He weaved in his shitkickers. “So not the case.”
He solved any confusion there by entering her slowly, pressing in, finding home in a gentle way. She didn’t seem to hurt any, but he wasn’t taking chances as his palms cupped her ass and he began to move her up and down on him.
“I love you,” he said into her hair. “Forever.”
As she murmured it back into his ear, a shaft of paranoia drained some of the heat out of his body.
Had his father said the same thing to his mother?
And he knew how that had ended.
From out of nowhere, V’s warning came to him, about the field of white and the future in his hands. What did—
“Wrath,” his wife whispered. “Come back to me. Focus on me here and now…”
With a groan of submission, he let all the bullshit go, doing as she’d commanded, feeling and knowing only the sensation of him pumping in and out of her. The orgasm was a quiet one, a wave that approached and retreated with all the thunder of a summer breeze. But as he came inside his female and felt her contract around him, it seemed more powerful than all the ones that had rocked his balls.
He did not want to let her go.
Ever.
Outside of Selena’s bedroom, Trez accepted the call—but didn’t get a “hello” in.
“Where the fuck are you,” the queen’s executioner bit out. “And where is what you promised me.”
Trez squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m on my way.”
“Don’t you fuck with me.”
The connection was cut.
“Trez?” Selena asked from inside the room. “Is everything all right?”
Nope. Not in the slightest.
How was it noon already?
He pushed the door wide. “Yeah. But I gotta go.”
Cursing under his breath, he went directly to his pants and yanked them on—and when his balls got caught in the zipper, he deliberately pulled up harder, the pain shooting through his pelvis and making him sick.
That little phone call from s’Ex was a reminder of all the reasons it had been a dumb-ass idea to come up here.
Virgin.
Fuck.
As he grabbed his shirt and stuffed an arm through a sleeve, he was acutely aware of Selena sitting silently on the bed.
Virgin.
Right on cue, all those women he’d fucked came back to him in a rush, once again crowding the space between them. And then he had a happy thought about the ones he was providing s’Ex today.
“That’s not happening again,” he said, motioning to the bed, to her.
Once was already too much.
In response, Selena’s face gave nothing away, but her scent said it all: The sadness came out of her very pores.
And yet she met him in the eye. “As you wish. But I shall be here if you change your mind.”
Man, she was nothing but self-possession as she stared him down, almost challenging him to stay away.
His self-control was not that good. But the situation he was in was that bad.
iAm was already at risk. If Selena were involved with him?
He didn’t want her falling into his Hell.
Oh, and as for Phury? He felt like shit saying nothing to the Primale. Just another way he’d dishonored her—but nothing good could come of a reveal like that.
“I have to go,” he muttered.
“As you wish.”
He reaaaaallly wanted her to stop saying that.
Trez all but stumbled from the room, and he didn’t remember anything of the trip down the stairs, through the dark house, and out into the bright, snowy side yard. Closing his eyes, it was a while before he could focus and concentrate enough to dematerialize …
… but he eventually made it to the Commodore, re-forming behind the rear service entrance’s Dumpster. Stepping out from it, the deliverymen who were unloading commercial cleaning supplies into the holding area ignored him, and so did the bike messenger who was streaking down the back alley.
But there were plenty of people waiting for him up on the eighteenth floor.
As soon as he stepped out of the elevator, he cursed under his breath.
iAm was leaning up against the closed door, all casual except for the murder in his eyes. And with him? The whores Trez had arranged for s’Ex.
The queen’s executioner was undoubtedly on the terrace outside. Or prowling around the inner rooms after having broken in, in a rage.
Trez shoved his hands in his pockets—no keys. Fuck.
Did he forget them? Or were they on the floor of Selena’s bedroom?
Goddamn it.
“Missing something?” his brother drawled.
“Hey, boss,” one of the prostitutes said.
“Boss—”
“What’s up—”
The women spoke over themselves as they pumped their extensions and rearranged their bra cups. They were each wearing some version of keep-it-legal, but everything was short and tight and low-cut.