Chapter 8

I jerk awake, shooting up in my bed. My chest heaves. Sweat clings to my skin, turning it cold, and goose bumps spread over my arms and my nape.

I suck in oxygen as my pounding heart fights to regain a normal rhythm. I look around my bedroom, it takes a while for my eyes to get used to the light. It must be afternoon. I stroke my palm over my head.

“Damn it!” I mutter. The sound of my ragged breaths fills the room. The white sheets are twisted around my thighs and feet. Why do I keep having dreams about that day? I’ve been to prison. Have seen terrible things happen and almost had them done to me—thankfully, I’m a big motherfucker who can defend himself.

A shiver runs through me.

My head is usually blissfully quiet, but now it feels like an overcrowded airport. I rub my forehead, the start of a headache kicking in, and try hard to shake off those memories. Screaming, the sound of his body hitting the floor, blood, death. Anger and shame, so much shame.

I’m awake, but the nightmare still has its hooks in me.

A strange noise forms in the back of my throat. The sound of water running coming from the en suite bathroom halts it.

Ramiel.

After the hottest fuck of my life, I fell asleep with my eyes on his, my softening, raw cock inside him and our hands clasped, his finger rubbing so delicately against my palm. Nobody has ever touched my hand that way. I’ve never fucking let them. But with Ramiel, I find it comforting, calming.

The opposite of what he made me feel before I literally drilled his ass. The fact that I don’t need to restrain myself with him is a huge turn-on. He can take me and my violent force. More, he provokes me to give it to him rougher, to treat him like a slut. And just the thought of that makes my tired cock twitch.

When he appeared at my door this morning, I didn’t know what to expect. He bantered with the boys, but he’s a brat as well, so there’s no surprise there. What he confessed afterward, though, that hit me right in the gut. The vulnerability he tried to hide behind the irritation moved something inside of me. Something close to home.

He thinks he’s broken, I read it in his eyes. Is that the reason for the pull I felt toward him from the moment he walked into that alley? Whatever happened to him turned him numb. The fact that I, and only I, am able to keep those senses alive fills my chest with a weird, warm feeling.

What the fuck is that? I let out a long breath and slide out of bed to make my way to the bathroom.

I slowly push the door open and lean against the frame when I see Ramiel in front of the mirror. He’s naked, his wet hair looks darker and dripping onto his shoulders. The light seeping through the window makes the rivulets of water running down his chest and back almost…glow.

His pale, freckled skin is so damn alluring. The muscles underneath are strong. I know because I’ve grabbed them, squeezed them, spanked them. My eyes fall on the handprints I left on his spectacular ass, the bruises on his hips and thighs. Love to mark his peachy skin. Just a little pressure, and my fingerprint is on him.

Like this? He looks like mine.

He’s studying the bruise I left on his neck in the mirror. A small, satisfied smile on his lips that makes my dick jerk in appreciation. But when he catches my reflection, it turns into a pout.

“No dildo on the shower wall? I’m disappointed.”

“Haven’t you had enough?” I grab my slightly hard dick and give it a fast pump, moving the foreskin down the tip. The sudden lust filling his eyes makes me say, “I’ll buy one.”

He blinks. Then asks with a surprised tone, “You will?”

I groan. “You dripping wet, water cascading down your body as you fuck yourself on a dildo.” I push away from the door and start stalking his way. My balls hanging heavy between my legs, dick swinging. “Your hands grabbing my ass while you moan and choke around my cock and fuck your pussy at the same time? I’m getting hard right now just thinking about it.”

“Fuck, me too.” I stop in front of him and brush the shadow of a bruise under his eye. It’s not from my hands, and I don’t fucking like it.

“But bath first.” He gives me a sweet smile and turns toward the bathtub. The sight of his juicy ass doesn’t help with my erection. He turns off the water and dips two fingers in to check the temperature.

“Didn’t you take a shower?” My eyes slide down his wet body, still dripping on the bathmat.

“Yeah. I love the feel of water falling on my skin. Now I want to experience a hot submersion. Want to join?”

Right. A shower or a bath are new experiences for him. Things that, for me, are the everyday usual, for him and his awakened senses aren’t.

