Chapter 7
7
AUSTYN
As Tate shifts, his dinosaur side taking over, his skin turns a brownish-green. I bite back what was sure to be a hysterical laugh.
So, I’m not a green monster with rage issues ?
Tate squeezes his eyes shut, and as quickly as Walter turned into a Pentaceratops, Tate…does not.
He releases his breath. His body shrinks in size and his skin turns from green with raised bumps to his normal skin tone. His eyes pop open and find mine. “I’m sorry, Aus. I know you wanted me to,” he says, his shoulders folding in, “but I can’t.”
I throw my arms around him, not caring who’s watching. I can’t stand to see him hurting. He doesn’t respond, and I start to let go. Oh God. What was I thinking? I just undermined him in front of everyone. But then his arms close around me, engulfing me with his strength, warmth, and…love? That’s an insane thought, but it’ll have to wait for later because Walter signals his displeasure with a low, threatening rumble. And while he’s annoying as a human, as a dino with five horns, he’s terrifying.
Well, not to me. I’ve fought Walter’s dino more times than I can count. He’s bigger, but I’m faster and smarter. But am I willing to shift? I can protect Tate from Walter, but my judgment is compromised when my baser instincts take over.
And Walter isn’t trying to hurt us. He wants Tate to shift. And that leaves me with more questions. Why are they pushing so hard? What’s the rush?
“Calm your tits, Walter.” I place my hands on my hips and stare him down. He gives a tiny growl and lowers his head.
Tate is letting his fear take over so he can’t shift. I’ve seen it plenty of times.
“See, Tate? It’s just Walter. He’s still in there. In control. Move your tail, Walter.”
Walter swishes his short tail.
“Now sit.”
That elicits a low growl from the beast. I chuckle, my gaze shifting to Tate. “That’s Walter’s way of saying, ‘Fuck you, Austyn. I’m not a dog.’ See? Control. You can’t let your fear take over.”
With a sassy flick of his tail, Walter shifts back into a man. A naked man, of course. Walter has a very nice body with a furry chest and defined abs. Tate notices, so I bump my shoulder into his, trying and failing to keep the irritation out of my voice. “Stop staring.”
“Oh, sorry.”
Walter grins as he slips on his still-intact clothes.
“Holy hell,” Tate says with awe in his voice. I huff, ready to admonish him again for perving on Walter. The man is still staring. But his next words stop me. “Those are clothes you made? How?”
Oh. “It’s a special blend of materials imported from China, and I don’t use plain thread?—”
“Excuse me,” Walter says with a glare, back in goon mode. “Home Ec class is over.”
I jab my finger at him. “If it wasn’t for me, you’d be spending all your cash on clothes instead of rent boys?—”
“I get all the dick I want.”
“Enough!” Petroni descends upon us, his face furious. “Mr. Jacobs is done with your games. What the fuck is the problem? Why isn’t he shifting?” He gestures at Tate, his eyes still on me as he marches toward us. He isn’t slowing down, and Tate tenses beside me. None of this is standard operating procedure.
No matter. If Petroni wants a fight, I’ll give him one.
I open my mouth to tell him to fuck off, but before I can say a word, Tate steps in front of me.
It’s sweet as hell, but he doesn’t need to put himself in danger to protect me, especially if he can’t shift. I place my hand between his shoulder blades and move around him. Petroni stops a foot away, and this close, I can see his eyes flashing with his dinosaur chomping to get out. And something else. Satisfaction? Triumph? “You assured us you could do this, Burkes.”
“You came to me, remember?”
“No more games. What the fuck is going on?” He bares his teeth, and while he’s a scary dude—less so in his human form—I’m done with all the posturing.
“I could ask you the same thing, Pete.” He hates being called Pete, so of course I go there. “None of this is normal. Tate will shift when he’s ready.”
“Maybe we need to help him get ready,” he says, so only I can hear. A threat. And now I’m officially scared. Not for me, but for Tate.
What do they have planned? I glance over at Jacobs. His face is impassive, but a coiled stillness in his body belies his casual air.
I’m tired of dealing with these mobster-wannabes. “Maybe you need to back the fuck off.” My words are equally low, but I flash my therapod for added punctuation. I might be small, but I’m vicious.
He turns, trying to hide the sliver of fear in his eyes before barking an order. “Prepare to spar.”
“Spar?” Tate almost chokes on the word.
“It’s fine,” I say, touching his arm. I need that connection not just for him but for me. Everyone going full dino would freak Tate out. The opposite of what they want. And if it escalates, it’s us against them. I do a quick count. Twenty men. Why so many?
They start with a couple of goons sparring in human form. How is this supposed to help? Tate stands motionless during this. Purposefully still? He won’t fight. I know it, even if they don’t. They’re wasting their time.
