Chapter Twelve
Maddox
Whoever those two cuties were, one thing was damn certain—they had guts.
Standing on the porch with rain pounding down, I couldn’t help but smile to myself. They must have been looking for a cheap thrill, an easy way to get their rocks off. And I couldn’t deny it was pretty clever to break into some empty vacation home. They’d probably helped themselves to my booze, dirtied up my sheets, and shoved their noses in every corner of my business. And now, with one guy burying his face in the other guy’s ass, they clearly had every intention of making the most out of this stormy night.
I’d almost be impressed, except for the fact that they had chosen my home to break into.
Watching them writhe and wriggle against my leather couch, I got more than a little bit turned on. They both looked to be in their mid-twenties, with the tattooed guy flexing his muscles while his friend’s glasses bounced around his face all lopsided. The tattooed guy took control, driving their pleasure with every thrust and moan. Hitching his legs in the air, the guy in the glasses looked so vulnerable and needy—it made me want to jump in and join, putting them both in their place and taking their risky date to the next level.
They were like a reward, spread out and waiting after my long trip on the road. But however enticing they were to me, the two guys getting hot and heavy on my couch had no idea who I was.
I set my helmet down on the porch, then snuck my way to the back entrance, opening the door carefully and creeping my way into the shadows behind them.
Time to have a little fun.
The guy in his glasses must have spotted me out there because by the time I got back inside, he was clearly shaken and nervous, awkwardly trying to cover his pulsing erection with a shirt. His friend was strutting his stuff, promising to investigate and take out any intruder he found.
Yeah, right. At forty years old, I could tell the difference between cocky bluster and a serious threat. This guy might have thought he’s something special, but I could see right through him.
“If there is some guy, I’ll wipe the floor with him,” he said, tugging on a pair of boxer shorts and glancing back toward the front window.
“I won’t be so sure of that,” I interrupted, stepping forward and into the light.
The guy in the glasses reacted first, yelping loudly and then tumbling to the ground in a panic. His boyfriend spun around to face me, his mouth falling open as he sputtered for words. “What the hell!” he finally managed, his hands clenching into fists. “What are you looking at, pervert?”
His friend jumped up beside him, now slightly dressed in a pair of boxer briefs. He didn’t say a word but just stepped behind his friend, peering around his shoulder at me.
I cracked my knuckles as I studied them. The fog of the road and the exhaustion of the bike ride were fading quickly. There was no way in hell I was going to send these two troublemakers out into that storm. Hell, it was almost certainly their truck parked at the gate, and with the branch blocking the road, they wouldn’t be able to safely leave that night even if they wanted to. It must have been late, well past midnight, but the thrill of finding these two delinquents waiting was waking me right up.
I let out a growl. “You break into my house, and now you disrespect me by calling me a pervert?”
The guy in the glasses whimpered, still clinging to his friend’s shoulders. “We didn’t mean anything,” he said. “We’ll get out of here right away. Just please don’t cause us any trouble.” He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “Damn it,” he whispered. “I told you this was a bad idea.”
I took a couple of steps forward, and thunder crashed through the forests again. “What do you say?” I asked, pointing a finger directly at the tattooed guy. Still in a pair of short boxers, he had his arms crossed over his chest. I could tell he was trying to look tough, but with about fifty pounds of muscle and a solid three inches on him, that act probably wouldn’t last much longer.
He scowled back at me, probably pissed I had interrupted his date. “Listen, buddy—”
“I’m not your buddy,” I said, cutting him off.
He sighed, his breath shaky in his chest. “Like my friend Malcolm here said,” he continued, “we’re not looking for trouble. We were just having a little fun on a rainy night. You want your little vacation home to yourself again? You want to pump your music and dick around with your guitar? Fine. We’ll get the hell out of here and leave you to it.”
When he finished talking, he turned, snatching a shirt from the ground and pulling it on. His friend, suddenly exposed again, glanced around the floor. That’s when I spotted the pile of clothes crumpled at my feet, probably discarded in the heat of passion hours ago.
I squatted down, lifting a pair of jeans in the air with one finger. “Looking for this?”
“Those are Gunner’s,” Malcolm said quietly.
Gunner stuck his hand out, but I just stood there, dangling the jeans. After a second, his face fell. I swooped up the rest of the clothes on the ground. “Do you really think I’m going to give these back so easy?” I asked.
“Come on, dude,” Gunner said. “Just toss us our pants, and we’ll get out of here.”
I headed over to the fridge, walking slow to prolong the tension in the air. Malcolm looked so anxious, I almost felt bad enough for him to drop the routine, but then I saw the way Gunner was glaring and fuming. No way I was letting him off that easy.
I opened the fridge, pulling out a beer. I set their clothes on the counter while I opened it, taking a deep gulp and then sighing with satisfaction. That’s when I noticed the smell in the air.
I stuck my nose up, sniffing a few times. “Were you smoking?”
