Chapter 6

I’m paralyzed.

I can’t fucking move a finger. While on the inside a storm is raging. My pulse is galloping. My chest is so tight, I want to rip my shirt off and throw it outside my car window. But again, paralyzed. My hands are not cooperating. My skin is on fire like a thousand ants are crawling up and down my body. In my mind, small little explosions keep happening, and an increasing pain is pushing between my eyes.

I. Feel. Everything.

I’m suddenly aware of how warm my breath is. The smoothness of the leather steering wheel under my fingers, the softness of the seat under my butt, and the ache on the palm of my hand.

The faint stir of satisfaction still lingers in my belly from the best sex I’ve ever had. The way he took me, controlled me, dominated me was gloriously perfect. Chef’s kiss.

But, I could still feel Hunter after we fucked. Instead of turning numb again, I…felt him. His hard cock sliding inside of me at a leisurely pace, hitting my already sensitive prostate. Each small, cold, round bead of his cheap bracelet pressing against the base of my throat. His slowing heart beating against my back.

His skin was so soft and smooth under my fingers.

For a moment, I thought it was a fluke, a temporary boost caused by the sheer ecstasy he gave me, but I was just postponing my freak-out moment. Which arrived soon after, when I realized I was sore.

And when I grabbed my gloves? His hand touched mine, and it was so blazing hot, it almost burned my skin. A prickling sensation darted from the tips of my fingers to my arm. I had to leave.

These long-lasting feelings aren’t normal. They usually quickly disappear after sex. Now thirty minutes later, I can still feel the breeze coming from the open window on my face, smell the pine air freshener Michael put in my car, taste Hunter’s intimate scent on my tongue. I’m overwhelmed by so many sensations, my body has short-circuited and needs time to reboot.

My senses have decided to stay. Why? Where is the bloodthirsty succubus bitch?

How is it possible? What does it mean? Is it because the sex was out of this world? Am I still riding the afterglow? Or am I cured? Did Hunter cure me with his dick? I snort at my idiotic thought, but then a frightening one takes its place.

How long will it last? Will it last? Do I want it to last?

“Fuck!” I gasp. I can’t fucking breathe as panic tightens around my chest. My body finally decides to follow my instructions, and I turn toward the car door and push my head out of the window, attempting to inhale large gulps of air.

After leaving Sly Fox, I drove like a bat out of hell until my body forced me to stop. I have no idea where I am. The suburban-looking area has few streetlamp posts. My eyes focus on the rusty playground and dark trees in front of me. The old swing is making a clanking sound every time a burst of wind comes around. The scent of dirt and pollution doesn’t help to slow my breathing down, but the memory of Hunter’s warm, hard, dominating body pressed against mine does. The hard curves, soft plains, smooth skin, and warm, strong arms enveloping me.

Since I met him, he’s felt different. I don’t usually waste my time with people outside my family. My hookups are quick and meaningless. But with him, I’m enjoying it…getting to know him. His case is fascinating. I don’t like puzzles or detective stories or mysteries—that’s Michael and Uri’s hobby. What I like is facts, to find those hidden sinful truths and then stuff the donors’ throats with them—with my weapon of choice.

But he’s the first person I’ve met who does what my brothers and I do—kill bad people—with no regrets about it.

This new development is almost certainly connected. To him. But nothing has to change between us.

I admit, pushing Hunter to the edge and then watching him lose that stern mask he wears gave me more pleasure than I ever anticipated. And I want more of it. More of his cock and his bossy, filthy ways. And he was right. Nobody has ever reached that deep inside of me, or spanked me that good, or treated me so roughly and then gently—like he didn’t want to part from me until he made sure I was okay.

I clench my ass, and the sting on my cheeks is real. As is the soreness and the utter satisfaction embracing me. I want to know how far I can push him and discover what else he’s capable of doing…to me.

First, I need to know what’s happening to me, though, and there’s only one person that can help me.

“Serena, find Meg.”

After a few seconds she answers. “She’s at home.”

“Tell her we are coming and that it’s urgent.” It’s ten p.m., but I know she’s awake.

I turn on the engine while my AI keeps talking, “Malcom Bindy hasn’t gone back to the house you went to yesterday. He has no credit cards or a current domicile.”

It took me a while to find him the first time. Fuck!

“Find his recent and old associates, see if they can lead you to him. Also check hospitals and morgues. He has a target on his head, he could be hurt or dead by now. Any news on the cemetery front?”

“St. Benedict Catholic Cemetery is in Crestwood, Chicago. Spans eleven acres and has eight thousand five hundred fifty-six interments. I’m cross-referencing to find a link between one of the graves and Hunter Penn. It will take time.”

“Alright, thank you.”

After a while, I’m still trying to get used to these around-the-clock sensations while fighting with the damn car heater when I pull in front of Meg and Linda’s gate. I send a glance to the bear statues on either side of the intimidating black iron fence like I always do when I come here.

It’s a comforting sight. Reminds me of the first time I saw them. I was a broken kid, numb and barely alive, filled with hate and fear. Fast forward eighteen years, I’m still broken and scared shitless, this time because my senses are all fucking alive.

I take more than a minute to run a diagnostic on the security system—which I personally installed and connected to Serena. The truth is that the easy task helps to put a break on my chaotic thoughts. When I’m sure it is working properly, I drive to the house.

