Azrael's anger was a storm brewing just beneath the surface, a roiling sea that Knox could feel in the tension of his muscles as they stepped into their apartment.
"Azrael…" Knox's voice was asking, pleading, begging. His husband's pheromones were no longer enough to quell his needs, burning desire, and heat.
Azrael did not answer.
The door closed with a resounding click, sealing them in the heavy silence of their shared space. Azrael's eyes were dark, laced with fury and something deeper—something more complicated that Knox couldn't quite read.
The tension between them was still there, a thread pulled tight, ready to snap. Knox knew he had pushed Azrael too far this time. The recklessness, the danger he had thrown himself into without thinking, it all came rushing back in a wave of guilt.
But before he could find the words to apologize, to explain himself, Azrael was already on him, diving in on his parted lips.
