Chapter 29
The door to Orien’s apartment clicks shut behind us, and I stand with my back to it, my palms flat on the cool surface.
We had ended up running back to where Orien had left his car, a mile from the compound, which was closer than my car. When we passed the spot where the SUV had blocked the road for me, though, my vehicle was nowhere in sight.
Orien had driven us back to Ashford Heights with one eye on the speedometer to stop himself from speeding, and his fingers threaded through mine the entire way.
Now, Orien’s hand settles firmly at my hip while the other plants on the wood beside my head. His head dips, his mouth a warm shock after the cold from outside, and I open to him without hesitation.
His tongue twines around mine, and my knees go weak. I breathe him in, letting his pheromones wrap around me, stronger and more immediate than the lingering traces in the apartment.
Orien’s grip tightens, fingers curling into my hip as his breathing quickens, the steady in-out of it a counterpoint to the beat of my pulse. His free hand cups the back of my neck, thumb brushing the raised edge of the Marks he left there.
I answer by dragging him closer, chest to chest, needing the solid contact of his body after the compound and that gut-punch moment of thinking he’d been shot. He crowds me back to the door, and I surrender to the pressure, the heat, and the simple, overwhelming fact that we’re both still here.
My jacket comes off first, shoved from my shoulders and dropped to the floor with a soft thump. Orien’s jacket follows mine to the floor, black on black.
I work the velcro tabs of the Kevlar vest free at his sides, and he lifts his arms to help me pull it free. It lands with a thud. His thermal comes next, dark fabric dragging up over his head, and my palms flatten over the warm skin of his chest.
He reaches for the hem of my sweater. “Arms up.”
I lift my arms to let him pull it over my head. The cold air raises goose bumps across my skin, but they vanish beneath the heat of Orien’s touch. His hands span my ribs, thumbs brushing my nipples, and my dick hardens in response.
Our shoes hit the floor, kicked aside with no regard for where they land. My jeans unbutton under Orien’s quick fingers, and I push them down my hips, stepping out of them while my mouth finds the junction of his neck and shoulder.
The compound, with its cold corridors, blank-faced security men, and Uncle Mikhail with his blood spreading across the front of his shirt, all feel far away. Here, there’s only the warmth of Orien’s body, the pressure of his hands, and the drugging pleasure of his mouth on mine.
My fingers work at his belt, then the button of his jeans, shoving them down his thighs. He kicks them away with one foot and steps closer, his hard cock nudging my stomach.
The apartment is quiet around us, the only sounds being our breathing and the occasional soft thud as another piece of clothing hits the floor.
Late afternoon light filters through the half-drawn blinds, casting long shadows across the floor.
The kitchen is visible from here, the breakfast dishes still in the sink from this morning, the half-empty coffee pot on the warmer.
This place is nothing like the compound with its marble floors, silent staff moving through the halls, and security cameras in every corner. It’s small and sparse and completely Orien’s.
It’s where he keeps his weapons cleaned and his coffee mugs organized by size. It’s where the books on the shelf are alphabetized, and the towels in the bathroom are folded into perfect squares.
It’s where, a week ago, I handed him my life and watched him accept it without hesitation.
Orien’s hand slides into my boxers, wrapping around my hard length. I gasp into his mouth, hips pushing forward into his grip. His other hand settles at the small of my back, holding me steady as his fingers work.
“I thought I was going to lose you,” he says, the words rough as they brush my lips. “When I found your car abandoned—”
“I’m here,” I cut him off. “I’m right here.”
My boxers hit the floor with the rest of our clothes, leaving nothing between us but skin and heat and the quick, urgent stroke of Orien’s fist around my dick and his fingers drawing slick from my hold before shoving inside.
My head falls back on the door, a moan breaking loose as his fingers curl just right.
“Bed,” I manage to gasp out. “Please.”
Orien’s mouth finds my throat, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below my jaw. “Yeah.”
He straightens, hands settling on my hips, and in one motion ducks and hauls me up over his shoulder. The blood rushes to my head.
“Orien—” I start, wiggling within his grip, my hard dick brushing his pec.
His free hand comes down once on my ass. “Be still.”
Then his fingers shove back inside me, finding my sweet spot, and whatever I was planning to say dissolves into a needy whine of surrender.
He carries me down the hall like that, working my prostate until I’m writhing and panting into the curve of his broad back, my toes curling with pleasure as my vision blurs from all the blood pooling to my head.
Orien’s fingers leave my body, but before I can protest their absence, he tips me forward off his shoulder. I land on my back on the cool sheets, already reaching for him without hesitation, my hand closing around his wrist to pull him down over me.
He comes willingly, his knee pushing between my thighs as he settles on the mattress. My legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back to hold him in place while my hands drag down the deep groove of his spine.
His mouth finds mine again, the kiss deeper now, his tongue curling around mine. One of his hands braces beside my head, while the other moves between us to wrap around both our lengths. The contact draws a gasp from me, and my hips lift to meet his hand.
“Inside,” I say, the word breaking on a moan. “Need you inside.”
He shifts, and the blunt head of his cock finds my entrance. Pressure builds, the tight ring of muscles offering up a moment of resistance, then the slow give as he pushes inside.
I relish every inch of the stretch, the fullness building as he seats himself to the hilt, and holds himself still to allow me time to adjust around him.
My inner muscles clench, pulling him deeper, and his breath leaves him in a sharp exhale through his nose.
“Move,” I moan. “Please.”
He withdraws almost all the way, the thick head of his cock stretching my rim until it catches, only to plunge back in with a force that sends a shockwave through my body.
