Page 2

The door opens, then closes. I listen as footsteps grow closer, only to stall inches away from me. Scotty’s sofa creaks, and a loud exhale escapes our mystery guest. On the bed, Fiona and Brody’s dachshund, Daisy, is lying on her side, her sleepy eyes locked on mine. The day we arrived, she made Scotty’s bed her home, probably smelling Brody’s scent still on the sheets. I bring a finger to my mouth and shush her, and it almost looks like she nods, understanding the severity of the situation. With an extended yawn, she closes her eyes and falls back into a peaceful slumber.

On the other side of the wall, someone makes a call that rings once before being forwarded to voicemail. The automated voice drones out a phone number, alerting the intruder their friend is unavailable. Once it beeps, I hear the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.

“Benji, it’s me. ”

The little one. My little one.

He’s on the other side of the wall. So close I could punch a hole through the apartment’s drywall and touch his cherubic cheek, should I so desire. And, believe me, my desire to touch him is stronger than anything I’ve ever felt.

“Benji, I’m sorry I’m calling so late. I just...” Tatum says before going silent again. And then, a sniffle. A sound that wrecks me on the inside. Why is he sad? Who has hurt this precious man? I want to find them and make them suffer. I want to snuff the life out of them. Instead, I remain crouched beside the chest of drawers, trying to keep my anger in check. “I know you’re probably still upset with me from earlier at the bar, but I got a message from Scotty’s stalker earlier, and I’m really scared. I think someone’s after me. If you don’t hear back from me, I just want you to know that I love you, and I’m sorry I wasn’t enough. You deserve the world—you and Bennet—but you’re not going to get it from him , so, I need you to do something for me, babes. I need you both to go out there and find whatever it was I couldn’t give you because you fucking deserve it. I love you. Always.”

The call ends and there’s a loud, crashing sound before Tatum’s sobs fill the silent apartment. It’s a sound that shatters me from the inside out as his words reverberate in my mind. “ Someone’s after me. ” He’s spoken with Brody. There’s no telling what he’s told Tatum about us. The little one probably thinks we’re trying to kill him. Sure, Fiona wouldn’t blink an eye at taking his life, but I will not allow that to happen. Not after what he and I shared in the bar’s bathroom earlier.

I’m not sure how long I sit in silence, waiting for him to make a move. It feels like minutes turn to days, then turn back into seconds. For a while, I worry what Fiona might do to him if she gets to Tatum first. I pull out my phone and shoot her a quick text telling her in no uncertain terms that if she touches him, she’ll have to answer to me.

The pantry door creaks open, so I stand. I will not allow Fiona to frighten or harm Tatum. She’d be more than happy to torture what information he has out by force, but we don’t need to sink to those depths. Not when I’ve still got thirty doses of our agency’s serum left from my last assignment. I grab my small black satchel from where I left it on the chest of drawers earlier and take out a syringe. Uncapping the needle, I creep closer to the door. On the other side of the wall, there’s a thud, and the pantry door closes again.

Fuck.

Has she harmed him? He hasn’t even made a sound. I swear to God, if she’s killed him, I don’t know if I’ll be able to control myself. I will not harm her, but I’m happy to drug her and leave her in Scotty’s apartment to fend for herself.

No one touches him. No one.

Thankfully, Fee responds to my message with an eye roll emoji, so at least I know nothing’s happened yet. I can’t just sit here, though. When I creep around the corner, the apartment’s layout works to my advantage. The sofa is on the other side of the wall I’ve been resting against. Tatum is sitting sideways, his back against the armrest, feet on the cushions, legs pulled to his chest. Across the room, I locate the source of the crashing sound from earlier. It appears Tatum hurled his phone against the wall, and it is now on the floor, facing upward, the screen shattered. Tatum is facing away from me, making this even easier. If he does not see the needle coming, I can be in and out in a flash. But then I see him. Truly see him.

Tatum’s shoulders are shaking as if he’s scared, and he’s making all of these terrible, horrible sounds. Sobs and cries like he’s lost everything and it’s taking all his strength to hold himself together. I want to wrap my arms around him and tell him he has nothing to fear. I’ll keep him safe, should he allow it.

