist guided the movement. Subtle. Controlled. A gentle pressure that suggested more than demanded.
He responded. His body moving with my guidance. A slow grind that made my cock thicken.
“Here,” Noah said, voice steady despite the movement. “East corridor. No camera coverage for forty-seven seconds during shift change.”
My hands stayed on his waist. Fingers spread. Holding. One thumb traced slow circles against his hip bone. Encouraging. He shifted again. This time deliberate. Following the suggestion in my touch.
“Which is why Viktor goes in,” Adrian said. His eyes tracked every movement. “To fix what is broken.”
“I did not sign up to babysit crowns.” My voice came out rougher. My hands guided Noah's hips in another slow roll. He followed the pressure. Grinding down.
“You signed up for me,” Adrian said. “For what we are building.”
Noah pulled up another file. “The crown prince has survived four assassination attempts in eighteen months.” His hips moved again. My hands encouraged the rhythm. Gentle guidance that he followed like we'd practiced this. “Someone wants him dead.”
“Or both,” Adrian said. “Which is why we need our best.”
My hands slid slightly lower on Noah's waist. Guiding him in slow circles. He leaned back against my chest. Trusting. Following every subtle pressure. His ass grinding against my hardening cock with increasing confidence.
“This makes us targets,” I managed.
“Everything I do is a calculated risk.” Adrian's eyes never left us.
Noah made another soft sound. My hands tightened on his waist. Guiding him harder. Showing him the rhythm I wanted. He responded immediately. Hips rolling with more pressure. More intent.
“The crown is leverage,” Noah added. His breathing had changed. Slightly faster. “Once you protect the prince successfully, every high-value target in Europe will want Sentinel contracts.”
My thumb traced his hip bone again. Pressing. Directing. He ground down harder. Following instruction perfectly.
“In the dark,” I gritted out. “Where it belongs.”
“Where it belongs,” Adrian agreed. Watching. Always watching.
Noah leaned forward to point at something. My hands guided his return. Pulled him back firmly against my chest. Against my now fully hard cock. He gasped. Soft. Barely audible.
“The palace security budget is substantial,” Noah continued. Voice slightly strained. My hands encouraged another roll of his hips. “If we can prove our worth—“
He broke off. My hands had guided him into a harder grind. Deliberate. Controlled. Showing him exactly what I wanted.
“I know the fire,” Adrian said. “The King needs someone who understands protection.” His gaze pinned me. “So do you.”
My jaw locked. “This is different.”
“Is it?” Adrian leaned forward.
Noah's hand came to rest on my thigh. Grounding. My hands on his waist pulled him back. Encouraged another grind. He obeyed beautifully. Moving with the pressure. Learning the rhythm.
“How long,” I managed.
“Temporary,” Adrian said. “A few months. Then you come back.”
Noah shifted. Turned slightly. My hands guided him through the movement. Keeping him balanced. Keeping him grinding. His eyes were warm. Darker than before.
“You'll do well,” he said. Then, without warning, he slid off my lap.
I expected him to stand. To move away.
Instead, he dropped gracefully to his knees. Disappeared under the desk like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Adrian's smile widened. “Noah has a point to make, it seems.”
I felt hands on my knees. Pushing. Spreading my legs apart. Noah settled between them. I could see the top of his dark head below the desk edge.
“We should continue,” Adrian said. Calm. Controlled. “Where were we?”
“Back to your side,” I forced out. Noah's hands were on my thighs now. Sliding up. “Where I belong.”
“Where you belong,” Adrian agreed. “You are my best man.”
Noah's hands reached my belt. I heard the buckle click. Felt him working my zipper.
“The data supports the contract,” Noah's voice came from under the desk. Slightly muffled. “Sentinel Network's reputation grows with successful high-profile assignments.”
My cock sprang free. Hard. Aching. Noah's breath ghosted over it. Hot. Deliberate.
“You cannot serve the crown and the underworld forever,” I said through gritted teeth. “Eventually someone makes you choose.”
“I will choose what keeps us alive,” Adrian said. His eyes were dark. Heated. Watching his husband work under the desk.
Noah's mouth closed over the head of my cock. Hot. Wet. Perfect.
I bit back a groan. My hands gripped the armrests. Adrian watched with the same intensity he brought to everything.
“The legitimacy angle is strategic,” Noah said, pulling off just long enough to speak. Then his mouth was back. Taking me deeper.
“I see Noah is making his case,” Adrian observed. “He's very thorough when he wants something.”
Noah hummed agreement around my cock. The vibration made my hips jerk.
“Just providing tactical support,” Noah said, stroking what he couldn't fit in his mouth. “The data is compelling.”
His mouth worked me with increasing confidence. Long pulls. Gentle suction. Tongue working the underside of my shaft.
I wanted to call it a mistake. But I had chosen Adrian once and I would choose him again.
And right now, that loyalty meant enduring Noah's very thorough argument while pretending to focus on business.
Adrian slid a sealed folder across the desk.
“When do I start.”
“Tonight,” Adrian said. “A car will be waiting.”
Noah's mouth worked faster. Harder. Taking me deeper. His hands gripped my thighs.
“Do not make me regret it,” Adrian said.
I nodded. Could not speak. Could only feel Noah's mouth. His tongue. The heat and pressure building.
Noah pulled off. Looked up at me from between my legs. Eyes bright. Mouth wet. “Good luck with the prince. Try not to fall in love.”
Then his mouth was back. Working me until I came hard down his throat with Adrian watching and the storm raging outside and a folder with a prince's name waiting on the desk.
Perfect weather for drowning.