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Julien thinks about Will’s hot breath in his ear again. “I’ll reward him myself.”
“Could you do me a favor?” Julien asks, his throat dry. Will looks up. Julien rakes his fingers through those messy golden waves and asks, “Call me Julien?” Will’s lips part, and his fingers still at Julien’s ankle. Leaning into the touch, he says, “Julien.”
“Nobody likes to admit it,” Julien says, “but I’m my father’s son.”
Whisper will meet the client alone, then incapacitate him. Alone, except for every root and branch. Every wisp of watchful wind.
“Then just say whatever. Tell me about the weather. Update me on the espionage plans for the ambassador’s visit next week. Doesn’t matter what you say, your voice gets me so hard.” He starts unlacing Whisper’s trousers. “Keep talking, and I’ll keep touching you. Stop, and I’ll stop.”