Saved by the Rat (Necromancer)

1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Robin

“What’s that?”

I jumped at the deep voice behind me. My knuckle snagged on the sharp corner of a cabinet hinge, and a drop of blood dripped onto the scuffed wood. Well, I’d be refinishing the cabinet anyway. I swiped up the drop, sucked my knuckle, and waited to turn until I had my unruffled-boss face on. Then I stood and pivoted. “It’s an antique four-door armoire from that estate leftovers package we got. In bad shape but salvageable. Did you finish sorting the light fixtures I assigned you?” I raised an eyebrow as if Alaric wasn’t a foot taller than me, ten years older, and far more imposing.

“I’m almost done.”

I kept my eyebrow high, because it was one of the useful weapons in my boss arsenal, and because finishing the lights would be the unending work of months, not hours.

“I’m taking a break,” Alaric admitted. “I didn’t know this room was in use.”

“This is my private workshop.”

When I’d agreed to manage the dying Three Rs business for my uncle, I’d quickly decided I needed something for myself. I’d always loved fixing old furniture, and there was no better place than the “reuse, restore, reimagine” outlet to get my hands on lots of beat-up candidates. I did the work in my free time plus some slow winter work hours, gaining skills as I went along. The business got half the sale price of the finished product. Win, win.

My long-term employees knew all about that of course. Alaric had only been working for me for a week. I was still in my business-suit-and-call-me-Mr.-Forrest stage of easing a new employee into the workplace. Sadly, I wasn’t yet confident I’d impressed Alaric with our relative status, so I hadn’t relaxed down to jeans and Call-me-Robin yet. With most employees, that took a couple of days. This guy was a challenge.

He peered down his nose at me, although his gaze kept darting to the tall cabinet behind me. “I didn’t know you— we— got furniture from the sorcerer’s house.”

“Are you superstitious?” I rapped a knuckle on the front panel, hiding a wince at having used the skinned one. Ouch. I pressed my thumb casually over the new drop of blood. I’d get a Band-Aid when I was out of Alaric’s sight. “Sorcerers are mostly smoke and mirrors. A few minor tricks, but it’s not like their household goods will attack you. I promise, it’s just a cabinet.”

“If you say so.” His eyes seemed unfocused as he turned his attention to the other items in the room. “Are any of the rest from that shipment?”

“A couple.” I shrugged and gestured him toward the door. “I’m not dressed to work in here today.” Eager as I was to get to refinishing that fascinating dented and jammed armoire, I did have a job to do. Which included supervising Alaric. “Show me what you’ve accomplished.”

Alaric backed toward the door, giving way as I advanced.

When we were clear of the room, I— for no reason I could articulate, and out of my norm for the middle of the day— locked the door and pocketed the key. “Go on. I’m going to swing by the office for a Band-Aid and then I’ll be right with you.”

“Okay.” Alaric threw a last glance at the locked room, then turned and strolled off across the warehouse floor.

He was wearing jeans, and his ass looked fantastic in them. Sadly, even if he was gay, he was also my employee. Not to mention seeming like he’d fit better in his own three-piece suit in a corner office. His air of authority didn’t go with being a low-wage worker amid the jumble of the Three Rs, and his unimpressed attitude made me want to push back. Despite a week of lunches in the breakroom and idle chatter on the warehouse floor, I knew almost nothing about him.

Except that he was hot, he was a challenge, and clearly, blurring any lines with Alaric would be a huge mistake.

I took a moment in the office to wipe the blood off my skin, disinfect the cut, and wrap my torn knuckle with a Band-Aid from the well-stocked first aid kit. Then I settled my glasses straighter on my nose, ran a hand over my hair, and headed to the north corner of the giant warehouse where we kept the lights. Alaric was bent over a big cardboard carton, digging through the contents. I didn’t let myself appreciate his ass. In fact, I deliberately scraped my shoes on the concrete floor so he straightened and turned.

Alaric said, “Mr. Forrest, have you seen the crap that’s in this load?”

I shrugged. “Not specifically, but I assure you, that’s par for the course. What did we get?”

He hauled out a cheap chandelier-style fixture, two of the arms bent. “Five of these and not one usable. And a bunch of sconces with the cheap brass finishes chipped up.”

Our store was a non-profit, taking in used and leftover building materials and fixtures that would otherwise fill the dump, and turning them into an inexpensive source for reuse. Sadly, sometimes reusable was in the eye of the beholder. “Mark them for disposal, then.” I gave him a nod. “I trust your judgement.”

