The hot shower helped to clear away the clutter in his brain but didn’t make a dent in the tense muscles throbbing and aching in his back and shoulders. Bed and Rafe’s arms, that was all that mattered.
He stepped out of the opulent marble and tile bathroom wearing only a towel. He hadn’t thought to grab any of his things from Arsenault Manor. At one time, most of his world had been in that house. Then he met Rafe Varik, and everything seemed to change.
So much of it for the better.
Only when Jullien was safe and Ezra dealt with would he be able to feel free. He wanted to find Ming and Peter again, but he wasn’t going to ask them to come back to him. Could they trust him to keep them safe? Was that what they wanted anymore?
Stepping into the bedroom, he found Rafe seated in one of the comfortable chairs arranged diagonally to the bed. In his lap was a violin.
“How did you get your violin? It’s daylight.”
Rafe smirked. “What you’re going to learn with me is that I have many, many violins.”
“Because of your mother.”
Rafe nodded, his fingers stroking over the glossy veneer of the instrument. “I tend to keep my least favorites at my brothers’. In case something were to happen to them. But this one, it’s a good one. Had it for about fifty years, I think.”
“Does it help you to relax?”
Rafe’s smile turned into something wicked as his gaze slowly traveled down Philippe’s body. “Well, nothing relaxes me quite like you in that towel. Except for maybe you out of that towel.”
Philippe lifted his hand to where the end of the towel was tucked in, holding it in place. “I can remove the towel.”
“Take off the towel, baby, and get into bed. Let me play you to sleep.”
And to Philippe’s surprise, he couldn’t imagine anything else sounding more heavenly. Turning toward the bathroom, Philippe stripped off the damp towel, tossed it onto the tile floor, and walked to the bed. There was a wonderful caress over his body from Rafe’s hot gaze as he crossed the room and climbed between the cool, heavy blankets.
Before his head even touched the pillow, a low forlorn note cried out from the violin. It was like Rafe and his instrument were weeping for the dead Arsenaults. Philippe closed his eyes and let the music wrap around him. Here and there, his brain tried to identify the song, but the thoughts drifted away, carried on one melancholy note after another.
As his breathing evened out and he drew closer to sleep, the playing ended. Some distant part of his brain listened to Rafe setting the violin and bow on the nearby dresser. There was a whisper of fabric rubbing and clink of a belt buckle as he undressed.
The bed shifted behind Philippe and he sighed as Rafe’s arm wrapped around him, hot flesh pressing against his own. Philippe’s brain remained foggy, but his body perked up with new demands. His heart ached, but Rafe’s touch was as healing as his playing. Philippe shifted in the bed, pushing his ass into Rafe’s groin so his hardening dick rubbed perfectly along his crease.
Rafe moaned in his ear and an arm tightened around his waist, trying to hold him still. “Please, mon ange. You need your rest, and I am a very weak man where you are concerned.”
“Do you think we’re lucky enough to have your brother provide us with everything we need?”
“Marcus? No, he’s an evil fuck when he wants to be. But Ethan?” Rafe huffed a low laugh in Philippe’s ear. “Yes, that horny little sex kitten probably has lube stashed all over the house for him and Marcus.” A little shudder ran through Rafe’s body, causing the rough hairs on his legs to wonderfully rasp against Philippe’s. “I do not want to think about that.”
Philippe shifted again, pressing closer while releasing a little moan as if tapping his own inner sex kitten. “Please, Rafe. I need you.”
Philippe’s toes curled at the growl rumbling up Rafe’s throat. Rafe slid the hand resting on Philippe’s chest down and wrapped his fingers around Philippe’s straining cock, pulling a gasp from his throat. Rafe stroked him twice and released him. Philippe moaned and started to thrust when Rafe held up the hand in front of Philippe’s face.
“Lick it. Get it good and wet,” Rafe ordered.
Philippe pulled the large hand closer and stroked the flat of his tongue across the palm, tasting Rafe. Hungry noises rumbled up Rafe’s throat, and he thrust his hips against Philippe’s ass. Pre-cum was starting to leak from the head, making each rub slicker than the last. Philippe sucked one finger after another into his mouth, slowly bathing each with his tongue while listening to the harsh pants leave Rafe.