Page 13 of Destined Prey (Wild Ones #1)

Once he’d made it up the porch steps, the rest was a breeze.

He toed the screen door open, turned sideways and shimmied into the house.

“Nice,” he murmured, catching a glimpse of pretty yellow walls and framed family photos.

He wanted to look those over sometime, but not when he was in a rush.

Not when every instinct screamed protect, hide, keep.

The house was a map of the man already—scuffed boots by the door, a sweater tossed over a chair, a pencil tucked behind a cookbook.

It made Ben’s chest ache with a wanting that was far bigger than heat.

The house smelled good too. He scented raw meat, which made his mouth water. He gave the kitchen a wistful look as he passed by.

Ben sniffed until he found the bedroom that smelled the most like Jack.

He nudged the door open all the way, then entered and grinned upon seeing the messy state of the room.

Jack wasn’t a neat-nick. If things progressed between them and they lived together somewhere, there’d be no bickering over one of them leaving their clothes on the floor.

Not that the room was a disaster. There was Jack’s pajamas puddled on the floor by the bathroom door, and a few pairs of shoes strewn about.

Books, magazines, a laptop—and a sketch pad.

That last one had Ben’s curiosity rising.

Rather than snooping, he settled Jack on the bed, then felt his pulse again.

“Still steady and strong. I bet you’re the same, aren’t you, Jack?” Ben leaned down and nuzzled Jack’s face and neck, running his nose over warm, soft skin, taking in every aroma having to do with him.

Ben’s dick was harder than ever. He placed a chaste kiss on Jack’s neck, right where his pulse started fluttering faster. “You’re okay,” he breathed, barely sound, letting the words ghost over skin instead of touching again. Leaving cost him, but staying would cost them both more.

Ben knew Jack would wake at any moment. Instead of lingering, Ben needed to get out of the house, and away to somewhere safe.

It wouldn’t be a good idea for him to be there, naked as the day he’d been born, when Jack woke up or Rhett returned.

The porch door banged open. “Jack!” And once again, Ben hadn’t been fast enough.

“Whazzit n whyz bats heads,” Jack mumbled, eyelids flickering.

Ben scrambled for cover, diving under the bed as Rhett came thundering down the hallway.

“Shit,” Jack rasped just as Ben managed to tuck himself as far under the bed as was possible.

“What happened?” Rhett demanded.

Ben wrinkled his nose. Rhett reminded him a lot of Casey. They were both big and bossy. Assertive. Whatever. The bed squeaked and dipped, then Jack’s legs appeared as he set his booted feet on the floor.

“What do you mean, what happened? I was taking a nap.”

Rhett’s boots came closer. The barrel of a rifle appeared as Rhett held the weapon down at his side. “Are you sick?” Rhett asked. “You left food out all over the kitchen. I thought…”

Jack huffed. “Yeah, I kind of feel like shit, actually. Think I might be coming down with a bug. You thought what?”

“I thought maybe that fucking ex of yours might have showed up or something.” Rhett’s voice held the sharp edge of anger.

“I know. Stupid of me to worry about that. Just…things are going on here and I don’t understand ’em.

It’s got me itchy between the shoulder blades, and I just feel off.

Like I’m missing a very important point. Think it’s making me paranoid.”

“Alex doesn’t know where the ranch is,” Jack said. “Maybe that feeling you’ve got is the same bug that has me feeling like crap.”

“Could be, I guess, but it doesn’t feel like a physical thing, exactly.” Rhett came closer still, then the bed dipped farther.

Ben was really glad he was under the other side of the bed. Otherwise, he’d have been in an even more uncomfortable situation.

“I just don’t know what’s going on, but as long as it’s you and me, little bro, we’ll muddle through it all.”

Ben suspected there was some kind of brotherly show of affection going on by the sounds of thumping and the obnoxious screech of the bedsprings.

“Don’t worry about dinner. I’ll get it going in the slow cooker, then I’m calling the Wyoming Game and Fish Department to see about getting some traps for those goddamned predatory animals.” Rhett got up, then he left the room.

Traps. Fuck! No, no, no. I have to warn Casey!

The word sparked cold in his gut. Traps didn’t care who you were—shifter, animal, curious ranch dog.

Pain, metal, blood. He swallowed hard, measuring breaths, counting heartbeats, waiting for any gap he could slip through without dragging danger to Jack’s door.

Ben wondered how long he was going to have to wait to escape.

At least until it was dark outside, because he’d almost certainly have to go out through the bedroom window, and the ranch hands might be out there until then.

It was a long time until sunset. If he had any luck at all, he’d be able to slip out from under the bed when Jack left, and stretch his already-cramping muscles.

Jack bent over and began tugging off his left boot.

Ben looked at those long, lean fingers and his dick remembered just how much he wanted Jack.

That wasn’t going to help him out of his current situation any sooner.

Ben clenched all over, trying to ignore the rampant need coursing through him.

He fixed on the practical: floorboards, the scrape of a bootheel, the draft slipping under the window.

Anything but the long fingers working at a lace, the slice of bare wrist revealed when Jack tugged.

He really wanted to feel those fingers in him, though.

He’d never bottomed for anyone, had never been asked to.

The idea of having Jack open him up slowly, pushing one, two, then three fingers into him lit Ben up with so much lust that he could have come just from stroking himself a few times.

The idea almost made him snicker. He could just imagine Jack peeking under the bed and finding a puddle of dried spunk. It was ludicrous and not something Ben would ever let happen, but he was able to perfectly see it happening.

“What the fuck?” Jack rasped, then the springs squeaked again, and Jack was looking at him upside down. “What—”

“Ssh.” Ben didn’t say anything else as Jack stared at him, hair askew, eyes wide, shock clear on his handsome features.

That chaotic racket kicked up in Ben’s head again, like someone was turning a radio dial that was linked directly to his brain, and all it was picking up was static and bits of words and phrases.

Jack slapped both hands down on the floor. “Ben?” He gulped.

Ben had no reasonable explanation at hand for him being there, and definitely not one for him being nude.

There was no doubt about it—he was completely fucked.

Still, the panic didn’t quite win. Jack had looked at him like a revelation in that alley.

Maybe, just maybe, being caught wasn’t the end of this. Maybe it was the start.