His expression did something complicated, as if he wasn’t sure he liked my tone and words.

“There’s a reason we have daily dumpster pickup,” I reminded him.

He sneered at the boxes on the floor. “You ought to charge a disposal fee to the remodelers who drop off this level of crap.”

“Nah, we just keep a do-not-fly list. If someone seems like they’re using us to get rid of garbage, they get two warnings and then they go on the list. There are only a few names there. Most of the local crews understand the value of reusing what we can, and they send us workable stuff. It’s the homeowners who try to get donation value from crap, and they’re low volume.”

Alaric nudged the box with his foot, drawing a thin clank from the contents, and then focused on me. “What about estate sales? The leftovers. Does that happen often?”

“Sometimes. Depends on what the heirs want to do with what’s left once the good stuff has sold.”

“Like that sorcerer?” I wondered if I was imagining the intent look in his eyes. He glanced around. “How much of the stuff in here was his?”

“Magnus Fairborn?” I chuckled. “Although I doubt that’s the name he was born with. We got a truckload. His sister wanted to get rid of everything. I don’t think she liked her brother much. There are boxes I haven’t even opened.”

“I could look through them,” Alaric volunteered.

“Sure, but you could also get these cartons of light fixtures sorted and the good stuff priced and on the shelves. Which is higher priority.”

Alaric waved at the tall industrial shelving around us, stuffed full of lights with orange price tags attached. “How can that be high priority? You have more lights already than anyone needs. I could be doing something more useful.”

“Lights sell.” I let my tone go frosty. “And new ones are constantly coming in, as you’ve found out, which means we need to try to stay on top of the inventory.” Lights were fragile, dusty, with a lower usable ratio than a lot of the categories, and unending. When I had doubts whether a new employee would stick with the job, I started them here. Not usually for a week straight, I grant you. He’d actually made inroads on the backlog. The area had never been this organized.

Alaric was a puzzle. His jeans and shirts were pricey enough that if he needed a near-minimum-wage job, the change was recent. His hands had no calluses, his dark hair had been cut by a stylist three grades above the local Fast Clips, and his sneakers didn’t show much wear. If we were a front for stolen goods or smuggling, I’d have guessed he was undercover. But the closest we got to a crime was when a drug dealer who was being chased by the cops tossed his stash into our dumpster.

So I’d had him doing light fixtures for a week now. I wasn’t sure which of us would break first. I added, “Or did you mean you want to do something more fun?”

His sudden grin shocked me. Wide, almost boyish, it took a decade off his lean, tanned face. “You caught me. Yes, please, Mr. Forrest, can I please move on from cheap brass and plated nickel to something more interesting?”

Fuck. I liked him saying “please.” Way, way too much. Still, he’d taken a step down off his high horse, so maybe it was time for me to compromise. Not to the extent of giving him my first name, but since he was still coming in to work every day, it was time to lay off the pressure. “Sure. I’ll start showing you how to work the register and check out customers. Heck, with your face, you can probably persuade tentative buyers to give secondhand a shot.”

He blinked at me. “My face?”

Oops, don't cater to his ego. “You look knowledgeable,” I backpedaled. “Even if that’s an illusion at the moment. Come on. Wash your hands and I’ll introduce you to Gertrude.”

“Gertrude?”

“Our main computer. When she reached the venerable age of ten, we threw her a party.”

He chuckled, and that was a good look for him too, his full lips turned up, the corners of his dark eyes crinkled with amusement. “Out of warranty, huh?”

“Way out.”

We had handwash stations around the store and he cleaned up at the nearest. I didn’t watch— okay, I did— as the water ran over his long fingers and veiny forearms. He toweled his hands dry and followed me to the front of the store.

Ten minutes at the terminal showed me Alaric was a fast learner. A customer came to the desk with two cans of donated excess paint and I let him check her out. He handled the transaction just fine, but then turned to me. “What’s the usual reward for learning the register?”

I cocked my head. “I thought learning the register was the reward for working hard on the lights.”

“Nah, you have to stack rewards. Like, doing lights gets you register. Register gets you, I don’t know, lumber? And lumber gets me a chance to dig through mystery boxes. Something like that.”

“You want to do lumber?”

“Well, not specifically.”

