Shifters & Bad Boys Bundle (Shifters & Bad Boys. Man love, bdsm, and rockstar romance. Book 1) Read online

  I almost skipped down the foyer, to the exit, when I heard the scraping of a throat. “Exactly where have you been?” I knew that disapproving tone anywhere.

  The scared little boy in me threatened to surface, but I hushed him, told him to be brave. Then I willed my heart to a normal beat, commanded my hands to quit shaking, as I turned to face Father. “Look, not now. Not on Fiona’s special day. Let this be about her, not you. I’ll explain when I can.”

  He spit and blustered. His flabby jowls flushed red. “Excuse me? You will not take that tone with your father—”

  “Get over yourself, Dad.” I waved him off. “I haven’t lived under your roof, or rules, for a long time.”

  Just as his mouth gaped like a dying fish, my sister poked her round little face around the banquet room door. Her large, black-brown eyes seemed to bulge, and she held up her wedding dress train as she neared. When her small hand touched Dad’s shoulder, he stopped mid-screech.

  “What’s going on out here?” She directed her glare at Dad. She was the only person, other than the uncle I went to live with, who could make my father back down quickly.

  “Look at him!” Dad hissed, waving a finger up and down to indicate my disheveled state.

  Fiona shrugged, remained calm. “So what? Dad, James is a grown man.” Then she cast a surprised grin at me. “I can only imagine what he’s been up to. But, guess what? That’s his business.”

  “But,” he sputtered. “But, it’s your wedding day.”

  “Yes, and James has been wonderful all through it.” She smiled. “He stepped outside to get away from you, might I remind you.” She turned to me and added, in a lower tone, “Are you all right?”

  I chuckled and gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Never better.” Then I whispered, “Are you sure you aren’t mad at me?”

  “I can hear you two conspiring!” Father warbled.

  We both cast him an exasperated glance, then my sister smiled again. “Not too much. But I will expect a full explanation as to why you’re ditching my reception. Phone me tomorrow night. Now, get out of here.”

  Dad blustered and protested some more, but I barely heard him as I placed an appreciative kiss on Fiona’s cheek then ran out the restaurant’s front door.

  It wasn’t like me to be so impulsive. I could imagine Fiona’s head filled with many questions as to what her usually stoic brother had gotten up to in the alley. Then I glanced in my rearview mirror, after sliding into my car, and saw the tell-tale thread of pearly whiteness on my blazer. I blushed and laughed. Well, that explained her lack of anger. She was always after me to find a cute guy and get laid. She was probably just happy her reclusive brother got a piece.

  Fiona reassured me for the third time she wasn’t mad at me, but stipulated she and Brian expected a dinner out next week, her choice (my wallet said ouch). Then she asked the question that made me choke on my mouthful of water.

  “So, did you screw someone in the alley, on my wedding day no less?” A mischievous chuckle followed, when she heard me splutter and gasp for air.

  I wiped spit beads from my phone. “I supposed the…” I coughed, “…stain on my blazer was evidence enough?”

  I heard her gasp and then she let out shocked laughter. “I can’t believe it. My button-down conservative brother.” In a serious, sisterly voice, she added, “I hope you used protection.”

  “Of course! This is me we’re talking about.”

  “True enough,” she said, then lowered her voice to a lascivious whisper. “So, give me all the gory details. What did he look like? Short? Tall? Gorgeous?”

  “All the gory details? Fiona, I think not. I’m your brother.”

  She snorted more laughter at my mock indignity. “Whatever. We used to share porn mags, dear brother. I’d sneak them to you at Uncle’s, remember? But, still, not too gory. I don’t want to know if he bleaches his ass—”

  “Fiona!” I erupted into embarrassed laughter. That was my sister. Always placid, even when she was making a disgusting joke or angry as hell.

  “Okay, okay. Give me a concise, smutty version.”

  I shook my head and tried not to blush too much as I told her of my adventure with Jack in the back alley.

  “Are you going to call him?” She sounded like a little girl asking me how many days left until Christmas.

  “After I hang up from you.” My voice shook at this. My stomach tightened into a hard ball of knots.

  “Good luck, James. Go be happy, all right?” Her sincere support touched me, gave me courage, as it always had through our childhood years.

