Page 21 of Wild Fire

“Sleep. Now.”

Nate pouts, his hand going for his cock again, and I growl.

“No.”

His cock twitches in his briefs, and I fight the urge to moan because fuck if it isn’t hot as hell.

“But I—”

“No buts. You’re in my bed, in my house, and you will do as I say, do you understand?”

God, I’m so fucking hard right now, and the way he’s looking at me, mouth parted, his cock practically punching through his briefs.

He bites his lip and my own cock throbs with need.

It would be so easy to just… let him do it. Watch him bring himself to that pinnacle. I’m not sure if it’s me or whatever was going on before I found him with the serpents, but either way, I can’t deny that the thought of watching him touch himself, in my bed and coming on my sheets… unable to touch him myself, makes me want to fucking come in my pants.

I am so fucked up.

He pouts. “Yes, Sir.”

Fucking hell, this man is going to test every ounce of my fucking patience.

I point to the open spot in my bed with one hand and hold the sheets up in the other. Nate crawls over slowly and gets underneath them, scowling at me the entire time like a spoiled child. I like it more than I should.

“Good boy,” I tell him, the words and my tone softer now as I regain my composure. I settle the sheets over top of him.

“Bathroom’s across the hall. If you need me, I’ll be just down the hall in the living room, okay?”

Nate nods, his scowl turning to a frown.

“Yes, Sir,” he whispers, and I let out a deep sigh as I step away. Nate rolls on his side, giving me his back, and I wait until I hear his soft snores to leave, knowing I did the right thing.

So why do I feel like absolute shit?

Chapter Eight

Nate

I wake with a pounding headache and an overbearing need to piss.

Fuck me.

I groan as I roll over in bed, noting the faint smell of smoke and mahogany teakwood, and breathe deep. It smells good. It smells like…

“AJ!” I snap as I sit up, realizing I am not at the apartment in Lacey’s guest bedroom.

I’m in a large King-sized bed with charcoal sheets and pillows and panic hits me along with a rush of incoherent fractions of memory.

The guy at the bar. The sugar drinks. The guy dragging me away.

AJ…

I look up, noting the moment he steps in the doorway, dressed in nothing more than a pair of grey sweatpants with Firehouse 99 on them.

I blink, not once, but twice because I realize that’s all he’s wearing.

His tan chest is covered with a thick layer of hair that tapers into a slim trail that circles his navel and dips below his low-hanging sweatpants. Which does nothing to hide the definitive v that is like a damn neon sign pointing to his dick.