“Good, because that’s Miranda’s baby and she’ll let us know when she needs extra hands. Otherwise, we won’t mess up her system.” Miranda was fifteen years older than me and had worked at the Three Rs for a decade more. By rights, she should’ve been the one offered the manager job, but she hadn’t wanted the responsibility. She wasn’t a people person and said her worst nightmare was spending her days telling other folks what to do.

Which was my jam, actually. Like now. “I’ll show you Venetian blinds. You’ll wish you were back in lights.”

“That doesn’t sound like a reward.” Alaric frowned, his thick brows almost meeting. That was hotter than it should’ve been, too.

I was saved from responding by a familiar truck driver coming into the store. “Hey, Robin, got a load from a teardown. Where do you want me to put stuff?”

“Hey, Jack. Let me roll up the loading bay and we’ll see what you have.” I gathered up Alaric with a tilt of my head. “Come on, time for some real work.”

I called over Sheldon and pinged Miranda on my way to the back. The bay door trundled upward with only a minor screech. Seemed like lubricating the rollers last time helped. Jack backed his truck up close, opened it, and I headed inside to check the contents. Maybe I’m weird, but I took a deep breath of the scent of old lumber and new wood dust, and the odd musty smell of antiques. This was the other fun part of my job, finding the goodies.

“Solid oak doors,” I called to Miranda. “Windows, some cabinets, hardware, a nice banister.” I ran a careful hand up the gleaming but dusty newel post and along the thick rail. Someone had kept that thing polished and there were almost no nicks in the mahogany surface.

“Let me at it.” Miranda came up behind me, looking over my shoulder from her eight-inch height advantage. “Yeah, we’ll find a taker for that. Hey, Sheldon, get your butt in here and help me with this.”

“Work gloves,” I told the teenager, grabbing his sleeve before he passed me. “You know that.”

“Forgot.” He excavated a pair from the pocket of his hoodie and put them on.

I backed up, regretting that my power games with Alaric had made me wear the suit again. I looked like a douche type of manager, standing back and letting other people do the hard work, but I didn’t have the money to replace my good clothes. “Miranda knows where everything goes,” I said. “Alaric, wait a second.” There were work gloves stashed all around the store, and it took me fifteen seconds to find a pair that would fit him. “Here, put these on. The old wood almost always has splinters that’ll jab you. Come find me up front when you guys are done. Jack, c’mon with me, let’s get your donation slip printed up.”

Jack had a list of what he’d brought, because this wasn’t his first rodeo. I checked the descriptions for any outliers, but truthfully, for a regular supplier, I wasn’t going to wait to count old solid-wood doors to make sure there were ten and not nine. That was between him and the tax man. The list seemed reasonable with what I’d scanned in the truck, nothing so valuable I needed to go and confirm the details, so I printed a copy and signed off on the donation.

He folded the receipt into his pocket and waved to the back. “I’ll go help get everything off-loaded.”

“Thanks, man.” I wanted to help too, but if I did, I’d end up carrying bulky and dusty stuff and guaranteed, something would kill this jacket. Jeans tomorrow.

In the meantime, I headed back to my workshop and unlocked the door. The tall armoire from the so-called sorcerer’s house stood near the front, somehow catching my eye in a way a dozen projects behind it didn’t. Standing in front of the closed doors, I noted that the decorative upper rail reached almost to the top of my head, putting the cabinet around five feet tall. While I was familiar with most types of wood, I didn’t recognize this one, a dark brown with a coarse, almost black grain. Near the top, exposure to sunlight had lightened the edges of the doors and rail to a redder shade.

The front was composed of two pairs of rectangular doors, upper and lower, supported on brass hinges. Each door sported a large brass knob shaped like a lion’s head for a handle, and was secured with an ornate inset lock for which all the keys, annoyingly, were missing. Unless they’re in the boxes of stuff donated along with this. Maybe I could make Alaric hunt for them.

I wanted those doors open with an urgency that surprised me.

What does it matter? Most likely the cabinet was empty. Or the compartments might hold faded and yellowing towels or linens, something soft and bulky. I hadn’t heard anything solid shift inside when we’d brought the armoire in on a hand truck and tipped it upright.

But my logic couldn’t make a dent in my sudden intense curiosity.

I need to know!

Urgency flooded me. I jiggled the upper doors, gripping each brass handle in turn, yanking and twisting, then tried the lower two. Despite the numerous scratches and dents, that cabinet had been well crafted. The doors barely shivered.