I ignore the garage and leave the car outside, hurriedly getting out. The seat belt feels smooth, handle hard, car door cold. The chilly air envelops me, and a cold shiver trails down my back. It feels amazing. I use my coats and jackets to hide my knives or as a fashion statement. Never to shield me from the weather.

A short laugh escapes my lips, and I’m smiling, staring at my cold fingers. Ferdinand, the butler, opens the front door before I have time to ring the bell.

“Ramiel.” Only Meg and he call me by my full name. And Hunter.

Ferdinand clears his throat getting my attention again. He reminds me of Alfred, Bruce Wayne’s butler—distinct, poised, phlegmatic. Linda hired him when we were young. He knows about the family side business. He’s an old coot, but still in great shape.

“Ferd, looking sparkly as always.” His imperturbable demeanor is enough reason for my good-natured jibes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile.

“Mrs. Meg is waiting for you in her study.” He lets me know in his Cornish strong accent. He slightly bows, displaying his balding spot while I get a whiff of his strong-smelling cologne. Thankfully, he moves aside to let me enter, giving mercy to my only just-reclaimed smell receptors.

I take a step inside. This house has always reminded me of a huge, cold marble mausoleum with white columns and crypts behind the multiple closed doors. When I was young, it was fun fake skiing with my bros on the shiny floors and sliding down the long stairway handrail, trying not to hit the wooden pole at the end. But the house doesn’t reflect Meg’s warm-hearted and brainy nature, or Linda’s passionate, irascible personality. It’s impersonal and filled with tacky shit in Meg”s parents’ taste.

I turn down the long corridor, leaving the dining room behind—where the whole family gathers for Sunday lunches. I stop in front of her office and knock on the hard wooden door before going inside.

Now, this room is all Meg: the messy desk buried under mountains of papers, the warm crackling coming from the old fireplace, the unique decanters filled with expensive liquors, the cerebral books gathering dust on the wooden shelves and the two small, camel-back sofas facing each other. Her floral and sweet scent hangs heavy in the air. I take a big gulp of it until my lungs are full and sigh contently.

I can smell, it feels surreal.

She looks up from a file. Her reading glasses have slid down her nose, and her black hair is streaked white. The smile she only reserves for us—her kids—and Linda sweetens her features and makes her look younger. She is tired, though. The concealer doesn’t fully hide the black shadows under her eyes. She raised six potential psychopaths with different and problematic conditions. She battled with the stress, anxiety, fears and setbacks on a daily basis while suffering from Lupus. Linda was there with her every step of the way, but Meg really devoted herself to us. Never gave up.

She doesn’t attempt to stand up and touch me, and I’m grateful as always. Maybe even more now.

“Serena said it is urgent. What is it, Ramiel?” Meg takes off her glasses and frowns when I sit on the sofa close to her.

Instead of explaining, I do something I’ve wanted to for a very long time. I wrap my arms around her narrow shoulders and press her fragile frame against me. Her Chanel No.5 perfume surrounds me, while her body turns rigid, surely out of shock. I can count on one hand the times Meg and I have hugged, and in those rare cases, I was the one as stiff as a pole, hating the fact that I couldn”t feel anything. Now I do, and it’s strange and familiar at the same time.

Her warmth seeps into me, her small figure feels even smaller in my arms, her gasp of surprise hot on my shoulder. Fuck, I like this.

“It’s happening, Meg,” I whisper emotionally. She knows what I mean. Her hands grasp my sides tightly.

My vision turns blurry, and then a wet sensation trails down my cheek. She pushes back to look me in the face, her eyes darting between mine and then to my gloveless hands.

“Close your eyes,” she tells me after a few seconds, and I do. No questions asked.

I remain still, listening to the fire hissing and popping, enjoying the smell of burned wood.

The sofa is too hard, Meg’s silky shirt soft and cold, the socks around my feet tight.

A light brush on my cheek makes me jerk back. My eyes pop open, and I witness the shock and then the pure, undiluted happiness overflowing her eyes and wetting her eyelashes.

We’ve been waiting for this moment for so long. So long. Now we are laughing and crying at the same time. Her bony hand is gripping mine, while the other is delicately cupping my face.

“Are olfaction and gustation back as well?” she asks hopefully. I also detect curiosity in her voice, which shows her psychiatrist’s inquisitive mind.

I nod.

“What’s wrong?” Her hand drops from my face. Meg has the ability of reading people. As a renown forensic psychiatrist, it was her job to study people’s minds until she retired. But she still works as a consultant for the police, a few hospitals, and Raph and Sari’s company, and she offers us behavioral analysis on potential donors from time to time.

“I’m scared,” I confess.

“Ramiel, your sensory numbness was your way to cope with emotional and physical pain. A form of dissociation, an unconscious protective response to feeling difficult emotions due to your trauma. Your mind and body needed time to heal. Feeling scared when simultaneously regaining not one, but three senses after almost twenty years of brief appearances is a perfectly expected reaction.”

“The only thing I ever wanted was to feel, Meg. Growing up not being able to taste, smell, or touch made me feel wrong and so damn lonely.” I look down at the burn on my hand. “When I discovered how to wake up those senses, if even for a short time, I was thrilled. But it’s never lasted, and now I’m afraid to…hope. What if it’s just temporary? What if I go back to…being numb again? I don’t know if I can take it,” I choke out. The sting of my nails digging inside my palm makes me feel even more vulnerable than I already am. I love it, and I hate it.

