The Hounds of Devotion

by Eva Chase

  John chuckled at the other end of the sofa, where he was massaging my foot with skilled strokes of his thumb. Each press sent a pleasant burn and a trickle of relaxation through the muscles all the way up my leg. Between that and the Indian takeout filling my belly, I couldn’t imagine a much more enjoyable way to spend an evening. Perhaps I should look into bringing on the doctor as a full-time foot masseuse.

  “Ready for the other one yet?” he asked with a lift of one eyebrow. I hadn’t asked for the massage, but I had sprawled out on the sofa with my feet on his lap when we’d retired to the living room after dinner, so I supposed that’d seemed like enough of a prompt.

  “No, I’ll take a little more on the arch before you move on,” I said with a grin.

  Sherlock shook his head where he was sitting in the armchair next to the sofa, pipe in hand and tablet propped on one knee, but the corners of his lips had quirked upward as well. “You’d better not let word get out how easily won over you are by a little foot rub. What will become of the brilliant Jemma Moriarty then?”

  “She’ll have incredibly well-tended-to feet,” I shot back, and let out another encouraging hum as John dug his thumb in a little deeper just above my heel. The rich smell of Sherlock’s pipe smoke mingled with the honey sweetness lingering in my mouth from the extensive dessert I’d ensured the takeout meal included, making another sort of heaven all on its own. Who needed a criminal empire when you could have this?

  The thought had passed through my mind in jest, but a twinge followed it. My life could have looked something like this if I’d been born into a normal family, not one devoted to the shrouded folk and offering up their children as further sacrifice. If I’d had a chance to learn how to really connect with people instead of seeing them all as competition… If I hadn’t been left with my sister’s murder hanging over my head…

  But then the world wouldn’t have any Jemma Moriarty to carry out her avenging mission. The shrouded folk would still have existed, still have killed other children. On the balance, everyone else was better off for my fraught early years.

  I wouldn’t have minded a taste of that imaginary alternate life, though. This might be one right here. No unsettling scent had returned to the apartment to indicate a shrouded one had returned to survey it. There wasn’t anything wrong in indulging in the illusion of normality for one night.

  The fiends had stolen so much from me. I deserved a chance to be completely free for them, if only for a brief moment before my responsibilities called once more.

  Unfortunately, John had clearly been thinking about my early years too. He shifted to my other foot automatically, but his expression went serious, his mind on something other than my appendage.

  “You lived in one of those communes for fourteen years, you said.”

  I nodded. To fill in the most essential blanks in their understanding, I’d told the trio the basic details of my history over the week when I’d been recovering.

  “I can see why you needed to build up a certain amount of wealth and influence so that you’d be able to take on these creatures,” he went on. I hadn’t mentioned Olivia at all, but the scenes they’d witnessed in that other commune had shown them plenty of motivation for anyone to want to put an end to the shrouded folk’s reign. “Why is it that you took the criminal route? Why not put your skills toward a legitimate business?”

  His tone didn’t reveal any judgment of my chosen line of work, but knowing John, the fact of it niggled at him. He was, really, the most good of the trio, his adrenaline junkie tendencies aside. The three of them all had their own motivations for coming to their lines of work. Sherlock liked to solve puzzles. Garrett had something to prove.

  John… He cared about people, pure and simple. Which I supposed was an excellent quality for a doctor to have, and often useful for a consulting detective’s partner as well, but it also meant he cared about all the people I’d conned over the years.

  A little tension wound back through my gut. I ignored it. I could give him an honest and reasonably complete answer.

  “Growing up in a place like that,” I said, “everything was out of our control. The adults pushed us into our various sacrifices and spats with each other. The shrouded folk directed the adults. I never even knew what the supposed ‘high honor’ I was competing for was until I snuck out to watch one of the older kids taken…” A shiver ran down my back at the memory of the blaze of light, the awful screams that had seemed to go on forever.