  After hanging up, I grabbed the scrap of paper from where I’d tucked it in my nightstand drawer. I stared at it, flipped it over and over, then decided to procrastinate some more by taking a shower. I made some flimsy excuse to myself about wanting to be fresh and clean when I made the call. My sharper tongued side spoke up at this, asking what? Did I think he could smell me through the phone?

  Laughing at my nervousness, I shucked my clothes and let them pool on the cool bathroom tile. Thoughts of messy blond hair and doe eyes filled my head as I adjusted the shower spray and stepped beneath its warm, pleasant sting.

  My muscles unbunched, seeming to sigh as they released the weekend’s tension. I squirted some purple shower gel into my cupped palm and breathed in the scent of citrus. It made me feel clean already, completely at ease. Truly the shower was a haven. A meditative place where I often went to quiet my chaotic thoughts.

  I rubbed the slippery gel over my shoulders, across my well-defined pecs. I wasn’t in marvelous shape, perhaps, but I was definitely fit. I jogged after work most days, because I needed the physical release after 8 hours spent writing ad copy for everything from skin cream, to designer shoes, to vintage wallets. My secret dream was to get into screen writing. Maybe pen a show for HDO or TVTIME. But I didn’t have the guts to try for what my father called “foolish dreams.” His condescension still haunted me. “No one makes a good living writing made up stuff,” he’d say, giving a derisive scoff. “You’ll starve with your head full of foolish dreams and imaginary people.”

  That’s all writing was to him. A child’s dream, and he’d ingrained shame over my imagination in me early, even after I left to live with my uncle Peter. Peter, to his credit, tried to encourage my love of the written word, but the demon dad created still made me cower from taking a chance on my true dream. I hated myself for this cowardice.

  Violently, I pushed Dad from my mind and let Jack’s face resurface in my thoughts. My hands became his, roaming my body with appreciation. I lingered at the valley between my pecs, stroking the smattering of hair there until it foamed with tiny soap bubbles. From there I moved outward to my arms, tracing the curves and lines of muscle, closing my eyes and relishing in relaxing sensation as I did so.

  I added more gel to my palms then lathered up my torso, following the thin line of dark hair down the center of my taut abdomen. I caressed the mild definition in my stomach. No six pack for me. I didn’t find them sexy, and I didn’t want one. A toned stomach was a lovely thing to look at, but too much muscle turned me off somewhat, I had to admit. I admired those who spent the time in the gym it took to get those bodies, but I just wasn’t one of them. I looked good, was rather sexy and dashing, if I did say so myself, and that suited me well enough.

  My hands trailed lower as the memory of Jack’s kisses, his hot mouth on my cock, spurred me on. I teased myself, stopping at the trimmed nest of hair above my penis, swirling my fingers over this area and the bottom of my stomach. My dick was now hard. It pulsed like a strong drum beat. Slowly, I coiled my soapy hand around my veiny, thick erection and I squeezed tightly then pumped up and down. Sighing, I let my head fall back on my shoulders.

  My hand became Jack’s hand, gripping my cock and stroking it sensuously. I reached down and cupped my balls in my right palm, then I gently massaged them, moaning as I did so. The thin skin of my sac was smooth, and I plucked and teased it, m
aking my medium-sized balls tighten further.

  I played with the meaty head of my cock, rubbing my thumb back and forth over an extra-sensitive spot beneath the ridge. Pleasant tingling radiated out from this spot, making my cock ache stronger. I breathed deep and long, focusing on the building pressure that would bring bliss. I swirled my thumb in my spurting pre-cum before encasing my cock in a strong grip once more.

  As I pumped up and down faster, harder, this time I focused on the feel of my veins beneath my gel-slickened touch. I liked prominent veins in a penis. Loved to trace their intricate, blue network with my eager tongue. With every stroke of my hand, each vein felt close to bursting through my skin.

  The pace of my masturbating grew frantic. It was no longer my hand furiously milking me closer to orgasm. It was now Jack’s firm, sweet ass. I slipped my cock between his cheeks and relished in the hot, tight wetness of his anus.

  This fantasy grew vivid, and I felt a smile curl my lips as I slipped my other hand from balls to perineum, fondling this tiny flap of skin that rested between my scrotum and anus. In my head, I was in the alley once more. I had Jack braced against the wall, like he had taken me the day before. Legs spread wide, ass tilted high in the air, my cock ramming him harder as the need to cum and pleasure him grew.