I had tools of all kinds on my workbench for prying and cutting, but as eager as I was to see the interior, I hesitated before reaching for them. I didn’t want to damage the wood further or break the fancy locks. Maybe I could unscrew the hinges, although I didn’t see obvious screwheads. I squatted to take a closer look. The decorative brass hinge plates seemed bonded to the wood with a technique I couldn’t make out. No antique glue would do that job between wood and metal— “Shit.” I’d jabbed my finger on that same obnoxiously sharp hinge corner. Another blood smear on the wood. I sucked my fingertip. Luckily, the dark-colored grain meant any marks would probably be hidden once sanded—

The lower cabinet door with the damaged hinge swung open.

Must’ve shaken something loose. I peered inside. The interior of the cabinet seemed strangely shadowed, given the bright workshop lights overhead, but I could make out a shelf dividing the lower space. On that shelf sat a massive, leatherbound book. A hint of gold lettering glowed at the top of the spine, but I couldn’t make out a title.

My fingertip had stopped bleeding, but I moved the Band-Aid from my knuckle and covered any chance of causing more stains, before kneeling and reaching in to ease out the book. The dusty tome slid into my hands. I’d expected the back cover to be stuck down with dust or old varnish, with how nothing had shifted when we tipped the cabinet around, but no. If anything, the book was lighter than its thickness suggested, and the leather seemed pristine beneath the dust.

I straightened and eased the cover open to a random page. A puff of dust emerged, sparkling a little in the fluorescent light. My nose itched. I held my breath so I wouldn’t sneeze on the glorious layout, full of odd calligraphic script and little sketches, some painted in bright colors. The words floated before my eyes, dancing on the paper. I squinted, unsure if the problem was an unfamiliar language, an overly ornate style, or my eyes watering from the dust.

A bang and rumbling crash from out in the store yanked my attention away from the book. Instinctively, I slammed the cover shut, stuffed the volume back into place, and closed the cabinet door before realizing my mistake. What if it won’t open again? That felt like a huge disaster, but another distant crash got my feet moving. I sprinted out of the room, yanked the door shut behind me, and ran for the loading bay.

I was met by the sight of a dropped oak door leaning on a toppled pile of lumber that in turn had knocked down a shelving unit. The truck was gone, the rolling door closed. “What happened?” Alaric stood rubbing his wrist and, despite trying to keep my distance from the tempting man, I was responsible for my employees’ safety. I hurried over, reaching for him. “Alaric, are you hurt? Let me see.”

“Just a scrape.” He held out his arm to show me.

I dug a clean tissue from my pocket, pressing it to his skin where blood slowly welled from a gouge in his forearm. “Keep that covered.” Our fingers brushed as he took over applying pressure and a static shock leaped between us. Alaric jumped and stared at me. “Sorry,” I told him, then turned to Minerva. “What do you need?”

“Rat-proofing?” She sighed. “There was a sound overhead. Sheldon looked up, saw a rat in the rafters, and jumped a bit. Lost his grip.”

“I hate rats,” Sheldon muttered. “Had one run over my bed once. When I was in it.”

I shuddered in empathy. “I’ll call an exterminator.” Although we occasionally had small birds get in and spend days flitting about the high trusses before they found their way out. Mouse droppings in hidden corners were a fact of life. Vermin-proofing this warehouse was an exercise in futility. “And we should all be careful about leaving food out. If the rat has nothing to eat, hopefully it’ll move on.” I sighed. “So you dropped the door? Understandable.”

“I guess.” Sheldon stared at the destruction. “Sorry. You’re not going to take the damages out of my paycheck, are you?”

Not if you don’t sue me for unhygienic working conditions. I decided not to make the joke. Sheldon wasn’t the slacker or opportunist some of the teens I’d employed had been, but better not to put ideas in anyone’s head. “No, of course not. It was an accident. They happen.”

“Oh. Okay. Thank you.” He squatted and touched the door. “I don’t think this was damaged.”

Minerva said briskly, “Help me get it put away, then.”

I told Alaric, “Go get your arm cleaned up. Do you remember where I showed you the first aid kit in the office?”

“Yes. Thanks.”

“And we have to write up an injury report. I’ll come find you for that.”

He frowned. “For a scratch?”

“If it bleeds, it goes down on paper. In case your arm gets infected or something, detailed records make workman’s comp happy.”

