Looking down into the face of his shellan, he watched the way her head moved back and forth as he penetrated her and retreated, penetrated and retreated. The feel of her hot, wet core was going straight to his head, and then there was the sight of her at his vein. His hips jerked and began to pump on reflex, something taking over him.
As the rhythm of his pelvis increased, Syn began to pant, the pleasure ramping up inside of him even though it had nowhere to go. But what the fuck did he care. Beneath his surging body, Jo was in ecstasy, her arousal scent thick in the air, her body absorbing his thrusts, both her hands locked on his forearm to make sure his vein didn’t go anywhere away from her mouth.
Giving himself up to the sex, his body rode the wave, closing in on the terminal moment that would not come, the lip of pleasure from which he would never fly, the culmination that was an ever-moving target he would never close—
Syn’s eyes squeezed closed and his molars locked.
Sweat broke out across his face, down his neck… and over his chest under his clothes.
Slapping into the seat of Jo’s pelvis, he groaned deep in his throat as the pleasure pinpointed into pain, the worst it had ever been because his female was the very best he had ever—
The orgasm crackled through Syn’s body as his hips locked into place, all of the tension releasing in an explosion of sensations that brought a sacred easing, an indescribable floating peace, a soaring exhalation as he ejaculated over and over again, filling his female up.
Syn dropped his head down, his forehead against the corrugated floor of the surgical van. For a moment, he thought he was losing consciousness, everything spinning. But then he returned to his body.
And continued to pleasure his female.
It was a new landscape of experience, and he explored it with her, the pleasure rising up again, finding that potential, renewing the ascension. The second time it happened for him, as he approached the release, he wondered if it wasn’t going to fail on him. After centuries of impotence, he expected more of the same even after his first data point to the contrary.
He was wrong.
He orgasmed again.
And again.
And again.
As did his female.
It turned out his body just knew what it wanted. And it had saved itself through entire eras of progress and innovation and revolution and evolution…
… for the one female it wanted to give itself to.
What a wise choice, Syn thought with a smile as he started to ride the waves once more.
* * *
Butch needed to be driven back to the mansion in the R8.
Even after V materialized downtown and went to work on him, he didn’t have the energy to do more than respirate. Fortunately, his best friend was on it. In fact, Vishous was straight-up empowered. In spite of doing his cleansing routine, and throwing up mhis around the scene in the alley, he was snappy as a spring motherfucker.
Then again, winning the war had a way of perking a brother up. Especially after Butch and his roomie had just conference-called their females and gotten to play the victorious warriors returning to the home front with the spoils.
Which, okay, fine, were nothing but some serious bragging rights. What the fuck did it matter, though! The happiness in Marissa’s and Jane’s voices was more than enough of a reward. Plus, hello, everyone was coming back with a heartbeat.
Although Syn was going to need some surgery. Assuming the Bastard didn’t let Jo drain him dry in the back of that RV. At least Manny was watching over them like a hawk.
Letting his head lull in the direction of his bestie, Butch rolled his eyes. “I still can’t believe it. It’s over. It’s done. The Omega is gone.”
“But we got a replacement.” V glanced over. “Your little friend.”
“Balance, right?” Butch went back to looking out the front windshield. “It’s all about balance. Did you know your mom had another sister?”
“No. But there’s a lot I don’t know about her.”
“Well. There you go.”
As V’s phone went off with a text, he nodded at the unit in the console. “Check that will you. I’m feeling like I want to keep my eyes on the road tonight. Fuck only knows what happens next.”
Butch snagged the Samsung and put in his roommate’s passcode. As the thing came alive, he went into the text that had just come through. When he saw who it was from, he nearly put the screen back facedown.
Tossing the damn cell out the window also had an appeal.
Things were going so well. Couldn’t they have a moment’s peace—
“What is it?” V glanced over. “Something wrong?”
Butch sat up in the passenger seat a little higher. “Um… it’s, ah… here lemme open it. It’s a link.”
“From who?”
Yeeeeeah, maybe we’ll just wait on that, Butch thought. “Lassiter” was not a name he wanted to be tossing out all willy-nilly—
“What… the… fuck,” he breathed.
