Wanting (17 page)

Switching his mind back to Sam, Adam smiled. He’d mentioned Adam and Dane as being “the best shit-shifters I’ve ever had and I’m not wanting to lose you in a hurry.” With that worry off his mind, Adam didn’t feel so guilty that once again Dane would be the carer, the one bringing home the majority of the bacon.

Funny how life had done this to them again, made Adam the one in need, Dane the one in charge. Maybe that was how destiny wanted it to be, but Adam was still determined not to have life dictating him but him dictating it.

Dimming light seeped through the gap in the curtains, and he guessed it must be after four o’clock in the afternoon. That was about the time it got dark these days, and with the rumble of his stomach came the scent of some stew or other, no doubt a tasty concoction Dane had made. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the sofa, easing his casted foot into the ugly shoe the hospital had provided, all cream plastic sole and blue Velcro straps. Whatever painkillers they’d prescribed had deadened the pain so he could fall asleep easily, but the faint promise of it returning nagged in his toes and shin.

He stood then reached for the crutches propped against the sofa arm and gripped the handles. He needed a piss, a drink and food, in that order. As he lurched into the hallway, Dane came to the kitchen door and eyed him with a look of concern.

“Everything all right?” he asked, worrying a black-and-white-checked tea towel in his hands.

“Yeah.” Adam smiled. “Yeah, I’m doing okay. Dinner smells good.”

“Old biddy over the road dropped it in. Heard about what happened, thought we might need feeding.”

“Of course she did.” Adam smiled again. “Doubt there’s much she doesn’t hear about.”

“You need some help?” Dane nodded at the crutches.

“Nope. Thanks. I can manage.” Much as Adam wouldn’t mind Dane to lean on rather than the crutches, he had to do this by himself. If he caved in, allowed Dane to take complete control again, Adam might never get it back. It had been a struggle to make Dane understand their new roles as it was.

“All right. Well, I’ll just be cooking the potatoes to go with this casserole. Mash or boiled?”

“Mash.” He turned from Dane and shuffled to the toilet beside the front door. “Please.”

Once he’d finished in the toilet, he joined Dane in the kitchen, plonking down onto a chair then propping his crutches against the table. He stuffed two pain pills into his mouth, swallowing them with the tea Dane had placed on a coaster. Dane’s words came to him, those spoken outside the barn, and as Adam watched his man bustling around, a pang of need struck. Not the kind he’d felt before, where he wanted to bury his face in the crook of Dane’s neck and have him murmur that everything would be all right because Dane would sort it. No, the other kind, where he wanted to strip Dane naked and be fucked hard and fast over the kitchen table. He never said so, though, knowing Dane wouldn’t want to treat him rough when he’d been injured.

“What would you say if I told you I wanted you to stop what you’re doing and fuck me?” Adam asked.

Dane twisted from poking a knife into the boiling potatoes and stared at him, mouth dropping open. Adam stared back, a challenging glare, and waited to see how this played out.

“I… No, Adam. Not until your ankle’s had a chance to set properly.”

“It’s set. The nurses did it. Just got to heal now.”

“So you say, but what about them saying it might not? What—”

“I mean, fucking me over this table is a hot idea, yeah?”

Dane lifted the potato saucepan off the hob and dumped them in a colander over the sink. “Well yeah, but we have to eat. We haven’t eaten a proper meal since yesterday. We need to recover from what’s happened. I need to look after—”

“I don’t need looking after, I need fucking. Put that bloody colander down and come over here. Now.”

Dane stared, mouth dropping open again, and it was almost like he was working out whether he could handle Adam this way. Yes, Adam had been dominant in the past, but not in such a forthright manner. He’d even surprised himself just now.

“Well? Are you up for it?” he asked, standing, his back to Dane, hands flat on the table. He looked over his shoulder and raised his eyebrows.

“Uh, yeah.” Dane frowned slightly then erased it. He put the colander on the draining board.

“Get the lube out of the drawer.”

“What lube? What drawer?” Dane frowned again.

“The one beside the cooker. I put it in there a couple of days ago. Put a tube in every room, just in case.”

“Fucking hell!” Dane opened the drawer and took out the lube. “Nothing like making sure we’re prepared, is there?” He smiled then walked over, his steps making him appear uncertain, and slid the lube into his front jeans pocket.

