Dane’s gaze trailed up Jag’s legs. He wore soft-soled boots and loose denim decorated with leather straps attached to the belt loops, but no matter how hard Dane tried, his gaze kept drifting to the abs bulging under tanned skin. Where did the fucker get so ripped Dane noticed despite suffering of blurry vision? Dane went to the gym three times a week to stay sane, but he didn’t think he could ever get this lean even if denying himself comfort food was any easier.
“Yeah. Lucky,” Dane muttered and looked up at the shower that would soon unleash icy streams straight onto his vulnerable head. The air had a dense damp aroma, but while cold from the shade, the ground no longer felt wet from Jag’s last ablutions. He faced his abductor with both hands placed over his groin.
Jag stepped closer and squeezed the flesh at Dane’s sides, as if he couldn’t miss a single opportunity to fondle him. It was a guilty pleasure to let him, excused under the pretense of endearing himself to his captor
“No need to be shy. Maybe I’ll take my clothes off too.” Before Dane could have inhaled enough air to answer, Jag started unbuckling his leather belt.
And despite knowing that he shouldn’t, Dane let his gaze gravitate to the weirdo’s groin.
He was such a moron. Wasn’t this erratic lust for adventure and danger exactly what had led him here? If he weren’t such a slut for a thrill in sex, he would have never gotten anywhere near an outlaw biker and, consequently, never ended up left for dead in a junkyard, in Jag’s captivity.
If he survived all this, he’d stick to the nice boys. And work.
His family was probably in full-blown panic over his sudden disappearance, and he had no means to reassure them.
Unable to think straight, all Dane managed was a half-assed, “You aren’t dirty.”
Jag scooted down to take off his boots, which left him facing Dane’s crotch. “I can get dirty.”
The rasp in his voice shouldn’t have sent a spark to Dane’s balls, but even a near-death experience couldn’t curb his misguided lust, and he remained a glutton for danger. The mask appeared blurrier as it lowered, and Dane surveyed the area for possible escape routes, but his eye defect turned everything beyond the shade into colorful fog, leaving him without answers.
He wanted to yield to Jag’s wishes, earn his trust and wait for the right moment to flee—preferably one that involved him wearing clothes and shoes—but the reasonable part of his mind knew that he was trying to fool himself, just like he had with Rob. This had nothing to do with safety and everything to do with the fact that he got off on being overpowered and fucked into the dirt.
His brain turned off the moment Jag threw his pants where his worn boots already lay. The sick bastard was naked underneath. They were about the same height, and Dane ought to look into Jag’s eyes, but it was near-impossible with the thick tool between his legs bobbing for attention. Dane shivered when Jag ran his finger over the Captain America tattooed over Dane’s chest
“Who is this person? With the star?”
The question was a blatant excuse to touch Dane again, whether he knew the character or not.
Dane blinked, glancing at the hand swiping over the portraits of Marvel’s Avengers covering his torso. A bit lower, on his hips, were Venom’s clawed hands, tattooed in black ink to create an illusion of the beast clutching at his flesh in a possessive gesture.
He didn’t want to be the kind of guy whose appetite for sexual submission was expressed in such a lewd, graphic way, but as the warm, rough palm rolled over his skin, he dared to meet Jag’s gaze. “That’s Captain America.”
Upstanding guy. Honorable. And achingly vanilla.
That was what Dane needed to be. Not the guy who jerked off to a tar-fleshed monster with a face made of teeth.
“Is he… Does he have a ship?” Jag cocked his head, and the eyes behind the scary mask glinted with childlike curiosity despite his naked body proving how grown he was.
Dane was so stunned it took him several moments to understand that Jag assumed his tattoos had anything to do with maritime voyages. The only ship Captain America had was with Bucky. “No… as in a military captain.”
“They’re all so colorful,” Jag said, as his fingers explored Dane’s chest without shame.
He would’ve been lying if he claimed being this swooned over gave him no pleasure. His chimerism was eye-catching and fascinated people, but his body was quite average, even if strong. He had a bit too much hair, and quite a bit of padding, but Jag ran his rough palms over Dane’s stomach with awe, as if he were enjoying its softness.
A grunt left his throat as he leaned closer, making Dane’s skin burn with anticipation of more touch, but he steadied himself, intent on taking control of this situation instead of being swept up by things he shouldn’t be thinking about.