V’s foot came off the gas, that surgical RV they were trailing getting ahead of them. “What.”
Butch shook his head and restarted the video. “It’s Curt Schilling.”
Vishous’s recoil was so great, the other brother nearly snapped his neck. “The Curt Schilling?”
“TheCurtSchilling.” As in the Boston Red Sox right-handed, bloody-sock’d pitcher who had led the team to its first World Series Championship in eighty-six years, finally breaking the Curse of the Bambino after an agonizing drought. “The fucking Curt Schilling!”
“What’s he doing on my phone!”
“I don’t know!”
Okay, fine. It was quite possible the two of them were sounding like ten-year-old little boys. But it was TheCurtSchilling.
“Play it! Play it! Play—”
“I am! I am! I am—”
V wrenched the R8’s wheel to the right and slammed on the brakes, halting them on a shoulder of the road. Then the pair of them knocked heads as they leaned down to the screen.
Curt Schilling—TheCurtSchilling—looked into the camera that was videotaping and seemed a little confused as he spoke.
“Well, this is a new one. But hey, I’m game. Ah—Vishous?” Then on a mutter, “Helluva name you got there.” More normally now, “This is from your good friend, Lassiter. He wanted you to know that he’s really sorry for what he had to do. It was for your own good, and you know this, but he probably could have handled things better.” Another mutter, “Hope this doesn’t involve a woman.” Normal again, “Anyway, he wants you to know that he respects the hell out of you, and he said to tell you congratulations on your historic win. You and your roommate have saved everyone who matters and he promises that he’ll stand by both of you, forever.” Mutter. “Seems like a nice guy.” Normal. “Oh, and he tells me that not only are you and your roommate, Butch, watching this together, the two of you are diehard Red Sox fans. Go Sox!”
Schilling turned around and fiddled with something behind him. “One more thing. He paid extra to Cameo for this. He said it would mean the world to you both.”
From out of a stereo speaker, the unmistakable strumming and horns started.
Then, Neil Diamond’s famous voice: “Where it began, I can’t begin to know…” ng down into the face of his shellan, he watched the way her head moved back and forth as he penetrated her and retreated, penetrated and retreated. The feel of her hot, wet core was going straight to his head, and then there was the sight of her at his vein. His hips jerked and began to pump on reflex, something taking over him.
As the rhythm of his pelvis increased, Syn began to pant, the pleasure ramping up inside of him even though it had nowhere to go. But what the fuck did he care. Beneath his surging body, Jo was in ecstasy, her arousal scent thick in the air, her body absorbing his thrusts, both her hands locked on his forearm to make sure his vein didn’t go anywhere away from her mouth.
Giving himself up to the sex, his body rode the wave, closing in on the terminal moment that would not come, the lip of pleasure from which he would never fly, the culmination that was an ever-moving target he would never close—
Syn’s eyes squeezed closed and his molars locked.
Sweat broke out across his face, down his neck… and over his chest under his clothes.
Slapping into the seat of Jo’s pelvis, he groaned deep in his throat as the pleasure pinpointed into pain, the worst it had ever been because his female was the very best he had ever—
The orgasm crackled through Syn’s body as his hips locked into place, all of the tension releasing in an explosion of sensations that brought a sacred easing, an indescribable floating peace, a soaring exhalation as he ejaculated over and over again, filling his female up.
Syn dropped his head down, his forehead against the corrugated floor of the surgical van. For a moment, he thought he was losing consciousness, everything spinning. But then he returned to his body.
And continued to pleasure his female.
It was a new landscape of experience, and he explored it with her, the pleasure rising up again, finding that potential, renewing the ascension. The second time it happened for him, as he approached the release, he wondered if it wasn’t going to fail on him. After centuries of impotence, he expected more of the same even after his first data point to the contrary.
He was wrong.
He orgasmed again.
And again.
And again.
As did his female.
It turned out his body just knew what it wanted. And it had saved itself through entire eras of progress and innovation and revolution and evolution…
… for the one female it wanted to give itself to.
What a wise choice, Syn thought with a smile as he started to ride the waves once more.