He sets a deliberate rhythm, each thrust a claim, staking himself deep within me.
His hips slam into mine, pinning me to the mattress as he grinds into my ass.
There’s no space between us, no room for anything but this primal connection.
I clutch his shoulders, nails biting into tense muscle as he moves.
Pleasure builds with each thrust, a molten heat starting at the base of my spine and spreading like wildfire.
It fills my veins and clouds my mind until I’m nothing but sensation and need.
My slick eases every movement, the sounds of wet flesh on flesh echoing in the otherwise silent apartment as our bodies meet, over and over.
Orien’s mouth trails down from my collarbone, his breath hot on my skin. He finds my nipple, already hardened into a tight bud, and circles it with his tongue before drawing it into his mouth. His cheeks hollow out as he sucks, the pressure sending electric jolts straight to my groin.
I arch into him, a gasp escaping my lips as his teeth graze the sensitive flesh, biting just hard enough to add a spark of pain that heightens the pleasure. My ass clenches in response, and he groans, the sound resonating through us both.
“Fuck,” he says, the word breaking on a gasp.
I fist his hair and drag him back up for a kiss. There are no words for the way his body fits against mine, for the heat building under my skin, or for the absolute certainty that I’m where I belong. My free hand slides between us to wrap around my dick, stroking in counterpoint to his thrusts.
The pleasure builds, and my breath catches, my thighs tightening around Orien’s waist to hold him where I need him. Each thrust drives him deeper, the head of his cock hitting that spot inside me that blurs my vision.
Orien’s hand comes up to cup my jaw, thumb tracing the bruise forming on my cheek. “You’re mine.”
I turn my face into his palm, kissing its center. “Yes.”
His mouth finds mine again, the kiss messy now, our rhythm faltering as we both chase the precipice.
My hips lift to meet each thrust, clenching around him, and his control slips.
His hand moves to my hip, fingers digging into the muscle as he holds me in place, setting a pace that drives the air from my lungs.
The pleasure builds, a slow coil tightening in my balls. My hand moves faster on my dick, shuttling up and down. “Close.”
His hand engulfs mine, squeezing as we both stroke my dick in tandem. The dual friction, the slick slide of our grips along my shaft, sends electric jolts of pleasure surging through my body.
His hot, ragged breath puffs across my lips as he growls, “Come for me.” His hips punctuate each word with a deep, hard thrust, the force pushing me further into the mattress. “Want to feel you let go.”
And I do, surrendering to the wave as it crests, my body going tight around him as pleasure crashes through me in a rush that leaves me gasping. My dick pulses in our joined grip, cum spilling over our fingers to paint my stomach in hot stripes.
Orien follows moments later, his rhythm faltering as his control breaks.
His hips snap forward, driving him deep as he comes with a groan buried in the curve of my shoulder.
He pulses inside me, the heat of his release flooding my channel, and my inner muscles ripple in response, milking every drop from him.
For a moment, neither of us moves, both of us breathing hard as the last pulses of pleasure fade. Then Orien settles on top of me, his head dropping to my shoulder as his arms bracket my ribs. His breath heats my skin, his heart pounding against my chest where we’re pressed together.
We stay like that, joined, as our breathing slows and our heart rates return to normal.
The apartment is quiet around us, the only sound the occasional soft creak of the bedsprings as one of us shifts.
Outside the window, the sky is darkening toward evening, with the last rays of sunlight painting the walls in shades of gold and amber.
Orien’s fingers rest over the three healed Marks, his thumb brushing the edge of the highest one, tracing the raised skin with careful attention.
I turn my head into the crook of his neck, a soft sound of contentment rising from me.
“Okay?” he asks again, voice rough from use.
“Yeah,” I murmur.
I’m more than okay. Whole, in a way I’ve never been before.
He shifts just enough to search my face in the dim light, and whatever he finds there draws a soft smile from him. He leans down to kiss my forehead, my cheek, and the corner of my mouth, each one gentler than the last.
No words pass between us. None are needed. The way he touches me with such care says everything his voice can’t.
I lie on my back staring at the ceiling with Orien still half on top of me, body aching, and not all from the sex, though a lot of it is from that. My thighs burn from holding him in place, my hips hurt from being pounded, and my insides feel tender from the stretch of his cock.
I focus on those pains, because they’re the good kind that come from eager enthusiasm rather than punishment.
Orien’s cock slips free as he shifts to lie beside me rather than on top of me, his cum leaking from me to pool warm between my thighs. His arm slides beneath my shoulders, tucking me into his side with the easy confidence of someone who knows where I belong.
My head finds the hollow of his throat, and I nose at his strong pulse.
“You’re thinking too loud,” he rumbles beneath my cheek.
“Sorry.”
His hand strokes down my back, fingers tracing the knobs of my spine. “About what?”
I consider the question, trying to find words for the shift inside me. “Everything. Nothing. The fact that I’m here at all.”
His hand stills for a moment before it resumes its path. “Regrets?”
The question is casual, but I catch the tension beneath it. I lift my head to meet his eyes. “No. Not a single one.”
Something uncoils inside him, a tension I hadn’t even registered until it was gone. “Good.”
I settle back against his chest, my ear pressed to the steady beat of his heart. “What happens now?”
His fingers continue their path up and down my spine, the touch soothing. “We figure it out. Together.”
The simplicity of it steals the air from my lungs. Not promises or plans or careful contingencies, but the simple, unshakeable certainty that whatever comes, we’ll face it side by side. Not as Vartanian and Blue Note, not as spy and target, but as Lev and Orien.
As mates.