He dropped his gaze to my bandaided finger and scuffed knuckle, then gave me an intent look. “Did you report your hand?”

“Paper cuts are exempt.” I waved him off. “Go fix your arm and then you can come back and help.”

His lips parted as if he was going to say something. He rubbed his arm where I'd accidentally shocked him and stared into my eyes. I found it hard to break his gaze. I felt as if he saw a part of me I needed to keep private, but that was nonsense, of course. Even if he’d picked me up on gaydar, well, I’d picked him up too, and anyhow I was out. My uncle pretended he didn’t know, and everyone else was cool with queerness. Alaric’s perceptiveness was no threat.

After a moment, he gave me a nod, whirled, and strode off into the store.

“He’s an odd one,” Minerva muttered. “Not afraid of work, though. Unlike some we’ve had in the past.” She waved Sheldon to take the bottom end of the door and they lifted the slab of oak together.

As they hauled the door back to the racks where we’d take off the hardware and measure it for a price tag, I squatted by the fallen lumber. The main damage was a broken rail on a rack holding trim pieces, spilling molding strips across the floor. Even in a suit, I could pick up the lighter ones and squeezed them into the next bin. I’d mess up Minerva’s sorting, but we’d have to fix that rail first. Luckily, we had plenty of free lumber. I smiled, eyeing the handmade racks I’d made years back. We cannibalized a certain amount of what came in to keep the store in good repair. Waste not, want not. I picked up a few strips with carved-leaf motifs and stood them upright.

Minerva and Sheldon returned and got to work shifting the rest of the doors and lumber stacked by the exit. I continued picking up the trim. It took me ten minutes to notice that Alaric hadn’t come back. Maybe he can’t find the kit, or maybe he’s more hurt than he admitted.

I straightened. “I’m going to go check on Alaric. You two okay here?”

“I think we can lift a few two by twos.” Minerva waved me off.

The office was deserted when I peered inside, the first aid kit in its place. I couldn’t tell if Alaric had used the supplies or not. There was no employee passed out on the floor. The office bathroom stood open and empty. Did he quit, from a little scrape? That didn’t fit with anything I’d imagined about him.

As I left the office, I spotted the door of my workshop standing ajar. I closed that, didn’t I? I strode over and as I got near, Alaric appeared in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder. I asked, “Can I help you with something?”

He jumped and turned. “The door was open.”

“And you got curious? You’ve seen the place before.”

Alaric licked his lips and came out with, “It’s your hideaway. I, um, wanted to know more about you. Who you are. What kind of man you are.”

I raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Short. Gay. Your boss.” Something hot and electric crossed the space between us, a potent mix of his wet lips and dark eyes and my words, echoing…

Alaric suddenly stepped in front of me, so close I had to tip my head back to look him in the eyes. “Do you care about that? Being my boss? You’re not the one who signs my paychecks.”

My uncle took care of payroll. Didn’t change the fact that I could fire Alaric. Which in turn didn’t change the fact that, this close, I could see the gold flecks in his brown eyes and the haze of stubble already regrowing on his chin. A quick breath didn’t help, bringing me the spicy, musky scent of his cologne and the earthier smell of his skin. For a man with the cheekbones and proud nose of Geef’s Lucifer statue, Alaric had an unfairly lush mouth.

A mouth that landed on mine a moment later.

My gasp of surprise was the wrong tactic, since it parted my lips for him. His tongue against mine sent blood racing to my dick. In a moment of shock, I didn’t fight when he swung us farther into the workshop and kicked the door shut. My arms went around him instinctively as he bent and kissed me again. His strong grip and hot mouth and male scent filled my senses.

Sanity came a moment too late. I pushed away from him, breathing hard, and he let me go.

“What the fuck was that?” I demanded, ignoring the way my heart was racing.

Alaric tilted his head. “Tell me you haven’t been flirting for the last week.”

“I haven’t!” Have I? Yeah, I’d spent time with Alaric, but I did with every new employee. I’d noticed him, no denying that, but flirting?

He stepped toward me and I backed up until my spine hit the workbench. I jerked my chin up to hold his gaze. He might be a foot taller, but I wasn’t afraid of him. This was my domain.

Alaric reached out and fingered my pinstriped lapel. “Tell me you haven’t been wearing a suit to a warehouse of all places, for a week, for my benefit.”

So you’d know your place. I wasn’t about to put it like that. “I’m the boss.”

