Perfectly Leashed (Sin & Steel #8)

Chapter One

The two pit bulls hauled left, the dachshund dove right, and Darcy skidded halfway down the cracked sidewalk before he found his footing. Meatball—the heavier pit—latched onto the scent of a jogger’s neon laces. Darcy tightened the leash, sneakers sliding on loose gravel as he shouted an apology nobody believed.

“Easy, Meatball, we agreed. No homicide before lunch.”

When the leashes knotted themselves into a braided nightmare, Darcy was half hoping a sinkhole opened and swallowed the entire block. He planted his sneakers, wrapped a line around his waist for leverage, and addressed the pack like an unqualified camp counselor.

“Okay, team meeting. New rule. We walk. No drag races, no sneaker snacks, and definitely no—”

The Great Dane at the rear chose that moment to spot a squirrel. Shit. Darcy braced a heartbeat too late. He was yanked forward so hard his sunglasses flipped off his face and clattered down a storm drain.

“Freaking great.” Those had been knock-off Ray-Bans, but they’d cost him two shifts and a bruised ego.

Somewhere in the chaos he started laughing—because anger took too much energy—and hollered to the sky, “Cut me some slack!”

A passing woman in colorful scrubs lifted her to-go cup in salute. “You’re a hero, hon!”

“Or a glutton for punishment,” Darcy muttered.

He moved forward—half march, half tug-of-war—dogs weaving around him like sentient jump ropes. He definitely sucked at walking them, but they were his morning hustle.

He readjusted yet again, squaring his shoulders in determination and marching forward, a defiant “fuck it” on his tongue. He sucked at this, sure, but surrendering to canine chaos before breakfast wasn’t an option.

Next corner, fresh disaster. Story of his life. Darcy had thought a dog-walking gig would be easy money, a way to put extra cash in his pocket. How hard could holding a leash be?

The herd of uncontrollable droolers were in cahoots with the chaos gods. Darcy just knew it.

Princess Consuela, all six pounds of stubborn sausage dog, wove between Darcy’s ankles, tangling every line into a knot.

“We’ve talked about this.” Darcy rolled his eyes. “You’re as hardheaded as Meatball. You sweet on him, Consuela? Trying to show him you can be just as— Meatball, put that tire down right this instant!”

The heavy pit bull had snagged a tire leaning against the back of a car and decided it was his. Jesus. It was like trying to wrangle a toddler with boundary issues.

“Siéntate!” A voice, sharp yet calm, cut through the chaos.

Every dog except Meatball sat instantly. Darcy blinked, wondering what kind of voodoo this was.

“I’ll give you five bucks if you let it go,” Darcy bartered. “Five is the highest I’ll go, you tire-chewing nugget.”

A tall, lean stranger sauntered closer, wiping his hands on a blue shop rag. Holy fuck. Darcy ran his fingers over his mouth to make sure he wasn’t drooling.

“?Suelta!” The man’s voice was smooth, seductive, and devastatingly deep. Meatball dropped the tire and rolled over, belly up.

“Good boy.” A low chuckle rumbled from deep in the stranger’s chest while he rubbed Meatball’s stomach. Darcy wanted a belly rub.

“I’ve got some rope you might prefer, buddy. That tire seems a bit excessive.” The man’s carefree grin pulled Darcy into the orbit of his charm. “If that’s okay with your pet parent.”

“Rope. Right.” Dirty thoughts flooded his mind of this gorgeous dog-tamer tying him up then twirling his long mustache.

Darcy frowned. Where in the hell had that thought come from?

“Don’t have kids,” Darcy replied.

The guy straightened, offering his hand. “Luca.”

He slapped Luca’s palm like a hostile idiot, wincing at himself. “Sorry! Darcy. Normally less aggressive with my greetings.” And my dirty thoughts. “How’d you get them to listen? One word and you’ve got them sitting like they’re perfect angels. You have got to teach me how you do it.” Darcy pressed his lips together. “Or not.”

Luca reached out again. Darcy mistakenly went for a second handshake, unwilling to pass up the opportunity to touch him one more time. His hands were callused, but gentle. Now Darcy wondered what they would feel like mapping out his naked body.

“Just the leashes, cari?o.” Luca’s lopsided grin rearranged the rhythm of Darcy’s pulse. He couldn’t understand how someone he’d just met had cast some kind of spell over him.

Handing over the leashes, Darcy tore his eyes away from Luca’s. “Careful. You got a squirrel fanatic, a leash-tying expert, and a set of sharp teeth that likes to make everything a chew toy.” He chucked a thumb at Jimbo. “And he needs to learn to stop going along with the chaos.”

Luca untangled the leashes like he and Princess Consuela were kindred spirits. Darcy had never seen anyone unravel knots so fast. “You’re dealing with a pack of dogs, Darcy.”

