A Vigil in the Mourning (Soulbound #4) - Hailey Turner Page 0,11
his forehead fall against Jono’s shoulder as Jono started to jerk himself off, breathing in the smell of them.
Jono shifted against him, and Patrick lifted his head, breath catching in his throat when Jono’s teeth scraped against the side of his neck. The pressure sharpened but didn’t break skin when Jono came, hot cum falling over Patrick’s spent cock. He hissed when Jono rubbed it into his sensitive skin, smearing it over his balls.
“I’m not flying with your dried cum on me,” Patrick muttered.
Jono licked at his throat, the touch making Patrick wish they had more time to get undressed and mess up the bed.
“You can shower. My scent will still be on you.”
Patrick tugged Jono down for a kiss that tasted like a mix of both of them. When they broke apart, Patrick gently scratched at the back of Jono’s neck. “Pack my suitcase?”
“Of course.” Jono pressed a kiss against his temple. “Love you.”
Life was easier these days with someone else to lean on. Patrick didn’t know what he’d find in Chicago, but he knew home would be waiting for him when he came back.
Patrick shoved the TSA badge, a set of janitor keys, someone’s paper boarding pass, and a lanyard with LaGuardia printed on it into his jacket pocket, fingertips glowing from a look-away ward. Sparks of his magic twisted through the air in their immediate area as the ward directed everyone’s attention away from them.
“I told you to keep your hands to yourself when we went through security,” Patrick hissed.
“Maybe people shouldn’t leave stuff lying around waiting for someone to take it,” Wade muttered.
“They were wearing the damn things!”
Wade shrugged, gaze darting around as they walked through O’Hare, apparently unrepentant of his thieving ways. “I want a hot dog.”
Patrick rolled his eyes and kept walking. “I spent fifty dollars on the plane feeding you. Can we get out of O’Hare first?”
“But Chicago Style Hot Dogs is right there.”
Wade’s wheedling was the tone of a starving, dramatic teenager who wouldn’t be deterred. Patrick didn’t want to deal with a long ride into downtown Chicago listening to Wade whine about how hungry he was.
“Fine. Get your hot dog. I’ll be waiting right here.”
Wade ran off like the hounds of hell were after him, backpack bouncing on his shoulders. Patrick grabbed the handle of Wade’s carry-on and dragged it with him out of the way of people rushing back and forth. It was late, and while Patrick was hungry, he wanted to get to the hotel first. He hated airport food. Room service wasn’t much better, but he could at least order delivery at a hotel.
Patrick rubbed at his chest, frowning as the knit of his sweater scraped over his scars. The soulbond was muted in his soul the way it always was when he traveled, only it seemed stretched thinner and tighter this trip. He figured it was the distance—almost half a country was farther than half a state. He just hoped it wouldn’t be a problem.
Ten minutes later, Wade returned, holding a paper bag that already had bright yellow mustard staining the sides. He had a half-eaten hot dog in one hand and looked pleased with himself as he took another bite, losing a bit of neon green relish off the side. Luckily, it fell into the paper wrapper the hot dog rested on and not the floor.
“Happy now?” Patrick asked as he grabbed the handles of both their carry-ons and started walking.
“I got six, so yeah.”
“Consider that your dinner.”
“What? No! I’m still getting room service.”
“The government won’t pay for it.”
“You can pay for it.”
Patrick snorted. “No, I won’t.”
“So does that mean I’m getting my own room?”
“No. You’re staying with me.”
“Then I’m getting room service.”
Patrick quit arguing with Wade in favor of getting out of O’Hare and to the rental car location, because trying to win a fight with Wade over food was a losing battle. The sooner they got to the hotel, the quicker they could eat and sleep.
He followed the signs to baggage claim, peeling off toward the exit once they were past security. The second they stepped outside on the lower level, icy cold wind hit him in the face. Patrick winced, while Wade just hunched over his hot dog, eating faster, the jacket he was supposed to be wearing tied around his waist.
“It’s cold,” Wade muttered around a bite.
“Of course it’s cold. It’s still winter,” Patrick said.