Page 43 of Broken Bonds

Chapter Nineteen

Todd

Possibilities

The new pup is cute and there’s no getting around that. I’m not exactly upset they’re letting him settle in for a few days, because I don’t want one of the gammas or betas sniping him out from under me as a “roommate.”

Meaning a live-in fuck buddy.

Because yeah, this pup will be popular.

And I don’t know why that stirs something deep inside me I didn’t feel for any of the dozens of strays I’ve hosted for the pack ahead of their initiations.

My guys report he’s a hard worker. The more time I spend alone with him the more territorial I feel about him.

Territorial. That’s definitely the word to use.

Why him, though?

How confused I am should be evident by the fact that I don’t regret Shawn not coming over to play tonight.

That I wish I could invite the pup into my bed and watch him ride my dick all night as I stare up at him and jerk him off.

Except that wouldn’t be protocol. Jax is pack Alpha.

And if I do get my hands on the new pup in a sexual way, I know I won’t let him go. Maybe not even share him beyond initiation.

Again, I’m in completely unfamiliar emotional territory.

When I take him into town with me to go shopping, I can easily imagine us doing things like this as a couple, picking out groceries and all that domestic shit I’ve never shared with anyone.

An actual partner. Not a playmate or fuck buddy or FWB—a relationship. A long-term, committed relationship.

That’s also a dangerous, not to mention stupid, way of thinking. For starters, the kid’s the son of a massive fucking asshole who could cause a lot of trouble for our pack. Secondly, he’s young. Which isn’t a problem for me—it’s a problem because the kid barely even knows who he is, especially now that he’s free of his father’s oppressive paw.

Who’s to say once he’s been here a while and completes initiation if he’ll even want anything more with me than an occasional no-strings lay?

He’s a plumber, for chrissake. He can make decent money doing that. We have a guy in the pack who’s a plumber and is always looking for qualified people from the pack to work for him. Hell, Mal could even start his own business.

He’s got a chance to have a life now. Why would he want to settle for slogging through cow shit every day for me?

Okay, I said it, happy?

I know what I do is nothing to be ashamed of, but no one’s getting rich working for me unless my cows start magically pumping out gold milk or shitting platinum.

The kid’s from money. He spent the past couple of years working to escape his father’s clutches. Doesn’t mean he’ll want to keep living like that once he’s out of survival mode.

Still, after heading to bed, I lie there with my cock in my fist and slowly stroke myself while thinking about having Mal all to myself. About what he’d look like on his knees, needy and begging to suck my cock because I have him worked up to the point he’s so horny it’s painful. About what his face will look like the first time I hook him up to the milker and watch him realize he’s not in control, and he’s completely in my hands.

What it’d be like to lock him in a chastity cage and train him to come just from being fucked.

Yes, I’m a kinky bastard. I admit it.

And if it turns out this kid isn’t kinky, it would effectively put an end to my fantasy, right?

Still, I slowly stroke, letting it build, reaching down with my other hand to tug on my nuts. I mean, Jax did say I could get a blowjob from the kid. While I would love my cock to be inside the kid’s ass the first time he’s on the milker, second best would be him screaming around my cock the first time the milker sucks a couple of orgasms out of him.

Because that kid smells like sex. Even today, during work, I catch whiffs of it over the sweat and cow shit and other usual smells on a working ranch. After his shower, when he helped me with dinner and while in the truck together, the hormones washing off him nearly made me drunk in the close quarters.