  Sherlock was watching me intently now, but John’s hand paused against my foot. “If you’d rather not talk about it—if it’s too painful—”

  I waved off his concern. “I can manage my own discomfort. I don’t resent the question. Anyway, fourteen years of that left me with a deep need for control. I function best when I can direct as many pieces of a scheme as possible by my own will.”

  “And how does that need interfere with having a legitimate business that you own and operate yourself?”

  I gave him a pointed look. “How do you think? Any completely legal way of making money involves all sorts of permissions and restrictions from outside parties—people I don’t trust not to screw me over. If you want full control, it’s easiest to simply ignore the law completely.”

  “Easiest for the perpetrator,” Sherlock said wryly. “Not so much the victims.”

  My gaze shifted to him, the twinge I’d felt earlier digging more sharply into my chest. “I’m not going to tell you about all the things I’ve done, because I don’t think you’d enjoy hearing them. But I hope you know me well enough by now to be able to ‘deduce’ that I don’t hurt people for some sick enjoyment but only when it’s necessary—and generally only those who have it coming. If I can rid this world of the shrouded folk, then I’ll have ended a lot more misery than I’ve ever caused.”

  John started to rub my foot again with a gentle pressure. He spoke quietly, like an apology. “It’s amazing that you made it through the childhood you had as strong as you are. I realize I can’t really know what it was like, and I can’t say what I might have felt I needed to do if I’d gone through the same thing.”

  I accepted that sentiment, but I didn’t want to dwell on the past anymore. I wanted to get back to that warm, contented moment of a few minutes ago when it’d almost seemed that past had never existed. With a shove against the cushions and a bend of my knees, I scooted closer to him. “So, you’re not going to chuck me out the door just yet, then?”

  I’d never seen anything quite like the eagerly kind smile John Watson could produce, as bright as his blond hair. “I know you wouldn’t hurt us.”

  He said it like a simple statement of fact when really it was all faith. My throat tightened at the words. Garrett had felt plenty hurt by the way I’d deceived him when we’d first met. During that early scheme, I could have ruined all of their careers if I’d wanted to—that had been my original plan.

  But then, maybe I’d earned a bit of John’s faith after all. I had changed my plans once I’d gotten to know the trio face to face. I’d saved their lives later on when Bash had come to my rescue, ready to set his gun blazing.

  “No, I wouldn’t,” I said, bringing my fingers to his cheek. There was one thing I could get from these men that topped every other enjoyment I’d had tonight. “I have much better things to do with you.”

  I slipped my foot out of his grasp so I could lean the rest of the way to kiss him. He moved to meet me, one hand coming to rest on my waist as if to steady me—as if I needed steadying. As soon as our mouths collided, a rush of heat and assurance swept through me.

  I wouldn’t have these men forever. I might not even have them for the entirety of my mission. But damn, they did spark something deep during the time they were around. Right now, I wanted to take all the bliss of this sensation and see how high I could fan the flames, as if they might burn away everything awful in my life.

  John kissed me tenderly and then with more passion, his other hand coming up to tangle i
n my hair. I devoured the sweetness of his mouth. He paused for a second, keeping his head close to mine, and glanced toward Sherlock as if in question.

  The other man’s posture had stiffened, but I recognized the hungry light in the back of Sherlock’s eyes. Hunger both of us could provoke, it turned out. But the consulting detective didn’t like to give in to carnal impulses simply for the sake of it. I could give him an excuse to justify the idea.

  “I think we deserve a reward after the first part of the job well done,” I said with a sly smile. “To clarify our thoughts for the rest to come, from tomorrow onward?”

  He wet his lips, and I tracked the movement with another flash of heat. Then he got up without a word, set his pipe on the end table, and came to sit on the sofa at my other side. He traced the curve of my hip, and John pulled me into another kiss, and oh yes, this was bliss, all right. A joy no shrouded one could possibly conquer. The fiends wouldn’t have had the slightest clue what to make of this encounter or what the purpose of it could possibly be.

  Sherlock eased my hair to the side and kissed my neck, finding the sensitive spot he’d discovered I responded to well before. I growled at the bolt of pleasure that intensified with the nip of his teeth.

