“Why didn’t you answer your goddamn phone?”

Lilah’s yell hit them the second they walked into the house. Royce’s temperature boiled at the thought of dealing with her yet again. Her blatant disregard for her brother’s privacy was a real issue.

As was her fucking tone.

He scowled as he followed Marc, who turned right toward her voice.

“I had a small crisis—if you hadn’t noticed,” Marc said as he abruptly stopped in the arched entrance to the formal living room.

Royce got why instantly. Gabriel stood next to the window that led into the small courtyard. Shorter and broader than both brothers, Royce saw his resemblance to Marc more clearly here than he had at the gallery. Richard, the oldest, sipped from a wineglass as he leaned on the wall beside the fireplace, his features still sharp, his soft belly not. Lilah held her glass with fingers that had turned white, her features so scrunched up, Royce wondered if she was giving herself a headache.

She sure gave him one every time she waltzed into the house.

Of course, part of that could be from the act they had to put on each time. His dick no longer trusted him after he’d made it go up and down like a fucking piston all week. Just being in the same room with Marc now had his mouth watering and his blood racing south so fast, he got dizzy. He didn’t know which part of his body he wanted on Marc the most: his mouth, hands, or cock. He just knew he wanted the long and lean beautiful man with a ferocity that scared the shit out of him.

It was potent, this insane…need, and that kiss earlier in Marc’s office had told Royce all he needed to know. Marc may have said they shouldn’t have done that, but he wanted Royce just as much. Fuck, the faint trembling Royce had felt in that stunning body had gone to his head and brought out every predatory instinct he kept under tight, tight wraps. He’d nearly bent the man over his desk and bit down on the back of his neck.

After a moment of tense silence, Marc’s siblings began to shout. Startled, Royce had to force himself not to charge into the room with his fists at the sheer explosion of antagonism coming out of the formal living room. As an only child after the age of twelve, his family had consisted of him and his mom, and they’d never been this loud. His mother was hardly ever vocal though. The death of his father and brother had broken her.

He looked at Marc’s family now, as they squandered their luckiness to have each other, as they laid into Marc all at once. And he just took it in. Like he was used to it.

What the hell?

None of them bothered to acknowledge Royce as they barked questions and complained at the speed of light.

He took the time to watch them. To look for any hint that one of them hated Marc enough to kill him. Just the thought made his muscles tense, made his stomach tighten. He would have given anything to keep his younger brother, so it was hard for him to compute something so vile. There was nothing in their expressions that gave them away. No tightened lips of guilt, no shifting eyes. Corner lips curled in contempt, though, especially when Lilah glanced at Royce. But mostly, he saw only anger.

“Stop!” Marc shouted, the snap of fury cutting off his oldest brother, who’d been going on about responsibility. Marc waited and as they calmed down, he leaned against the wall, his lazy pose deceptive because Royce, standing to his side and back, could sense every rigid muscle.

“I see you’ve helped yourselves to the Chateau Latour.” He slid his hands into his pockets, but not before Royce saw one tighten into a fist. And he doubted any of the selfish people in the room heard the note of hurt in his voice. A note that cut into Royce so deeply, he stepped closer, hoping the heat from his body offered some sort of comfort.

Fuck, what must it have been like to grow up so much younger than these three? They seemed a united front—from their demands, their entitlement…to their inability to accept his sexuality. And to Royce, Marc was like a beautiful, wounded hawk that had spent its life hanging on to the side of the nest by its talons.

So, which one of these birds wanted him thrown completely from the nest?

“Marc, how dare you just disappear like that,” Richard continued as if Marc’s yell had merely been a tiny blip on his radar.

“I’m doing what I have to right now.”

The underlying threads of emotion in that short sentence slithered into Royce’s chest and tangled together into a brutal knot. He narrowed his eyes, the need to cut these people from the man’s life possibly larger than his desire to bury himself inside him. They didn’t deserve him.

Confusion crossed each face as Royce kept all his senses trained on the siblings. One of them was a damn good actor.

“What does that mean, Marc, sweetie?” This time, Lilah’s voice held her other favorite note. Soft manipulation. She sang that one with much finesse, having obviously spent her life practicing it.

Marc pinned his gaze on Lilah. “It means whatever you take it to mean.” He looked at each brother. “What all of you take it to mean.”

“You are obviously not in the right state of mind to listen to anything we say.” Gabriel brushed his light brown hair off his forehead as he moved away from the window. “I have an early surgery, so I’m going home.” Blue eyes, exactly like Marc’s, locked with his brother’s as he walked to him. Gabriel put his hands on Marc’s shoulders, then hugged him.

