“I mean right away. Thesecondhe leaves Jonathan’s room, bring him right to me. Don’t let him go anywhere else.”
This time Kent pauses, but it’s only for a beat before he says, “Understood, sir.”
“Gracias.”
It takes longer than expected. Well over an hour, I’m waiting… rather impatiently. Drinking more scotch than I normally would, attempting to catch up on some reading, though I simply cannot concentrate on anything while I’m expecting company.
Eventually, Kent comes down with the young man, who is flushed and visibly disheveled. Kent leaves without a word, and Soren watches him go, shifting on his feet in the middle of my library.
He’s wearing only some skimpy briefs and an oversized cut-off t-shirt that I’m unsure is his, or Jonathan’s. Skin pale, hair silvery blonde, eyes mossy green. He shares several features with Dascha Reznikov, though Soren is slimmer with fewer tattoos, painted fingernails and some charcoal makeup smudged around his eyes.
Soren Van Arlen has been one of the consistent visitors to the mansion since we began recruiting favors. Simply put, he’s theperfecttoy. No expectations, casually free-spirited, and just as damaged as everyone else on this island.
Not to mention the type of slender beauty that reminds me of…
Dios, por favor… Basta.
It’s fuckingconstant.
I need a distraction.Now.
“Good evening, Sin,” I hum, sipping from my glass before holding it out to him. “Want a sip?”
He bites his lip, nodding. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”
He strides forward, tentative steps from long, limber legs. Handing him the glass, I watch as he takes a slow sip, the mound dipping in his slender throat.
I pat my thigh, and he needs no further instruction. He comes, taking a graceful seat on my lap.
“Did you have fun with Officer Chevelle tonight?” My fingers brush tenderly through his hair.
I feel him stiffen, likely out of nervous uncertainty as towhyI’d be asking him this, and if there’s an answer I’m looking for, versus one that will get him in trouble.
But I think he knows me well enough by now, because he relaxes and nods. “Yes, sir. I always do.”
“Good boy.” I drop a hand onto his knee. “You were in there for quite some time…”
He drops his chin to peek at me. My hand glides, ever so slowly, from his knee up his thigh. Just a few inches. But it’s enough to have him pressing his legs together.
“One of those nights… I guess,” he whispers, voice growing raspier by the second.
My hand travels further up his leg, fingers slinking in between as I breathe by his ear. “You must be worn out.”
His lashes flutter, legs parting an inch to let me in, before he clamps them shut again.
“I’m, um… sorry.” He’s all flustered, face blushed pink. It’s adorably enticing.
It also sets my teeth on edge with memories I’m fighting off like a soldier at battle.
Soren clears his throat. “I didn’t get to… freshen up yet. Kent wouldn’t let me—”
“Mmm, bend over,” I growl the command into his ear, licking the shell while squeezing his thigh hard, in an attempt to control myself.
Soren shoots me a puzzled look, clutching the glass in his hands.
I take it from him, setting it down on the table. Then I give him a gentle nudge, sort of pushing his hips to get him moving.
“Stand up and bend over, sweet Sinner. I don’t like waiting.”