After several matches, they call on Jatel, the biggest dude there. He’s massive. Not as big as Tate, but a skilled fighter.
“Jatel will fight…Austyn Burkes.”
I snort. His size won’t save him. Everyone underestimates me. Until they don’t.
But as Tate tenses beside me, everything falls into place. They know Tate won’t fight anyone. Unless it’s to save me.
“I’ll spar.” Tate takes a step forward.
“You big dummy.” The affection in my voice must soften the words because he smiles.
“Gotta start somewhere.”
Tate does better than I expected. He gets beat in the first round, but then he’s able to anticipate Jatel’s moves and wins the second round. And the third. Jacobs and Petroni exchange looks, and I want to knock their heads together. Assholes.
After a few more rounds with different opponents, Tate, bruised and bloody, is led off the field as two fierce and dirty fighters go at it. Tate sags, looking exhausted. I want to hug him. Take care of him. His gaze meets mine, and he straightens to his full six feet seven inches.
“You okay?” I ask in a low voice.
“Yeah. I’m okay.” His words are muffled by the roar of the fighters, and I risk a glance at his face. His gaze is soft. He shouldn’t wear his heart so everyone can see, but it’s hard to be upset when that look is reserved for me.
But I have plenty of time to stew, and by the time we’re done and back at the mansion, I’m fucking pissed. What are they doing? Things are so off-book by this point that I have no idea what will happen next.
T ate wolfs down his dinner, but I barely pick at mine. Once we’re back in our room, Tate sits on the bed, his shoulders sagging in exhaustion.
“Walter’s a dinosaur?”
“Yes.” I wait for the next inevitable question.
“And…” He fiddles with his hands. “I’m a dinosaur?”
“Yes.”
He nods. “All those men are dinosaurs?”
“Yes,” I say, with a quick nod. Is he going to ask about me?
“Even Mr. Jacobs?”
“Yes.”
He cocks his head. “What about the girl in the picture? On Mr. Jacobs’s desk.”
“That’s his granddaughter, Abigail.”
“Is she a dino?”
“I’m not sure. His son Adam was a drubon—a person with a recessive shifter gene. They don’t shift. So, I’m not sure if his daughter is a shifter or not.”
“This is some weird stuff, Aus.”
“I know, sweetness. But please don’t worry.”
He shakes his head. “Does Abigail live here?”
“No. She lives with her mother. And before you ask, I don’t know where.”
“What type of dino is Mr. Jacobs?”
“Let’s save your questions for later, okay?” I guide Tate to the shower. “Just stand under the hot water and let it soothe those aches.”
He emerges a half-hour later with a towel around his waist. Wet drops run down his chest, getting caught in his thick dark hair, and I can’t look away. He ducks his head. “I…um, need to get my…” He points at his duffel bag.
“Right. Okay. I’m taking a quick shower, and then I’ll check your wounds.”
“I’m fine, Aus. You don’t have to worry so much.”
“I could say the same to you.”
He blushes, and it spreads across his chest. Oh my God. I need to get out of this room now. “I’m going to, um, you know…” Fuck. I race into the bathroom, get as far as the shower, and realize I forgot my clothes. I retrace my steps because I’m not traipsing out afterward in only a towel.
But my timing is bad. Or very, very good. As I open the door, Tate drops his towel. I suck in a quick breath. His ass is thick—the word juicy flashes in my mind—with a light dusting of hair. He jerks around, already in a fighting stance. I hold up a hand, but my eyes zero in on the dark hair that leads a path to his thick cock nestled in dark curls.
He grabs his towel, and I realize too late that I’m staring. “Sorry. Clothes. Get,” I say, my voice barely more than a squeak.
I rush to grab my stuff but can’t resist glancing back at Tate. He clutches the towel in front of him, his eyes on the floor. He looks…not embarrassed exactly but ashamed. Which makes no sense. Tate’s a big, muscled guy with a layer of padding. This gorgeous man has no reason to be embarrassed about his body. And I just might have to tell him that.
After showering, I pull Tate into the bathroom and have him sit on the closed toilet seat. His cuts are no longer bleeding, but I want to ensure they’re clean of debris and put a healing ointment on them. It’s another of my concoctions. I made it after one too many hits. Call me vain, but I don’t want permanent scars on my face.
Tate has shorts on, which makes it easier to get to his wounds but is distracting as all get out. I’m not sure how long he’ll tolerate me poking him, so I start with his face, standing between his legs so I can reach his wounds. His clean, manly scent is all around me. Does he use honeysuckle shampoo? Lord. I’m not okay. I want to eat this man up. Tracing my fingers over the bruises and around the cuts, I apply the ointment and secure the deeper cuts with butterfly strips.