Something catches my eye. Fee’s phone, resting on the sofa cushion in front of him, showing our text exchange. I’m given no chance to process what I’m seeing, because he suddenly whirls around and something slams into my stomach. A cracking sound fills the room, and it isn’t until I’m on my back, staring at the ceiling as pain spreads through my chest that I realize he’s cracked—if not broken—my ribs. Then he’s on top of me, pressing something against my throat, cutting off my oxygen.

“Surprise, asshole,” he hisses into my face. “Didn’t see that coming, did you?”

The room is shrouded in darkness, so it takes him a moment to realize who I am. A man he met mere hours ago in a dirty gay bar bathroom. The moment it registers, his mouth drops open, and his eyebrows scrunch together in confusion. He almost looks hurt, like me being here is a betrayal. Perhaps it is. Perhaps he felt the same connection I did at the bar, and by realizing I’m the one underneath him, I’ve extinguished what little hope he had.

Hope for me? For us?

“How—I mean, why...” He blinks slowly, still trying to process my presence. “Abi?” I can’t stand to see the look of betrayal on his face. “I got a text saying someone was coming for me. It’s you?” He shakes his head, dazed. “It can’t be you.” His eyebrows draw together. “It isn’t supposed to be you.” The cracks of hurt in his voice are unbearable because I do not wish to hurt him.

“Hello, little one,” I whisper, trying to ignore the pain spreading through my chest. My pain means nothing right now. I need him to calm down, so I do the only thing I can. I open myself up in a way I’ve never done before. “I’ve missed you,” I wheeze, my voice cracked and broken. His grip eases, allowing me to breathe easier, but he doesn’t move the object away from my throat. Tatum is half the size of me, and I could easily push him away if I wanted, but I do not want to. The pain I’m feeling doesn’t come close to the warmth spreading through me due to our physical contact.

He tugs his bottom lip between his teeth and studies me. It takes him a moment to collect himself, but when he does, I’m rewarded with more of his sass. He scrunches his nose up at me and snarls, “Who the fuck are you, and what the fuck do you want?”

“You,” I answer without hesitation. “I am here for you, Tatum.”

His eyes widen, but he pushes any fear he may be feeling down into a tiny little ball, tucking it away for later. “So, you’re ... what? Here to kill me? To torture me?”

I chuckle, but it just makes my chest hurt more. “I’ll only torture you if you ask me to.”

He rolls his eyes. “Why would I want you to torture me? Jesus, Abi. I’m hardly going to ask you to hurt me.” A smirk twists in his mouth. “But if you’re dead set on killing me, why don’t you call for your partner. See if they can hold me down while you stab or strangle me. Go on. I’ll give you the advantage.” I smirk right back at him, and there’s a strange sense of pride rushing through me as I stare at him.

“I could do that,” I say with a nod. “But we both know there is no use. The pantry door opened, there was a thud, and you now have my partner’s phone. You’ve clearly incapacitated her, and now I am at your mercy.” His mouth hangs open in surprise. Clearly, he hasn’t expected me to piece all of this together, but I’ve trained for this for years. It’s in my DNA. Still, the effortless way he was able to eliminate Fiona as a threat tells me I may have met my match. Good. “Well done. I’m proud of you.”

He scowls. “Why the hell would you be proud of me? Your partner could be dead right now, and you could be next.” I tickle his ribs because he looks adorable on top of me, but he slaps my hand away. “Stop it. Answer the question.” I tickle him again, and this time he slaps me in the face, making my cock swell. He must feel it against his ass, because his eyes widen. I could use the distraction to pry whatever weapon he’s choking me with from his hand, but I’m enjoying our game of cat and mouse, so I allow him this win.

“I just am,” I finally answer. He puts a bit of weight against my throat, and I try to gasp, but no air comes. That’s fine. I have tactics of my own. His eyes flicker down to my hand as it creeps up his thigh, and he presses the bar even tighter against my throat. I have to choke the words out as I say, “I’m very proud of you for getting the upper hand.”

“Stop that.”