  I squeezed hard and pumped, up down, up down, desperately. My ass clenched and my cock twitched once, twice, pulsing ramrod stiff before I shot pearly spunk all over the water beaded tiles of the shower. Through half-closed eyes, while my breathing regulated, I watched semen trickle down over the faucet and one tap.

  I stalled more after getting out of the shower. It took me three shirts, two pairs of dress pants, and a tie later to decide on a simple, form-fitting black t-shirt and faded snug jeans. I added some Gucci loafers for a dash of class.

  Then I sat on the bed and stared at my cell phone and the paper. What if, after all my preparation, he didn’t answer, or worse blew me off?

  Call, goddamnit, I scolded myself, and punched the number in.

  His lazy drawl flowed over the line after three rings. “Hello? Jack here. Speak your piece.”

  Music drifted in the background. I thought I heard the crack of a cue stick breaking a rack. Then I found my voice. “H-hello, Jack. This,” deep breath, “this is James. We … met the other day in the alley.”

  Was that a lewd chuckle he gave? I held my breath, waiting for his response.

  “Very nice to hear from you, James. Tell me, what’re you up to this evening?”

  “I-I…” My mouth went to cotton, and I wished sorely for a drink of water right there and then. “Not much really…”

  “Well, do you know where Terry’s Pub and Grill is?”

  I said I didn’t. He gave me directions. Apparently, his friend and fellow band mate owned and ran the place. It was in the other end of my section of the city. An area that bordered a nearby college town. The area was filled with older buildings, some historic landmarks which were kept up casually by local government. Rent was economical there, lower than in my region, and the crime rate was relatively low, so some locally owned bars and other small shops managed to stay afloat in that part of the city.

  As I drove to the bar, I tried to take in the massive, gothic architecture looming all about me, without getting lost. Though I lived only twenty minutes from this area, I’d never had a reason to come here before, so it was like a new world. Old brownstones were topped with watchful gargoyles. Towering castles of concrete and brick crumbled or stood stoic in ruined splendor. It was like walking backward in time, when compared to my more modern, glass, steel and clean line design neighborhood.

  The pub was marked by a dark red awning with gold strips and gold lettering. Once inside, I coughed on a faceful of blue and white smoke. A mixture of nicotine and THC. The ganja had that sharp, spicy scent that reminded me, again, of hot, quick sex in the alley. Blood flowed to my penis, but I willed it down. Not now. Not yet.

  Only five men, seven with me and Jack, occupied the place. It was done up in dark wood and peeling green and white fleur-de-lis wallpaper. Above the bar goblet-shaped glasses, stained with the ghosts of fingerprints, hung from their stems.

  Jack stood in a far corner diagonal from the entrance. He lounged against the wall behind a pool table, watching the game until he spotted me. Then that crooked grin curled his face, and he maneuvered around the men playing pool, strutting toward me.

  “Well, well,” he said, giving me a smoldering up and down appraisal. “Don’t you look more relaxed this time.”

  Thank the god I didn’t believe in, I thought, because I was as nervous as hell.

  Jack looked every inch the player I suspected him to be. Good thing I stopped off at a drug store for a fresh pack of condoms before I headed here. Hey, truth was, I didn’t really know this guy at all. Better safe than sorry had long been my motto.

  His blond hair stuck up in extra-messy spikes. He wore a grey, western-style shirt open to just above his belly button, putting his hairless chest on full display. Silver hoops hung from both his ears, giving him a youthful pirate look combined with modern cowboy. Ripped blue jeans were tucked into snakeskin boots.

  “Care for a game?” He twirled his pool cue and stared at me with bold desire.

  Sweat beaded my forehead. Suddenly my t-shirt felt too tight, and so did my jeans. “Ummm…ahh,” I shook my head, gave a stupid grin, feeling like an idiot. “I’m not a very good player.” Boy, was there some double entendre going on there. “Terrible hand eye coordination.”

  He shrugged, popped a toothpick from a square, ceramic holder on a table into his mouth. “I can give you some pointers. It’ll be fun.”