  My fingers trailed down John’s broad chest, and he teased his thumb over the peak of my breast. Sherlock dipped his hand right between my legs. My breath stuttered as he trailed it along my inner thigh to the spot that burned for contact. His lips seared a path of their own to the crook of my shoulder.

  I kissed John long and hard, and then I nudged him back just far enough to allow me to speak. “I think we should take this to a bed. The only question is which one.”

  “Sherlock’s,” John said with a breathless laugh. “Much less of a mess.”

  Sherlock looked as if he might object to the mess we might end up making there, but when I caressed his lean torso through his linen shirt, desire overcame any resistance in his expression. “What are we waiting for, then?” he said matter-of-factly.

  Having seen the way he kept his hotel rooms, I knew what to expect from Sherlock’s bedroom, but walking into a place so entirely him still sent a happy quiver through me. Everything from the bedcovers to the books on the shelves along one wall was perfectly orderly, as John had suggested. The smoky tang of his pipe smoke lingered in the air.

  John looked affected by it too. His pupils dilated, and he rested a tentative hand on his friend’s shoulder. Sherlock glanced at him. Some silent communication seemed to pass between them before Sherlock leaned in and captured John’s mouth with his own.

  They kept touching me as they kissed each other, John’s hand on my back and Sherlock’s on my hip. I simply watched the pleasure they took from each other for a moment, and then added to it by grazing my lips against Sherlock’s skin just below his ear.

  A few weeks ago, Sherlock had barely been able to admit his attraction to his long-time friend. Now, the two of them getting intimate looked as natural as breathing. Maybe I had hurt them in little ways before we’d gotten to this point, but I’d given them that gift too, hadn’t I?

  Sherlock pulled away from John to kiss me next. As he claimed my lips, John eased his hand up under my blouse. He loosened my bra. A moan slipped from my throat as he stroked my bare breast, sending a wash of giddy sensation through me.

  Sherlock took the opportunity to kiss me even more deeply, taking the initiative with his tongue this time. I grasped the fly of his pants and yanked. The first couple times we’d come together like this, it’d been a slowly building seduction. Tonight I was ready to get to the best parts fast.

  I pushed Sherlock onto the bed, tugging John with us too. His leg would bother him if he was standing for long without support. As he clambered onto the covers after me, the good doctor lifted my blouse right up over my head. Sherlock reached for the clasp of my pants, and I yanked his down. He cupped me through my panties with a skillful precision that brought a gasp to my lips. A hunger for even more flared all through my body.

  As Sherlock and I kissed again, John brought his mouth to my breast. I nearly bit Sherlock’s lip at the jolt of pleasure. I shifted my attention from one man to the other, stripping John of his collared shirt. While I claimed his mouth in turn, Sherlock fondled my breasts from behind, circling both nipples deftly and flicking his thumbs over them with little jolts of pleasure.

  I dawdled on that bliss for a minute, kissing John as thoroughly as I was capable of. Then I swiveled and gave Sherlock a light shove as I kicked my pants the rest of the way off. He sank back on the bed, his long cock standing rigid at attention. My sex throbbed at the sight of it. I stroked the velvety skin from base to head, rewarded by the hitch of his chest.

  “I need you inside me now.”

  Sherlock’s eyes gleamed with a delight he couldn’t hide. John pitched in by divesting me of my panties while I ripped open the condom packet I’d grabbed from my purse. I worked Sherlock over a few more times, slicking precum down his length. The second after I’d prepared him, I straddled him and sank down onto him, my eyes rolling back with the fresh burn of bliss.

  John sprawled beside us, fondling my breast with one hand. I meant to urge him up the bed so I could take him in my mouth while I rode his friend, but at the same moment, Sherlock reached toward the other man. As I rose and eased down again over him, he traced the lines of John’s chest tentatively. His gaze stayed fixed on his companion’s face as if waiting for some sort of rejection.

  John simply gazed back at him, a flush seeping up his neck and onto his cheeks.