“Minerva and Sheldon call you Robin. They don’t act like you boss them around and avoid the hard work.” He tugged lightly on my tie. “This suit was for me today, wasn’t it? Because you wanted to imagine me taking you out of this jacket, those slacks.”

“No.” Maybe? His closeness felt overwhelming, the air in the workshop heavy with possibilities. My dick strained against my zipper. That little knowing smile on Alaric’s face needed to be wiped clean, to be replaced by my cock in his mouth.

This is a terrible idea. But as Alaric grabbed the edge of the worktop on either side of me, caging me with his arms and looming over me, all I knew was a deep desire to put this man in his place. Which was under me, or on his knees. No time for the first one, but the other…

I boosted myself to sit on the bench top, set my hands on Alaric’s shoulders and pushed downward. “Suck me, then.”

He jolted and his gaze leaped up to mine.

Yes, I have the height now, and the power. Not from rank or size, but from my will. You’re going to recognize that. I let my voice go sharp. “You’re in my private space, uninvited.” Something about that nagged at me, but with the heat of Alaric’s hips clamped between my knees, it wasn’t important. “I’m your boss, but if you obey me now, it has nothing to do with the store or your job.” I gestured. “The door is there. You can leave. Or put your money where your mouth is, take down my suit pants, and suck me. Your mouth on my dick.”

For almost a minute, we stared at each other. He had to tip his chin up so he could meet my eyes, a position no doubt unfamiliar to someone with his height and his ego. He frowned, his heavy brows drawn together.

No doubt he’d imagined putting me on my knees like some random twink he picked up. You’re going to learn just how wrong you were.

I held his gaze, watching his breath quicken and his pulse flutter in his neck, there below his perfect angle of jaw. Slowly, the black of his pupils eclipsed the russet of his irises. He threw one glance over his shoulder at the closed door, then reached for the top button of my jacket.

“Good.” I didn’t lift my hands from his shoulders, didn’t shift my arms to make undressing me easier.

He fumbled the lowest button, his hands inches from my straining dick. I glanced down his body to make sure he was really into this, and was reassured by the tight stretch of his jeans across his obvious erection. When he spread my jacket open, I deigned to scoot my ass forward a little for access. “Now the belt. Slowly.”

The sound of the leather slipping through the loops filled the still air. I hadn’t told him to pull it all the way off, but I didn’t hate seeing my belt sliding through his hands. Before he could set the thing aside, I grabbed the loose end with one hand and wrapped the strap around his wrists. Just for an instant, an intake of breath, one more jolt of his body under my touch. Before he could speak, I reversed the wrap and pulled the belt from his grasp, setting it aside. His cock still tented his jeans. I told him, “My button. Zip.”

His fingers trembled as he followed orders. That surprised me. Excited me. Watching his strong hands lower my zipper and spread my fly had me leaking against the blue cotton of my briefs.

“Pull everything down. Slowly.” I braced my hands on the thick wooden slab under me and lifted the bare minimum. His knuckles brushed my stomach as he tugged on my waistband. I let him get the fabric of my underwear and slacks bunched at my thighs, then said, “Enough. Now your mouth. Hands behind your back.”

Alaric shot me a glare, shock and disapproval, but behind those, unmistakable heat kept his pupils wide and his neck flushed. I sat still, breathing through my nose in a slow, controlled rhythm, waiting for his next move. After a moment on the brink, Alaric put his hands behind him and bent forward, opening his mouth.

He didn’t mess around licking or nibbling, just lowered his head, slow and steady, and sucked me to the back of his throat. Then sucked back up off me the same way, letting my dick slide from his lips with a pop. He looked and felt as good as I’d imagined. I leaned back on my hands, my shoulders against the rack of hammers and screwdrivers, for a better view. A niggling worry for what that was doing to my jacket couldn’t penetrate the haze of lust rising in me. “Again. Faster.”

Those full lips slid up and down my length. Alaric’s hair fell into his eyes as he bobbed. Then he coughed and pulled off. “Sorry. It’s an awkward position.”

I sat up. “I don’t mind getting down from the bench, if you’re ready to go to your knees.”

He straightened, rubbing his spine, then reached toward my dick.

I snapped, “Hands behind your back. Or can’t you manage that? On your knees.”

Alaric jerked his chin up and stared at me. I froze, not moving a muscle, pinning his gaze with mine.