Before the accountant, it’d been over a year since I’d gotten any form of touch other than my own hand.
At the door, I pin him with a glare. “Just how long you been tracking me?”
Devon’s upper lip twitches, jaw clenched tight, and shoulders squared. “Who says I’m tracking you, old man?”
My eyes narrow. “Cut the crap, kid.” I step closer, looming over him. “Now tell me why the hell you’ve been spying on me.”
He juts his chin up. “I gotta eat, don’t I?”
I snort. “And stalking me seemed like the way to do it?”
He lifts his chin even higher. “Maybe I wanted to see if you were really worth robbing.”
I bite back a laugh at his defiant bullshit. Doesn’t take four days to figure out if I’ve got anything worth stealing. Maybe he’s lonely or crazy or both.
Or he was trying to gauge my threat level.
Still can’t believe he actually pulled a knife on me.
But damn if his insolence doesn’t just make me want to bend him over my knee. My palms itch at the thought of turning his ass a deep shade of red.
When I shove him against the door, that fiery gaze shows no fear, only simmers with a challenge that awakens an answering heat deep inside me. A need to tame and claim this feral young man, to earn his submission.
Once inside, I pin Devon with a glare. “I told you before. Strip. Leave your gear against the wall.”
His eyes track me warily as he disarms. I keep my distance, letting him shed his ratty clothes reluctantly. My pack already lies discarded in the corner, a broken picture frame hanging above it of a family.
He stands there, arms crossed, as if daring me to comment. Lean muscle cords his underfed frame, ribs jutting out sharply. A light, happy trail leads from his flat chest down . . .
My eyes narrow. “Boxers too.”
He hesitates, color draining from his face. He looks down, fingers fidgeting with the elastic waistband. “Can’t I keep them on?”
“No. You agreed to all clothes off. Unless you wanna back out and go hungry tonight?”
My lips press into a tight line. Not one for empty threats, but I won’t let him go hungry.
Lucky for me he doesn’t push and just shoves the boxers down with a snarl. His soft cock nestles in coarse hair, and though he covers himself quickly, a glimpse of the pink and slim shaft stokes heat low in my groin.
And he’s circumcised.
Fuck if that’s not making me hard already.
Reminds me of Mac, which makes my cock twitch. Mac and I served together, and while I haven’t seen my best friend in four years, I still vividly recall his cock, and I haven’t played with one as pretty since.
My gaze continues to wander over Devon as I adjust myself, noticing how goosebumps prickle his bare skin.
He shivers but meets my gaze defiantly when I finally look at his face. “There. Happy now, perv?”
I bite back a growl at his insolence. “Keep running your mouth and see what happens. Now, get moving toward the kitchen. Time to eat.”
His eyes narrow but his traitorous stomach rumbles loudly. Hunger wins out, and he turns to stomp off down the hall.
I watch his taut ass disappear, that primal urge flaring to follow and claim what’s mine. To take and mark and make him surrender. To make him forget anyone else who’s been there before me.
My jaw clenches tight at the last thought.
In the kitchen, I toss him a rag to cover up as I cook the quail I trapped earlier this morning.
