Outlaw (Wolves of Royal Paynes #4) - Kiki Burrelli Page 0,76
the other side, gasping with the words still on my lips.
Diesel lifted his left hand from my waist, pressing his splayed fingers against the middle of my chest instead. His right hand held more tightly to my hip, keeping me in place as he thrust forward, sinking to the hilt. His roar ceased when his teeth found the crook of my neck, but he still growled, thrusting through his climax.
There was no way the entire hotel, enhanced senses or not, hadn't heard that. I'd be more embarrassed later, but while safe in Diesel's arms, I couldn't summon the energy to care.
16
Diesel
I nodded to the wraiths, offering my thanks for them keeping an eye on Quin while I made him a breakfast tray. They rippled out the door back down the hallway to Quinlan's old bedroom that they'd claimed as theirs. The wraiths had bits of Quin in them, if Claus could be believed, and that changed my view of them dramatically.
Quinlan's off-key singing warbled in from the bathroom. Grinning, I set the tray down and leaned inside the doorway, enjoying my mate's soothingly discordant wailing.
"So, tell me what you want what you really, really want!" Quinlan's pitch changed along with the key. "I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really want!"
For a while, Quinlan had wanted to be a pop star. He'd put on concerts, most times to an audience of myself and his mother. I'd volunteered to watch each one, not to support Quinlan—though that was an appreciated side benefit—but to save some poor hapless soul. Thankfully, he'd picked up a paintbrush soon after and realized he loved painting more than glitter shoes and microphones.
But he still gave it his all in the shower.
"Like a bridge over troubled waters," Quinlan howled, making an artistic choice to spontaneously create his own melody. "I will lay me down!"
I studied his blurred form through the shower door. "I'm gonna lay that ass down."
"I heard that!" Quinlan yelled.
My nostrils flared, getting a whiff of concentrated mate. His sweet scent was especially succulent today and called to me like a siren's song, luring me to the shower door. I reached for the door, but if I saw my mate all glistening and wet, covered in soap that slid down his skin, by the time we got to the breakfast tray, all the food would be cold. "When you're finished in here, I have breakfast ready." I'd made him his favorite, strawberry pancakes with whipped cream and sausage links.
"Why don't you join me first?" he purred, setting my dick off like a needle on a compass. Quin was my magnetic north.
"Because you need to build your energy back up. Can't have you tapping out an hour into riding on my dick."
"Diesel!"
He couldn't see my grin, but I let it stretch wide. His smell thickened with his arousal, as I'd hoped, adding to the existing bouquet. "Hurry up, my sweet, helpless omega mate."
"Helpless—? You come back here and say that to my face!" Quinlan squealed from the shower.
I shut the door.
Less than a minute later, Quinlan emerged, dressed, but his clothes were already wet in spots where he'd been in too much of a hurry, and his hair dripped. "I'll show you help—pancakes!" Quinlan dropped to the mattress, bringing his legs to fold under him as he eyed the plate. The righteous anger that had propelled him out here disappeared in the face of sugary goodness.
Some of the whipped cream had melted, mixing with the juice from the strawberries, but the sausage was still warm.
"Let's get you comfortable." I lifted him to the head of the bed and tucked his bottom half under the blankets. With my face already close to his neck, I didn't miss the chance to scent him, drawing in a lungful of Quinlan. "Did you use a different kind of soap?" Instead of turning to grab the tray, I buried my face against his neck and wet hair.
"Okay, I smell good. I get it. Pancakes!"
When my boy's tummy rumbled, I pulled away—with difficulty.
Quinlan clapped as I returned with the tray. I loved the way he got excited about food, like it wasn't just something he had to eat so he didn't die. His joy at seeing his meal arrive at the table never failed to make my wolf preen, proud that we'd provided him something that made him so happy. Now, his meal sat on his lap. He ignored the fork and swiped his finger through the whipped cream topping.