Chapter 17

"Tavish,"I call as I enter his rooms.

Looking around the command center, as Tavish calls it, he's nowhere to be seen. I expected to see him at the desk, his fingers flying over the keys, but he's nae there.

The forgotten comms unit I left here a week ago is lying on his desk. I pick it up and a notification from the encrypted app Tavish created for the Society flashes on the screen.

SECURE: T

You have a job. Here's the link.

Just a message from him stirs something within me. I've been drawn to the boy since I glimpsed him in that warehouse so verra long ago. I want him. Want bordering on need. And I dinnae ken how long I'll be able to keep from taking him.

Last week was a near thing. He crawled into my lap and rubbed that delectable little ass on my cock, and I nearly came in my pants. Just the remembrance o' what he felt like has my dick thickening.

Simon and I searched for someone like him all those years ago. But we found nothing or anyone like what I felt the first time I laid eyes on Tavish—and definitely not what I felt a week ago.

I drop to the couch. My head falls into my hand as my ass hits the cushion. I scroll through the info on the job. The information disnae penetrate. A second and third reading disnae help.

Looking around, I worry about Tavish, wondering where the hell he is. Hell, I've worried about him since I first laid eyes on him. I cannae seem to help myself.

It's worse now.

Tavish crawling into my lap was a dream come true and solidified something inside me. There's no doubt—I'll never be able to walk away from him. I know I dinnae deserve the boy. I orphaned him at sixteen, leaving him in the clutches o' the Order o' Death to horrors I can only imagine. But imagine them I did. Do.

Last week, he asked me to kill the man who hurt him. I despised myself for my lack o' thought given to Graeme Buchanan's child when I killed the man.

I kenned Buchanan had a son. It was in the information I had on the man. Looking back on that night, I even saw Tavish as I made my way through the house. I'd been dead set on killing Buchanan that night. The sight o' a child—because at sixteen, Tavish had been even smaller than he is now—hadnae registered in the bloodlust that had taken over my mind.

Guilt stayed my hand last week. I wanted nothing more than to take what Tavish offered. When he sat on my lap, my cock surged to life, but Simon and Graeme Buchanan kept me from taking what was being served up so prettily.

Simon's voice and the memory o' Buchanan's blood coating my hands fought with the feel o' Tavish in my lap. And they won. I pushed him away.

I still dinnae ken how I did it. He's all I've thought about for a week. My cock refused to allow my thoughts to venture elsewhere. The feel o' him on my lap, the favor he wants o' me, and the hurt in his eyes as I pushed him away have spun through my mind like a movie set on repeat.

I rub a hand over my forehead. I want him. I cannae deny it. I only wish he were here now so I can explain why I pushed him away.

The silence in the room comes to a screeching end. Music thumps throughout the space. The sound loud and thumping. The beat dirty and sensual. So sensual it tugs at my cock, pulling me toward the origin like a divining rod pulls you to water.

Standing from the couch, I make my way toward the sound, only to stop short in the doorway. My mouth falls open at the sight before me.

Tavish.

Naked.

Well, nae quite, but there isnae much left to the imagination. The satin and lace barely cover him.

He's dancing to the beat o' the music. His body gyrating and undulating in a way that has me imagining other things. Things I want very much.

He's prancing around the bedroom, fresh from the shower. Drops o' water bead on his skin. His still damp dark hair is slowly drying in the loose curls I want to bury my fingers in while I fuck his gorgeous mouth.

My eyes roam over Tavish's trim, sexy wee body. He's on full display and putting on a show the likes o' which I've never seen before.

He's covered in marks. My eyes catalog each one as they trail over him. They're all healed, but they're prominent enough I can see them from a distance. I even recognize some o' them for what they are.

Once upon a time, I've given beatings to subbie boys like Tavish. Beatings that could've resulted in marks like the ones he bears. Only the beatings I delivered were for pleasure, nae pain. The ones marring Tavish's body could only be the result o' a thrashing that was meant to hurt and abuse.

The marks dinnae detract from the beauty o' the man, though. Nae. They add to it. They are a testament to the strength, character, and perseverance o' the man who wears them. Tavish suffered, that is apparent. But he's lived to tell the tale.

I continue staring at him. My breath catches in my throat, and my cock throbs in my pants at the sight o' that tiny, perfect, bubble butt. I marvel at the lack o' tan lines even though he's covered. That wee scrap o' fabric couldnae be hiding any. Over the months, I've often wondered where his tanned complexion comes from since he rarely leaves the building and the Scots are pale. But Tavish appears naturally tan.

