When his lids loosened enough so that he could open them, he looked down to see the hardened wax on the rim of his head, the little line of it paving the way to where it had dropped off.
This time he moaned deep in his throat as he lowered the candle tip—because he knew what was coming.
More moaning. More wax. A loud curse that was followed by another hiss.
There was no need to go pneumatic. The pain was enough, the rhythmic drop on his cock shooting electric shocks into his balls and the muscles of his thighs and ass. Periodically, he moved the flame up and down his shaft to get clean shots at fresh flesh, his arousal leaping every time it got hit . . . until there had been enough foreplay.
Sweeping his free hand under his sac, he went vertical with his sex.
The wax hit right on the sweet spot, and the sharp agony was so intense, he nearly went down on the floor—but the orgasm was what saved his legs from going loose, the power of the release stiffening him from head to foot as he came hard.
Black wax everywhere.
Come all over his hand and his clothes.
Just like the good ol’ days . . . except for one thing: It was really fucking hollow. Oh, wait. That had been part of the GOD, too. The difference was that back then, he hadn’t known there was something else out there. Something like Jane—
The sound of his phone chiming made him feel like he’d been shot through the head, and even though it wasn’t loud, the quiet shattered like a mirror, the shards of it showing him a reflection of himself he didn’t want to see: Happily mated, he was nonetheless here in his chamber of perversion, getting himself off.
He hauled back and Curt Schillinged the candle across the room, the flame extinguishing in midflight—which was the only reason the whole fucking place didn’t get burned down.
And that was before he saw who the call was from.
His Jane. No doubt with a report from the human hospital. For fuck’s sake, a male of worth would have been outside the OR, waiting for his sister to come around, supporting his mate. Instead, he’d been banished for being out of control, and had come here to spend quality time with his black wax and his hard-on.
He hit send as he stuffed his still-hard cock back in his leathers. “Yeah.”
Pause. During which he had to remind himself that she couldn’t read minds, and thank fuck for it. Christ, what had he just done?
“Are you okay?” she said.
Not in the slightest. “Yeah. How’s Payne?” Please let this not be bad news.
“Ah . . . she made it through. We’re en route back to the compound. She did well and Wrath fed her. Her vitals are stable and she seems to be relatively comfortable, although there’s no telling what the long term result is going to be.”
Vishous closed his eyes. “At least she’s still alive.”
And then there was a whole lot of silence, broken only by the quiet whir of the vehicle she was traveling in.
Eventually, Jane said, “At least we’re over the first hurdle, and the operation went as smoothly as it could—Manny was brilliant.”
V judiciously ignored that comment. “Any problems with the hospital staff?”
“None. Phury worked his magic. But in case there’s someone or something we missed, it’s probably a good idea to monitor the record systems for a while.”
“I’ll take care of that.”
“When are you coming home?”
Vishous had to grit his teeth as he did up the buttons of his fly. In about a half hour, he was going to have a ball so blue it was a U of K fan: Once was never enough for him. It took five or six times to get him what he needed on an average night—and there was nothing even close to average doing right now.
“Are you at the penthouse?” Jane said quietly.
“Yeah.”
There was a tense pause. “Alone?”
Well, the candle was an inanimate object. “Yeah.”