Mr. Wolfe, Llewellyn, J. [have you read this book .txt] 📗

leather cock-strap would soon be invigorating this sensitive spot.

Ambrosio flipped Mr. Wolfe over onto his belly, slapping his ass.

"On your knees."

Mr. Wolfe obeyed, rising as Ambrosio's mouth moved right in on him. Mr. Wolfe backed up against his husband's deliciously invasive mouth and loved the feel of his teeth and tongue working on him. He let out a groan.

Ambrosio leaned back, Mr. Wolfe already missing his man's mouth. He could hear Ambrosio fastening the strap to his cock and almost screamed with pleasure when he felt Ambrosio running his beautiful shaft across his ass cheeks. He could feel the moist pearls leaking from it and begged, "Fuck me, please, Ambrosio."

His husband lost no time in beginning to work his cock against Mr. Wolfe's tight hole. Tight, but hungry. Soon, he was halfway inside and Mr. Wolfe felt the first hard rub of stone. He knew it was the moonstone. He was a creature of the moon and knew that this was the reason Ambrosio had used this ethereal gem. The knowledge and sweet pressure against his ass made his cock leap, his whole body rippling with pleasure.

By the time Ambrosio entered him fully, Mr. Wolfe was babbling nonsense. He wanted it, wanted it badly, and braced himself for the vigorous ass fucking he knew he was going to get.

"Please, please, please," he begged until they both came, his perineum quaking against the rapid assault, his entire body feeling the shadow of fire and smoke as they shuddered against one another.

"Beautiful," Mr. Wolfe muttered as Ambrosio fell on top of him. They remained this way, sated, still coming, for several moments until Mr. Wolfe detected a disturbance outside.

He lifted his head and looked out of the windows. There, down below, hidden in the walnut tree in their garden, was Zev.

Holy crap...

"It's okay," Ambrosio said. "We knew he'd come."

Mr. Wolfe wanted to go down and chase after him, but the truth was, he couldn't see up here. Their windows had been blacked out. They could see out, but nobody could see in.

Ambrosio rolled off him and gathered him into his arms, tucking Mr. Wolfe's head under his chin.

Passions slaked...for now, they needed rest. They both needed it, if the gathering storm Mr. Wolf knew they both sensed held true...

* * * *

Ambrosio collected his sister from Burbank Airport four days later very early in the morning. She'd flown from Japan to New York to visit an old friend and from there had taken a Jet Blue flight to LA. How ironic and how damned inconvenient when he and Wolfie were working at LAX!

Mireille looked as lovely and lithe as ever. All the other passengers around her stopped to stare as she strode past them in her sleeveless black tweed dress with pearl accents. Very Mireille and very Chanel.

She wore her favorite impossibly high black heels and toted her black Chanel suitcase alongside her. She'd cut her long, dark hair to the shoulders and it looked perfect. It was one of the things he so loved about her. Her sense of precision. It had been the first thing that had attracted him to Wolfie.

He hugged her hard, surprised that she had only one suitcase, then remembered that unlike him and Wolfie, she constantly reinvented herself and never took the past with her, except, as she always said, in her heart.

"I had the most divine Mexican on the plane," she said. It took him a second to realize she meant a Mexican man. He shook his head.

"Will he live to tell the tale?"

"But of course." She smiled, her teeth white, her skin almost rosy with the flush of a fresh repast. "He's alive and very happy but I swamped him with pheromones. He won't remember a thing."

With her track record of smitten, besotted boyfriends, that was good thinking.

"Where is my wolfman?" she asked, peering into the SUV as though expecting to find him there.

"Well, he's not hiding in the cargo hold," he assured her with a grin.

"Oh, too bad. I can't wait to see him."

He buckled her into the passenger seat, his spirits soaring at the thought of her being here permanently.

"How is the new collection going?" she asked. "Wolfie mentioned that he wanted me to handle the Beckett costumes."

As he drove out of the parking lot, Ambrosio nodded. "It's a pain in the ass, that collection."

She nodded, slipping on very dark sunglasses. "I studied the photos you sent me. You really do need me."

"Yeah we do. It took us a few hours to realize most of the costumes were not made to last. They weren't made for performances, really. They were built for photography. They're falling apart, some of them, literally at the seams."

"And how are the pixies handling them?" she asked.

"We've kept them at LAX to handle Zara Finley's collection. Now you're here, we can switch them off; one day with you, one day with us."

She frowned. "Have you adequate maple syrup?"

"Plenty."

She still didn't look happy. "Pixies are such hard work."

He hesitated. "You'll have an assistant."

"Oh, yes, Wolfie mentioned him. Vex, isn't it?"

Vex sure sums him up...

"Vez."

Mireille held up a finger. "I must remember that. Do you mind if I take a catnap? I'd like to dream of Mexico." She smiled, making Ambrosio laugh.

"Wolfie's determined to find you a husband."

She suddenly straightened. "Really?" She seemed so happy now. "I can't wait! What's this Vez like?"

"Gay. And obnoxious." He resisted saying more. Mireille would only worry and besides, things had quieted down with Vez. He'd stopped following Ambrosio and sneaking around.

"He has a crush on you?" Her head swiveled toward him at an inquisitive angle.

"Yes. I think it's okay now."

"We'll soon see," she said, leaning her head back against the seat.

* * * *

Over the coming weeks, Mireille proved to be exactly what the already exhausted team needed. She worked well with Vez and the pixies and became an object of fantasy for Miguel.

"Don't you have enough babies?" Wolfie had snapped at the drooling teen one afternoon. It was especially hot that day