  Somewhere in our eager groping, I’d undone the fly of John’s pants, even if I hadn’t managed to get them off. Sherlock’s hand hesitated at his friend’s waist. His throat bobbed with an audible swallow. “John,” he said in his overly formal way, “I would— That is, if you—”

  “Yes,” John said softly.

  I stilled over Sherlock as he dipped his hand inside John’s pants. John closed his eyes, his lips parting. His expression was so ecstatic I practically came just watching him.

  He rolled farther onto his side toward us. Sherlock began a careful but steady pumping. His gaze came back to me, and I bent down to kiss him, hoping I could convey just how very okay I was with this mutual adoration-fest. I caressed John’s side, and he resumed his attentions to my breast, even as his hips started to twitch with the rhythm of Sherlock’s helping hand.

  I couldn’t bear to stay still any longer. I started to ride Sherlock again, and he rolled his hips to meet me, filling me even deeper than I’d managed on my own. He gripped my thigh with his free hand, shifting his position slightly beneath me, and his cock hit a spot deep inside that sent pleasure pulsing through every part of my body. I couldn’t hold in a whimper.

  “There?” Sherlock said, sounding both eager and self-satisfied. He bucked to meet me, and I trembled with the sensation.

  “Fuck, yes,” was all I managed to reply. I rocked over him faster, and his hand on John sped up at the same time. We all moved together, sparking pleasure between the three of us in a weird unity that was nonetheless the most wonderful thing I’d ever experienced.

  “Christ, Sherlock,” John said in a strained voice, so clearly close to the edge that the words sent me tumbling right over. As Sherlock plunged into me, I cried out with the burst of my orgasm through my core. John groaned as he followed me. I kept bobbing up and down over Sherlock in my blissful haze until his grip on my thigh tightened. He came with a choked sound.

  We collapsed into a warm, gleefully sweaty heap of limbs. As I nestled there between the two men who should have been my enemies, an odd sense of peace spread through my chest.

  I didn’t know if I’d ever feel actual love in my life, for someone else or from them to me, but just now, in this moment, I caught a glimmer of what it might be like.

  Chapter Nine

  Bash

  An engine roared beneath me, and dust kicked up in clouds beyond the open back of the army truck. Jemma’s trio
of London crime-fighters closed in around me, all of them decked out in full military fatigues.

  Garrett grabbed my arm where I was sitting on the bench and wrenched me up so hard my shoulder nearly popped from its socket. I moved to resist, and my wrists jarred against a binding that bit into my skin. When I drew in a breath, the air crackled into my mouth, dry and gritty.

  “Out you go!” Sherlock hollered, and pushed me toward the open door. “We don’t need your kind around here.”

  John smacked his walking stick across my face. As my head spun, he shoved me even closer to the edge. “People like you don’t deserve anything.”

  “Get the hell out of our lives!” Garrett snapped.

  I tried to throw myself farther into the truck, and they all heaved at me at the same time. I stumbled over the edge. The sensation of falling only lasted one lurching second before my head smacked into the hard-packed earth with an explosion of pain that—

  I flinched awake in my bed. My heart thumped on and I could have sworn a dull ache lingered, creeping through the side of my head, but I wasn’t in Afghanistan. I was in the bedroom of the temporary apartment I’d rented near Baker St. The plain white ceiling loomed over me as I swallowed to clear the taste of sand from my mouth.

  Of course I was in my apartment in London. I’d left Afghanistan and the army nearly nine years ago. Jemma’s trio had never been over there in the first place. It’d been a dream—a stupidly unsettling dream that I still couldn’t quite shake the memory off as I got up and went to take a shower.

  It might have been a dream, but it hadn’t been entirely inaccurate, had it? Those three would have tossed me out of Jemma’s mission in an instant if they could. I didn’t figure any of them would forget the moment in Split when I’d been a twitch of my trigger finger away from killing the bunch of them.

  I had been the one who’d invited them back into our lives, if only to save Jemma’s. Maybe I should have killed them back then and spared us all the trouble. Jemma had charmed them, but in their eyes I was only the hired help, and a thug on top of that.