I’d never thought I’d say yes to a bath. The tub was already here when I moved in, and this whole bathroom was new, in opposition to the rest of the place. But I find myself nodding at him.

I’m starting to understand that if Ramiel is involved, my answer tends to be yes.

He gestures me to come closer. The bathtub is a decent size for two people, but that doesn’t take into account our larger sizes—especially mine. We take up enough space that he has no choice but to stay pressed against me, his back to my chest, knees bent. Not complaining here. Not with the globes of his firm ass parked on my dick. I’m not fully hard, and I can see he isn’t either. Right now, sex is not the priority. Sharing this peaceful moment is.

I groan in bliss as I let my body sink deeper into the hot water, loosely wrapping an arm around his waist.

“Mmm.” Ramiel lets out a long sigh and drops his head on my shoulder. The water temperature is perfect.

“Didn’t take you for a bath person.” He chuckles and then kisses my neck.

I roll my shoulders. Maybe I should reconsider, if he’s willing to wiggle his ass like he’s doing right now. “It’s good for the muscles.” I grunt. The cradle of his butt cheeks feels fucking amazing.

“How did you meet the wicked trio?” he suddenly asks.

I turn my head and let my nose dive into his damp hair, his fresh scent hits me. “I shared my cell with an old guy. He was in for robbery. He helped me get acclimated to prison in exchange for protection. Being a Black ex-cop who killed a priest made things quite difficult at times.”

As I keep talking, Ramiel takes my hand and starts that pinky-to-palm stroking. “We became friends. He was sick and knew he’d never make it out. One day, he told me about his three grandsons and made me promise to keep an eye on them when I got out.”

“You did more than that, though,” Ramiel whispers.

“The situation I found them in was worse than I thought. Had no choice.” Two years have passed since that day. Ash still doesn’t trust me completely and uses that fuck-off attitude to protect himself. Ren pretends everything is fine behind those high walls he built around himself, and Dare…keeps everything inside.

“Most people wouldn’t have cared. They are very lucky you found them. And they appreciate it, I can assure you. They almost attacked me this morning, like guard dogs.”

“They were simply defending their home.”

“And you. I had to endure a Salem-witch interrogation. Plus, they’ve turned eighteen, if they didn’t like you, they would just up and leave.”

I sigh against his hair. “Let me guess, you researched them?”

He turns his head to look into my eyes. “Just on the surface. Boy Scout promise.”

“You? A Boy Scout?” I snort.

“Okay, you got me there, I was never part of the Boy Scout gangs. But the rest is true. I wanted you to share it with me.”

“Why? We barely know each other,” I say, but the question is also directed at myself. Why? Why does Ramiel feel like more? Is it only because we have a difficult past in common? Pain?

“True. But you have a positive effect on my body, obviously. And I want to repay you somehow. People hate when I know more than they want to share. Even my blood brothers do.”

“Blood brothers?”

He opens his palm and shows me an old, deep scar running through it. “A blood promise I made with my foster bros.”

“What’s that?” I look at the red number on his wrist. It’s a brand. “Three.”

“Part of my past.” His gaze dims as he lowers it to the water. And I feel like all his levity and frivolity has fled his body. I won’t accept that.

I kiss his lips slow and long, and when we part, a light, almost triple-dimple, dopey smile breaks out. That’s better. The warm feeling in my chest is back.

“You’re so gooey inside. Such a papa bear,” Ramiel says playfully, turning his body to the side—as far as he can in the bathtub—to pull on the hair on my chest. His eyes dance with refound cheerfulness.

“No, I’m not.” I feel my cheeks growing hot.

And of course, he notices. His light brown gaze turns mischievous. “Are you blushing, Hunter Bear? Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone,” he stage-whispers.

“You are two seconds away from a spanking.”

He moans and then bites my chin. His lips move down, nibbling my throat, the red stubble on his cheek scraping against my skin with the most delicious friction. I drag my fingers through his soft hair to keep him there.

“I don’t hear any kind of threat in that sentence.” He starts idly stroking circles over my belly. His hands always find their way there, like he can”t stop himself.

There’s a flutter deep in my stomach. There’s something exciting about him being turned on by my belly. I work hard on my muscles, and those are what catch people’s attention, not my abdomen. But for Ramiel, my round belly seems to be my best attribute—not counting my cock. He enjoys stroking his face and dick against it. Maybe next time we fuck, I should make him ride me.