A more awkward hug couldn’t exist.

The doctor gave Royce the barest of nods before he left the house.

Royce stepped even closer to Marc, who slowly, deliberately, leaned back into Royce’s body. His back and ass fit him like he’d been made for Royce. And his height when he slouched like this put his neck right next to Royce’s mouth. He inhaled the alluring scent of the man deep into his lungs, then realized both Richard and Lilah were now watching. He didn’t look away as he pressed his lips to the side of Marc’s neck. His hand came up to clutch Marc’s hip when Marc tilted his head just enough to give him better access.

Visibly flustered now, the last two siblings must have realized Marc’s attention was anywhere but on them, because it didn’t take them long to leave after that.

When the door slammed behind Lilah, Marc growled, pulled away from Royce, and stormed into his bedroom. He muttered under his breath as he unbuttoned his shirt. Royce followed more slowly, not sure whether he should leave the man alone to work out his anger or offer to arm-wrestle him or something. He didn’t blame Marc.

Those three could enrage a Buddhist Monk.

When he reached the room, he stayed in the doorway and watched Marc pace, his shirt flapping open, offering peeks of his slim, tanned chest and sexy oblique muscles with every turn. He ran his hands through his hair, causing the long, silky strands on top to lie in wild disarray. He stopped, his blue eyes locking on Royce.

“I’m sorry you had to see that, but thanks for what you did. Ran them off fast, didn’t it?” He smiled, but there was no happiness in it. His almost severe features took on sorrow in a way that sent devastation through anyone unlucky enough to witness it. How did his brothers and sister not see him? Really see him? And see what their words did to him?

“Lilah knew you were saving that Bordeaux, didn’t she?”

Marc nodded, his lips tightening. “Wanna help me install a lock on the wine cellar tomorrow?”

“You bet your ass I do.” Royce walked into the room and grabbed his bag off the end of the chaise. “I’m going to change, then look at the footage on the cameras. With all three roaming the house while we were gone, I’d like to see where they went besides the wine cellar.” He knew Marc would have a fit, but he planned to throw out the rest of the bottle of that Bordeaux. Fuck, they could tamper with so many things in this house. Just that thought stopped him in his tracks on the way to the bathroom to change. He felt the blood drain from his face. “How would you feel about changing the locks on all of the doors as well tomorrow?” he asked without turning around.

Marc was silent long enough to make him turn around.

He stared at Royce, his hands on his hips. “I’m torn. On one hand, I would like it if they couldn’t all come and go as they please, but on the other, I’m just not sure about any of this anymore.”

Royce’s fingers tightened on his bag. “Not sure about what?”

“That fire alarm was some kind of prank. And I’m starting to wonder if I’m being paranoid and if everything has been a kind of cruel joke.”

“Cutting your fucking brake line and messing with your heart meds? Jokes?” He dropped the bag, strode to Marc, and grabbed his left hand, feeling like shit when Marc flinched, and he realized it was his hurt hand. Fuck. He held up that hand, running his fingers over the healing wound. “This is not a joke, Marc. You could have died. I have no idea what the fire alarm was about, but the rest of the things that have happened to you were potentially deadly.”

Marc tugged on his hand ineffectually. “But nothing has happened in the week you’ve been here, and I’m beginning to feel like I’m wasting your time. You could be protecting someone who really needs it.”

Royce let go of his hand, wrapped his fingers around hard biceps, and tugged him closer. Lowering his voice, he made sure Marc was looking back into his eyes. “You’re sure your medication was switched out, right?”

Marc nodded.

“You’re sure there were nuts in your food? In this house?”

Marc nodded again, but his gaze had started to roam over Royce’s face, and damned if he didn’t start to lean in closer, his body going pliant, his breaths coming faster.

Royce swallowed hard as his dick reacted. Fuck, did the man even know that he exuded submission from his very pores? “Missing EpiPens and cut brake lines are no pranks either. You say a week like that’s a long time. If anything, it’s not even close to enough because with my presence here, we’ve thrown this person, or persons, off.”

Blue eyes shot back up to his. “You think it could be more than one of them?”

The sheer agony that flashed through Marc’s features managed to crack through a wall Royce had spent years strengthening. His fingers tightened more, without him even realizing it, until Marc sucked in a soft breath and dropped his gaze to Royce’s mouth.

“The way you’re looking at me,” Royce whispered, unable to disguise the hint of anger in his voice. It came from his utter inability to resist. “You have to stop.”

