Chapter 3 Slaughter 28 #3
A wide smile spread across Conan’s face. The edge of the knife traced up and down Lam’s throat like a caress.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Conan said, his eyes flat and sharp.
Lam could see then how he could kill someone without remorse.
They weren’t the same kind of creature, but that darkness in his eyes Lam was familiar with.
“I just want you to know that I can. I don’t want to spend all night tiptoeing around each other.
I want you to know I have the opportunity to kill you right now, and I’m not. I don’t want to.”
Lam’s heart was battering in his chest. The adrenaline was a roar in his ears. He hadn’t been in danger like this since his early days of hunting. It was thrilling.
And underneath that was a relief. Because the longer he spent around this man the less he wanted to kill him, and this was an ingenious solution to Lam’s own guardedness.
“I don’t want to kill you either,” Lam confessed.
“Then we have an agreement for tonight,” Conan said, lifting the knife away from his skin. Lam’s hands were fisted around Conan’s wrists to hold him back, but he loosened one and Conan put the knife in it. “So I’ll ask you again, would you like to join me in the shower?”
Lam was breathless. His hand tightened around the knife and his whole body pulsed hot with need. Conan was a head taller than him, boxing Lam in with all his size and strength. If they were really calling this a truce, if Lam could really put himself in those big, strong hands…
“If I do, we won’t make it to the bed.” Lam said. Because he was certain that was true, and they’d be at risk for concussions or worse in such a slippery space. “You shower, I’ll watch.”
Conan’s eyes were piercing, and his smile curled, wicked. He stepped closer, his hips pushing up against Lam’s own. Lam gasped, feeling his thick length pressing into him through the layers of clothing.
One that had been inside him less than an hour ago.
Lam wanted it again. Wanted to know what it would feel like without restraint holding Conan back.
“You like to watch,” Conan said, statement not question.
“I do,” Lam said, licking his lips. Conan’s eyes went to his mouth, and for a moment Lam’s heart tripped over itself.
Then he was pulling away.
“Then I best give you something worth watching,” Conan said as he started toward the running shower.
Steam was beginning to fill the room, making everything a little gauzy. Conan began undoing his jeans. Lam took a deep breath to get a hold of himself, moving away from the wall, discarding the knife on the counter.
When the jeans dropped, the metal belt buckle clanked hard against the tile. Conan stepped out of his jeans and made little fanfare in shucking the tented boxers as well.
Lam couldn’t look away.
Conan was thick everywhere, weathered and masculine. There were more scars across his thighs, a round burn mark just below the beltline that looked suspiciously like a cigarette burn. Lam wanted to lick it, bite it.
He’d seen Conan’s cock under the bridge, but it looked even better here, thick and heavy where it hung in the thatch of dark hair. The muscles in Conan’s thighs tensed as he turned to step into the shower, and Lam got a view of the hard muscle of his ass.
He wanted to sink his teeth into his skin. Feel the jolt of pain in Conan’s body when he let Lam.
As Conan stepped into the shower, Lam moved to take a seat on the toilet lid where he could see best. Conan stepped into the spray, head tilted back to wet his dark hair, and Lam bit his own lip. He looked sinful with the water tracing down the lines of his body, dripping off his stiff cock.
Conan helped himself to Lam’s expensive shampoo without asking, and Lam liked his boldness. Or maybe it was the way that when Lam got him into bed after this, he’d smell like Lam’s property. Like a stray he’d brought home and was curious if he could keep…
He was getting too ahead of himself.
Lam watched the way his muscles moved as he worked the shampoo through his hair, followed by conditioner. Conan helped himself to the washcloth hanging over the top of the shower and soaped himself up, scrubbing down every bit of him except for what Lam had wrapped in plastic.
He had an easy confidence on full display, and Lam didn’t hate it.
Steam kept filling the room, fogging up the glass. Lam found himself leaning forward, eyes drinking in every bit of it. Most people were boring to watch, but not Conan.
Lam pressed a hand to himself, he was straining against the fabric of his slacks. He’d had the occasional hookup that didn’t involve knives and murder, but he’d never brought anyone home. He was realizing now that might have been for more than just privacy.
Watching Conan move about his space was churning something deep in his belly. A hunger he’d tucked away a long, long time ago, convinced there’d never be an opportunity to sate it.