My nails dance lightly against his skin. Tight doesn’t begin to describe the pink shorts he’s wearing. They cling to him, accenting the nooks and crooks of his groin. His gaze lingers as I trail my fingertips closer to his waist. He probably thinks I’m going to grab his hip, but I’ve got my eyes on a bigger prize. When I cup his bulge, Tatum’s entire body shudders, and I feel him lengthen in my hand.

“There you are,” I choke out, giving his package a gentle squeeze. His grip eases, and I’m able to breathe again, but I don’t waste my breath on oxygen. Instead, I give it to him. I’m pretty sure I’d give him anything he wanted. “Did you miss me?”

“I don’t even fucking know you.”

“You knew me well enough earlier. You came for me.” I run my hand up and down the underside of his shaft, making him moan. “Would you like to come for me again?”

He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “You’re trying to kill me.”

“Never.” I wrap my hand around his cloth-covered shaft and stroke him slowly. He’s fully erect now, and pride courses through me. I’m the reason for his erection. Me. Not his boyfriends. “I am not trying to kill you. I am trying to make you come.”

“Don’t you dare,” he warns me, his breaths coming in quick. “Don’t wanna come. Wanna render you unconscious.”

I love this. The way I’ve taken him to the edge so soon, making speech almost impossible. “Come for me, Tatum. You know you want to.” I bring both hands to his hips and allow my fingertips to slip under the elastic band of his shorts. “I would like you to remove these, then I want you to fuck yourself against me. Will you do that for me? ”

He shakes his head, but his body is working against him. He sets whatever object he’s been using to choke me with on the floor before standing and shimmying out of his shorts. Wonderstruck, I drink in the vision of his hard cock bouncing free, slapping his stomach. Tatum lowers himself back onto me, but he doesn’t grab his weapon this time, just leans forward, his cock wedged firmly between us. Guiding him, I roll his hips, trying to get him to follow my lead. Thankfully, any resistance he may have felt falls by the wayside, and he rocks against me without instruction.

“Fuck,” he groans, grinding harder. The pain in my chest is nothing compared to the lust in my heart. I’m just as hard as he is, but this isn’t about me. He can worship my cock soon enough. Tonight, I praise him.

“There you are. Let yourself have this. You’ve earned it.”

“Why?” he asks, his hips moving faster.

“Because you have been neglected far too long. I’ve seen it. Your social media, your boyfriends’ social media. They post nothing about you, yet your profiles are devoted to them. They do not realize what they have.”

“What do they have?”

“Everything,” I answer, licking my lips. He’s fucking against me with abandon now, his pre-cum soaking through my shirt. I want to feel him on me, so I remove a hand from his hip, enjoying the needy whine that escapes at the loss of contact. I sit up long enough to remove my shirt, wanting to give him an unobstructed view of what’s on offer. His eyes lock on the quickly spreading bruise over my cracked rib, and he looks like he might cry. His hips are no longer moving, which doesn’t work for me. I want him to have this. I want to be responsible for every orgasm he has from here on out.

“Are you okay? That looks really painful.”

“I am fine,” I assure him. “I love it, Tatum. Use me. Fucking abuse me. As long as I get to see you like this, you can do whatever you want. I have a high threshold for pain.” I kiss the tip of my thumb before brushing it against his brow. “I promise, I am okay. Go on, now. I want you to come on my chest. Mark me.”

“Don’t wanna.”

“I think you do. I think there is something you need. Something they cannot give you. I can, though. I will, if you will allow it.”

“What?” His hips roll, but he’s trying to be sneaky about it, looking around the room as if he’s searching for something. “What do I need?”

My hand slides around his hip, and I let it rest on his ass. Fuck. It’s the softest ass I’ve ever held. It’s like it’s calling out to me. Begging me to reach deeper. To touch his most intimate places. “You need someone who will worship the ground you walk on. Someone who will take care of you. Treasure you. You need a Daddy, Tatum.”

His eyes roll back in his head, and a moan escapes him. “Fuck off. I’ve got a father.”

“Correct. Nate St. James. Sexologist and bowling league champion.” I slide my fingers further back until they’re resting above his crack. “I know everything about you, sweetheart.”

He whimpers as his hips rock forward again. “You’ve been stalking me?”

