Sex & Mayhem 01 Road of No Return (5 page)

Zak couldn't sleep. Every sound had him clenching his hand on the kitchen knife he’d brought upstairs, just in case. The blade was a pleasant weight on top of Zak's chest, right over the pristine white covers, which belonged to his late aunt. He could only hope that if danger came knocking, the knife wouldn't get entangled in the lace trim Aunt Virginia seemed to have loved.

Despite all the impromptu confidence he’d expressed earlier, the more time passed since Stitch’s visit, the more nervous Zak was getting. He couldn’t believe the attitude he got from that fucker, but he’d lie to himself if he claimed not to give Stitch’s threat some thought. Stitch was a dangerous man, and Zak felt that in the way he had been held against the wall and the ease with which Stitch had disarmed him. Zak could hardly believe what it had brought out in himself. Holding a scalpel to someone’s throat? That wasn’t him. Or was it?

A creak in the corridor made goose bumps pop up all over Zak’s skin. He shot up to his feet and stopped on the flowery rug in the middle of the room, his head empty. His rapid moves must have woken up Versailles out of his slumber. The dog ran past him with a low growl and stared at the closed door. Zak’s chest became so tight he could barely breathe. “Who’s there?” he yelled, reaching for his cell phone.

No answer came, but Versailles lowered his head, bristling up and uttered a gurgling sound of warning. What if Stitch really did come back to deliver on his promise? Zak was no coward, but the guy was trouble. Who did shit like that? Get a blow job and then go all mental? Weren’t blow jobs supposed to make a man gullible? They were in
his
book.

Zak grasped the knife tighter. Slowly, he placed his foot farther toward the door and inched closer step by step, his stomach tightening with nerves. “I’m gonna call the police.”

He really did expect this to be a false alarm despite Versailles going crazy, but he heard a voice from behind the door. There was an intruder in his home. An intruder who had threatened him just a few hours before. “Chill! I just came to talk.”

Zak froze, his eyes darting to the green numbers on the electronic clock. It was almost 3:00 a.m. He looked between the knife and his cell phone. The situation was so surreal he didn’t know what to do. “It’s the fucking middle of the night.”

There was a slight click when the doorknob turned along with Zak's stomach, but before Stitch could come in for Zak to stab him dead, Versailles rushed at the intruder, all teeth and barking worthy of a rottweiler not a poodle.

“Fuck! Fuck! Get the dog away!” yelled Stitch, backing off. For the first time since Zak came to Lake Valley, he was truly glad he’d kept the dog. Both beasts were struggling in the corridor like two demonic shadows when Zak rushed out of the bedroom and turned on the light.

“Versailles, let go,” he yelled at the ball of gray and white fur that used to be a well-groomed show poodle. The scene in front of Zak was a picture so pathetic that he let his hands drop to his sides.

Stitch was propped in the corner with Versailles's teeth holding his calf. He nudged the dog with his other foot, but all it did was agitate the beast further. It took one more twist and turn of the boot to finally push Versailles away. The dog cowered behind Zak with a high-pitched whimper, leaving Stitch panting on the other side of the corridor.

Zak took a deep breath through his teeth and raised his hands in anger. This night couldn’t possibly get any worse. What was next? Would his house be set on fire? At least it was still insured. “Fucking hell, you’re bleeding!” He opened his cell phone’s welcome screen. “I’ll end up getting an asshole burglar into the fucking hospital.”

“No, no, no! Don’t call anyone!” Stitch yelled as if the house really was burning and limped his way, just to have Versailles snarling at him again. “I’m fine.”

Zak put the blade against his forehead, in desperate need of cooling down. “Considering you’re rabid anyway, maybe.”

Stitch stomped his foot in front of the dog all of a sudden and snarled at it with a face so wild Versailles whimpered and ran back to the bedroom. So much for protection. “Whatcha doing with that knife, sweetie?”

Zak frowned at him, taken aback by the nickname. “Amputating your bleeding leg.”

Stitch straightened up and took another look at the knife. “Don’t be like that.” He spread his arms to the sides. “I thought we already had a chat leading to the conclusion that stabbing is not a good fucking option.”