My breath rushes back to me, then shortens into pants. My fists curl in on themselves to keep from reaching for him as Tavish runs his hands over his body. His eyes are closed. They have been since I took up my voyeurish post in the door. The boy is sensual and sexy, and my cock begs me to take him.

Begging turns to demands as I watch Tavish's hands stop to play with his nipples. Rubbing them to stiff peaks until his mouth falls open. Even though it's drowned out by the music, his gaspy moan fills my head.

One hand continues playing with his nipples as the other hand dips down his chest to his cock. His head falls back on his shoulders as his hand slides into his underwear. He wraps his hand around his dick, forcing his cock and balls to pop out o' the fabric as he strokes himself to the beat o' the music.

Unable to hold back any longer, I yell over the music blaring through the room, "What's going on here?"

Tavish screams. His eyes fly open, and he reaches toward the blankets on the bed. I can see his mouth moving, the words lost in the music. I dinnae ken if I would've heard them even without the music.

Bells and whistles sound in my head. My ears ring as every drop o' my blood races to my cock. I've never been so damn hard.

Tavish's eyes widen as they slide down my body to my cock. The weight o' his gaze has me lengthening in my pants even more. I clench my teeth, forcing my eyes to slide close, blocking the sight o' him looking at me, looking at him.

MISTAKE! flashes in my head like a neon sign. He's there—dancing and touching himself like he was moments ago. I cannae escape him. He's burrowed under my skin and into the depths o' my brain.

My eyes fly open, and I stalk toward him. Grabbing his throat, I push him against the wall beside his bed. My head dips toward his, eyes locked on his shiny, pink lips. I groan as they part and his tongue slides across them.

This boy will be the death o' me.

"Finally."

I'm so focused on his mouth that when he speaks, the sound and words take a moment to penetrate. "What?" I gasp through the lust fog that has my breaths heavy and shallow.

"It's about time, you big ass Scottish bastard. You're too damn good-looking with the Viking thing and the tall thing and the muscle thing."

I glance up at him. "What are ye talking about?"

His hands move from my wrist up my arm to my shoulder, ghosting along my flesh. Fire licks at me, following the path o' his touch.

I feel his Adam's apple work its way up and down the column o' his throat.

"Your muscles have muscles, and then those muscles have even more muscles. You twist my stomach in knots and my brains turn to mush. I can hardly ever remember your name because every time I look at you or think about you or see you, the only name that comes to mind is Daddy," Tavish says.

"Mo ghille, yer askin' fo' trouble," I warn him in a deep, thick brogue.

The thought o' this boy calling me Daddy has my soul singing. It is what Simon and I wanted and searched for before our world became laser-focused on avenging my family. We'd lost sight o' it after that, but the need for it had always been there between us.

"And what if trouble is what I want?" he asks.

I stare into his eyes for a second before my gaze drops to his mouth. When his tongue peeks out, swiping across his full, pink lower lip, leaving it shiny and wet, I growl low in my throat as my balls draw up and my cock jumps at the sight.

My mouth crashes into his. I'm done fighting myself. If he wants me, he's going to get me. I only hope he's prepared. I'm nae a gentle man.

His mouth opens under the assault o' mine. His tongue meets mine in a frenzy. I cannae stop myself from ravaging him, fucking his mouth with my tongue. He sucks on it, massaging my tongue with his.

As I lose myself in the kiss, he climbs me like a tree. Arms twine around my neck, hoisting himself up so his legs can wrap around my waist. His lithe little body feels like perfection in the way it fits against mine.

I've nae been with anyone since Simon died. Nae even myself. I've been hellbent on vengeance for him and my family. Then, when I killed Graeme, and realized Maeve was still alive, finding her took the place o' avenging my parents and grandparents. It's been my sole focus.

I pull us away from the wall. Peeling him from me, I toss him on the bed. As I watch him bounce, I yank my shirt over my head and toss it away. His eyes widen as they travel down my chest.

Another swipe o' his tongue across his lips has me clenching my teeth to keep from pouncing on him. Sexual desire has been so absent from my life for so long that I refuse to fall on the boy like a sex-crazed fiend.

My hands drop to the belt at my waist, but before I can open it, Tavish scrambles to his knees before me. His hands hover over mine as he peers up at me through that forest o' dark lashes.

"Please?" he pleads.

The sound should've been drowned out by the music, but that, along with everything else, falls away. Receding into the background, leaving just the two o' us.

I drop my hands and nod. His face lights up like I've given him the best gift ever and in that moment, I ken two things.

I will spend forever trying to put that look on his face.

And I will fight to the death to keep him, but it won't matter because I'll lose him when he finds out I'm ultimately responsible for every mark he carries on his body.