“The water is getting cold.” He slowly makes his way out of the tub. I follow, and as I straighten, the headache starts pricking my head again.

“Throw me the blue towel, you can use the yellow one.” I point at the towels hanging from the hooks on the wall near him. He tosses mine way too far to my left, and I have to stretch my arm to grab it.

“Thanks?” I frown at his bad aim, and the facial movement worsens the ache between my eyes.

“What’s that?” he asks while drying himself.

“What?”

“That furrow between your eyebrows. Are you in pain?” He tosses the towel toward the laundry basket, but misses it by a lot. He really has the worst aim.

“Um, just a slight headache.”

He grabs my hand and pulls me into the bedroom.

“Lie down, ass up,” he orders me. But I remain standing near the bed.

“Just do it, Hunter. I’ll give you a massage.”

I still don’t move. “Do you know how?” I don’t think he does, considering his previous numb condition.

“I assure you, you won’t be needing Phil’s slimy hands anymore!” Slimy hands? “Remember our deal,” he adds. His challenging eyes hold a strong determination as well.

“Okay, but first tell me, did you get a happy ending from Ted?” The other fucking masseuse.

He frowns. “I was just messing with you. I would’ve never let him touch me.”

“Because you couldn’t feel it?”

A defeated sigh leaves his lips. “Yes. But I think I still don’t like to be touched.”

“But you want me to touch you, Red.” Do I sound hopeful? Since when does the thought of not being able to touch him, fuck him, own him send a cold sensation down my back?

“I meant touched by strangers. You’re different…I mean, with you is different.” He shrugs, trying to be nonchalant, but instead looking all vulnerable and shit with those bright gold eyes on me. And all I want to do is hold him close to my chest and kiss his damp hair.

Instead I sit on the sheets then roll face down, my cheek pressed to my crossed arms. Hands balled up.

“Body oil?” he inquires.

“Dresser.” He moves away, and I hear the sound of a drawer opening.

I’m tense as fuck. It’s not that I don’t want him to touch me. It’s that I’m not used to being this intimate with someone I have sex with. With someone full stop. Intimacy means trust, and that’s a real issue for me. But I like Ramiel touching me after sex and his pinky-to-palm stroking.

I turn my head to check what he’s doing, and I find him staring at the cross pendent hanging from my neckless. Fuck, I forgot it was in the drawer. My jaw clenches, teeth grinding, head pulsing. My body has turned to stone and unwanted memories flicker through my mind.

He puts it back where he found it and returns to the bed. I don’t comment on that, and thankfully, he doesn’t either. He straddles my hips, wiggling his ass until he finds a good position.

“Serena, instruct me how to give a relaxing massage,” he utters.

“Red, you should—” I start, trying to move away from him.

“Shhh! I can’t hear!” He presses my already aching head back on my arms.

I feel the oil dropping between my shoulder blades. His hands spread it around before they start pressing, rubbing, and manipulating my skin, tendons, and ligaments.

He goes from light strokes to deep pressure, kneading my tense muscles just right and making me grunt and moan in bliss. I push my forehead to my crossed arms and let go a long sigh. He’s not only massaging me but also cataloging my body. He pauses on every scar, mole, and small imperfection, taking his time.

“Your skin is like a river of chocolate.” He drags the pad of his fingers up my spine before sliding them back down. “Can’t stop the urge to taste it.” He leans down for a moment, just enough time to lick the side of my neck. His warm tongue makes me shiver.

Then he reaches my arms and rubs my biceps, working his fingers around my now relaxed body. All thoughts have disappeared, leaving my head blissfully empty. When he moves to my shoulders and the base of my neck, I groan.

“Better?” he asks a while later, while concentrating on my ass cheeks. I grunt. My dick is too relaxed to react, but I feel a slight tingle in my balls.

“So you just wanted to grope my ass?” I slur.

“Groping should be actively encouraged during a massage.” I can clearly see the roguish grin he’s sporting with his sparkling gaze, even though my eyes are closed.

“I’ll be sure to tell Phil next time. Hey!” I lift my head as the pain spreads on my left ass cheek from Ramiel’s pinch.

