Primal (Wrong Side of the Tracks 2)

But the argument they’d had earlier scorched the fertile soil in which his feelings for Jag had been sprouting like snowdrops at the faintest touch of sunshine. He had obligations, a family he loved and wanted to be with whether they needed his financial help or not, and no matter how hot Jag was or how delicious it was to get a thorough mouth-fucking from him twice a day, if he wasn’t ready to offer Dane freedom, they needed to part.

Maybe they could reconnect once all emotional wounds and bruises were gone, schedule dating on the weekends… or something, but Dane couldn’t let go of everything he was. Even for a man as sweet and arousing as Jag.

So he double-checked the fastenings on his shoes, looked over the shoulder to make sure Jag listened, and spoke, “Don't cheat. You have to stay here for the first ten minutes.”

Jag bared his teeth in a smile that transformed him into a beast that hadn’t eaten for a month and had just spotted a wounded deer ahead. It sent a lusty shiver down Dane’s spine, rendering him speechless until Jag opened his mouth. “You want to make this more interesting?” he asked and offered Dane his bow.

Dane had shot from it a few times, yet was far from proficient at it. His confusion melted away to reveal the real meaning behind Jag’s proposition. “Are you telling me to shoot you?” he asked, frantically hiding his hands behind his back as if the weapon could leap into his arms on its own accord.

Jag smirked, and his strong chest lifted as he inhaled. “You can try. You were the one to say this isn’t a game for you.”

So why did it feel like Jag found this amusing? The hunger glinting in his green eyes reassured Dane about his decision to take a small pot of cream. In case Dane overestimated his chances to win this race, and he needed some emergency lube.

This really shouldn’t have made his cock stir, and yet it did.

“Don’t be stupid.”

“You said I’m selfish. That I don’t deserve you. Surely, you should want to hurt me, if that’s what you believe?” Jag squinted, still holding out the bow. Was he this confident in his skills or in Dane’s lack of them?

Dane recoiled and shook his head. He could have tried wounding Jag to increase his chances at escape, but what if the injury resulted in the guy’s death? How would he live with himself if that happened?

“You’re a fucking idiot. No way you’re gonna catch me with a brain this small!”

Jag pursed his lips and straightened, throwing the weapon to the ground with a twist to his alluring lips. “I won’t shoot you either. Wouldn’t want to damage my prize.” He looked Dane up and down as if he were a delicious steak.

Dane bolted.

A part of him worried Jag wouldn’t honor their agreement, that the whole game had been just a humiliating ploy and that he’d immediately make his move, knocking Dane to the ground.

But that didn’t happen, and when Dane sped up the slope leading out of the little ravine that housed the shack, no other pair of feet followed him.

Drunk on the air filling his lungs, he chose not to look back and crossed the path they often walked in the mornings, heading straight up a large junk hill that should offer a view of the entirety of the yard. Once Dane knew where the perimeter fence was, he’d run straight there instead of getting lost in the maze of old vehicles, electronics, and other trash.

He slipped several times, once even slashing the fabric of his sweatpants on a piece of sharp metal, but the silent promise carried by Jag’s smile kept throbbing in his brain.

He moved on all fours to steady himself and ended up burning his hand on sun-scorched steel, but he bit his tongue and didn’t make a peep, because while Jag would still wait for his turn to start the race, there was no need to give him clues about the direction of Dane’s flight.

Every muscle in Dane’s legs burned from running uphill, but when he blinked and took in the landscape, his heart fluttered at the sight of trees sprouting where the junk hills ended. The entire yard, while big, had clearly defined borders. But the real kicker? There was smoke coming from behind a hill, from someplace close to the tall perimeter fence.

And that meant the presence of people.

Jag would often bring home pancakes and other items he couldn’t have cooked without a stove, so that Frank guy he’d mentioned likely had a normal house. And while Dane wasn’t sure whether he could count on strangers for protection, perhaps they had a car he could borrow or, well... steal.

Getting down the other side of the steep slope of metal junk wasn’t an easy feat, but in a stroke of either madness or genius, he decided to follow Jag’s example, and dragged a mattress out of the rubble. His heart rattled at the danger of it, but it was sink or swim.