From here, he watched Delancey and Montaña party with whores and drug dealers. Two of Morgan's more trusted contacts followed the dealers, while his ace in the hole planted the listening devices that pegged Delancey's agenda for the next week.
If Alicia wanted to tag the bastard, she'd need to move fast.
Morgan thought about doing the guy himself, because from what he'd seen and heard, Delancey was responsible for a lot of bad stuff. He didn't know as much about Montaña, nor could Morgan figure out why Delancey's boss kept him around. From what he'd seen, Delancey did little more than fuck, drink, and do drugs. The weird shit he kept injecting gave him hard-ons and visions, not exactly what Morgan had expected.
From what Alicia had described, the “wonder drug” Montaña was peddling turned users catatonic. Sure, they'd see things and relay the information. Then they'd go into seizures, lose consciousness, and eventually die. According to Morgan's insider, Delancey's drug was the new and improved version of the one Alicia wanted. Which meant she was in for a surprise, because it worked, and men would pay a helluva lot to get a psychic woody that wouldn't quit.
The image made him chuckle, the first laugh he'd had all day.
As quickly as the smile appeared, it vanished. Morgan stared at the small fox figurine he'd brought with him, unable to bear parting from it.
His cell phone rang, but he ignored it. Alicia again, by the ringtone, pestering him to come home, no doubt. He didn't need her lectures, or her “I told you sos.” Yeah, so she'd told him to go slow with Kisho. But who could blame him for not being able to resist such a gorgeous, thoughtful, sensitive soul? So what that he and his lover didn't know each other that well? They had a connection, a psychic link that went far beyond the physical. And that was to say nothing of the fireworks that shot between them body to body.
Morgan grimaced at the hard-on that continued to bother him at thoughts of his stubborn lover. How the hell could Kisho be so smart, so sophisticated in his tastes, and not want him?
“Shit. Women throw themselves at me. Men line up to get fucked. And my little fox pretends we're nothing?” Morgan swore under his breath again and planned all the devious ways he'd take his bad mood out on his lover's hide.
A hard butt fuck, some chains, a flogger. Maybe a ball gag and some leathers thrown into the mix, especially considering what he knew about Kisho's liking for pleasured pain.
Morgan stretched and yawned, then glanced at the clock. No wonder he was tired. He'd been on the go for twenty-four hours, unable to sleep after bonding to Kisho. Bonding, is that what we really did? Depression hit him hard, and he knew he needed to recharge. If anything unexpected happened, his sources would call. He had a special ringtone for his inside man, as well as his trusted contacts on the water. And with Delancey's boat only a few miles off the coast, its location tracked by a device affixed to the ship's voyage data recorder, it wouldn't take much to catch him.
Morgan stripped down to his underwear and climbed into bed. His dreams, as he'd expected, revolved around Kisho.
Hours later, he wakened to movement in the room. Pretending sleep, he waited until he felt his intruder close. Then he sprang. Out of bed, he knocked into a large body, and they both fell to the floor. They wrestled around until the scent of cinnamon filled the air. He froze.
“Kisho?”
“Yeah, let go of my throat,” Kisho wheezed and tugged at Morgan's forearm.
Morgan released him and rolled again, so that Kisho lay beneath him. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked more harshly than he'd intended.
“Mrs. Sharpe was worried you'd do something stupid.”
Shoving off him and leaping to his feet, Morgan swore. He ran a hand through his hair and blinked when the lights suddenly blinded him.
Kisho took advantage and knocked him to the bed, where the Circ straddled him and pinned his hands above him. “Sorry, Morgan. I'm here to make sure you don't hurt yourself.” Morgan laughed, but he wasn't amused. “That's rich.”
“He's not kidding,” a deeper voice added from the shadows. Julian Hawkins stepped forward, his hands on his hips, and shook his head. “I'm surprised at you, Morgan. You seemed a lot quicker the other day in the gym.”
“Fuck off, Hawkins.” Morgan didn't like Hawkins invading his space with Kisho so near.
“Nice setup.” Hawkins leaned in for a closer look at the monitors. “So you really have Delancey on camera, hmm? That cocksucker. And I don't mean that as a compliment.” Morgan would have laughed if he hadn't been so confused. “What's going on? Why are you here?”
Hawkins exchanged a glance with Kisho. “Tell him, Kisho. Explain exactly why we're here. And don't be shy.” To Morgan's shock, Jules Hawkins started taking off his clothes.
And then firm lips covered his, and Morgan lost all train of thought. His kitsu's mouth caressed, his tongue invaded, and heat blistered Morgan's control to nothing. Hunger took over, consuming him as his lover made slow, sweet love to his mouth. Everything but Kisho faded, and he arched up to rub his dick against the hard cock against him.
“Mm, you taste so good,” Kisho murmured against his throat. Then he nipped and licked a spot of blood. As he did, he tightened his grip around Morgan's wrists, his strength a thing of beauty.
Morgan gasped, the erotic pain so good.
“Didn't think I'd say it, but that's sexy.” Hawkins stood to the side of the bed, naked, aroused, and changed. “Now tell him, Kisho. Before I seriously lose it. You've been driving the rest of us crazy with this damned extended heat. Yeah, it's you two, not Fallon and Olivia.” Kisho flushed and gave Morgan a quick kiss. In a movement too fast to track, Kisho and Hawkins switched places. The familiar scent of cinnamon was taken over by a musky vanilla.
Unfamiliar yet sexy, Hawkins captivated with his huge body. He licked his fangs and rubbed his massive cock over Morgan's belly. “Nice abs,” he growled and leaned close to sniff at Morgan's neck. “Oh yeah. You smell like my Kisho.”
“My Kisho,” Morgan automatically corrected.
Hawkins opened his mouth and closed it over the pinprick at Morgan's throat. A raspy tongue licked before Hawkins lifted his head in puzzlement. “No more blood? No wound?'
“I heal fast.” Morgan shifted and groaned when he rubbed against Jules. “Now would you get off? Kisho?”
Morgan tried to look around Hawkins, but Jules moved with him. “Something we need to get straight, Morgan. Kisho says you belong to him. But he belongs to me. If you want him, you have to prove it.”
Morgan's heart raced. Kisho had admitted they belonged together? “Prove it how?” Hawkins smiled and released one of Morgan's wrists. He waited, as if daring Morgan to try to flee, but Morgan didn't move.
Until Hawkins closed one large hand over his dick. Even through Morgan's underwear, he felt the heat of Hawkins's touch. “I fuck you into submission. And won't that be interesting to see, hmm?” Jules practically purred. “Kisho, come here and do your thing.” Morgan shook, hard, aching, and confused. He wanted Kisho, but his body responded to Hawkins. And he didn't like it.
“It's okay, baby,” Kisho said. He moved around Hawkins and stroked Morgan's hair.
Just hearing Kisho call him “baby” stilled his rebellion. Having his lover's hands on him helped calm his agitation as well. “Kitsu?”
“Do it like you did before. Pull my energy so you get bigger.” Kisho licked his fangs and glanced at Jules on top of him. “The team alpha needs to dominate the team, Morgan. You take me, you take the rest of it.”
Morgan understood, but he wasn't sure he could do it. Though his body responded, ever since he and Kisho had bonded, he hadn't been able to tolerate thoughts of anyone else sexually.