Not willing to force Dane into fucking him, but not wanting to back down either, Adam said, “I wanted to make sure we didn’t have to stop if we started something out of the bedroom.” He nodded at his ankle. “And it’s fine. I’m fine. I just need a fuck. I need to feel alive. If I stand like this”—he spread his legs and jutted his arse out—“and lean my weight on my good leg, my ankle won’t give me any trouble, will it.”

That seemed to help Dane make his mind up. Standing behind Adam, he reached around and unbuttoned Adam’s fly, waiting for him to close his legs again in order for the jeans and boxers to slide down easily. Adam sat to pull one leg out of his clothing, the ugly hospital shoe preventing him from doing the same with the other. It didn’t matter whether he was naked or not—so long as his arsehole was available they’d manage fine. He didn’t need a nude shag, them seeking to touch every bit of skin. He just wanted his arse filled, penetrated roughly, Dane wanking his cock until they were spent. Also, he could admit he needed this, needed Dane to see how their relationship dynamics had changed sexually as well as in day-to-day life. Adam didn’t want to be the Dom, nothing like that—more on an equal footing, or them taking turns at dishing out orders without the other getting upset. They could do that, couldn’t they? Adam knew he could, but Dane might take a little more convincing.

“It’s my turn,” Adam said, standing then adopting his former position, “to call the shots. Just let me direct this right now, okay? See how it makes you feel. If you really hate it, we’ll stop, but you might be surprised.”

“It’ll be all right,” Dane said. He licked the side of Adam’s neck. “I still feel I’ll be in control—it’s me doing the fucking here, right? I mean, you can tell me what to do, whether you want it harder or faster or whatever, but I’m the one who’ll be doing the pumping, the one who’s in control of whether I do what you want.”

“Good, so fuck.”

“Normally I’d get arsey about you saying something like that, but shit, I want you. So tell me. Tell me what you want.”

Adam glanced behind to see Dane taking the lube out of his pocket, unscrewing the cap, dropping the lid and squirting a generous glob on his fingers and another on his palm. He didn’t press his hands together to warm it but nudged Adam’s legs open so he could slather the lube over his arsehole. The cold added an extra kick to Adam’s libido, and he jammed his arse back, trying to work it so Dane’s finger slipped inside. Dane must have known what he was up to. He circled Adam’s hole instead then took his finger away to one-handedly draw down his own jeans. Cock free, Dane grasped it in his lube-filled hand, smothering his hard length with wetness. Adam’s cock grew heavy, filling and expanding until pressure built beneath the skin of his tip. It mirrored the sensation he got just before he came, where the surge of cum was at its most demanding, at its fastest.

“Do me,” he barked out, unable to watch Dane and wait any longer.

Dane squeezed more lube out onto his palm then let the tube go. It fell to the floor with a tinny clatter then skittered across the dining area, coming to rest at the wainscoting beside the back door. Adam pressed his fingers onto the table, resisting the urge to reach back, grab Dane’s hand and guide it to his throbbing cock. Instead, he told him what he wanted.

“Fuck my arse. Fuck my cock.” Adam stared ahead, taking in the sound of Dane drawing in a sharp breath. “Yeah, just like I said. Shove your cock in my arse and hand-fuck my cock. Hold it tight, jerk it hard and fast. Do it.”

Adam jabbed his arse out a little farther, and Dane let out a shuddery breath. The tip of his cock touched Adam’s arsehole then, and he closed his eyes, anticipating the surge of flesh entering him, the almighty burn he’d get because he hadn’t been prepped. And he wanted that. By fuck he wanted that.

“I mean it,” he said, pissed at waiting. “Do it.”

Dane pushed inside without ensuring Adam got accustomed. It hurt like hell but at the same time felt so damn good. It wasn’t the pain he was after—it was more the fact that the pain represented Dane trying, Dane agreeing to do what Adam wanted, obeying him without protest or reluctance, or trying to turn it around so things went Dane’s way instead. The time for that kind of manipulation had come and gone. It had served its purpose in the past, had been something Adam had welcomed despite the irritation for Dane of Adam not being able to fully comply with Dane’s wishes on being submissive. But in order for Adam to be his true self, he’d had to make a stand. It wasn’t every day you found who you really were, returning to how you used to be after a long absence. It was almost like greeting an old friend.