“You’re strong, Ramiel. Your sensory numbness was your way of fighting back. What you went through when you were a defenseless kid should have killed you. Instead look at you.”

“That’s thanks to you. And Linda. And the others.” I could have never made it without them. I don’t remember my father much. But he was a drunk, and I would’ve been sent back to him if Meg and Linda hadn’t fostered me.

“No. We helped, but it was all you. You used that pain and turned it into a talent. And now you take care of all of us. Protect us with Serena, your cyber skills, and overprotective instincts.” She gestures passionately with her hand, letting me know how much she means her words.

I force the grateful tears back and tighten my hold on her fingers. Hell, the contact brings such comfort. It stirs and warms my insides.

“You shouldn’t think about all the ifs. This calls for a celebration,” she cheerfully exclaims, pushing the intercom on the coffee table. “Ferdinand, can you bring some coffee and all the kinds of cake we have?”

I smile at her. Fuck! Cake is Meg’s addiction, one I could never share with her. Would I like it? All my bros seem to love it.

“Right away, Madam.” Ferdinand’s prompt reply comes through the intercom.

“While we are waiting, tell me how it happened. What was the trigger?” she asks.

“I don’t know if it’s a coincidence, maybe it was just…time. I was coming down from a pleasurable encounter, and the numbness never returned.”

“After sex you mean.” She narrows her eyes while pondering. “Was it just a one-off, or did the encounter have meaning?”

“Meg, I don’t do meaningful. But it wasn’t the first time with him, and we’re kind of working together,” I rapidly spit the words out.

“An informant?” Her gaze is laser-focused on me now.

“No, a P.I., he was attacked by my last donor, and now someone is trying to kill him. Maybe. I’m helping him out in exchange for his investigative skills.”

“Ramiel, you don’t need help, especially with your technical expertise. You like this person.” That’s the upside down of having a psychiatrist as a foster mother, you can’t hide anything from her.

“He’s interesting. Different,” I give her.

“Different how?”

Ferdinand’s knock on the door saves me from the Spanish Inquisition. He strolls in, pushing a cart filled with cakes and a pot of coffee. The air is soon saturated with the rich, dark, divine aroma, and I’m so damn eager to fully taste…everything.

It takes too long for him to pour the coffee into two cups. I don’t let him set mine on the low table, but grab it impatiently from his hands and take a sip. The first sensation is a burning one. Hot. Hot. My tongue is on fire, and then the sharp bitterness hits my taste buds.

“Ugh.” I open my mouth in disgust and pain.

“Sugar?” Ferdinand holds the small ceramic bowl near me with an impassive expression. I never used sugar before, could hardly taste coffee. But I can’t believe I drank gallons of this acidic medicine.

“Give him milk too,” Meg instructs the butler. I add both to my drink—is three teaspoons of sugar enough? The next time I drink, it actually tastes better.

The drink creates a warm path down my throat every time I take a sip. And the sweetness that hits my tongue is impossible to describe.

Then a large plate with five kinds of cakes is placed in front of me.

“Enjoy,” Ferdinand says before leaving.

I lick my lips, and grabbing a fork, I sink it into the white spongy slice. The different flavors burst on my tongue. Soft and crumbly, with a sweet and sour hint. It’s like heaven in my mouth and the only food I’ll eat this week. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

“That’s a strawberry shortcake,” Meg lets me know with an affectionate smile. “Try the chocolate one.”

Deep, moist, fluffy with a slightly bitter edge and a rich and creamy frosting. A long moan is ripped from my lips to which Meg responds with a low chuckle. Okay, I can eat both cakes this week.

“How is Rague doing, still Hulking out?” I ask, trying to postpone the Hunter discussion while enjoying my next slice. It’s orange. Carrot cake?

“Still early to say.”

My brother has what my family calls the Red Haze. He experiences incontrollable and self-destructive episodes while he’s lost in rage and pain. He’s a huge motherfucker—bigger than Hunter—and when he turns into the Hulk, only a tranquilizer—if we are able to get close enough to him—or his husband can stop him. The attacks are rare, but now that he has Ollie, he wants to find a way to stop them. Meg and Sari are working together on it. We moved Rague to the cottage in the broadleaf forest my family owns west of Chicago while they try new concoctions on him. Ollie went with him since they can’t stay away from each other, and in the meantime, we all keep an eye on Sully.

“Sari is focusing on the cause of the seizures that he always experiences at the end of an episode,” Meg tells me.

“Why?”

“A seizure is a symptom of a disturbance in the electricity and chemistry of brain cells, making them act differently than they normally would.”

“So, he thinks that if he cures the seizures, Rague will be fine?”

“It could be a first step. Rague is also doing daily exercises of slowing down, taking deep breaths, and refocusing his thoughts. It allows his brain”s frontal lobe to take over from the irrational amygdala. He”s training his brain to have more control over his responses. But again, it’s too soon to tell.”

“He’s determined and has support. He’ll do it.” I know he will. My bro is strong, and not only physically. “Aren’t you going to eat?” I glance at her empty plate. She never says no to cake.

“I ate earlier. I know you don’t want to talk about who triggered your senses. It’s fine. But do you want my advice?”

“Of course.”

“Find this person and stick to him like a fly to a cow’s ass.”

I snort, almost spitting out the bite of sweet apple pie.

“Is this your medical advice? To stick to Hunter’s ass?” I tease.

