“You want to disobey the Fates, then be my guest. They can’t get pissed at me if you walk out of here.”
“Seems you know quite a bit about how they work. Seems they knowyou.”
Patrick refused to rise to the bait in Jono’s words, wanting more than anything to dive into his whiskey bottle. If Hermes had come back and stolen it, they were going to have a short conversation over the barrel of his handgun.
The elevator doors opened, and Patrick stepped out, walking down the short hallway to the apartment. He let them inside, waving a hand in the direction of the couch as he unholstered his handgun and set it on the dining table.
“That’s yours,” Patrick said.
Jono set his overnight bag by the couch, taking in the small apartment with curious eyes. “Could do with an upgrade.”
“The SOA doesn’t pay for maid service or home delivery of a second bed.”
Jono turned to look at him, studying him with that too-bright gaze of his. “Pity, that.”
“House rule number one. Keep your eyes, ears, and nose to yourself.”
Jono arched an eyebrow, mouth curving in a faint smile that was more mocking than anything else. “And if I don’t?”
“Then I guess I’m casting silence wards every time I need to have a conversation with someone that isn’t you.”
Jono stalked forward, the single-minded intensity in his gaze pinning Patrick where he stood. He refused to back down from that powerful regard, which meant when Jono reached for him, Patrick thought about putting himself out of reach.
He didn’t.
Jono deliberately pushed Patrick backward until his back hit the wall. Patrick had to tilt his head up to look him in the eye, forcing his heartbeat to remain steady. Jono removed his hands and planted them against the wall, bracketing Patrick in. This close, Patrick could feel the heat in Jono’s powerful body, could smell the faint hint of cologne mixed with sweat as the werewolf leaned down to speak into his ear.
“What was it you asked for at the bar?” Jono murmured, his breath blowing softly over Patrick’s left ear.
The shiver that slid down his spine made Patrick bite his tongue. “I’m working.”
“I’m not.” Jono pulled back just enough that Patrick could see his eyes again, the brightness of the blue otherworldly in his handsome face. “I can’t smell you anymore, not like at the bar. Drop your shields.”
“No.”
Jono stepped closer, his head dipping down, lips hovering over Patrick’s mouth as he pitched his voice low and deep. “Drop your shields, Patrick.”
The words were spoken with the powerful authority of a god pack alpha werewolf who wasn’t used to being toldno. Patrick had stood his ground against more dangerous creatures in his life. Hell, he’d run from the demands of the gods themselves. Refusing Jono’s demands was easy.
The problem?
Patrick didn’t want to.
New York City wasn’t Maui, not by a long shot, but if Jono was offering, then Patrick wasn’t going to say no. He knew Jono wanted his scent for an ulterior motive—tracking, a voice in the back of his mind whispered—because he wasn’t stupid. But Patrick’s shields could hide him from anything, even a werecreature’s powerful sense of smell.
There wasn’t a demon overriding Patrick’s scent this time when he dropped his shields, just his own damaged magic with its black taint scarred deep. Jono drew in a deep breath through his mouth, and when he let it out, Patrick swallowed it whole.
Jono’s mouth was warm on his, heat bleeding between them as Jono crowded him against the wall. Patrick let him, let Jono slide one leg between his, one hard thigh riding up high to rub against Patrick’s cock. He ground down against the pressure, cock hardening almost instantly, ignoring the discomfort of his empty holster digging into the small of his back.
It’d beenmonthssince the last time he’d had sex, and Patrick gasped against Jono’s mouth when warm fingers yanked at his belt buckle, tugging him up a little on the balls of his feet. He got his own hands on Jono’s belt, and between the two of them, they got their jeans undone as Patrick rode Jono’s thigh without shame. The grinding pressure was exquisite and everything Patrick wanted right at that moment.
Touch. Heat. Someone else in his arms to make him feelgood.
One big, warm hand slipped beneath his underwear, and Patrick arched into the touch shamelessly, letting his head thunk against the wall with a moan. “Fucking hell, just get me off right here.”
Jono chuckled against his ear, mouth dragging down his throat to suck at the delicate skin there, breathing in whatever scent he was after. Patrick turned his head a little to give him better access, arching into Jono’s touch.
“Is that what you want?” Jono asked.
