Something in the Way He Needs (Family 1)

He almost groaned out loud at the thought. Damn, what would that be like? If he had the smaller man tied to his bed, under his control, what would he do? He thought about stroking Daniel until he came all over his hand and then making him lick his own cream, thought about straddling Daniel’s chest and stabbing his cock into Daniel’s mouth until he unloaded all over his face, thought about bending those skinny legs until Daniel was folded in half and then slamming his cock home.

Oh, fuck. Now he was trapped on a ninety-minute bus tour with a wiry, messy, and devastatingly beautiful human equivalent of Viagra who wouldn’t put out. Asher was insanely horny. And, paradoxically, happier than he could remember being in a very, very long time.

“TOM PETTY?” Asher asked in surprise.

Daniel nodded. “Yes. Best musician around, as far as I’m concerned. His old stuff is just as good as his new. And he’s never put out a bad album. Not solo. Not with the Heartbreakers. And not with the Traveling Wilburys.” Daniel paused and then shot up from his leaning position in the chair. “Oh! Have you ever seen him live?”

Asher shook his head and stared at Daniel. The little man was practically vibrating with excitement as he talked about his favorite musician.

“I’m telling you, he’s amazing live. Definitely not one of those studio-produced sounds, you know? He gets up there, talks to the crowd casually, and plays his stuff. No big theatrics. Just the music.” Daniel closed his eyes and swayed as if remembering a concert. “The harmonica riffs are my favorite. One summer, I followed his tour. Went to five shows in a row.”

“You followed his tour?”

Dark lashes fluttered open, and Daniel pushed his too-long hair off his forehead and tucked it behind his ear.

“Uh-huh. I didn’t have anything else going on so I drove around the country and watched his shows. It wasn’t as much fun as following Phish, though, because there aren’t as many people doing it. With Phish, we all used to caravan, share food, and hang out. I did that for almost a year. It was amazing.”

Asher tried to decide whether he should ask what Phish was. From the context, he was assuming he was a singer or maybe it was a group. He’d Google google the name later and listen to some of the music so he’d have a better understanding of what Daniel enjoyed. Although why he wanted to know that information about a man he’d just met and who he’d never see again after that weekend, or maybe even that hour, was beyond him.

“I learned to braid necklaces on that tour. I can make all kinds of designs, weave in beads. I couldn’t keep up with the demand for them after a while….” Daniel stopped talking and got a faraway look on his face.

Asher didn’t like the thought of Daniel being away from him, even if it was only in his own mind. He put his arm around Daniel’s shoulder and gave him a squeeze.

“Everything okay?”

Daniel’s eyes snapped over to his. “What? Oh, yeah fine. I guess I just lost my train of thought.” He smiled gently and shrugged. “It happens sometimes.” He paused and then cleared his throat and focused all of his attention on Asher. There. That was more like it. “Tell me about what it’s like to be a police officer.”

Asher waited for the question that always came after that one—Have you ever shot somebody?—but it didn’t come. Instead, Daniel asked: “I bet you get to save lots of people, huh? That must be pretty cool.”

Two decades of police work, and not one person had ever uttered that particular thought. It took Asher off guard, which was a rare occurrence. Asher prided himself on always staying at least three steps ahead of others, always being prepared for any outcome. That way, he’d be able to steer things in whatever direction he chose. But, oddly, Asher didn’t mind being caught unprepared by Daniel’s comment. How could he mind when Daniel sounded so sincere and had those huge brown eyes focused on him like he was the most interesting person in the world?

“I have gotten to help a lot of people over the years, and, yes, it is pretty cool.” He chuckled. “I’m a captain now, run my own squad, so I’m not on the street as often as I used to be. I don’t like the paperwork or the politics but….” How much of an asshole would Asher sound like if he told this relative stranger what he liked most about his position—being in control, being the one who told others what to do? And since when did he care what he sounded like to anybody? “But I’m the head honcho.” Asher ended the sentence simply, letting Daniel draw his own conclusions.