“Hunter. It fits.” Her smirk disappears as quickly as it came. “Ramiel, is it possible that the reason your numbness is gone is because you’re finally interested in someone?”

I open my mouth to disagree, but she lifts her hand to stop me and then cups my chin. Her fingers feel warm, her grip delicate. She’s giving me a serious stare.

“Being scared is fine. You are way too impulsive usually. Fear is pulling your reins this time, but don’t let it control you. Ride the wave and see where Hunter and those sensations take you.” She pats my cheek and stands up, then goes to her desk, returning to the sofa a moment later holding a purple plastic tumbler with a phrase on the front that says, “I could stop being a bitch, but I’m not a quitter.” Meg brings me one back every time she travels.

“Where did you go this time?” I know exactly where she went, but I want to see if she lies to me again, like she’s been doing lately.

“A conference. Boring stuff.” The slight puckering of her lips reveals her lie. She was in New York and didn’t go to any conference. Trackers don’t lie, unlike her, and I hid a bunch of them in her clothes and bags. As she said, I’m overprotective, but it’s not weird to be a bit paranoid when we do what we do. Being normal is such a tedious way of living, and it went out of the window the day I was kidnapped.

“Focus on yourself for once. We’ll be okay.” Her phone rings, and she answers, taking her escape.

My bros say that I tend to exaggerate, to be overprotective, to overthink when my family is involved. Maybe I should concentrate on myself for a little while.

Hunter’s deep eyes and hot body appear in front of my eyes. It makes me lick my lips. I’ve never been more excited to dive into unknown, dark waters before. I lift the coffee cup to my mouth, but before I can take a sip, a thought materializes.

Fuck! I left him at the club without a ride. How angry is he going to be at me?

The next day I’m sitting in my parked car outside Hunter’s house gate. It was kind of hard to find where he lives since the property is not in his name, but his father’s, who has never been in Grizzly’s life. Until he died and left this place to his only son. Mine didn’t even do that.

The house is in Monee, south of Chicago, a forty-minute drive from downtown. The area has a suburban-rural feel to it with its green fields and single-family homes.

The front door opens, and the star of my latest filthiest dreams strides out, followed by a very hefty dog. He bends over to pick up the mail. His nice, round jeans-clad ass just begging to be groped as the fabric slides slightly down, showing more curvy skin. He straightens up, and I see his brawny, hairy chest and a little of the pudge around the middle—which is sexy as fuck—in all their splendor for the first time.

The air is chilly, his pointy nipples agree with me. Two buttons of his jeans are open, and he’s barefoot. The sight of him like this sends all the blood south to dick city.

His hand goes to his neck, right where the bruise I left is. He strokes it, and I wonder if he’s thinking about me while reveling in the dull ache. Or maybe he’s just rubbing a crick in his neck.

I feel the hard fabric of my jeans getting too tight around my groin, the smell of the car seat leather, the taste of the cinnamon gum in my mouth.

I’ve certainly been thinking about Hunter every time I felt the soreness in my ass. I stayed up all night enjoying my newfound senses—but mostly jerking off to memories of my bear and all the filthy things he whispered in my ear.

My eyes follow his sturdy back until he disappears inside, and I decide to go and be done with it.

The old wooden, five-bar farm gate is open. Don’t know what the purpose of it is since it can be as easily climbed over as the rusty metal fence.

I start walking the short distance to Hunter’s house. I expected an unadorned bear cave or an ordinary, no-frills apartment in an unremarkable building. Not this single-story, welcoming, old cottage with green trim surrounded by nature.

“Serena, how’s the security?” I ask. How can a P.I. not take precautions against intruders? His job can be dangerous. Look at the vengeful Baker brothers.

“Do you want me to hack into it?” Serena asks me.

“Yes, darling.” I suddenly stop a few feet from the front door. Did I just see a squirrel almost fall from the sloping roof?

“A five-year-old security system with entry sensors, but no safety alarms.” No smoke detectors? “Six cameras around the property, entrance, and back. No doorbell or indoor cameras. It took me one minute to bypass the system because of a few variations made to the circuits.” Hunter must have bought it under the table. So, he’s not that oblivious about home security. Good, but some changes need to be made.

“Someone is trying to lock me out,” Serena says before the front door opens, and my stomach sinks at the sight of the young, gorgeous, bare-chested guy who clearly spent the night.

“Well, fuck a duck,” I mutter under my breath. He has messy, wavy, blond locks falling over his brown eyes, a tattoo on the side of his neck and is wearing only a pair of worn-out sweats dangerously balanced on his narrow hips. He tosses a grape in his mouth, then spits the seeds on the ground. Charming.

“Who the fuck are you?” he rudely asks me, just as another guy who could be the first’s carbon copy appears.

This one is wearing mirror glasses and a pair of jeans, looking like a Hollywood actor.

Are shirts forbidden in this house?

He looks more put together. He crosses his arms and tilts his head to one side, like he’s studying me or something. Can’t tell with those glasses on.

They both look…barely legal.

Did Hunter bring Hollywood and his rude doppelg?nger back home from the club? Did he fuck them?

I clench my jaw at the thought. If he did, I’ll erase them from his memory using only my tongue—after killing them. Fuck! I can’t. Damn code!

I’ll…send them to Timbuktu on a cargo ship. Ethical conundrum avoided. They both need a bit of African tan.