“Okay, Captain Obvious. Thanks for clearing that up for me. I thought they were wild buffalo.” Did he think Darcy was dim-witted?

His mouth twitched at the corner, dark gray eyes sparkling in the early-morning sun. “You have to be their leader, or you’ll never get the buffalo to respect you.”

Oh, Darcy liked his sense of humor. A lot of people got pissed at his directness, but Luca seemed to find it funny. Nice.

“If you hadn’t noticed, I was leading them.” Wherever they wanted to pull me.

“You’re gripping those leashes like you’re expecting a mutiny.”

Darcy raised an eyebrow. “It’s less mutiny, more full-scale rebellion. I’ve tried treats, lectures, and even bribery, but nothing seems to work.”

“You tried to bribe dogs?” Luca looked at him like Darcy needed his head examined.

“Right? Meatball refused to take the five bucks.” His lips twitched at the puzzled look on Luca’s face. “I think he’s sweet on Consuela. But I draw the line at being a doggy pimp.”

His quick, crooked grin pulled Darcy’s entire focus toward him. “Might make cute puppies.”

Sweet hell. Darcy felt his face catch fire, making him glance down at Meatball, who was watching them with his tongue hanging out and to the side.

Swear to god the pit bull looked hopeful.

“It’s your energy.” Luca guided Meatball back in formation with nothing more than a click of his tongue. “They sense your tension, and if they can’t trust you’ve got their backs, they’ll just look at you as another member of their pack, not the leader.”

“My energy’s usually spent figuring out survival strategies. Don’t get dragged, don’t lose limbs, definitely don’t murder bystanders.”

“Good strategy.” Luca nodded. “If you weren’t walking dogs.”

Luca laughed, a rough, easy sound that curled warm in Darcy’s chest. “You’re funny.”

“And you’re suspiciously good at this,” Darcy countered, eyes narrowed playfully. “Dog whisperer or something?”

“Something like that.” Luca tilted his head, eyes glinting oddly in the morning sun. A subtle edge lingered under his smile—just enough danger to spike Darcy’s pulse.

Okay, so now he was picturing Luca in leather, astride a motorcycle, calling him sweetheart. Damn his traitorous imagination.

“So…” Darcy cleared his throat, cheeks flushing beneath freckles he’d hated since middle school. “How long did it take you to master...energy management?”

Luca shrugged, casual enough, but his gray eyes tracked every restless shift Darcy made. “Learned young. I grew up around packs.”

Darcy arched a brow, his curiosity kicking into overdrive. “Packs, huh? As in biker packs, wolf packs, six-pack abs?”

A deep laugh broke free from Luca’s chest, genuine and pleased. “Definitely bikers. Abs, occasionally.”

Darcy grinned despite his pulse tripping faster. “Explains the vibe.”

“Vibe?” Luca’s voice turned huskier. “And what kind of vibe am I giving off, exactly?”

Darcy’s tongue froze briefly. Shit. How much flirting was too obvious before coffee?

“Oh, you know.” He gestured vaguely. “Calm, controlled...could-easily-kick-my-ass-but-would-look-good-doing-it?”

His chuckle slid smoothly into Darcy’s bones. “Not into ass-kicking. At least not before breakfast.”

“Good policy.” Darcy fought a losing battle with a shy smile, heart tumbling stupidly inside his chest. “Maybe I should try it.”

“Maybe,” Luca agreed, eyes lingering gently before refocusing on the dogs. “Or maybe you just need practice. I could show you a few tricks. If you’re up for it.”

Oh, Darcy was definitely up for it. Whatever it entailed. He swallowed, nodding a little too quickly. “Yeah. Tricks. Sounds good.”

They stood there for another beat, comfortable in the quiet hum between them, until Meatball barked impatiently.

Luca gestured ahead. “Lead the way, Darcy. Let’s see if we can get you through your walk in one piece.”

Darcy stepped forward, shoulders squared, leash slack, and for the first time since waking up at the asscrack of dawn, he felt something like control.

Or maybe it was just Luca’s quiet strength hovering beside him.

Either way, he’d take it.

But the dogs were out to prove his incompetence. Two more steps and Atlas darted toward a tree as the Doberman spotted a poodle hanging out of a car window and was off to the races. “Whoa! Atlas, Jimbo, stop!”

Darcy was nearly yanked off his feet, both dogs running in opposite directions. A strong hand clasped the leashes, and an ear-piercing whistle almost punctured his eardrums.

The dogs immediately stilled, glancing back like they were awaiting further instructions. Darcy rubbed his shoulder and wondered if he’d need a chiropractor at some point.

Maybe becoming a dogwalker when he knew nothing about canines hadn’t been such a bright idea. Darcy was worried they would run out in traffic one of these days. He’d only been doing this for three days, but if he didn’t figure it out soon, he’d have to give it up. Luca was right. They needed a pack leader, not a pack follower.