“I can’t,” he whispered back, staring at Royce’s lips. “I know what I said in my office, but I didn’t mean it. I want you.”

“This is a dangerous game you’re playing.” He narrowed his eyes. “I’m not an easy man. Not a…gentle man.”

“It’s not a game.” Marc slid his hands up Royce’s chest. “And gentle is the last thing I want.”

Royce’s eyes snapped shut as he fought the most animalistic urge he’d ever felt surge through his entire body. He wanted his hands and his mouth all over this man, consequences be damned. He jerked him close, felt a rush of hot breath over his lips, and he tried to gather what was left of his control. “I’m not looking for anything more than a fuck.”

“Neither am I,” Marc breathed into his mouth. “This is happening, Royce. I want you to fuck me. Bad. Stay right here.” He leaned in and bit Royce’s lower lip, sucked it into his mouth, then let it go with a pop. “Don’t move while I grab a quick shower.”

He started to walk away, but Royce clutched his arm and tugged him back, locking his eyes with startled blue ones. “Just a reminder. Like I told you before, I call the shots. I like calling the shots. So hurry.”

The shiver that wracked Marc’s frame was so subtle, he would have missed it if he hadn’t been paying such close attention. And that wasn’t the only thing. A hint of vulnerability, of unease, flashed over his features. There and gone so fast, it gave Royce pause as he wrestled with the simultaneous needs to fuck and to comfort. This comfort thing he kept feeling was a real problem—one he had decided to never feel again—so he shoved it away, let go of Marc, and began to slowly unbutton his shirt.

That jump-started Marc into motion. He disappeared into the master bathroom, and the shower sounded.

Royce kicked off his shoes and slowly took off his clothes, anticipation blazing through him. He knew, he just knew, that Marc was going to feel magnificent under him. He draped his jacket, shirt, and slacks over the chaise, and sat, eyes still locked on the bathroom door as he removed his socks. He rose and slipped off his boxers, then stood in the middle of the room. He’d never once been tempted to sleep with a client, and he knew this wasn’t his best idea, but he could no longer stop this from happening any more than he could stop breathing.

When Marc opened the door, the man started cursing under his breath as he stared at Royce’s body. He seemed to be stuck in the doorway, so Royce motioned him forward. “Lose the towel.”

When that strip of black cotton hit the floor, Royce’s jaw wanted to follow it. Fuck, the man spent his life hunting for beautiful works of art and here he was, walking around as the finest one Royce had seen. At just over six feet, his slim body was a mix of heady, sleek muscles and endless, graceful legs. And his cock. Long and slim like the rest of him, with an elegant, slight curve. Royce knew his skin there would be satiny and warm. As his mouth watered, Royce bit down on his lip so he didn’t do something stupid like tell the man how beautiful he was, how he wished he could sculpt in clay because he’d give anything to have that body captured as it was in this moment.

“You’re beautiful,” Marc said, his voice low and rumbly.

He’d read Royce’s mind, because there was no way he was talking about his tough, wiry form. Hot, maybe, if someone was into scars and hard edges—anything other than a thing of beauty. Royce had spent his teen years brawling, and every part of his body held proof.

Marc walked up to him, his hands coming up to stroke over Royce’s shoulders, down his chest…he grabbed Royce’s hips and slammed them together. “Fuck, Royce. Your goddamn body.”

It was like something snapped, and Royce had Marc’s head locked in place with both hands as he opened that sexy mouth with his tongue. A groan rumbled up Marc’s throat, his tongue coming out to play in a mind-numbing slide that Royce felt in his dick. His wet hair felt like silk against his rough fingers, reminding him that he was touching something so, so very much finer than himself.

Something that wanted to be fucked, because Marc had started rubbing against him, his hands digging into Royce’s back as he opened his mouth wider. Royce bit and sucked at his lips, then pulled back and tugged Marc to his big-ass bed. He didn’t want to have to reach for the taller man’s lips—not right then. He pushed him and followed him down, sucking in a breath when Marc automatically spread his legs, so Royce could notch between them. And notch, they did. Height differences aside, here, on equal ground, their bodies just fucking fit.

Royce pressed against all that pretty skin, his mouth latching on to Marc’s jaw, his eyes closed to better soak it in. “You feel damn good against me.” He pressed his dick hard into Marc, opened his eyes, and watched his face.

The man hissed and bucked up into him, one hand clamping down on his ass, hard.