The bellicose feeling running inside my veins only increases when another guy walks out. He has brown hair, sad ice-blue eyes and is wearing cargo pants and a sleeveless hoodie over his bulky figure. Is that the same suicidal squirrel I saw on the roof wrapped around his neck?

What is even happing here? Is Hunter kinkier than I thought? Because now that I look more closely at them, I can see more similarities among the three. They are related. Brothers?

“Is this an incestuous orgy?” I ask them. “Do you have more in there?”

The blondies snort. At least they have a sense of humor, I almost feel sorry about sending them to the other side of the globe. Almost.

A nudge on my leg makes me look down into two round black eyes and a flat dog’s face. Drool is dripping from its large mouth onto my sneaker while its very heavy ass is parked on the other one, cutting off my blood circulation. It looks like a bulldog with those bat ears, but he has a long wiggling tail and a curly caramel coat. And fuck, he stinks.

“Listen, Velma, we aren’t the slutty Scooby-Doo gang. Tell us what the fuck you want and then scram.” The rude one sounds bored. The trio is standing in front of me in a defensive, fan-shaped stance, sending out unfriendly vibes. Like that would scare me. I could take them in my sleep.

“Hey, I’m more like a Daphne than a Velma,” I pout. “I mean I have the red hair and the hot bod.”

The hefty dog suddenly jumps on my leg and starts humping it. When I wanted my senses back, this wasn’t what I had in mind.

Hollywood blond can barely contain the humor in his voice. “He does like your hot bod.”

“He likes anything he can rub his dick on,” the rude one retorts, after spitting more seeds, this time dangerously close to my shoe.

And I hope the hard thing against my calf is only a tactile hallucination. “Are you trying to grow a vineyard out here?” I raise a derisive brow at him, earning a hateful glare and more spitting.

I’m still trying to shake the plowing machine off me when Hunter emerges behind the trio like an obsidian demigod.

“What’re you doing here?” He doesn’t sound angry. The morning light illuminates his handsome face and turns his dark eyes chestnut brown. He’s still just as hot and rugged as before, and so much more.

I want him. So fucking much, shooting pains rush from my stomach down to my balls.

Desire flashes for a second in his eyes, making me think Grizzly might be happy to see me. Then his hands fall on Hollywood’s shoulders in an overly familiar gesture, and my thoughts veer to red and punishing whips.

What’s with my fifty shades of kink? Is this jealousy? I’m not sure how to process it. I can’t just toss the competition away like I did when I took Art’s phone number from Hunter’s pants last night. Can I?

And I’m feeling nervous as well. What the fuck is going on with me? Nothing has changed, and at the same time, everything has.

“What do you think? I’m stalking you again,” I reply with annoyance. Sweat rolls down my spine, turning cold in the spring chill.

“A-gain?” Hollywood slowly repeats.

“Couldn’t call me?” Of course, Bear doesn’t make it easy on me.

“Need to talk to you. Alone,” I tell him, glancing at the trio.

“Velma here thinks we are your side bitches,” the rude one mumbles around a piece of grape.

There’s a moment of silence. The brunet, the silent one, makes a disgusted face and then loud laughter fills the front yard.

I can’t take my eyes off Hunter, though. His laugh is at my expense, I get it, but I’m mesmerized by his carefree smile. His brown pools are filled with joy, those juicy lips stretched over pearly white teeth, and his head tilted slightly back showing his smooth, thick neck and the mark I left there. The hand lifting in front of his mouth is trying to hide it all, but there’s no use. His happy face is forever imprinted in my brain.

Meg is wrong. I’m not interested in Hunter. I’m fucking fixated on him.

When they stop laughing I shrug unapologetically. “What was I supposed to think? The wicked trio didn’t offer any explanation.” But the truth is that a wave of relief hits me.

“Who are you?” The silent one speaks! The squirrel slides down his shoulder, and he catches it in his arms before it falls on the hard ground.

“I’m Grizzly’s…partner,” I reply, still staring at the weird animal.

“Grizzly?” Hollywood blond likes to repeat what I say. He sends a dubious glance at the rude one.

“He doesn’t do partners,” the silent one lets me know, pointing his thumb back at Hunter.

“Are we talking work or private?” I ask, not giving Grizzly the time to say anything.

“Both,” the blonds say together, and Hunter sighs with exasperation.

“I suddenly feel like I’m on the set of The Shining. I’m in, if Jack makes an appearance.” I look around dramatically. Then I hear a long bleat followed by a couple of oinks. “Are we near a farm?”

Hollywood blond opens his mouth, but Hunter’s firm “enough” shushes him. His bossiness is so damn hot. He steps around the trio and out on the porch. “We have some animals. Come, we’ll talk in the backyard.”

“But we have questions and no fucking answers!” The rude one looks like a frustrated child.

“My heart. It bleeds.” I snigger at his indignant expression and send him a flying kiss. “Feel free to share it with the remaining two-thirds of your trio.”

Hunter’s deadpan expression makes me move, and I follow him around the side of the house—not before catching the rude one flipping me off. I, of course, respond in kind. I feel suddenly at home.

While walking behind Hunter, my eyes are caught by his ass. Damn, I could bounce a quarter off that thing. It should be displayed in an art museum. Those two dimples on his lower back make my tongue eagerly twist inside my mouth.