Zak shook the knife in front of him, his jaw tightening with barely held-back anger. “Listen, you stupid fuck, I don’t want to see you anywhere near this house. What the fuck do you think you’re doing breaking in here?”

Stitch rolled his eyes. “I kinda thought about shit and wanted to talk, okay? Didn’t want you screaming in the street for all the neighbors to hear,” he groaned and took another step closer. Fucker had a death wish.

“Stay where you are”, uttered Zak, stepping back toward the bedroom. Stitch took up far too much space in that corridor for him not to feel intimidated. The outrageous fuck was acting as if nothing happened, even with the wounds in his leg. What was wrong with him?

“Where’re you going?” Stitch followed, limping slightly as he went along. “Is this an invitation?” he asked as if he had no comprehension of ‘stay put’. Freaking Versailles was better at following simple commands.

“Stay and talk,” growled Zak, hunching his shoulders, just in case he needed to fight. He could not show this guy any weakness.

“Man, I’m not so good at this talking shit.” Stitch took a deep breath and stilled. “I was thinking maybe I overreacted, you know?”

Zak gave him a wide-eyed stare. He was
not
going to make this easier on Stitch. He kept watching the guy’s moves, his body ready to act immediately.

“If you can keep your mouth shut, I-I’d wanna get another tattoo appointment.”

Zak could hardly believe it, but Stitch actually wiggled his eyebrows.

“Told you, the ink needs a month to settle,” said Zak, pretending not to understand the subtext. There you had it. A closeted gay biker who believed he could just come and go as he pleased, leaving dirt on the floor. Or blood for that matter. Zak’s frown deepened at the sight of the dark droplets on the carpet.

“Me on the other hand,” Stitch started walking toward Zak again, his figure eerily illuminated by the blue moonlight despite the artificial light shining from the back. “I only needed a few hours to ‘settle’.”

Zak dropped the knife to the floor and leaned against the wall, shaking his head. “Cut the bullshit.”

“No bullshit here, sweetheart, it’s all true.” Stitch gave him a crooked smile as he approached. “I’m just… you know, gotta keep things like this quiet.”

“I’m not your ‘sweetheart’, I’m not your ‘sweetie’, and I may suck cock, but I’m not a ‘cocksucker’,” growled Zak, not backing away by an inch, even when his heart skipped a beat at the presence of such a dangerous but alluring man.

Stitch stood inches away from Zak, his body heat already exuding along with an intense smell of wood chips. For a longer while, he kept silent, but then he put his hand on the wall next to Zak’s shoulder. “You wanna show me the rest of those tats? You seem to have a lot.”

Zak dragged a hand down his face. This was beyond him. “Look, I’m gay, you don’t have to use some stupid euphemisms. What do you want?”

Stitch groaned, his hazel eyes trailing over the floor. “I wanna fuck you. I had a rethink, took some time, and I really wanna fuck you, okay? As long as you keep this shit quiet, we could have a, you know, mutually optimal situation here.”

Zak frowned, slowly moving his eyes down the massive chest, the package at the front of Stitch's jeans, his firm legs. It was an attractive prospect. “Why do you think I'd want that after what you did earlier? Are you mad?”

For the first time Zak saw real confusion on Stitch’s face. “But you’re a—you’re gay, you said it yourself.”

Zak eyed him, startled. This guy had no idea how the world worked, apparently. “You might have noticed that I am also pretty hot. I don’t need to settle on whatever someone throws my way. If you want me, you need to convince me why should I want
you
. There, I’m waiting,” said Zak, feeling very twisted and cruel.

Before he even knew it, Stitch’s lips were on his, tongue forcing its way in, as Stitch’s hands gripped the sides of Zak’s face, like a physical reminder of how he’d held Zak in place during the blow job. When Stitch’s body pushed on Zak’s, he actually regretted not sleeping naked. The kiss was just too good. It sent trails of heat wandering all over Zak’s skin. They made his lips tingle, and his throat ache again. He hardly even noticed when he melted into the wall behind him, gasping for breath. Stitch’s tongue was hot and teasing, never leaving Zak’s mouth, not letting him speak.