“Oh yeah,” he breathed, biting Marc’s neck and grinding harder into him. A part of him felt like he’d been given some sort of pass into a fantasy land, one where the prince of the city had a thing for gutter rats. If Marc had any idea of his past, he sure as hell wouldn’t be here. Wouldn’t be letting him relish his silver-spooned body.

He sucked on his collarbone, then moved down his chest, using lips, tongue, and teeth. When he latched on to Marc’s nipple, the man cried out and locked those legs around his back like a vise. Long, long fingers slid into his hair and held tight.

Royce fucking loved the pain as his hair was pulled. He growled and sucked that nipple into his mouth, working it until it was a rock-hard peak before he moved to the other. Above him, Marc cursed and groaned and muttered unintelligible words—all sounds that let him know he loved what Royce was doing to his body.

He kept going, nipping at his flat stomach and the faint lines of muscle in his abdomen. His navel drove Royce a little nuts, and he fucked it with his tongue until Marc started to writhe underneath him.

“Damn. Fuck. Royce! You gotta move down!”

He buried a small smile against the quivering skin of his belly and changed the part of his plan where he skipped Marc’s dick for now. Instead, he swirled his tongue around the leaking head, unable to tamp down his moan at the bitter taste that told him Marc was just as fucking turned-on as he was.

He sucked him down deep.

Marc yelled and bucked, and Royce clamped his hands down hard on his slender hips. He pushed him into the bed, holding him still as he proceeded to try and suck the man’s brains out through his dick. He licked and hollowed his cheeks and relished in the feel of hot, silky skin on his tongue. He loved the way his cock pulsated and the bump of his soft head against the back of his throat. He swallowed around it, soaking in the shudders of the body under his hands.

“So goddamn good at that. Royce!” Marc yelled and tightened his fingers in Royce’s hair, his knees coming up. “I’m gonna come!”

He didn’t want that. Not yet. Royce pulled his mouth off Marc’s cock and sat back on his heels.

“Wha—?” Marc panted and writhed on the bed. He looked up at Royce with confused, lust-crazed eyes.

“Don’t you know,” Royce murmured as he came over the man and braced his hands on either side of his head, “that the longer you hold out, the better the payoff?”

“You’re gonna kill me,” he said between pants as his eyes grew hotter and his mouth opened.

Royce glanced down to see he’d balled up fistfuls of the bedding, his knuckles white. He grinned. Oh yeah, Marc was in on this program.

He pushed himself back up and made quick work of turning Marc onto his stomach. He groaned at the sight of the man’s bare ass, his hands moving automatically to hold both globes. Small, yet pleasingly round, his cheeks filled his palms and fingers, the muscles supple and mesmerizing. Royce had a feeling he could hold this ass every day for the rest of his life, and it wouldn’t be enough.

“If your ass feels as good around my dick as it does in my hands, you’re going to walk funny tomorrow.”

“I don’t…” Marc breathed, half-muffled in his pillow. He turned his face. “I don’t have a problem with that. Make me walk funny for a week. Fuck, do it!”

“Lube? Condoms?”

Marc pointed to the table, then snorted.

“It’s not the goddamn drawer we put the lock on, is it?”

He snickered into the pillow, then started groping between the mattress and headboard. He pulled out a small key box and handed it to Royce over his shoulder.

Royce took the box and ground his dick against Marc’s ass. He leaned in close and whispered into his ear, “Later, when my brain is back in my head, we’re going to have a talk about hiding your keys next to the places they unlock.”

“Okay.” Marc groaned and lifted his ass up into Royce’s groin. “But later. Much later. Tomorrow—fuck!”

Royce had moved back again while he talked, spread his cheeks, and rubbed his beard against his hole and up his crease. Damn, he smelled good here. Musky and warm. Royce’s blood was pumping so hard and fast through his veins, energy surged through him. He felt like tying the man down and fucking him into the early morning hours. Instead, he slowly moved his beard over tender, puckered skin, and growled when Marc gasped and spread his legs open farther. “Such a fucking needy hole,” he snarled. “Gotta taste it.”

Marc yelled something, but he had no idea what because it was garbled, and then he was pressing that sweet ass up so hard, he was going to have beard burn for days. Royce licked until he got him all nice and wet, the muscles relaxing even as every other part of Marc was tensing under his hands.

He speared his tongue inside.