The animal noises get louder and the smell stronger. Soon enough, we pass by a small, fenced area holding two goats, a pig, and chickens. Further down, I can see a small vegetable garden. Didn’t take Grizzly for the farming type.

We walk on the concrete path that wraps around to the back of the house leading to a covered, wooden deck. Thick trees block the view from any neighboring houses, and a green barn sits about twenty feet away, just before the row of trees.

This place is not bad. Fresh air. Space. Peace.

Hunter waves at an armless white chair on the deck as he sits on another one. The old paint is cracked and peeling, they look ancient but sturdy.

“Uhm, sorry to barge in here…uninvited.” I sound like a bumbling idiot. A lying idiot too since I’m not sorry at all. I drop my ass on the hard chair and feel the coolness of the iron seeping through my legs and back. My hands are sweaty and I rub the palms on the rough fabric of my jeans.

“The triplets are obnoxious with anybody, invited or not.” He crosses his arms, a closed-off posture. Not good.

“I’m nothing special. Got the message,” I joke. What I’m really doing is fishing for compliments, but Hunter remains silent. “Who are they?” I dare to ask.

“They live with me, that’s all.” Defensive and vague.

“Papa Bear fits you.” I draw my conclusions. It’s odd that I didn’t find anything about the trio when I researched Hunter. Not a thing. Why? It’s hard to think with his bare torso just a few feet from me.

“Papa Bear.” He lets out a puff of air as I slide my gloveless hands between my thighs and look around. “Are you okay?” It feels like his intense stare has a direct view into my soul.

“Mmm, I’m sorry about yesterday. I…” I run a nervous hand through my hair—it’s soft and thick and damp. I’m sweating every-fucking-where, Jesus.

Oh, fuck it! “Do you know what emotional numbness is?”

He shakes his head. His expression stern.

“It’s a psychological phenomenon. It’s something our mind does to help us cope when we’re flooded with…big emotions. The brain takes a sharp left to la-la land, and it makes you feel numb.”

He keeps silent. His dark, wary gaze studying me.

“It’s usually temporary. Not in my case.” I let out a bitter laugh. “I have a selective type that my mother calls sensory numbness because it affects my senses: touch, taste, and smell. I don’t feel them.”

He blinks a couple of times, and the severity disappears from his face. “You don’t feel them.”

“Nope.”

I see the exact moment he starts thinking back. “When you got hit with that wooden board, you didn’t even flinch, and the cactus at the supermarket…you acted like you didn’t feel anything.”

“Because I didn’t.”

He drops his elbows on his knees and leans toward me. “But when we fucked, you were feeling my touch. You begged for it.”

Fuck, yes, I did, and I hope I’ll do it again. “Fucking and fighting give me an adrenaline rush, which awakens my dormant senses for a very brief time. My mind kind of unlocks and gives my body the reins.”

He checks his knuckles, and when his eyes come back to me, they’re filled with fire.

Who needs air, right?

“This numbness is a defense mechanism. Something happened to you.” Very acute. It’s not a question, but a statement. Doesn’t need a reply from me.

I stand up and move to the edge of the deck, eyes on the line of trees. The earthy smell of nature fills my lungs, and I can’t get enough. “A mental dissociation. The numbness started as a temporary relief. But after a while, those sense-full moments became the real relief. Ironic, right?”

“Why are you telling me this, Ramiel?” He sounds angry, and when I turn to look at him, his hands are balled up, pressing on his thighs. Did I irritate him? He surely didn’t sign up for this. We are temporarily working together, and just had fun a couple of times, vomiting my personal stuff on him isn’t something he expected or wanted.

“Why?” he repeats when I don’t give him an answer. His intense gaze is making a hole inside my head, like he’s trying to dig a reply out of me with only the force of his mind.

And maybe he’s succeeding since I whisper, “Because I need you.” His eyes snap once again to mine as I utter those words. So many emotions swirling in them. I want to touch him so badly just to see if the feel of his skin under mine is as thrilling as I remember.

“To?”

“To feel,” I tell him simply.

“Why me? And not the twink at the club?” Am I imagining the jealousy I see on his face? Or maybe he just dislikes Art.

“Because I didn’t let him fuck me then run away when my senses didn’t go numb again.”

He straightens his back. “Are you telling me that you can smell, taste, and feel touch since I fucked you?”

“Your cock must be magical.” My humor falls flat, and my smirk too. “Look, I know it sounds crazy. But it’s true, I fucking promise you. I’ve been without those three senses for eighteen years, and I don’t want to lose them again.”

“Why do you think you’ll lose them again? Was there any change since last night?”

I sigh. “A couple of times. But I’m not sure if it was just me freaking out. It’s a valid possibility, though, to think I could lose them again.” Right? “All I know is that you fucked me, and now I feel. So it’s only logical to think that, if I stay close to you and we keep fucking, there’s more chances for me to keep feeling.”

Am I grasping at straws here? My speech sounded much better inside my head.

His brow kicks up while his eyes narrow. “For how long?”

I shrug. “I wouldn’t mind doing it for a while. Would you?”

He strokes his head with his hand, a gesture I know now he does when he’s contemplating. It’s still damn sexy to watch his bicep flexing, pec rising, muscles moving.

“So you want me to do what? Let you stay here? Let you touch me? Me do the touching?” Hate when people answer with a question.

