Page 158 of The Rogue's Curse

They emerged from the library and found Misha coming down the stairs with a chubby black cat curled up in his arms, tail whipping happily. “Shoshanna is already enough of a cliché with her black cat. Shall I buy you a pointy hat, too?” Paris teased.

“He likes me,” Misha said defensively, scratching the blissful feline’s ears.

“He’s got good taste. You smell delicious,” Paris replied.

Shoshanna rolled her eyes and said, “Follow me. He has to stay downstairs in his room.”

“Your cat has his own room?” Misha asked.

“Of course he does. And he’s very happy that we are all back home where we belong with our kitty condos and toys,” she said hotly. “Isn’t that right, little man?”

Half an hour later, their guests had begun to arrive. The court, with members new and old, arrived and filled the house with noise and laughter. Wine poured, and blood flowed as some of their newly vetted veravin offered up their veins. He circled throughout, both entertaining and acting as Julian’s voice in his absence. This was how things should be—a large, messy family enjoying each other’s company.

Paris gave a toast on Julian’s behalf and officially christened the Nightwatch, which made Sasha and Kristina beam with pride. And on his own, he apologized for the weeks-long delay, and gave a long, dramatic introduction to Danielle Pierce and Avery Martin as new members of the court.

Alistair played a mini concert for them to thunderous applause, but politely declined an encore and instead turned on dance music, bringing Shoshanna out onto the back patio to spin her around. Dominic followed with Rachel on his arm, while Sasha and Kristina sat in the kitchen eagerly chatting with Danielle and Phoebe over drinks.

Even Lucia had come to celebrate, but Paris couldn’t bring himself to tell her about Kova. He prayed they’d find him and somehow bring him back to the fold. After all she’d been through, she deserved a happy ending. While they were chatting about Lucia’s new job teaching ballet, one of the new vampires, James, came to ask her to dance. Her cheeks flushed, and she allowed him to take her hand.

Close behind him was Misha, who strolled up and said, “Hello, handsome. Care to dance?”

“Can you lead?” Paris asked.

“Of course I can. Can you follow?” Misha retorted, spinning him around the empty living room. The music was distant, almost like a dream.

“If it’s you, I can,” Paris said, staring into his warm eyes. A soft smile melted across Misha’s face, and he fought his natural urge to lead. He’d so often spun the ladies of the court around the dance floor that it was hard to relax. But being pressed tight to Misha, feeling the way his muscles shifted beneath his grasp—this he could do.

Eventually, he broke away to say his goodbyes. He caught Misha’s eyes across the room, scraping over him in a clear message. The other man tapped his watch, and Paris nodded. On another occasion, he might have felt guilty about leaving Shoshanna and Alistair to clean up, but they had a maid and he needed to get laid.

The drive back to the compound felt interminable, particularly with Misha, slightly drunk, enthusing about how he was going to fuck Paris senseless when they got home. With every provocative declaration, the spicy cinnamon aroma of desire punched through the air, teasing at Paris’s senses and awakening the throbbing ache in his belly.

As soon as he parked, Misha tossed him over one shoulder, prompting raucous laughter. “What the hell are you doing?” he protested.

“Making sure you don’t go to your office and start working,” Misha said, patting his ass. “Getting you in bed immediately.”

Dangling over his lover’s shoulder, Paris quickly texted Julian to confirm they were back safe, then checked in with their security app to make sure he and Misha had registered as returning to the property.

He landed with a thud on their shared bed, and stared up at Misha as he held out his hand. “Phone,” Misha commanded.

“You forget who’s number two in the court,” Paris said.

“You forget who’s in charge right now,” Misha said archly. A shiver of delight rippled through Paris. He handed over his phone, which Misha put in a drawer before stripping off his sweater to reveal his gorgeous, chiseled frame. Paris followed his lead, stripping off his own shirt and tossing it aside. Misha yanked his pants down and tossed them before pouncing into bed with him.

“You’re in charge, huh?” Paris teased.

“I am,” Misha said.

“Who decided that?”

“Are you objecting?”

“Hell, no,” Paris replied. Misha grinned, then grabbed his wrists and pinned them to the bed before kissing his throat with hungry, scraping kisses. He lost himself in those rolling waves of heat and desire, of tongues and lips and desperate need.

Misha eased his way down, kissing his chest, his belly, and finally that sweet, tender place along his thigh. One hand gently stroked his cock while the other eased two lubed fingers into him, stretching gently. Paris groaned, lifting his hips to allow him closer.

“That’s it, love,” Misha murmured. “Tell me when you’re ready.”

He was always ready mentally, but with Misha’s size, he had to be practical if he intended to walk normally the next day. His lover was generous and patient, covering his skin in soft kisses as he continued to warm him up, checking in to see how he felt.

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