Marc wailed. Royce looked up the long, lithe line of his back to see him clutch his pillow and bury his face in it. Royce laved with his tongue, sucked with his lips, and because Marc loved it so much, he used his beard on the soft inner skin of his cheeks and thighs. He ran his tongue up the groove in between and reached beneath Marc’s raised ass to wrap his fingers around his dick. So hard, it twitched and pulsed against his palm, causing Royce to shudder as he stroked it. Marc went still, his balls drawing up. Royce could practically feel the orgasm racing through Marc’s body under his tongue. He slowly pulled back, letting go with both hands and mouth.

“Oh, you fucker.” Marc groaned as he thrashed on the bed, his legs actually shaking. “You’re such a fucker.”

Chuckling, Royce crawled across the bed to get the supplies. “Don’t move,” he ordered as he turned away, so Marc wouldn’t see his fucking hands shaking as he got the key out of the tiny box. He froze when he opened the drawer, his eyes falling on the bottle of medication. He looked back to find Marc watching him with the one blue eye visible over the arm he had under his pillow.

Marc went still and perfectly silent. He didn’t even breathe as he stared.

Royce broke their stare, his gaze going back inside the drawer. He’d completely forgotten about Marc’s heart condition.

And Marc obviously realized where his gaze had gotten caught. “Oh, no you don’t. Don’t you fucking dare. Exercise is good for me, so bring your stunning ass back to this bed and fuck me through it.”

Marc didn’t know…couldn’t understand why this could potentially destroy—he broke off those thoughts. Royce looked back at him, fighting old, restless demons in his mind even as his gaze raked over that hot body. Lust blazed from Marc’s now raised face. His long, black brows were pulled low over his eyes, fierce determination vying for dominance over the hint of worry Royce was astute enough to see. Logically, he knew Marc was right, so he ignored that bottle and swiped up the lube and a condom. He turned to face Marc, and never took his gaze away as he ripped the packet open with his teeth, and slowly rolled the condom on. His dick had never picked up on his momentary fear—still rigid, still aching.

Marc, gaze locked on his cock, started rocking his hips into the bed.

Suddenly, he needed to see that sinuous body moving on his dick so badly, anticipation fired him back into full drive, and he was back on the bed. He moved behind Marc, groaning at the way he rolled his hips. He coated his right-hand fingers with lube and clasped his hip with his left to pull him back and higher. “So. Goddamn. Hot.” He rubbed his wet fingers on Marc’s hole, circling before he pushed one finger inside him. He had to shut his eyes and grit his teeth over the hot silk that surrounded his finger. The tight clasp.

“Finally,” Marc muttered.

Royce slapped his ass. Hard.

Marc stiffened, then groaned and dropped his face back to his pillow, his ass grabbing so tight on to his finger, if it had been Royce’s dick, it would have hurt. Grinning, he slowly moved his finger in and out while he rubbed the pretty red spot his hand left.

“I don’t need all that. Just fuck me.”

“What did I say about what I like earlier?” He waited.

“You like calling the shots.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

He went stiff again, and Royce’s hands paused their movements. When Marc didn’t answer after a few moments, Royce pressed his lips to the red handprint then whispered, “Marc? Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No.”

“Because you say the word, and all this stops.”

He looked at Royce over his shoulder. “All? You mean you don’t want to fuck unless you get all the say here?”

“No, I’ll still want to fuck. I’ll just rein…myself back a bit more.”

“More?” His voice went up.

Chuckling now that he could tell he hadn’t scared the guy off, Royce began pressing kisses on the hot skin of his reddened cheek, moving down until he reached that sensitive strip of skin where his thigh began. He ran his tongue along it as he pushed two fingers into Marc. He stroked his inner thighs, reveling in the feel of hair against his palm.

“You run?” he asked as he stroked his hands over thighs that looked more muscular than he’d expected.

“Yes,” Marc hissed. “Shit, Royce, please!”

Unable to resist that, Royce came up on his knees and lined himself up with Marc’s hole. As he slowly pushed forward, he gritted his teeth. He would have shut his eyes at the pleasure, but Marc’s back was so beautiful, he couldn’t look away. He was rolling his hips again, muscles rippling along his shoulder blades, the small of his back dipped down in a way that drew Royce’s hands. He held on to his waist, gaze locked there until he was fully seated inside Marc. He panted as he held still, everything in him screaming to move, to fuck.

When Marc moved back, he knew he was good, so Royce began to thrust. The hot clutch of Marc’s body drove him insane, as did the needy sounds coming from the man writhing on his dick. He was the hottest thing Royce had ever seen. He gripped his hips and pushed in deep; and as he pulled slowly back, Marc’s sudden cry let him know he’d hit the right spot. He growled, aimed there, and nailed it over and over until Marc was white-knuckling the bedding.