“Oops, my hand slipped,” he lies, but I kind of like his sparks of jealousy. He slides higher on my back until his cock is right on my ass. “I’ll be your private masseuse from now on. Charge free.”

He grabs my butt cheeks and spits before placing his hard length right in the wet crack. He leans down, holding himself on his hands and starts using my ass to jerk off. “I just need my happy ending,” he pants.

His heavy breaths are right in my ear. Every time he thrusts, he strokes his dick over my hole, waking up all the nerves around that area. My cock turns to steel in under a second. I grab the back of his hair hard as I start humping the mattress, and at the same time, pressing against his cock more roughly.

“Fuck yes! Your ass is fucking amazing,” he moans. I love how loud he can be during sex.

“Yours as well, Red.”

“It’s tender as fuck, but all I want is to feel your big dick in me again.”

A growl tears from me before I push him off me, shove his body to the mattress, and mount him from behind. I find the bottle of oil on the sheets and pour some on my fingers and dick. I work his hole just for a minute, while he whimpers and begs me to fuck him hard.

“Grab my hair,” he cries.

I grip a handful, arching his back while my cock slides all the way inside. Fucking heaven. I push deeper, grinding my balls against him. I’m pinning him to me using my dick, the urge to never let him go pulsing inside my veins.

Will I ever get fed up of fucking his vise-like perfect cunt?

He cries out when I start hammering my hips.

For now, I’m going to come balls deep, so fucking deep inside that a part of me will never leave him.

When I wake up a few hours later, the other side of my bed is empty. I can see the sky is still bright blue through the curtains, the white clouds looking fluffy.

I drop my head on the pillow. We ate a couple of sandwiches before falling asleep—I’ve never seen someone enjoying mayo and ham like that before.

I woke up some time later to go to the bathroom. When I came back, I found Ramiel sprawled out on the bed, the sheets piled up in a messy heap at his feet, his hair sticking up in all directions, alabaster skin covered in bite marks and bruises. He looked well fucked and…adorable. His freckled body reminds me of a bright and peaceful starry night sky. I stared at his sleeping form before I climbed into the bed and pulled him into my arms, his back pressed flush to my front. He didn’t wake up. I buried my nose in his neck, and then pushed my cock back into his loose, still wet hole. He moaned and pressed his ass closer, letting my dick slide deeper. Then he grabbed my hand and kept dreaming.

I didn’t fuck him. I just felt the extreme need to be inside him. His ass took me so damn well and held me so snugly and deep while I fell asleep. The memory makes me warm all over, and there’s nothing remotely fucking sexual about it. Being with him feels stronger than the attraction simmering between us. The overwhelming lust.

This isn’t the right moment for something more, though. I have enough on my plate as it is. But something violent flashes inside me at the thought of letting Ramiel go. Something ugly.

The smell of food shakes me out of my strange thoughts, and after relieving my bladder and pulling on a pair of sweats, I walk out of my bedroom. I pass Dare in the corridor. He grunts at me, and I pat his shoulder. The silent one. My lips curve, thinking about Ramiel’s humor.

When I enter the kitchen, Ramiel is at the stove with his back to me and Maple drooling at his feet. He’s wearing my gray sweats—he rolled the waist and legs more than once since I’m bigger and taller than him—and a pink apron that I’ve never seen before. His freckled, muscular back is deliciously on display. But it’s the mundane sight of him cooking that really turns me on.

I step up behind him, and I feel him breathe deeply, as if he’s savoring my nearness. I slide my arms around his waist and press my cock against him. He pushes back, clearly letting me know he wants me inside him. When doesn’t he? We are like two teenagers going at it.

I dig my teeth into his shoulder, responding to his shocked gasp and long shudder with a groan.

“You’re fucking irresistible,” I drawl.

“I know,” Ramiel scoffs arrogantly, using the spatula in the skillet. If he expects me to pull back, he’ll be waiting a while. “Your stinky dog tried to attack my leg four times,” he complains.

I look down at it. “It’s a beautiful leg.”

His elbow hits me in the side. “Although I admire his persistence?—”

“It reminds me of you, Red,” I tease.

Another sharp elbow. “I’ll castrate him next time.”

I snort. He grabs the kitchen knife from the counter and twists it in his hand like a pro. Impressive. Why is his aim so terrible?

