Plague #2
Whiskey's hands are under my shirt now, palms flat against my stomach, fingers tracing the edges of muscle. He's mouthing at my throat, leaving marks I'll have to cover tomorrow, and when his teeth scrape against my pulse point, I make a sound that's embarrassingly close to a gasp.
"There it is," he murmurs against my skin. "Knew you had it in you."
"I will kill you."
"Promises, promises."
Valek's hand tightens on my neck. His eyes meet mine when I pull back from the kiss, and there's something almost vulnerable in them.
I don't know what I'm doing either but I'm here.
I don't remember deciding to move. One second I'm caught between them in the living room, the next I'm against my bedroom door with Whiskey's mouth still working against my throat and Valek looming somewhere to the side.
My hand finds the doorknob behind me and twists. We spill through the threshold and Whiskey kicks the door shut without looking, the sound of it slamming echoing through my skull alongside the rapid-fire pulse pounding in my ears.
My room is dark except for the blue glow of my alarm clock. Late enough that no one should come looking for us. Early enough that we have time.
Time for what?
I don't let myself finish the thought.
Whiskey's mouth finds mine again, swallowing whatever protest I might have mustered. His hands are everywhere. My shoulders, my waist, sliding up under my turtleneck to map the planes of my stomach with those rough callused palms. I make another humiliating sound against his lips.
Valek moves behind me. His chest presses against my back, solid and warm despite the perpetual coolness I've come to associate with him. His lips brush the shell of my ear.
"Bed?"
It's an actual question, not a command. I appreciate that more than I want to admit.
"Bed," I manage.
Valek walks me backward with a hand on my hip. Whiskey's still attached to my throat. The backs of my knees hit the mattress and I sit down hard, which they take as an invitation to crowd in from both sides.
Whiskey drops to his knees on the floor between mine. Valek perches beside me, one arm braced behind my back, his mouth finding the hinge of my jaw.
This is fine.
This is fine and I am in control of it.
"Wait," Valek says.
Whiskey's hands freeze on my thighs.
"What?" I snap, because my voice has gone rougher than I'd like and I'd rather sound irritated than whatever I actually am.
"Ivy," Valek says simply.
Whiskey tilts his head up, eyebrows drawing together. "As much as I fuckin' love the idea of getting our little lady involved, if we pop up anywhere near the loft while Wraith's eating, she's gonna fucking flip."
"But she won't mind?" Valek asks.
I open my mouth.
Whiskey beats me to it. "Nah, I don't think so. She reads spicy fics about you two. She told me."
"She what?" I snap.
Whiskey's already getting his phone out, his thumbs flying across the screen with a speed that should not be possible for hands that meaty. "Let's just ask her."
I lunge for his phone.
He rolls sideways, holding it above his head with one arm while fending me off with the other, and Valek watches us grapple with the cool detachment of a man observing wildlife.
Whiskey's phone buzzes.
He holds me back with one palm splayed across my chest and reads it. His face splits into a grin.
"What did you say to her?" I demand.
He turns the phone toward me.
WHISKEY
Hey quick question
Can Plague suck Valek's cock?
IVY
if you send me a picture of my alphas having fun
The sound that leaves my mouth is not language.
It is the death rattle of my dignity.
"I'm not exactly her alpha," Valek says dryly, eyeing the phone.
Whiskey wrestles away from me. "Dude. She claimed you in front of the entire league. You confirmed it on the record tonight. And that wasn't just a cover, however much I think you're fuckin' tapped, bro."
And he yanks my pants down with zero ceremony.
I don't even have time to bitch at him about how I'd rather not hear his favorite word in bed. He inhales my cock all the way to the back of his throat with the same exact gusto he inhaled that fucking spring roll.
My head drops back against Valek's shoulder before I can stop it.
Whiskey doesn't pace himself. I'm sure Whiskey has never paced himself in his entire life, and tonight isn't the night he starts.
His hands pin my thighs apart like he's worried I might try to close them, which is a laughable concern given that my body has apparently relocated all decision-making authority to my cock, which is completely buried in his wet, hot mouth.
Valek's arm tightens around my waist.
