Page 32 of Vital Signs (Wayward Sons #7)

"You left me!" My voice broke.

"Not by choice," he said, his voice cracking. His rhythm faltered, and he shuddered.

Misha’s body went rigid above me, back arching, mouth falling open. Beautiful and furious. His body throbbed against me.

He collapsed forward, breathless. "Never by choice," he whispered.

His defenses dropped, eyes unguarded. My hand moved without thought, cupping his face, thumb stroking across his cheekbone. He leaned into the touch, turning to press his lips against my palm.

I pulled him closer, my mouth finding his in a kiss that was softer than anything we'd shared before. He made a small sound against my lips, his body melting into mine.

I broke the kiss, grabbing his hips and grinding up against him. Friction raced up my spine as I thrust harder.

Heat coiled in my gut; the familiar pressure built. So close—

And then it slipped out of reach. I let out a frustrated groan.

The pleasure built and slipped away again. "God, Hunter, you're going to make me come again." His body shook as he collapsed against me.

"J'en peux plus," he panted. "No more." He tried to roll away, but I grabbed his hips.

"I'm not done with you yet," I growled and flipped us over. "I'm going to suck you."

I settled between his thighs, taking him into my mouth. His fingers dug into my scalp as French curses fell from his lips. I worked him—rough then gentle, fast then slow—until he was shaking, fists clenched in the sheets.

"Fuck, Hunter—I can't—please—"

"What do you need?"

"I've changed my mind," he said. "I want you to fuck me."

"You sure?"

"Yes." His hands gripped my jaw. "Please."

He reached between us and wrapped his fingers around my cock, stroking me. The contact made me hiss.

"I'm going to put you exactly where I want you," he said, voice commanding. "And you're going to let me."

I nodded as he positioned me at his entrance. The head of my cock pressed against him.

"Look at me," he ordered, hands on my hips.

I met his gaze as he guided me inside, watching his face as I pushed into him inch by inch. His mouth fell open, eyes widening.

I gripped his hips hard and drove forward, slow but deep. He was so tight, so hot around me I nearly lost it. I barely gave him a second before thrusting again, harder.

The van rocked beneath us. After years of numbness, every sensation was magnified until I could barely breathe. I was present in every cell, every nerve firing like I'd forgotten it could.

"More," he gasped, accent thickening. "Right there, don't stop."

His body gripped me like a vise. I grabbed his thighs, pushing them wider, changing the angle. I kept the rhythm, driving into him as he arched beneath me.

Despite the intensity, I recognized the familiar plateau forming. That wall I couldn't break through.

I spat into my hand and reached between us, wrapping my fingers around him, matching the rhythm of my thrusts.

"Fuck!" he screamed, back arching. "Hunter, I'm gonna come again—"

"Break for me," I whispered. "I'll catch you when you fall."

The sight of him coming undone, the pressure of him pulsing around me, and the sounds torn from his throat created the most beautiful thing I'd ever experienced.

But my own release remained frustratingly out of reach.

His arms came around me, embracing me fully.

He whispered something in French. Then, "Stay with me, Hunter."

The words broke something open inside me. My hips slowed, each thrust becoming deeper, more deliberate. His fingers traced gentle patterns on my back.

I kept moving inside him, slow and deep, our bodies rocking together.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "For trying to leave you."

His eyes flew open, locking with mine. "Then stay with me now," he said, pulling me closer until our foreheads touched. "Stay right here with me."

I nodded, unable to speak. Our bodies continued moving together, the pace unhurried now, each thrust a promise. We breathed the same air, connected in ways that went beyond physical.

Then he let out a low, deep moan and tipped his head back. "Fuck," he gasped. "Fuck, it's so good."

The wall that had held me back finally shattered.

I came with a force that stunned me, my body convulsing as waves of pleasure crashed over me. After years of chasing highs that never satisfied, this release was like redemption. Like coming home to somewhere I thought I'd lost forever.

"There you go, mon loup," he purred. His hands moved to my hips, guiding my final thrusts. "Give me all of it. Fuck, you're sexy when you come."

When it finally subsided, I collapsed beside him, both of us breathing hard. The diamond chains pressed between our chests, cold metal against overheated skin.

"You okay?" he whispered, hands gentle on my face.

I nodded, unable to speak past the tightness in my throat.

"I should have pulled out—"

"It's fine. My body, my call."

His certainty calmed the anxiety in my chest. No regret in his eyes, just that unwavering confidence I'd come to rely on.

I rolled onto my back to lie beside him. We lay in silence, both of us catching our breath.

His breathing had slowed, body relaxed against mine in a way that made my chest ache.

"You make me want things I'd given up on," I said quietly, staring at the van ceiling. "Like tomorrow. Like getting sober."

Like love, I added silently. Not that I was in love with Misha. That would be insane. But for the first time in years, I was starting to believe it might exist. That connection might be real. That someone could see all of me and still choose to stay.

He tilted his head up to look at me. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." I paused. "Tyler would've liked you, I think. Would've appreciated someone who gives a shit about homeless junkies. Someone willing to fight."

Misha was quiet for a moment. "Tell me about him. Not how he died. Who he was."

So I did. About Tyler's dreams of top surgery, of a real apartment, of a life where he didn't have to choose between eating and medicine. About his laugh, his stubbornness, his refusal to be invisible even when the world tried to erase him.

"He deserved better," Misha said when I finished.

"Yeah. He did." I tightened my arm around him. "That's why we can't let Wright win."

"We won't," Misha promised. "Whatever it takes."

I kept him close, arm around his waist. His head found the hollow of my shoulder, fitting there perfectly.

"So," he said after a moment. "Still mad at me?"

I huffed out a laugh. "Yes, but I'm starting to think I might like you anyway." I kissed the top of his head.

"That's a start," he murmured.

Outside, snow began to fall, covering the world in silent white.

"What happens now?" I asked.

His hand found mine, fingers interlacing. "Now we heal," he said. "Now we prepare. Wright's not going away. The legal threats are just the beginning. Eventually he'll come after us directly."

"Let him," I said. "I want to see his face when we destroy him."

Misha's smile was sharp, dangerous, beautiful. "For Tyler."

"For Tyler," I agreed. "And for everyone else he killed."