"Very good. Have a blessed sleep. "
Yeah. Right. "You, too. "
After the outside door was shut again, Tohr shampooed his head like he supposed all males did: Squeeze out a crapload, rub it into your hair like you were trying to get a stain out of a carpet, and then stand under the spray forever because you'd used too much of whatever Fritz had bought you.
Later, he would decide it would have been best to keep his eyes open.
As soon as he shut his lids to keep the suds out, the warm rush down his torso turned into hands, and the urge to orgasm came back even stronger than before, his cock throbbing, his balls getting tight -
Instantly, he was downstairs in the pantry again, his mouth locked on No'One's smooth throat, his suction and swallowing filling his belly, his arms squeezing her hard against his body. . . .
Your shellan is welcome here.
He shook his head at the sound of her voice in his inner ear. But then he realized that was the answer.
Regripping himself, he told his brain that the images were of his Wellsie. That the feeling, the sensation, the scent, the taste. . . it was his Wellsie, not another female.
It was not a memory.
It was his mate back to him -
The release was so sudden, he actually recoiled, his eyes going wide, his body jerking not from the orgasm but the surprise that, yes, in fact, he was actually having one in RL, not in some dreamscape.
As he stroked himself and rode the crest, he watched himself come, his sex doing what it was supposed to, kicking out jets that hit the wet marble wall and the glass pane of the door.
The sight was less erotic than biological.
It was just a function, he realized. Like breathing and eating. Yeah, it felt good, but so did a deep breath: in this vacuum of emotion, in this lonely shower, it was really just a series of ejaculations that coughed through his prostate.
Feelings gave sex meaning, whether it was in a fantasy or with your mate. . . or if you were with someone you didn't like all that mu
ch, for that matter.
Or didn't want to want, an inner voice pointed out.
When his body was done, he feared it was just a round-one situation, because he was still every bit as erect as he had been when this had started. But at least he didn't feel like he had cheated on his mate. In fact, he didn't feel anything at all, and that was good.
Rinsing off, he got out, dried himself with a towel. . . and took the stretch of terry cloth with him into the bedroom.
He was pretty certain that after he ate, things were going to get messy when he lay down, and not from any kind of indigestion.
But it was. . . okay. As okay as he could ever get, he supposed.
The sex he'd had with his mate had been monumental, shattering, fireworks-making - transformative.
This shit was about as sexy as a head cold.
As long as he didn't think of. . .
He stopped himself and cleared his throat, even though he wasn't speaking out loud.
As long as he didn't think of anyone else of the female persuasion, he was good.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The following evening, Xcor stood in the recessed doorway of a brick building in the heart of downtown. Set back by nearly three feet, the space formed a coffin of sorts, providing him shadows to conceal himself with, as well as cover from stray bullets.
On his own, he was utterly and completely pissed off as he surveyed the area and kept an eye on the sleek black car he had followed.