Then Conan was finished, rinsing himself down and turning off the water. He grabbed Lam’s own towel hanging over the shower, and slid the door open as he began to use it.
A rivulet of water slid down the center of Conan’s chest and then down around his cock. He could feel Conan looking back at him, and Lam didn’t try to hide his open appreciation. What they’d shared together since the bridge had laid bare both their intentions.
“Your turn,” Conan said as he stepped aside.
Lam had an initial hesitation, because stepping into the shower himself would leave Conan out here with his knife. Nearer to any part of his house that Conan might like to slip into.
And then he forced himself to set that aside. They’d made an agreement. Conan had already had the knife to his throat, and if he was going to kill Lam, it would’ve been the opportunity. Tonight, there was something else on offer.
Lam slipped off his wool coat, hanging it on the hook for his robe. That would need special cleaning, but the rest of his clothing could just go in the wash. He moved through undressing slowly, slipping buttons out of holes, aware of Conan’s eyes on him.
He dropped his clothes in a pile with Conan’s, and when he was done, turned to the shower and twisted the water back on.
“Would you put those in the basket for me?” Lam asked, gesturing idly in the direction of the clothing basket.
Out of his peripheral he saw Conan move, doing just that, as Lam stepped into the water.
He was obedient.
Lam started with his hair, scrubbing the shampoo in as he caught Conan’s eye through the foggy glass. Conan had tied the towel around his waist, but it was doing little to hide how interested he was.
Lam worked his fingers through his hair, washing off the sweat and dirt and blood. Then he grabbed the used washcloth Conan had left and re-soaped it up. He made a point of turning his back on Conan to wash down between his legs, slipping his own soapy fingers into his hole, cleaning the come out.
Conan made a sound, and Lam’s body flushed again with heat at being observed. It felt playful, but with teeth. He felt the prickling energy all over as he washed himself. It made him want to bite, to stick his nails or knives into Conan’s skin.
Soon.
By the time Lam finished, he was on the edge of his self restraint. Usually he prided himself on his control, but having Conan watch as he showered, imagining what might come next, it had him thrumming in his skin.
Fully rinsed, Lam turned off the water and went to reach for his towel on reflex, but it wasn’t there. It was around Conan’s waist.
“Let me,” Conan said. He strode to the linen closet and pulled a fresh towel out.
Lam slid the shower door open and stepped out onto the fluffy rug as Conan returned. Their eyes met like a static charge. Then Conan was lifting the towel, smoothing it softly against Lam’s cheek, wiping away the water.
“Is this part of the service you offer?” Lam asked.
“It can be,” Conan moved the towel down his neck and around to the nape, blotting the water dripping from his hair. He smoothed it down one arm and the next, drying Lam’s torso and then his cock.
Conan didn’t linger, but the brush of the terrycloth was still enough to make him throb. Then Conan dropped to his knees, picking up one of Lam’s legs to dry it, then the other. He did it easily, like they’d been here a dozen times before.
Had he done this before with other men?
A shot of jealousy went through him, and Lam forcefully shoved it aside. His teeth clattered together, wanting.
“We should take this to the bedroom,” Lam said, taking the towel from Conan’s hands to rub it over his hair. It would make his hair a mess later, but he was anticipating them needing another shower later anyway.
Conan got back to his feet slowly. “Lead the way.”
They’d made a brief passage through Lam’s room on the way to the bathroom, but the lights had been off.
Now he led them back to it, flicking the switch on as he went.
This late, the lights were programmed to come on low and soft.
He rubbed his hair with a towel once more before dropping it by the edge of the bed, in case he needed to use it later.
Conan came in behind him, and Lam felt his thoughtful observation of the room.
“I knew you were into books,” Conan said.
“They’re a good companion,” Lam said as he turned and sat himself on the bed, nude. He’d never been particularly shy about his body, and felt no need for it now. He leaned back on one hand, watching Conan take in the surroundings.
His bedroom was black and white, simple and easy to keep tidy. The wall across from the bed where most people would keep the TV was a long floor to ceiling bookcase stuffed to the brim. He was thinking about sizing up the next time he moved.
“But not so good as a lover,” Conan said as he turned away from the books back to Lam. His gaze roved over him, heavy.
“No,” Lam admitted.
Conan stepped closer to the bed. “What do you want?”