He thought about the risk he’d taken, how, if Dane had been unable to accept the new Adam, he’d have missed this. Dane’s cock jamming inside him, Dane leaning forward to take Adam’s cock in hand and give it such unrelenting jerks that Adam verged on coming. Dane grunting, panting, a volley of “oh-oh-oh!” streaming out of his mouth, the breath from it landing on Adam’s neck.

“Fuck, yeah,” Adam said on an exhale, squeezing his eyes tighter. “You’ve got it. Fuck me exactly like that. Hard in my arse and…yeah, your hand strangling my damn cock. Harder now. Just a bit faster.”

Dane didn’t need any prompting—he knew full well how Adam liked his arse used. He obeyed, holding Adam at the waist with his free hand, digging his fingertips into the flesh just above the hip of Adam’s good leg. The bite of that grip sent him over the edge, and he opened his eyes to stare down at Dane’s hand pumping furiously. As his orgasm barrelled up his cock from the sight of slippery fingers and his tip so purple it looked raw, he closed his eyes again and slammed back onto Dane’s dick in time with his thrusts. His rim deliciously sore, stretched to the point it would go numb any minute, Adam let go.

Cum jetted out of him, his arsehole warming with Dane’s at the same time, and he rode the wave, sweat forming on his temples. It dripped down, and he vaguely registered it anchoring on his jawline before losing the battle to stay put. The table jostled as Dane sped up, and Adam heard a scraping sound before metal meeting floor. His crutches.

Euphoria swept through him, the elation so vast he was breathless, weightless for a moment or two. They’d done it—
Dane
had done it—and a sense of knowing for damn sure everything would definitely work out assailed him. It would just take time for them to adjust to the new pattern, the way things were now.

But Adam had no doubts whatsoever that their future would be one hell of an exciting journey. They’d lean on each other—whoever needed support would get it, none of this one-sided shit. As he came down from his high and Dane slowed, drawing out of him, Adam smiled.

He turned to face Dane and took his face in his hands. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Fuck no.” Dane breathed hard, lifting his hands to grasp Adam’s wrists. “It was good. Felt good.
We’re
good.”

“I know,” he said, placing a soft kiss on Dane’s lower lip. “I know.”

PSYCHIC STAYS AS POLICE AIDE—BUT HE ALREADY KNEW HE WOULD!

Psychic police aide Oliver Banks has admitted, a month after his involvement in the Queer Rites case, that said case almost had him putting his skills aside and trying to lead a normal life.

Banks, apparently contacted by the dead and led to their murder sites, has been a police aide for almost a year. He’s known for helping with several one-off murders and the more well-known Sugar Strands and Queer Rites cases. Working alongside Detective Langham—whom he also lives with—Banks has proved himself a valuable asset to the city police. Although some people have scoffed at his ability, it might be folly to assume it’s all a load of hogwash. Time and again his information, relayed to him from fresh corpses, has been a vital part of catching those responsible for their deaths.

However, the Queer Rites case took a sinister turn when the killers targeted Banks as their third victim. Blindfolded and taken to a remote barn on the outskirts of sleepy Mereton Marsh, if it wasn’t for Banks’ special ability in being able to communicate with a civilian helper through thought—can you believe that?—he would undoubtedly have been killed.

The first victim in this case, Thomas Brentworth, was strangled to death with a thick metal chain. The second, Jason Drum, was whipped then had his throat cut. Why they were killed hasn’t become evident. It has been said it isn’t a gay-bashing case as the killers are gay themselves. None of the twenty-three men responsible are offering any explanation. The mastermind behind the operations, a Mr Littleworth, has also declined to give police any answers. The men are being held in Stratford prison while they await trial.

Banks, minutes from the same fate as the previous victims, was able to get help by sending his thoughts to a man named Adam Parks of Lower Repton. Mr Parks may also be joining the city police as an aide, depending on whether he is contacted by anyone of relevance to any future cases. When we asked Banks how he felt about his experience, he declined to elaborate fully, but he did say, “I’ve thought about giving this up, but if I stopped helping the police I’d be going against everything that is good. People may not believe I do what I do, but that’s neither here nor there, is it? I hear the calls and I relate the information. As long as the dead speak, or the living project thoughts and words to me, I’ll be here to listen.”