Titus's POV
The Man sits in the chair. He is still. He is stone. But I am fire.
I pace the cage of his ribs, scratching at the bones, demanding release. The hallway is quiet, filled only with the hum of the metal box that moves up and down the tower and the howling of the wind against the glass. But it is not quiet to me.
I hear her.
Through the open door, across the expensive carpet that smells of cleaning chemicals and my own spilled seed, I hear her heart.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Mate.
The word is a growl in my mind, a vibration that shakes the Man’s foundations. She is right there. Just yards away. Lying in the soft nest of white sheets. She smells of salt-tears and sour-fear, but underneath that, she smells of us. She smells of the arousal we pulled from her, the swee