* * *
Butch needed to be driven back to the mansion in the R8.
Even after V materialized downtown and went to work on him, he didn’t have the energy to do more than respirate. Fortunately, his best friend was on it. In fact, Vishous was straight-up empowered. In spite of doing his cleansing routine, and throwing up mhis around the scene in the alley, he was snappy as a spring motherfucker.
Then again, winning the war had a way of perking a brother up. Especially after Butch and his roomie had just conference-called their females and gotten to play the victorious warriors returning to the home front with the spoils.
Which, okay, fine, were nothing but some serious bragging rights. What the fuck did it matter, though! The happiness in Marissa’s and Jane’s voices was more than enough of a reward. Plus, hello, everyone was coming back with a heartbeat.
Although Syn was going to need some surgery. Assuming the Bastard didn’t let Jo drain him dry in the back of that RV. At least Manny was watching over them like a hawk.
Letting his head lull in the direction of his bestie, Butch rolled his eyes. “I still can’t believe it. It’s over. It’s done. The Omega is gone.”
“But we got a replacement.” V glanced over. “Your little friend.”
“Balance, right?” Butch went back to looking out the front windshield. “It’s all about balance. Did you know your mom had another sister?”
“No. But there’s a lot I don’t know about her.”
“Well. There you go.”
As V’s phone went off with a text, he nodded at the unit in the console. “Check that will you. I’m feeling like I want to keep my eyes on the road tonight. Fuck only knows what happens next.”
Butch snagged the Samsung and put in his roommate’s passcode. As the thing came alive, he went into the text that had just come through. When he saw who it was from, he nearly put the screen back facedown.
Tossing the damn cell out the window also had an appeal.
Things were going so well. Couldn’t they have a moment’s peace—
“What is it?” V glanced over. “Something wrong?”
Butch sat up in the passenger seat a little higher. “Um… it’s, ah… here lemme open it. It’s a link.”
“From who?”
Yeeeeeah, maybe we’ll just wait on that, Butch thought. “Lassiter” was not a name he wanted to be tossing out all willy-nilly—
“What… the… fuck,” he breathed.
V’s foot came off the gas, that surgical RV they were trailing getting ahead of them. “What.”
Butch shook his head and restarted the video. “It’s Curt Schilling.”
Vishous’s recoil was so great, the other brother nearly snapped his neck. “The Curt Schilling?”
“TheCurtSchilling.” As in the Boston Red Sox right-handed, bloody-sock’d pitcher who had led the team to its first World Series Championship in eighty-six years, finally breaking the Curse of the Bambino after an agonizing drought. “The fucking Curt Schilling!”
“What’s he doing on my phone!”
“I don’t know!”
Okay, fine. It was quite possible the two of them were sounding like ten-year-old little boys. But it was TheCurtSchilling.
“Play it! Play it! Play—”
“I am! I am! I am—”
V wrenched the R8’s wheel to the right and slammed on the brakes, halting them on a shoulder of the road. Then the pair of them knocked heads as they leaned down to the screen.
Curt Schilling—TheCurtSchilling—looked into the camera that was videotaping and seemed a little confused as he spoke.
“Well, this is a new one. But hey, I’m game. Ah—Vishous?” Then on a mutter, “Helluva name you got there.” More normally now, “This is from your good friend, Lassiter. He wanted you to know that he’s really sorry for what he had to do. It was for your own good, and you know this, but he probably could have handled things better.” Another mutter, “Hope this doesn’t involve a woman.” Normal again, “Anyway, he wants you to know that he respects the hell out of you, and he said to tell you congratulations on your historic win. You and your roommate have saved everyone who matters and he promises that he’ll stand by both of you, forever.” Mutter. “Seems like a nice guy.” Normal. “Oh, and he tells me that not only are you and your roommate, Butch, watching this together, the two of you are diehard Red Sox fans. Go Sox!”
Schilling turned around and fiddled with something behind him. “One more thing. He paid extra to Cameo for this. He said it would mean the world to you both.”
From out of a stereo speaker, the unmistakable strumming and horns started.
Then, Neil Diamond’s famous voice: “Where it began, I can’t begin to know…”