“Yes, not all the time, yes, and fuck yes.” Then I add, “I understand if you don’t want to…what am I saying? I don’t give a fuck. I need you to keep making me feel.” I hope he can hear the determination in my voice, and my growing irritation. “You should be all over me by now. It’s kind of insulting, the way you’re questioning me, Bear. I’m giving you access to all of this, for fuck sake.” I wave a hand up and down my fabulous body.

He just keeps staring, still sitting in that damn chair. The fact that he doesn’t look affected by me both angers me and turns me so much the fuck on. I huff at my traitorous body. “I’m willing to give you, in exchange, whatever you want,” I propose.

“Whatever?” He sounds dubious.

“Yeah, well, I don’t hurt innocent people, especially kids and animals, not even indirectly,” I specify.

“The boys will be happy to hear that.”

“The animals are theirs?” I ask.

“They run the pet shelter next door.” The wicked trio might have a chance after all.

“So, what do you want? Money? A gallon of dog shampoo? A car?” I ask impatiently. Because I want a repeat so fucking bad. My heart is kicking hard against my ribcage. I’m already feeling the fire in my gut, the heat in my blood. The ache in my dick.

“Don’t like to be bought.”

“It would be a fair exchange.”

“Let me think about it,” he says after a pause.

Fair enough. “Got it.” I avert my eyes. I’ll give him some time—a day, a few hours. One. One hour is more than enough. I won’t fucking desist.

“No, you don’t.” His growly words catch my attention. “Let me think about what I want, but in the meantime…” He opens his arms in invitation.

I think my eyes are trying to pop out of their sockets. “Just like that?” I ask incredulously. It can’t be this easy.

“We fucked already. I find you attractive. Touching you or being touched is not an issue for me.”

I feel a smirk curling my lips. “Oh, Papa Bear. You really are turning soft.”

“Just come here before I change my mind.” I don’t let him do that. And in the next second, I’m standing in front of him. Maybe I’m too eager, but who the fuck cares? I showed my cards. He knows I’m desperate for it already.

“What do you want, Ramiel?” he asks with that rumbly, orgasmic voice of his.

So many options.His wide, mountainous chest is calling me, but I might explode in my pants if I start from there. “Your hand.” I finally make a decision.

He seems surprised by my choice but raises his hand, palm up. The moment my fingers touch his, a current of electricity shoots up my arm and makes my hand tingle all over. It hurts and heals me at the same time. It’s exhilarating.

I lace our fingers together and let out a moan.

“Tell me what you feel,” he whispers.

“Your skin is blazing hot against mine. Just one touch, and I’m on fire.” I look down, and the big bulge in his jeans is hard to miss, as is the black hair peeking out of the open button. “I want…”

“Take what you want, Red.” His order is filled with desire.

I straddle his lap. I have to force my thighs wide open to accommodate his large hips. My arms wrap around his neck, and I start a slow, sexy grind, stroking my ass on his erection. His belly rubs against my cock every time I move and my head falls back in ecstasy. “Fuck, you’re so big. I still feel you inside of me every time I move.”

His hands fall on my waist and slide under my shirt. His searing fingers bite mercilessly into my skin as he grunts. Hair stands all over my body.

“It hurts so good,” I moan.

All my thoughts are stolen. All my sanity—if I ever had any—evaporates. A mix of hunger and possessiveness pour inside my chest, and while looking into his eyes, I start moving my hands.

“Your skin is smooth and soft, it looks delicious…want to lick it, suck it, bite it. Seeing my mark on you makes me feel so hot.” I keep rolling my hips while I dip my head and give the bruise on his neck a long lick. I groan. “Decadent and salty, you’re better than cake.” I inhale his glorious, smoky scent until I feel my chest exploding. “Your smell is additive, cum-inducing. And those sexy curls.” I let my fingers stroke the silky-soft hair peppering his chest, his nipples bead and grow taut under my eyes.

I keep going down, stopping on his belly. My hips speed up, and a shiver rocks my body. My jeans-trapped dick aches and screams for release every time it strokes against him. My hands tremble as I brush only my fingertips over his slightly round abdomen. “It’s like your body came out of one of my sex dreams.”

He grabs the back of my hair and pulls my head until my eyes find his. I whimper under the authoritative stare while the sting from his fingers forces pre-cum rolling down my shaft.

“Take my cock out.” His voice is unrecognizable. Deep and animalistic. It wakes something inside of me, something that will do anything he orders. I push my ass slightly back and undo the two buttons before releasing his hard, uncut length.

“Now work it,” he growls. “And keep talking to me.” So demanding. I could come just listening to him.

I spit on the palm of my hand and wrap it around his hard cock, turning it slick. Pre-cum drips from the slit, and I slide my finger up to spread it around. “Your cockhead felt amazing inside me, hitting my prostate or the back of my throat. It choked me so good.”

“Fuck,” he curses, thrusting his hips up almost like he can’t restrain himself. It feels different from the other times we had fun. It’s like he’s giving me some control.

I place my hand on his chest and pull on his small, dark nipple. His grunt makes my dick throb, and I fumble with the zip on my pants to let it out. That’s when he bends his head and lets a long dribble of saliva fall on our cocks. Jesus Christ, that’s hot.

“Make us come.” The deep rasp in his voice melts my insides. I’ve never been more ready to follow a command. I scoot forward again until our dicks touch and curl both my hands around them. The sight of his dark skin against my pale tone is a thing of beauty. But his long, leaking Black cock against my hard one is an orgasmic vision.