"Breathe," he murmurs into my ear.
"I am fucking breathing."
"Through your nose."
I snarl something in Arabic that would make my grandmother disown me posthumously, and Valek laughs.
It's a rough, quiet sound, and his free hand slides up my ribs underneath my turtleneck and finds my nipple.
I bite down on the inside of my cheek to stop myself from making another one of those humiliating sounds.
This is simply a structured observation.
I'm gathering data to keep our mate safe.
Whiskey hums around me and I gather a lot of fucking data.
My fingers find his thick chestnut hair without permission. I tug once, testing, and he groans. The vibration travels straight up my spine and into whatever part of my brain still thinks it's in charge.
I tug again, harder, and Whiskey's eyes lift to mine, glassy and pleased, and he hollows his cheeks and takes me deeper, and the hand Valek has on my chest flattens over my heart like he's counting beats. His finger is dangerously close to my scar and I lock up.
"Focus," Valek says.
"On what," I grit out.
"Me."
I turn my head.
Valek's close. Too close. The scar Ivy left on his head is lit up silver like his eyes in the blue glow of the clock. He's so fucking close I can count his light lashes.
He closes the slight distance between us, leaning down to kiss me.
Valek's mouth tastes faintly of the tea he'd been nursing all night. Bergamot and something darker and bitter, and he kisses the way he plays chess. Slow opening, testing my response, pressing only where I give ground.
I give ground.
I tell myself I'm giving ground on purpose.
Whiskey is still working me over like he's got something to prove, and maybe he does. His hands slide up my thighs, thumbs digging into the crease where my hips meet my legs, pinning me in place when my hips start bucking against him.
Whiskey pops off my cock with an obscene sound that has my ears flaring.
"Bed proper," he announces, like he's calling a play.
Before I can formulate a response that conveys the appropriate level of contempt, Valek's arm tightens around my waist and Whiskey's hands hook under my thighs and I am, to my absolute fucking horror, being moved.
Like a piece of furniture two alphas have decided needs to be repositioned for optimal use.
"Put me down," I snarl.
"Okay," Whiskey says cheerfully, already dropping me onto the mattress. "Shirt off or on?"
"On," I mutter.
The last thing I need is his eyes all over the scar over my heart.
Or Valek's, now.
Fuck, this is a stupid fucking idea.
He's already back between my thighs.
Valek settles against the headboard beside me, one leg folded under him, the other stretched out along the mattress. He's still mostly dressed. Of course he is.
I glance sideways at him. "Are you planning to participate, or are you simply here to audit?"
His mouth curves. "I was waiting for an invitation."
I start, but Whiskey's mouth is back on me and the sentence dies somewhere between my throat and my teeth.
Whiskey is loud even when he's not talking. The wet sounds of his mouth on my cock and his low growls fill the quiet room, and every time his throat tightens around me he makes this satisfied rumble that travels up my spine.
Valek watches him work for a moment.
Then, because apparently he has decided to participate after all, he slides a hand into my hair and turns my face toward his thigh.
He unbuttons his pants one-handed.
Because his other hand is in my hair.
The smug efficiency of it is almost more offensive than the actual situation, and I file a mental note to resent him properly for it later. When I'm capable of resenting anything beyond the fact that Whiskey has just taken me to the base of his throat.
I gasp, then growl, mostly at myself.
"There," Valek murmurs, and I don't know if he's talking to me or to Whiskey or to himself, but he guides my head toward his lap with the pressure of someone who already knows he'll get what he wants.
I open my mouth and the cock that slides past my lips is nothing like Whiskey's. Longer, but not as thick. Cool skin warming fast against my tongue. And something else that's cool.
Piercings.
Three of them, barbells all the way down his shaft.
His breath catches and his hand tightens in my hair. "Slowly," he says. "I'd like to remember this."
"Why?" I try to ask, irritated, but it comes out as another growl and makes his breath leave him in a whoosh. His fingers flex against my scalp and for the first time in the entire duration of our acquaintance, I have the upper hand on Valek fucking Carter.
He doesn't respond.
I take him deeper, his piercings cold against my tongue.
He makes another sound, quieter.
There.