“Where else, Tate?” I’m slightly taller than him in this position, and it’s strangely intimate looking down at his trusting face. Erotic.
His eyes stray to my mouth. “Aus.” The want in his voice almost kills me.
I cradle his face gently, avoiding his injuries, and tilt his head to catch his gaze. “Stop distracting me. We can’t let your wounds get infected, so sit still and let me work.”
“Maybe I need a reward.” He tries to look away, but I hold on to his face.
“Is that…?” I clear my throat. Why is it suddenly full of gravel? “Does that help you focus?”
“God, yes.”
This is happening. There’s no way to stop it, and I don’t want to. “You’ve done well. I think you’ve earned a reward.”
“A kiss?” His blush darkens his cheeks.
“I choose the rewards,” I say mock sternly. “But you were very good.”
I lean down, and his lips part. I brush a light kiss under his bottom lip. He whines, and I feel the same. God, I want him. But if I kiss him, really kiss him, I’m not sure I can stop. And I need to finish treating his injuries. “Where else, Tate?”
“My chest.” He grabs the bottom of his T-shirt and pulls it off. Oh God. I want to climb in his lap and do all the things with him. To him. Instead, I focus on the cuts. I clean them quickly, only letting my hand stray once I’m finished. A light brush of my thumb over his nipple. His sharp intake of breath makes me bolder, and I do it again, only much slower. He grabs my hand. “Aus?—”
“Does that hurt?”
“In certain places.”
I grin. “You’ve been very good for me, sweetness. You deserve another reward.”
Gripping the back of his neck, I pull him closer, brushing my lips gently over his, careful of his cuts. He growls, wrapping an arm around me and deepening the kiss. I stumble, not expecting that, and grab his shoulder to keep from falling. If it wasn’t for the damn cuts I still need to tend to, I’d climb onto his lap. But someone has to be the strong one. I push against his chest.
“Sorry—”
“Don’t be.” I press my fingers to his lips. “But let’s get this done, okay?” At his nod, I ask, slightly breathless, “Where else?”
He turns so I can doctor the cuts on his back. There aren’t many, but the bruises paint a picture. The battles he won and lost. I leave his legs for last because barely touching his strong, thick thighs has me feeling weak. God, he could crush a man with those. And, fuck , I want to be crushed.
“How do you want me?”
I grab his arm to stay upright. His words flash images in my mind of all the ways I want him. “Tate…”
“Standing or sitting, Aus?”
I choke on a giggle. Either way is dangerous. “Standing.”
My hands shake slightly as I tend to his injuries, making it take longer than necessary. Thankfully, most of the cuts are clean from his shower. The one on his knee has bits of sand and rock from when he’d gone down. He hisses when I poke at it, and his hand grabs the top of my head. My heart rate speeds up as my cock gets the wrong idea. But to be fair, his is right there. He was semi-hard when I bent to start my work, but the pain seems to have caused him to deflate. I finish the one on his knee and place a kiss a few inches above it.
Shifting to get more comfortable, I mouth kisses along a path to the inside of his thigh. His musky scent draws me in. His fingers lightly graze the top of my head, and I’m about to say something when he gets braver, sliding his fingers through my hair and tightening. Oh God, yes. More of that.
I reward him with a kiss on his thigh and then lick my way to the edge of his shorts. I watch his face as I slip my fingers under his shorts. His breath quickens, and he squeezes his eyes shut. Emotion wedges its way into my heart. This man. So sweet. So innocent. So good. Using my thumb to tease him, I brush my fingers over his hard length. He lets out a broken whimper, and I increase the pressure, wanting more of those needy sounds. God, it isn’t enough. I need to strip this man down. Right the fuck now.
“Aus…are we finished?”
“Finished?” It’s been a long day. He’s probably tired.
“With my injuries?” His voice sounds strained like he’s barely holding on. I know the feeling.
Relief floods through me. “Oh. Yes, I’m done.”
He pulls me up and crushes our mouths together. This kiss isn’t like the last one. It ignites on contact, and I can’t get enough. I chase the green apple taste, licking into his mouth. His arms tighten around me, and my head spins as I try to get more. Then I’m flying—no, crashing. We tip sideways and fall. Pain shoots through my hip as it connects with the marble-topped cabinet and Tate squishes me against it. Fuck.
“Oh shit, Austyn. I’m sorry.” He scrambles off me and almost goes down again.
Once we’re both upright, I grab his face with my hands. “Let’s move to the bedroom.”
After that, everything is easier. I strip my clothes off, and then Tate’s. We don’t need any more accidents. This is my chance to worship his body like I’ve dreamed of doing so many times. “Arms up, sweetness.” He’s covering his gorgeous body. Can’t have that.