When I start jerking us off, the hot, wet, smooth friction sends my brain into space.

Hunter’s heavy hand falling hard on my ass pulls me back to earth with a moan. “Tell me, Red.”

“So damn good!” I moan again.

He yanks my head back, making me sob in pleasure and pain. “You can do better than that.” Then he sucks his fingers, and a moment later, his hand is in the back of my pants, under my lacy panties, and sliding between my cheeks.

“Yes!” I scream when his fingertips start circling around my back entrance. I pump our cocks faster and push my ass toward his hand, hoping he will get the hint.

“Talk, and I’ll finger-fuck your pussy until you beg me to stop,” he rumbles, and my eyes cross.

“Every time your cock slides against mine, it gives life to a…whirlpool of pleasure inside my balls. Hot, hard, so thick in my hands. Big. You keep leaking pre-cum, and all I want to do is suck it straight out of the tip and drink it down.”

He’s driving his hips up in a fast tempo now, and from his parted lips, quick puffs of breath are coming out.

“Your lips look so juicy. I want to…” His mouth swallows my words as it crashes onto mine just as his long finger pushes inside of me, forcing me open.

I part my lips on a silent scream, and his tongue invades my mouth while his finger starts thrusting. Soon another one slides inside, and I’m flying.

His cock rubbing against mine, lips devouring me, and fingers fucking me kill all rational thoughts. I suck on his delicious tongue and bite his plump lower lip before licking it better.

“You like my fingers inside you? You’re so fucking wet.” He crooks them, brushing my prostate, and small fireworks set off in my dick. “Keep pumping my cock. Such a good fuck toy. I’ll let you drink my load if you come first.”

Yes, I want to taste him again.His words spur me on, and I sync the pump of my hands on our dicks with the movement of his fingers. The pleasure doubles. A prickling, tingling sensation spreads all over me, concentrating in my balls and throbbing dick. It’s mind-blowing. I can’t stop the pending climax anymore.

“Just like that. Keep feeding that pussy. Such a hungry hole. Does it want another finger?” he whispers darkly against my lips.

I nod, unable to utter a word. One single thrust on his three digits, and I’m coming so hard, my jizz reaches his neck and chin as my vision becomes unfocused. This kind of rapture can kill a man. But what a way to go.

When I come back down from O-city, Hunter is sucking hard on my neck. He moves back, and his glassy eyes fasten on the bruise he surely left there. The dull pain on my skin makes me smile big, and his gaze lifts to my lips.

His hand is stroking his cock in a fast tempo, and I feel my spent one jerking at the hot sight.

“Ready for your first load?”

I nod eagerly. The image has extra saliva filling my mouth.

“Wrap those pretty lips around my cock then, and fill your belly,” he growls. As soon as I kneel between his thighs, his cockhead is inside my mouth, shooting cum. I swallow until there’s nothing left and still suck and lick on his slit. His large hand fists and releases my hair as he grunts and groans.

“Best I’ve ever tasted.” I wink at him before taking his cock back inside my mouth. I sigh contently. I love the feel of his weight there. The smooth texture. The smell of jizz and Hunter.

“For as long as we do this, you are my bitch. Nobody else touches you. Are we clear?” he suddenly says. He looks serious.

The insulting way he talks about me should vex me, but it just makes me shiver with fresh desire. Still, I turn a glare his way.

“Stop pretending you don’t like it, Red, especially while slurping my softening cock like it’s the sweetest lollipop.”

I’m doing that, aren’t I? The acknowledgment doesn’t make me let go. I actually hollow my cheeks and moan with satisfaction when a drop of cum lands on my tongue.

“Fuuuuck!” He’s running his hand through my hair, and I close my eyes for a second, trying to hide the bliss those gentle fingers are causing. “If I ask you to bend over and give me that tight cunt right now, you would.”

So true. I’m fucked. But he isn’t immune to me either. I suck hard on the fat head, making him hiss and grip a handful of my hair.

“Are we clear?” He pulls me off his impressively hardening cock and lightly slaps me on the face with it. One cheek, then my lips. Damn, why do I like that?

“Are we?” He traces my mouth with the head, and my tongue darts out and twists around it, tearing a another groan from his throat.

I make an exaggerated slurping sound. “Crystal, Grizzly. And the same goes for you. Now let me the fuck go.” His hand drops, but as soon as I’m standing again, he pulls me between his thighs.

A breath before my hands fall on his shoulders fear assaults me. But then my palms are hit by the warmth of his skin and the slow rise and fall of his breathing. A sigh filled with immense relief leaves me, and I let out a short laugh.

“My senses are still working,” I murmur with wonder.

“Good.” Hunter has a small satisfied smile on his lips. Um. Don’t know how to interpret that.

I bend down and clean off my cum from his neck and chin, sucking a little on the mark I left there yesterday.

“I taste good on you,” I whisper saucily.

He hisses my name—my full name—and his fingers curl around my neck, pulling me down when I smirk smugly at him.

Then he kisses me. His lips are so warm, wet, and big, they envelop mine completely in a very dirty, open-mouthed kiss.

A loud whistle makes us part and turn toward the house. The white curtains on the French windows are slightly open, and the rude one is there, glaring, while Hollywood blond is giving us the thumbs-up.

My surprised cough turns into a laugh. Papa Bear mumbles something that suspiciously sounds like, “Damn brats.”