Luca tugged gently on Atlas’s leash, guiding the Great Dane effortlessly back into formation. “Come walk next to me,” he said, voice a calm rumble. “Easier if I show you.”

Darcy hesitated, forcing his sneakers to move, ignoring the sudden flutter in his stomach. It was hard enough walking without tripping, let alone maintaining coherent thoughts next to Mr. Tall, Dark, and Competent.

“You’re overthinking.” Luca’s eyes were forward, watching each dog with calm confidence. “Feel their energy, not the leash.”

Snorting softly, Darcy shook his head. “Sounds suspiciously like yoga.”

His laugh was deep and rich. “Trust me, I don’t do yoga.”

The mental image of Luca, grease-stained shop rag in hand, doing the downward dog sent heat flooding Darcy’s face. Fuck his imagination sideways.

“So, no yoga,” he managed, scrambling for composure. “Just dog whispering?”

Luca’s lip twitched. “You could call it that.”

They walked slowly down the sidewalk, Darcy stealing sideways glances at Luca’s posture, memorizing the way his relaxed fingers loosely held the leashes. Nothing tense or panicked in his stance, yet every dog trotted obediently beside him.

“You’re still tense.” Luca’s gray eyes slid his way. “The dogs feel it.”

“Can’t exactly help it,” Darcy muttered. “Kind of my default state around chaos. Dogs, squirrels—”

“Strangers?” Luca interrupted gently.

Was the guy flirting? It was flirting, right? Darcy wished his internal radar wasn’t so hopelessly broken. He’d always been horrible at picking up on cues. One time, he thought a cute guy was checking him out, only to realize the stranger had something in his eye. Another time, a handsome man crooked his finger. Darcy had started forward then stopped when a medium-sized dog ran to its owner.

“Maybe.” His cheeks burned hotter.

“You’re doing fine,” Luca assured quietly. “Just try again. Hold this.”

Their fingers brushed as he handed over Atlas’s leash, sending a shiver through Darcy. He tightened his grip—too tightly, apparently, because the Dane immediately strained against him. Luca stepped closer, shoulder brushing Darcy’s. Warmth radiated from him, steady and oddly reassuring.

“Loosen your hold,” he murmured, his breath ghosting the sensitive skin near Darcy’s ear.

Swallowing hard, Darcy fought the instinct to lean closer. He relaxed his fingers fractionally, feeling like a moron when Atlas immediately settled into an easy pace.

“Told you,” Luca said softly.

Darcy thought he detected amusement, maybe something warmer, in Luca’s voice.

“How’d you learn all this, anyway?” Darcy walked at a steady pace. “Mechanic and dog trainer seems a very specific combination.”

Luca glanced sideways, his gaze flickering oddly—briefly amber—before turning back to storm-cloud gray. Darcy blinked rapidly, deciding he was hallucinating from caffeine withdrawal. Or hormones. Probably hormones.

“Family thing,” Luca said after a pause. “We stick together. Look out for each other.”

“Family, but not by blood?” Darcy asked, quieter now, pulse tripping faster at the thought of what Luca’s life might really look like.

Luca nodded. “Exactly that.”

The ease in Luca’s voice tugged at something deep inside Darcy, a long-buried ache for belonging. He had his grandma, and he still kept in touch with his dad, but nothing had been the same since his mom passed away a few years back. He’d lost that sense of family, of being a part of something. The people he worked with at the pet store were cool, and his coworkers at the pizza place he worked at on the weekends were nice.

But none of them offered what Luca seemed to have found.

Clearing his throat, Darcy fought to keep his voice casual. “Sounds nice.”

“Yeah.” Luca’s smile was almost reverent. “Nice… and complicated.”

Darcy could sense layers beneath his simple response, mysteries hidden behind his careful gaze. He wanted to ask more, to dig deeper, but a pit bull pawed impatiently at his thigh, demanding attention.

“Sorry, Meatball,” Darcy muttered, scratching the dog’s head awkwardly. “Got distracted.”

Luca watched, expression unreadable. “They like you.”

“Pretty sure they just see me as a pushover,” Darcy retorted lightly. “I’m too scrawny for leadership.”

Luca’s laugh caught Darcy off guard—warm, easy, genuine. “You’d be surprised. Leadership’s not always about muscle.”

“Good thing. Mine are mostly decorative.” Darcy flexed, showing off his twig biceps.

Luca’s gaze lingered, eyes sparking again with that hint of amber. Darcy’s breath caught, his heartbeat erratic beneath his ribs. Maybe he was imagining the glow, projecting his own jittery nerves onto the guy’s face.

“You just need practice.” Luca gently tapped the bicep closest to him. “Want me to walk with you tomorrow? I could show you more.”

Now was he flirting? No, it was just a kind gesture. But who offered to help someone walk dogs? It had to be flirting. It just had to be.