“What’re you cooking?” It looks like eggs and vegetables. And there’s some kind of sauce in a pot and pasta cooking in another. It all smells divine. I’m starving.

“Omelets, toast, and Bolognese. You need to restore your energy, Grizzly.” His words are followed by a cute growl.

I let out a small laugh. He’s ridiculous with this bear thing. It kind of annoyed me at first, now it amuses me, just like he does.

He wiggles his ass and strokes my cock up and down, while continuing to cook. But that won’t do. I abruptly spin him around, crowding him against the counter, and claim his mouth. I hear the drop of the spatula when I grasp his hips, hauling him closer. He’s solid and strong and gives back as much as I do, biting, sucking, and dueling with my tongue. We kiss and grind. His arms are around my neck, hands stroking all over me as he hauls a leg up on my hip.

“I think I could come like this, half riding you.” A moan rips out of him, and I greedily swallow it.

“After eating, I’m going to fuck your face,” I tell him between kisses.

I like the way his lips follow mine every time I pull back. It lures me back again, and I dive my tongue into his warm, delicious mouth. Everything about this feels good.

“Fuck the food. You said you’d feed my tongue something?” He sounds lost in the pleasure already. Fucking crave the power I have over him.

“Gross! It’s too early in the afternoon to approach creepy territory.” Ash’s voice turns my body to stone.

Ramiel wrinkles his nose, disrupting the pattern of freckles. He tilts his head to the side to look at Ash. “You were spying on us with your doppelg?nger this morning.”

“He was mentally trying to set the backyard on fire. I was the one cheering,” Ren’s voice comes next. I let go of Ramiel to turn toward the boys.

“To set Velma on fucking fire not the whole backyard.” Ash huffs, scratching his stomach under his tank top. “And what the ever-loving fuck are you wearing?”

“I’m cooking. Plenty of men wear aprons. It’s practical, my skin is delicate—I don’t need to give you any explanation!” Ramiel glares at Ash’s uninterested, retreating back. “Sit at the damn table if you want to eat.”

Ash stops walking toward the sofa and surprisingly moves to the table where Ren has already taken his place. They start hitting each other like two hyper testosterone-fueled teens—which they are.

Dare arrives with Fred sleeping around his neck. He doesn’t seem surprised to see Ramiel at the stove and goes to the cabinet to grab glasses and silverware. I help him out, grabbing other stuff.

“Get the drinks from the fridge.” I slap Ash behind the head.

“Ouch! Why only me? Ren is scratching his balls over here,” he complains, but goes to the kitchen.

“Fucking snitch!” Ren mutters.

“I have the same exact problem with one of my brothers.” Ramiel places a bowl full of pasta on the table and goes back to the stove to grab the rest of the food. Ash deposits the bottles of coke and water and dives to make his plate of pasta.

“You have brothers?” Dare asks him in his calm voice.

“I have six foster brothers, plus three new additions.”

Ash’s fork stops near his mouth.

“Foster brothers?” Ren returns with two cans of beer.

“I grew up in a foster home with a bunch of other kids.” Ramiel takes a seat next to me as I grab the cans and give one to him.

“Why?” Ash asks with his mouth full.

“My father was a drunk who never gave a fuck about me,” Ramiel replies in a colloquial way. Like what he just disclosed isn’t a big deal. I turn to look at him but don’t see any distress on his face. For the boys, though, this topic is too close for comfort.

“That who fucked up your hand?” Ash’s inappropriate question irritates me, but before I can put him back in his place, Ramiel replies with a bitter smirk on his mouth.

“No. I did.”

Ren clears his throat. “Are you a P.I.? An ex-cop? Ex-con?”

“No. No, and no. Wow, do they assist you with your job? Because they got the interrogation part down to a tee.” He winks at me, then turns to Dare. “Does your scarf need to eat?”

Dare blinks a couple of times, I’m sure quite shocked by Ramiel’s sudden interest in his odd squirrel. “No, Fred ate already.”

“Hunter, who is this guy?” Ash’s fork falls loudly on his plate.