A flush spread over Marc’s back, his head coming back, and Royce reached for his hair with one hand, gripping it hard. This time, the noise that came from Marc’s throat sent fire streaking through Royce. A long, grumbling vibration of such pleasure, he expected his body to burst into flames. He wanted to hear that noise again and again, so he tightened his fingers. Marc’s cry of pleasure, and the way he clamped down on Royce’s dick, blacked out his vision.

“Fuck, Marc, fuck.” He panted and held on to the man’s hair and pounded into his ass, his other hand gripping his hip hard enough to leave bruises.

“So good. What the hell? So, fucking good,” Marc breathed. “I’m gonna come!”

“Jerk yourself,” Royce growled. “I don’t wanna let go. Fuck, you feel fine wrapping my dick.”

Marc followed direction so fast, and so smoothly, more pleasure shot through Royce. The things he could probably make this man do sent image after image coursing through his brain, and he growled again, not giving a shit if he sounded like an animal.

But Marc must have liked it, because he grasped him again in a molten grip, went tense, then shouted down the roof.

Royce froze, stunned as pleasure coiled in his gut and his balls and his spine. It was everywhere, all at once. “Too much. Fuck, too much.” Royce bent over Marc and bit the back of his shoulder.

Marc yelled again, his body shuddering, and that sent Royce over with him, roaring his release into Marc’s skin. Wave after wave of shocking pleasure pumped through him and out of him, and he gripped Marc’s sides as he could do nothing but ride them. Tremors shook his body, and when he felt Marc’s hand come back to hold on to him, he realized he was pressing kisses over and over onto his back.

Stunned, he stilled.

This hadn’t felt like any fuck he’d had in the last few years. Or, if he were to be honest, any fuck he’d had in his life. That realization so unsettled him, he pulled too fast out of Marc, who hissed and fell to the bed.

“Sorry,” he said softly, laying his hand on his back before he lowered it to massage his well-used hole until Marc relaxed.

“That’s nice,” he said softly as he turned his head. “Lie down next to me a minute while I catch my breath.”

“Hold on.” Royce walked to the bathroom to take care of the condom. He snatched a hand towel off the counter and swiped at the sweat dripping down his neck and matting the hair on his chest. He stared in the mirror, uncomfortable with the shock in his eyes. He blinked until it went away, took a deep breath, and walked back to Marc.

He’d turned onto his side, his body just as shiny with sweat, and still flushed, and so fucking gorgeous, Royce couldn’t find his voice. Or the will to refuse the invitation when Marc patted the bed beside him. He lay down on his back and stared up at the ceiling.

Marc ran his finger down Royce’s shoulder. “I love your ink. Whoever does the work is incredibly talented.”

He could talk about this. This was a safe subject. “Her name is Albany. Coolest woman I’ve ever met. She has a shop here in town.”

“She do anything other than tattoos?”

“Not that I know of. She’s popular, so she stays booked out for months. She’s been working on my sleeve for years. Slowly adding to it.” God, the man smelled good covered in sweat and semen. “I’m sorry, I forgot to grab you a towel.” He started to get up.

“No, I’ll do it in a second. Stop being in such a hurry to run.”

He turned a narrowed gaze onto Marc, who gave him a smile. Fucker.

“Yeah, I’m reeling over what we just did, myself. So give me a minute, too.” He traced the hood over the bearded face of one of Royce’s two Greek tattoos. “So much detail. It’s like he’s living in your skin. “Hades. Greek god of death. I can understand the draw there, but why the serpent?”

“A reminder not to trust.”

“Big reminder.” Marc stared at him a moment, then traced his finger around his biceps, following the sinuous snake to the beautiful man on his forearm. “And the archangel? Which one is he?”

He closed his eyes, too raw for this. “I don’t want to talk about that tattoo.” And that was the reminder Royce needed to crawl out of bed and get back to his job. He ignored the cracking pain in his ribs as his heart pounded harder. Too fast, as the memories of Michael came crashing into his head. He stood, and one look at Marc’s flat expression had him taking a deep breath. “I need to check the cameras, and you need some sleep.”

He turned and yanked a pair of sweat pants out of his satchel, then moved to leave the room.

“Royce?”

He stopped.

“It was really damn good, wasn’t it?”

He shut his eyes, the pain in his chest threatening to suffocate him. But Marc didn’t deserve to take the brunt of his issues, so he gave him the truth. “Yeah, Marc. It was really damn good.”