“Aus, I’m not…”
“Stop. Whatever you’re going to say isn’t true. I love your body, Tate. Every bit of it. I want—” I swallow the emotion in my voice. Don’t scare him. “Arms up, please?”
He raises his arms over his head and my mouth goes dry. I place soft kisses on his pecs and across to his side, ignoring that voice warning me this is too much. I hesitate for only a second before swiping my tongue in his pit.
Tate sucks in a breath. “Aus?”
“Too much?”
“No. I like it. Don’t stop.”
I need to stop second-guessing myself. I bury my nose and breathe in the clean scent of his sweat. Fuck. I could come just from this. He moans as I nibble under his arm and rake my fingers down his chest. When I move to his other side, a dark mark as big as my hand fans out under his armpit. It’s definitely not a bruise. Tate must have noticed it. Even if he didn’t understand.
All shifters have a mark left from their first shift. Some are small and some are more monumental, taking up a large area. Mine is barely an inch and on the inside of my thigh.
Should I mention it? I don’t want to freak him out. Maybe if he brings it up first.
“Aus? Is everything okay?”
“Fantastic.”
I move back up and kiss him. His large hand cups the back of my head, making me weak. Fuck, this man is so hot. Needing more, I slide down his body, intent on tasting him. I wrap both hands around his hard cock, flushed purple with beads of precum glistening on the head. As I mouth kisses along his hot, velvety shaft, I’m unable to wait. I swipe my tongue over the tip, lapping up the salty precum. It won’t all fit in my mouth, so I suck in as much as I can while stroking him. Tate releases breathy moans, and I can tell he’s close. I bob up and down on his cock, desperate to make him cum.
Tate growls and pulls me up like I weigh nothing before thoroughly kissing me.
“Sweetness,” I whine, but he stops me with another kiss.
“Won’t last. I want to take care of you. Please, Aus?”
I nod eagerly, and he flips us over, kissing and sucking and going maddeningly slow like I’m a delicate treasure. I whine again, and he chuckles. “Don’t worry, babe. I’m getting there.”
“Get there faster.”
Then he sucks my cock into his mouth, and I gasp, letting out a string of unintelligible words. It feels so good. And watching Tate feast on my cock, sucking and kissing and stroking me with such sweet care, has me reaching the edge way too fast. “Wait—sweetness, stop.” He stares down at me with saliva hanging from his mouth—and why is that so freaking adorable? And hot. “Get up here.” My cock throbs in disagreement, and I take quick breaths to calm down. “Please?”
“Was I not doing it right? I’m sorry. Just show me?—”
“Sweetness, you were perfect. I just have this thing I want.” Well, there’s more than one thing, but this one is high on the list.
“What is it? Tell me.”
Instead, I show him. I scoot down, aligning our cocks, and then guide his hand to where I want it. The number of times I’ve jacked off to the thought of Tate’s big hand stroking us both is obscene. “Oh yes. Fuuuck.” I make sounds I’m not sure I’ve ever made before as Tate smears our precum to make the slide perfect.
“Aus, kiss me.”
A low, guttural moan escapes me as he speeds up. I’m close. So close. I kiss him hard, breaking off as my balls tighten and I can’t hold back. Tate comes soon after, and we’re both covered in our release. I squish our bodies together and kiss him tenderly. Am I falling for this man? It’s too soon, but after millions of years, time seems irrelevant. This, with Tate, feels right.
We shower again, this time together. Tate’s exhausted, so I towel him off and guide him to bed. We both need sleep. I have no idea what tomorrow will bring.
I’ve barely fallen asleep when a banging jerks me awake. Is someone knocking on our door? I open my eyes with a groan.
Walter. Shit. “Get up, sweetheart.” He slams his baton on the bedpost like he’s trying for a home run.
And now I’m pissed. “What the fuck? Are you out of your mind?”
“I must be.” His words have none of his usual swagger.
“What’s going on?” Tate asks in a sleepy voice. “Walter?”
“Now that we’re all awake. I need you lads to pack your crap. We’re skedaddling.”
“What? Now?” I start to stand and realize I’m still naked.
“I wanted to leave an hour ago, but ye seemed…busy.”
Oh my God. “Jesus, Walter?—”
“This is not a fucking drill, okay?” His voice rises on every word. “I’m risking everything for you lads, and I’m not used to that. Get your arses up and dressed.”
I fold my arms, careful not to lose my sheet. “What’s going on?”
“Can we talk while we flee?”
I glare at him. No way.
He sighs. “Aye. The quick version, then. You thought you were here to teach Tate control and help him shift, right?”
“Are you saying I’m not?”
“I’m saying several things. Let’s start with the fact that sweet ol’ Tate here can shift whenever he wants. He just doesn’t want to. And you aren’t here to teach him anything, my friend. You’re the bait.”