  I felt a bit like a sheep being led into a den of wolves, as Jack guided me to the table encircled by men in leather, chains, denim, and t-shirts. I searched for surly sneers of unwelcome, but rather I found warm smiles and more overt sexual perusals. The lot of them were handsome. One sported an orange Mohawk. Another was shaved bald. Others were like Jack, with spikes or shaggy, short hairstyles.

  I’d never been in a place like this before, really. Never been with a group of men like this before. The reality of my naiveté, my sheltered existence, dawned on me, knocking the courage from my lungs. I almost bolted and ran, but Jack splayed a strong hand across the small of my back and pushed me toward the crowd.

  “Boys, this is James. The one I was telling you about.” His voice was like honey in the ears. The smiles these men wore widened. I was introduced to four band mates and a roadie.

  Handshakes were very friendly, often trailing up my arm to give a tender caress, a passionate squeeze. By the time Jack led me to where the cues hung, I was too horny and zinging with sexual excitement to do more than nod and make a choice.

  Jack came up beside me and tucked a hand in the back pocket of my jeans. “Would you like me to rack ’em?”

  My ass tensed, but I willed myself to relax. I looked into his eyes, which sparkled with mischief. “Oh, sure, go ahead.” I forced a shaky smile and hoped they weren’t all laughing at my jitters.

  The lead guitarist broke. He was a gorgeous, green-eyed brunette with a shag cut flipped sideways. He gave a knowing grin when he stepped back from the table to let Jack and me take our shot.

  As I readied my cue and bent over the table, Jack’s arms slid over mine. His warm, lush chest pushed into my spine. I focus on the felt green top and tried not to sigh at the exquisite feel of his touch. The uninhibited part of me, the part that rarely showed, wanting to throw him on the table, rip his clothes off, and fuck him passionately. They could join in. I wouldn’t care. The more pleasure shared the better.

  I shook my head to clear the lusty thoughts, but the tightening in my groin didn’t ease up much.

  “Loosen up a bit,” Jack murmured in my ear, “when you set up your shot.” His lips brushed the shell and I shivered. His muscles tensed and relaxed against my skin as he helped me position my hands on the cue. His groin pressed firmly into my ass
, then he stroked his hard bulge over my cheeks. By the time he moved away, I could scarcely breathe or think, never mind hit the ball.

  I closed my eyes, willed my concentration to center on the shiny blue and white target. Then Jack (at least I think it was Jack) reached between my spread legs and squeezed my scrotum. I took the shot whether I was ready or not, thanks to the unexpected goose. The blue and white target went wide, hitting the white ball and sinking it in a corner pocket. I groaned and rubbed my forehead.

  Green eyes smirked and crossed his legs, jutted his pelvis so his impressive bulge was noticeable. “How about a drink? You seem a bit nervous. Might help you relax.”

  Three whiskey and sodas later, I felt a mellow buzz cloud over my anxiety. Jack chuckled as I slurped them back, saying if I puked on his shoes, I’d better expect to clean it up. I laughed with him. We all chatted, got to know one another a bit, then broke a new rack.

  As the game ended, with green eyes as the obvious winner, I saw the Mohawk-wearing drummer locking the door. He flicked off the open sign, and I cast a curious glance at Jack.

  He smiled and brushed a hand down my cheek. “If you’re not into this, we can go back to my place? Have a bit of one on one action.” He draped an arm over my shoulder and pushed his body up against mine.

  I took a sip of my fourth drink and tried not to choke. My throat felt so constricted. The room was hot, and I hoped I wasn’t sweating like a pig. Why couldn’t I appear cool, confident, about the situation, like these guys.

  Biting the head off my cowardice, I turned to Jack and said, “No, let’s stay. I want to taste and touch you all.” I couldn’t believe the wanton words spilled from my mouth.

  Jack flashed a vulpine smile then leaned in to kiss me hungrily. He drew away to tease my top lip with his tongue, then nipped my bottom lip. I closed my eyes and let myself melt as our tongues entwined, fucked each others’ mouths with carnal fury.

  Hands slid up my thighs, massaging a sensuous path toward my ramrod stiff cock. I glanced away from Jack long enough to see green eyes smiling at me. He curled fingers through my belt loops and tugged me from the stool I sat on. The two men led me toward the pool table.