(Yes… More Smut Ahead!)
Devon huffed a heavy breath, tugging at Ambrose's twitching dick one last time. The Guide seemed spent, bare ass arched to him while his face was buried in the bed sheets.
The S-Rank's lips quivered with a small smirk. Sweat, sex and heat clung to every corner of the bed and he felt like having a bath.
Not to mention somewhere at the far corners of his mind, an emotion that almost clouded the high from being intimate with his permanent guide resurfaced.
Guilt.
Here he was breaking the back and forth between him and Ambrose in the most risque way possible while miles away his nephew's fate was uncertain.
His eyes slid to his pants on the floor. Sticking out of one of the pockets was his phone. No calls, no messages. Still nothing but dead silence.
"I…" The realisation made his cock jerk as it slowly became flaccid. "I think we need a bath," his head turned back to Ambrose who was now glancing breathlessly over his shoulder.
