Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
With a lingering awe, and no small amount of fear, he slipped a grip around the thick shaft, and Apex threw his head back while the stroking began, his upper lip cranking off his beautiful, long fangs, his black eyes shut so hard, his brows crashing together. The vampire’s breath was pumping hard, inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale—
And then it happened.
The release that Callum somehow felt, too, even though it was not his own: As hot jets came out and marked that six-pack, and those heels kicked into the floor, and that torso arched up . . . it was the first thing that had happened, in so very long, that was any good.
That was uncomplicated.
That was simple and real and powerful.
And good.
Callum blinked away tears, but he still managed to see everything. And it was beautiful. It was raw, and sexual . . . and clean.
As soon as it was over, the orgasm done with, that powerful, heavily muscled body still, Callum had an instinct that was not to be denied.
He stood that still-hard cock up and opened wide.
When he swallowed the length right down, he was vaguely aware of Apex barking out loud, and the sound was made again as the sucking started. Opening his throat, Callum took all he could, all there was, and it was too much—and he loved the choking.
More importantly, there was no being trapped. He was free to move, unrestrained. He was choosing this.
He . . . wanted this.
He thought about the symphath. And redecorating.
And the way fresh memories about people who had lived through suffering with you could be the new furnishings for old rooms.
A change that resurrected everyone, a restart to . . . everything.
Keeping a hold on the base of the erection that was filling him up, he splayed his hand wide over the ridges of Apex’s stomach muscles. He knew when the vampire was getting close again—he could tell by the way his breath was getting so harsh once more. And when it was time, when those hips were jerking up and down, and the male was on the verge of crying out, Callum knew he had a decision to make.
Stop because this was too much. And stay in the past.
Or keep going because this was too much.
And rejoin the living.
CHAPTER THIRTY–TWO
On the whole, the job was not that complicated. From an IT perspective, that was.
All Mayhem had to do was take both the images being generated from the thirty-two cameras, and the sound feeds from the microphones, and channel them into a sorting and storage platform whereby the users—whoever they might be—could sift through them, isolate them into permanent files, and transfer or store the data depending on what was needed. It was standard security monitoring stuff.
Any idiot could fucking do it.
Okay, fine, any idiot who—like his good self— knew the program being used, and how to link up each of the units, and what was a problem that could be troubleshooted—troubleshot?—and what was going to require a rebooting if things were only momentarily brain-dead or a replacement if a component was defective.
A good two hours into the shit, and Mayhem was very aware that Apex, for however smart the guy was, did not have the disposition necessary to perform this job. Patience was required, a real go-with-the-flow kind of problem-solving: On the second unit failure, the guy would have taken out his gun and started aiming for the ceiling.
And it was hard to pinpoint exactly what was the trigger for the catch-on, but when light dawned on proverbial Marblehead . . . Mayhem was seriously under-impressed with himself.
He was at the top of the cellar stairs when the realization occurred to him, standing under a unit they’d placed directly above the entrance to the lower level, the laptop balanced on his palm, his neck getting a strain as he looked up to confirm the fucking little red light was turning green—
When all of a sudden, he straightened his head, looked back over his shoulder, and started counting.
One . . . two . . . three . . .
There was a total of five units down the hall and in what he could see of the great room with the hearth and the animal heads.
The math continued. Each of the bedrooms down below had a sensor. And also the rooms upstairs that were unlikely to be slept in by vampires, even with all the daylight shutters in place. All the bathrooms. The kitchen, too. The whole house, wired for image and sound.
Like it wasn’t so much about security . . . but rather, eavesdropping.
And the back end was interesting, too. The feeds were consolidated and sent to three places—
“Hi.”
Mayhem jerked to attention. “Oh, hey. I didn’t see you.”
“Sorry,” Mahrci said softly.
Frowning, he glanced around. “You okay? Is there someone here?”