“Yeah. He comes here, and you fuck him seven ways to Sunday, and then let him cook?” Ren adds, pushing his light blue, mirrored glasses up his nose. He never takes them off, even around us. And I can’t force him to be okay with it. Not after what happened to him. If he wants to keep hiding behind those glasses, it is fine by me. One day, perhaps he’ll stop.

“You need to put him back in the box,” Ash declares.

“What box?” Ramiel asks with a smirk. He seems to be entertained by the boys instead of annoyed.

“The fuck-off box.” Ash’s lips curl into a wicked smile.

Ramiel’s brow lifts slightly as he continues stuffing his mouth.

“The who-the-fuck-are-you box,” Ren offers.

“The get-the-fuck-out box,” Ash tries again.

And I’ve had enough. “The he-is-fucking-mine box. Now shut it and eat.” My words resound harshly in the room, but the boys go back to their plates after a few seconds.

I turn to Ramiel to see how he reacted to my possessive statement. Both his eyebrows have disappeared into his hairline, and his eyes have that lusty glint in them that makes my cock give a jerk as it tries to fill quickly. I slide a hand under the table to give it a painful squeeze.

Ramiel nods at me and then turns back to his plate, a small smile curving his mouth. He doesn’t look annoyed. Quite the opposite and I have to tighten the grip on my dick to stop it from lengthening even further.

We eat in silence for a while, too busy enjoying Ramiel’s delicious food. Is there a thing he’s not good at? Right, tossing stuff.

Maple is sleeping at my feet, snoring blissfully. Ramiel is right, my dog’s smell is unpleasant, but only because he has hormonal imbalances that cause an overgrowth of yeast and bacteria on the skin. I need to add room deodorant to the grocery list.

The boys are arguing about who knows what. Ramiel is stuffing his face with gusto, moaning around every bite, and I surrender to my hardening cock. The bow of his upper lip is covered in tomato sauce, and all I want to do is lick it off. Suck on it. And then give his mouth something else to feed on.

Damn it to hell, I need to get my head out of the gutter.

As a way to distract myself, I glance around, trying to see what Ramiel is seeing. The living room faces us. There’s a large worn-out couch and black armchair, no pillows, and a rectangular coffee table. No carpets on the old gray tiles or pictures on the wood-paneled walls. A TV is attached to one wall, and there is a very large bookcase filled with the boys’ video games and my books—a hobby I discovered in prison. The floor-to-ceiling windows have white curtains, the same color as the desk on the opposite wall, where my laptop sits.

It’s nothing special, but it’s home. I’m not much into extra stuff. Like to have only the essentials and what the boys need. The cottage has four bedrooms, two entrances, and two baths—one is exclusively mine, and the other is the daily reason for one of the triplets’ fights. Every room is quite large, I’m a big guy, and I need space.

As my eyes keep going around the living room, I realize that it’s less cluttered and messy than usual. We aren’t pigs—apart from Ash—but there’s always a piece of clothing, cans, plates, or video game-related stuff lying around. Ren and Dare keep their rooms neat and tidy—Ren is OCD about it—but they never care for the other rooms. The floor looks clean, and the TV doesn’t have the shit ton of cords hanging off it.

“Did someone clean?”

Ramiel shrugs. “You needed your sleep. Nobody was around, and Serena had no updates regarding our case.”

“You let fucking Cinderella inside our house.” Ash drinks his coke, holding the glass with his pinky up.

“Next, we’ll have a nest of rats behind every wall,” Ren mutters.

“You already have one.” Ramiel points at Fred lightly snoring around Dare’s neck. “And Cinderella was a pushover.”

“You’re slipping, old man,” Ash taunts me.

“I’m in my thirties,” I growl.

“You’re ancient!” Ren coughs in his fist.

“I regret encouraging the three of you to talk,” I tell them.

“You deserve an irritating Sponge Bob laugh. Wa wa wa wa.” Ash is right, that’s very irritating.

“That sounds more like Jim Carrey’s,” Dare interjects.

“Reminds me of Janice from Friends,” Ramiel jumps in.

“One of the minions, and let me see? You also look like one.” Ren lets his mouth fall open, faking a shocked expression, to which Ash responds with his raised middle finger.

“You’re dizygotic triplets. It’s rare,” Ramiel suddenly says.

It happens when one zygote divides into two identical fetuses, and the other does not. That’s why Ren and Ash look alike, while Dare doesn’t.

