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Wolfe was going hard with the endearments.

Eric wanted to tell him off for it, but it was doing it for him.

All of it was: the pressure of his own hand on his tender cock, the intoxicating smell of Wolfe surrounding him.

Sure, he could be Wolfe’s pet. His darling.

Just for the moment. Just until Eric came.

Which might be any second now. Eric moaned, his hips thrusting off the mattress. His balls were heavy and aching, his hand slick from his own precum. “I don’t think I’m going to last as long as you think I am.”

He’d been too pent-up at the get-go, too in need of release. Too twisted up and horny, and also, it was like he could feel Wolfe’s desire adding to his own. Could people feel lust through the bond? That was just… What was he supposed to do with that?

Wolfe tsked at him, which shouldn’t have been sexy, but apparently anything that came out of his mouth got Eric going. “A pity. You’re so gorgeous like this. You should see yourself. There’s nothing like a big, strong man trembling and needy. Absolute perfection, pet.”

Eric threw his head back with a groan, turned on by the humiliating words in spite of himself. “Shut up.”

Wolfe stopped talking, but Eric could feel him smirking. Like Eric’s petulance amused him.

He went back to stroking himself, finding a compromise between the furious pace from before and the slow teasing Wolfe so clearly wanted from him. Long, languid strokes, catching the head with his thumb every so often.

He found himself inching closer to Wolfe, not quite touching but breathing his air, their faces too close together to even maintain eye contact. It wasn’t enough. He needed more. “Kiss me,” he pleaded, uncaring how desperate he sounded.

Wolfe’s eyes flashed, that hint of red. From the corner of his eye, Eric saw Wolfe’s hand reach up.

“No touching,” he snapped, panting now. “Just kissing.”

He was thankful Wolfe was merciful enough not to point out that kissing was a form of touching. Eric didn’t need logic right now. He needed that mouth on his. He needed to fucking come.

Wolfe didn’t seem to require any further prompting. He slanted his mouth over Eric’s, his tongue plunging in when Eric’s lips parted, not a hint of coyness or any attempt to ease him into it.

Eric moaned into Wolfe’s mouth, fisting a hand into his stupid fucking suit jacket. Yes , the beast within him purred. Eric agreed. This was better. This was right.

He whimpered when he came, which should have been mortifying except it made Wolfe groan, an almost pained-sounding noise, as he attacked Eric’s mouth with even more ferocity, devouring him once again.

He didn’t let up, even as Eric’s cum cooled on his fingers, as his body’s tremors slowly eased.

Wolfe just kept kissing him. Tongue stroking. Teeth nipping.

Eric was tempted to let him do it forever.

Except as his lust was appeased, as some semblance of clarity returned, he remembered he was supposed to be irritated.

No, not irritated. Angry. He was supposed to be angry.

He broke off the kiss, tilting his head back when Wolfe seemed inclined to chase his lips. “S-Stop. That’s enough.”

Wolfe stared at him with heavy-lidded eyes, looking dazed and a little manic.

It seemed to take a very long time for clarity to return to him.

His lips were red and bitten too. Had Eric really done that?

Messed with that cool perfection? What would it be like to see Wolfe truly undone?

That slicked hair messy, roughed up by Eric’s hands.

No more stupid fucking suit either, just miles of skin for Eric to scent and lick and rub himself against.

“Of course, darling,” Wolfe finally said, bringing Eric out of his horny reverie. Wolfe’s voice was no longer smooth and steady. “Whatever you say.”

Eric looked down pointedly at that impressive bulge, encased in maroon velvet. “I’m not helping you with that.”

Wolfe cleared his throat, adjusting himself. “I wouldn’t dream of asking.”

“Good.” Eric’s hand was sticky. He was going to need a washcloth. Or that ugly robe. But he also needed to sleep. And with that horrible discomfort finally eased, he thought he might even succeed. “I’m going to nap now.”

“Of course.” Wolfe nodded absently, wiping a hand over his mouth, somehow making even that gesture look classy. “Build your strength, darling.”

Eric was tempted—just for a moment—to ask him to stay. Some part of him knew he’d sleep better surrounded by that scent. But he didn’t want to let Wolfe win so soon, did he? Even more than that, he needed a moment outside of Wolfe’s overwhelming presence to collect himself.

“So you can go now,” he prompted.

Wolfe pursed those well-kissed lips in what seemed to be irritation, but Eric could still feel the soft edges of his amusement whispering through the bond. Did nothing piss this guy off? For a reported psychopath, he was ridiculously unflappable.

Or was that because he was a psychopath?

Eric was too tired to ponder it seriously.

Wolfe rose from the bed in one graceful motion, adjusting his slacks once more around what had to be a painful erection.

Eric tried to stay silent, to let him leave without another word. But he couldn’t help the small “thank you” that came out.

He was rewarded with a flash of genuine surprise on Wolfe’s face. “Anytime you request my presence, pet, I’ll be there.”

Eric tried to spot the lie in those words, but maybe his fatigue was making him gullible.

Wolfe sounded like he meant it.