“You’d...do that?” His mouth went dry.

“Sure.” Luca said it casually, like it was no big deal. “Might stop Meatball from chewing tires.”

A sudden burst of laughter escaped. “That tire had it coming, leaning like it was looking for trouble.”

“Damn troublemaking tires.” Luca chuckled quietly, a warm sound Darcy felt right down to his bones. “How about it, then?”

“What?” Darcy frowned. “Are you still talking about tires?’

His damn mind couldn’t stay focused. Not when Luca looked at him that way. It was definitely flirting. Possibly…

“The walk.” Luca rolled his eyes, but Darcy could tell he was just teasing. He liked that. His last boyfriend had been a wet noodle, rarely laughing or even smiling. Luca was a breath of fresh air that Darcy wanted to spend more time with.

“Well, if you insist.” He feigned a dramatic sigh to match Luca’s theatrics.

“Perfect. Meet me by the shop. Early.”

Darcy’s heart pounded traitorously fast. “It’s a date.” He froze, cheeks flaming. “I mean—”

“It’s a date,” Luca echoed, his smile gentle. “Seven good for you?”

“Yes.” Dropping his gaze, Darcy bit down hard on his bottom lip. Okay. Date. That was officially a thing now. He glanced at Luca, whose calm confidence wrapped around him like a safety net he craved more of.

Maybe tomorrow wouldn’t suck after all.

Maybe it would change everything.

* * * *

Darcy scratched Meatball behind the ear one last time, crouching low as he returned the dog safely behind the gate. “Don’t forget, buddy,” he whispered, checking around dramatically. Then he leaned closer. “We have a date tomorrow with Luca.”

Meatball’s tail thumped against the concrete.

He hurried home, feeling lighter, the short walk back to his apartment almost effortless. Maybe he wasn’t cut out for dog walking, but tomorrow, Luca might make it worth every tangled leash and bruise to his ego.

Inside his cramped apartment, he dropped his keys onto the kitchen counter and stripped off his sweat-stained shirt. He toed off his shoes, shoving them out of the way. The small bathroom mirror showed a flushed face, hair sticking up at odd angles, freckles dark against pink cheeks. Not exactly the polished image he’d hoped for, but he’d seen worse.

Steam filled the bathroom seconds after he twisted on the shower. Stepping beneath the spray, Darcy tilted his head back, letting the hot water ease knotted shoulders. As tension melted down his spine, another kind of tension replaced it—deeper, more insistent.

Eyes closed, he recalled the way Luca’s gaze lingered and that amber flicker Darcy might’ve imagined. Luca’s hand brushing his, warm breath ghosting his ear, sending a shiver straight down Darcy’s spine. He felt the first stirring in his cock, slow heat building into insistent need.

He slid a palm down his stomach, water slicking the path, fingers wrapping around his thickening shaft. Darcy sucked in a sharp breath, thumb teasing over his slit, precum mixing with shower spray. Heat flooded through his veins as he tightened his grip, slow, deliberate strokes pulling another shaky exhale from his chest.

He pictured Luca clearly now—lean muscles beneath a grease-stained T-shirt, eyes intense and darkened, that husky voice whispering close to Darcy’s ear. Luca’s strong hands sliding confidently down Darcy’s ribs, gripping tight, guiding his hips closer.

His breathing grew ragged, strokes faster, his cock hard and aching in his fist. Water drummed against his shoulders, steam fogging the glass doors. Darcy braced one hand against the cool tile, hips jerking forward into his own tight grip, desperate now, pulse thundering through him.

“Fuck,” he whispered roughly, head falling forward. Heat pulsed, building sharper, hotter, Luca’s image vivid, his gaze locking with Darcy’s, amber sparks glowing unmistakably. Luca’s mouth, rough and hungry against his own, tongue sliding between parted lips. Darcy shuddered, hips bucking faster, his cock throbbing, pleasure spiraling unbearably tight inside him.

“Luca,” he groaned aloud, the name raw on his tongue. His thighs shook, and the orgasm slammed into him, cock pulsing, cum spilling hot and thick against the tile. He rode out the sensation, breathless, chest heaving, forehead pressed to wet ceramic.

The water rinsed him clean, but embarrassment heated his cheeks. “You are such a hot mess,” he muttered, forcing his breathing until it was steady. It wasn’t like him to get so worked up over a guy he’d just met.

After a quick scrub, Darcy stepped from the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist, fingers shaking slightly as he rubbed steam from the mirror. His reflection stared back, flushed, thoroughly fucked-out, and annoyingly hopeful.

“Stop lingering. You have to get to work.” With the reminder, he pulled on fresh clothes—dark jeans and a worn work T-shirt from the pet shop—ignoring the lingering ache of anticipation deep in his gut.

One brief encounter with Luca had him completely off-balance.

Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.