“How did you know?” Dare pats Fred before going back to his omelet.

“I have my ways.” He smirks. “Finding things about people is my…hobby. For example, your pet shelter is a money-draining machine. Could get more donations if you use different tactics. Puppy therapy never fails.”

“Did you tell him that?” Ash looks pissed as he turns his eyes on me.

“He didn’t.” Ramiel cleans his mouth with a napkin. “I see you have Bloody Kills.” He’s talking about one of the PlayStation video games the boys are always playing. ”Did you get on the other side of the bridge and into the abandoned hospital?”

“No,” Ash groans. “It’s impossible to get through the hordes of zombies.”

Ren nods. “Nobody knows how to do it.”

“I do,” Ramiel says nonchalantly while looking at his nails.

“Bullshit.” Ash sniffs

“You made Hunter fuck you in his bed, so I’m inclined to believe you,” Ren says instead.

“Nobody made me do anything.” I cross my arms.

“Sure. You’re the strongest and most vigorous bear sitting at this table,” Ramiel pats my arm conciliatorily, then grabs my hand and starts the pinky-palm stroke.

Ash burps. “Manners,” I uselessly remind him, he just doesn’t care.

“What? It shows how much I appreciated the meal.”

“So, game?” Ren asks insistingly.

“Boost the red jeep, but kill the sniper on the other side of the bridge first.”

“How the hell do you know that?” Ash narrows his eyes.

“He created the game,” I explain. Ramiel lifts a brow at me. “Yeah, I know things about you too, Red.”

“That’s epic, dude!” Ash yells.

“Wait, you are Ramiel Masters?” Ren slowly stands up. “The Master?”

The Master?

“Mmm, yeah? Last time I checked.”

Ash’s loud whistle pierces the air as Ren imitates a dying fish.

“Maybe he’s stroking out,” Dare states, not sounding worried at all.

“Don’t follow the light!” Ramiel teases Ren.

“Unless there’s Elvis at the end,” Ash adds.

“Ash!” I scold him.

“He’s the fucking King!” he retorts.

“Find a stick and bounce your scrawny ass on it,” Ren spits out at his brother. They are still fighting when Ramiel’s phone starts vibrating.

“Fuck!” he curses and then types very fast. “I gotta go,” he tells me, standing up. I don’t let go of his hand, finding the idea of him leaving…wrong.

“Where?” Is it the Vulture?

His eyebrow kicks up at my gruff voice while a smile hitches his lips up. “Family matter. Can’t get out of it. I’ll let you know if there’s any update on the case.”

I grunt. Do I want him to go? No. Can I keep him here? I can easily do that with a pair of cuffs and my tongue. But he seems determined to leave.

“This possessive trait of yours turns me the hell on, Grizzly,” he whispers low in my ear. He pulls back, his eyes sparkling and his grin doubled. Then he hesitates before he adds, “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

He takes off the apron and walks away, coming back a minute later fully dressed. After straddling my lap, he tells the triplets, “Close your eyes if you don’t want to see your papa bear get fondled.”

The disgusted noises disappear as soon as Ramiel’s ass connects with my dick and his lips touch mine. The kiss is fast, wet, and filled with passion, with my fingers digging into his soft butt cheeks.

“Remember whose pussy this is,” I whisper-growl on his mouth as I grind my dick against him, receiving a wink in reply. “Thanks for the meal. It was amazing,” I feel the need to tell him. His triple-dimple grin hits me hard and it physically hurts to lower my arms.

“Don’t go out until I come back,” Ramiel says before leaving my lap and my house. Was that worry in his eyes?

“Damn, I need a full-body bleach shower.” Ash shivers dramatically.

“You’re fucking a legend.” Ren claps his hands. “You tamed the Master!”

“He’s a master cook too.” Dare confirms his raspy words by eating another mouthful of pasta.

They completely changed their tune, sound all approving of Ramiel now.

Ash nods. “And he’s your client?”

“Work partner,” I correct him.

Ren frowns. “Since when do you have a partner?”

“And fuck him?” Ash continues.

“Get used to him,” I reply. “Now who’s turn to wash the dishes?”

A chorus of teen groans and two animals’ snores rises from the table.