“Little one?” When our eyes meet, I give him a clipped nod. “I will always stalk you. Now, come for me. Let yourself have this.”

“Fine,” he says, his voice firm, as if the request offends him to his very core. He grinds harder than before, sending spikes of pain through my chest. But I ignore it. I push it down until it doesn’t exist. I lock my eyes on him until the only thing left in this world are his rolling hips and throbbing cock. Wanting to guide him on his way, I slide a finger between his cheeks and stroke his hole. He’s breathing heavily when he opens his eyes, our faces only inches apart. “Is my cum still all over your cock?”

“It is. When I left the bar, I masturbated in my car so I could feel us together. I apologize, I could not wipe you away. I wanted you with me.”

“Oh, God,” he groans as his eyes roll back in his head.

“You feel so good on me. I don’t ever want to wash you off,” I admit. He’s grinding harder now, trying to find release. Wanting to push him over the edge, I dig my nails into his hip. “That’s it. Fuck my stomach, sweetheart. Let it all out.” I lean in and wrap my lips around his nipple, nibbling softly. “Would you like me to fuck you one day? All you have to do is ask. I will make it so good for you.” I place pressure on the entrance, not wanting to breach his rim, just wanting him to know I’m here. “This is where I belong. We both know it.” He slows his movement, biting his bottom lip. Then I feel it. He arches his back, pressing firmly against my finger.

“Do it,” he whispers.

I tap his entrance. “Knock, knock.” Pre-cum pours out, landing on my stomach. It’s all the invitation I need. Sliding my finger in slowly, I let the warmth envelope my skin. He feels so good against me. He feels right . “This is where my finger belongs, isn’t it?”

He nods emphatically. “Yeah.”

“Is that right?” I crook my finger and his entire body shudders. I believe I’ve just found his prostate. “Because I think this is where I should keep it.” He rolls his hips, and I have to harden my expression to hide the pain from him. “Will you let me keep it here forever?”

“Always,” he pants, thrusting faster.

“I can just carry you around, sliding my finger in and out of you, fucking you endlessly for the rest of your life.”

“Fuck, yeah!” he shouts. His cock swells one final time, and warm, sticky cum flies from his cock, painting me. Branding me. Fucking consuming me. I grab him by the back of the head and pull, slamming our mouths together. His tongue snakes into my mouth and duels for dominance, but I will not let him take control. He needs me to guide him because I am the strong one. I am the protector, and I will protect him until I’m no longer able. Around us, the world is aflame, and we’re simply letting it burn down to nothing—because that’s what it is. Nothing. Anything that isn’t Tatum St. James or Abi Kincaid no longer matters.

I am his. He is mine.

His body shivers against mine, and he maintains the kiss long after his orgasm has faded. I don’t know what will happen when we tear our mouths apart, but for one moment—for this moment—he’s content.

His breath is warm and tastes of bubblegum. I swallow the flavor and each of the small, aching sounds he makes. I take all he gives, and I take it gladly. Proudly.

When he finally pulls away, there’s a look of pure joy pouring out of him, but it does not last long. When reality hits and he sees the evidence of his pleasure painted on my chest, panic sets in. His arm rears back and he slaps me with all his might.

“What the fuck was that?” he shouts, gasping for air as he repeatedly slaps my shoulder. “Seriously, what the hell?” I tighten the hold I have on him, but he’s squirming like crazy, trying to get away from me. Reluctantly, I ease my finger from his hole and lift him off my lap, setting him on the floor in front of me.

“I wanted you to come. You came. I’m not sure where the confusion lies, my love,” I say. He slaps me again, but there’s no removing the smile from my face. Not after what we’ve just shared.

“Stop calling me weird stuff like love and pretty baby. It’s fucking creepy.”

“What’s creepy about—” Before I can finish my sentence, the pantry door swings open, and Tatum’s body goes stiff in my arms.

“If you’ve finished, I’d really like to get this show on the road,” Fee deadpans, her feet clacking against Scotty’s hardwood floors. “I’ve been in that damn closet for fifteen minutes listening to you two. I’m not sticking around for round two.” When she reaches us, she nudges me with her shoe. “You okay?”

I nod. “Just a cracked rib. Nothing serious.”