Carver Wilde.
Just thinking the name made his balls want to crawl back inside his body.
“Come on. They’re waiting for you.” The guard sounded impatient.
Forcing himself to move, Peter swung his legs out of the car, but when he tried to stand his knees buckled and his guard had to catch him. The world spun around him.
“You can do it, kid. Come on. Stand up.” The guard held Peter under his arms, holding him up until he could stand on his own. “Steady?”
Peter nodded.
“Good. Let’s go.”
Peter found himself being pushed up toward the house, and though his legs felt like jelly they didn’t fail him again.
Sexual sadist. That was what Carver Wilde’s file said. A sexual sadist with an inclination for bondage, corporal punishment, and domination.
Peter wanted no part of it.
The other one—Tex Wilson—didn’t seem so bad. His file said that he had a foot fetish, and it listed his personality as possessive dominant, but there was nothing in there that indicated that he’d get off on hurting Peter for fun.
Would they want to have sex with him tonight, Peter wondered? It had been over a year since he got fucked—before he was arrested—and even back then he would have struggled to handle a werewolf’s knot.
Fuck, this was a bad idea. He should have just stayed in prison and done his time. Ten years with good behavior and he would have been free. Now he belonged to Carver and Tex forever.
Before he knew it they were standing at the front door. The guard lifted his hand and knocked three times, each bang making Peter flinch.
Holding his breath, Peter listened for movement on the other side of the door. Everything was quiet, but then Peter heard the sound of a lock turning and the door swung open. Time seemed to crawl, and Peter kept on holding his breath as the werewolf who had bought him came into view.
The first thing that struck him was that the werewolf was tall. At least six-foot-seven, the man dwarfed Peter’s five-foot-four stature, towering over him like a giant.
And he was hot. It was almost terrible that Peter noticed, but it was impossible not to. The werewolf looked like he’d walked off a billboard for Calvin Kline.
“Mr. Wilson?” Peter’s driver asked.
“That’s me,” the tall werewolf said, grinning. Peter stared up at him, searching the werewolf’s expression for any hint of unkindness or cruelty, but all he saw was a wide smile and eyes crinkled with joy. Those eyes met his, and Peter found himself captivated by the intensity of the other man’s expression.
He was relieved that it was Tex and not Carver greeting them. Then again, for all he knew Carver was busy setting up the dungeon.
“And you must be Peter,” Tex said, holding out his hand for a handshake. Peter stared down at the proffered limb, heart hammering as he reached out his hand in return.
Tex’s large fingers wrapped around his, and Peter’s breath caught at the sight of how much bigger Tex’s hand was than his own.
“Hi,” Peter croaked. Tex released his hand, his smile widening into a full-on grin.
“Do I need to sign anything?” Tex asked, looking at the driver. The man shook his head and stepped back.
“No. He’s all yours. Have fun.”
Tex frowned, but he didn’t say anything as the other werewolf walked back to the car and drove away. He turned back to Peter and smiled.
“All mine, huh?” he said, stepping away from the door and gesturing for Peter to walk inside. “I like the sound of that.”
Peter hesitated before stepping into the house. It was silly, but a part of him wanted to run—to turn around and run as fast as his legs could carry him.
But that would be stupid. Tex was a werewolf, and Peter wouldn’t stand a chance of escaping.
“Don’t be scared, I don’t bite,” Tex said, putting his hand on Peter’s back and propelling him into the house. He kicked the door shut and curled his arm around Peter’s shoulder, tucking him in under his arm and grinning down at him. “Not unless you ask me to.”