Stitch pulled one of his hands away, but before Zak knew it, it was on his hip, fingers already sliding under the waistband of his tracksuit bottoms. Zak grasped his wrist, keeping it in place. He opened his eyes, looking straight into Stitch's. The display had been pretty convincing. “You’re a good kisser. Way to go, using an asset like that,” he uttered breathlessly against the soft lips. His cock was already stiffening from the close contact.

“So, do I get to fuck you now?” Stitch groaned and gave Zak’s lips a quick lap. He didn’t push his hand farther down Zak’s pants, but he curled his fingers and scratched the side of Zak’s buttock. Fucking charmer.

“We get to fuck, but only as long as you guarantee me you won’t be lashing out or intimidating me again. That kind of shit’s not on,” growled Zak, trying to ignore the warm shivers racing all over his body. He needed to set boundaries.

“Promise.” Stitch licked the side of Zak’s face, leaving him speechless. The guy really was a dog.

“And you’ll be fucking nice, or else,” grunted Zak, leaning into him. It was so hard to resist such warmth, and the smell of freshly chopped wood that enveloped him like a warm cloud.

“I’ll be
fucking
very nice.” Stitch chuckled and ground into Zak as if he couldn’t wait to get a piece of him already.

“I still need to patch you up, you know.” Zak sighed, looking between their bodies. He would not wake up next to a dying man tomorrow.

“I’m good, really.” Stitch ran his fingertips along Zak’s buttock and exhaled with a low grunt.

Zak shook his head, yanked the invading hand out of his pants and pulled Stitch along to the staircase. “Come on.”

“You’re tattooed all over, aren’t you?” Stitch asked in that sexy low voice of his and leaned over closer to… sniff Zak’s hair. He was hot like a radiator, and his breath tickled the back of Zak’s neck, which almost made him stumble.

“Yeah, why? You into that?” he asked, walking down the stairs without switching on the light. The hand in his was warm and rough, so much so that he wanted to soothe it with his tongue.

“Hell yeah, I’m into that.” Stitch watched him intently, as if Zak were a fresh bowl of doggie treats. A fitting meal for a rabid dog like Stitch.

“I only left my hands, neck, and face tattoo-free. Everywhere else is fair game,” said Zak and before he could react, Stitch pulled on the back of his waistband to have a look. The cool air brushing over his buttocks made Zak flush.

“Come on, I’m sure a grown man can wait five minutes,” he whispered, picking up his pace as they left the stairs and rushed for the studio. He couldn’t believe the audacity this man had, he was no different than a dog stealing food from the table.

“I’ve waited twenty-seven years. I’m kinda done waiting,” Stitch said, his footsteps only inches behind Zak. He did leave Zak’s pants alone though.

Zak stopped, and then the bigger, heavier body knocked into him. Before he managed to do anything to save himself, thick arms enveloped him in the smell of fresh wood and leather. Cool air trailed through his windpipe with every breath he took. “You’ve never been with a guy?”

“So? I’m no virgin, you know.” For emphasis, Stitch ground his hips into Zak’s ass. His dick was already half-hard.

“Yeah, but... do you know what you’re doing here?” Zak found himself murmuring the words into the stubble on Stitch's cheek as he turned to face him, never trying to break the embrace.

“Are you kidding me? I’m gonna fuck you so good your knees will still be weak tomorrow.” Stitch tightened his arms around Zak and nuzzled the side of his neck with a low groan.

Zak let his head fall back to take a deeper breath. Someone was a little too happy with himself for Zak’s own good. In his experience, guys who boasted about their skill usually turned out crap in bed. “We’ll take things slow, yeah? But we need to deal with that leg first. You’re limping.”

Stitch pulled away and went into the studio backwards, giving Zak a crooked smile. His brown eyes glinted in the light. “I’m not a baby, but I’ll do it for you.”

Zak’s lips curved into a smile. “You’re crazy.” He followed him as if Stitch pulled him along on an invisible leash. He’d never met a guy this bold.

“So, I’m guessing you want my pants off?” Stitch wiggled his eyebrows and unbuckled his belt by the chair he had been tattooed in earlier. He stood tall and never broke eye contact, as if he weren’t getting ready to have his injury assessed but stripping for Zak. It filled Zak’s stomach with sharp little tingles that made him restless as he looked at the blond Norse god before him.