“Did you like that?”
Jag slowly backed away and lay next to him. His hand found Dane’s spent cock, but then slipped up the trail of spunk, rubbing it all over Dane’s belly.
“I never knew how much I wanted it.” He sighed, cuddling up to Dane and leaving happy kisses all over his face. “You're so perfect. The body of Hulk, the brain of Tony Stark, and the heart of Captain America."
Dane had created a monster. And that monster was also a puppy.
Chapter 8 – Jag
The hunt was Jag’s life, even though it didn’t always involve going into the woods or getting his hands on wild animals.
Sometimes, the perfect prey was a bundle of pages wrapped in thick cardboard, so he snuck to the one place where printed stories were present in abundance at the junkyard.
Shane and Rosen’s home.
The back door was open, with only the screen in place to let in the warm air, and once Jag got through their dog, Cerberus, by offering him some dried pepperoni, he was free to peruse the place. Someone snored from the bedroom down the corridor, and since the coast was clear, Jag snuck into the living room and faced an entire wall covered with shelves holding too many books to count.
Jag’s relationship with Dane was flourishing like flowers fed with warm summer rain, and Jag would do anything to tend to it, so if Dane missed books, he’d get books. Jag could already see the wide smile appearing on Dane’s face and taste all the kisses he’d get for his scavenging prowess. Two weeks in, and their beautiful love was already blooming in ways he’d never imagined after the rocky beginning.
Bigger was often better, so he grabbed the heaviest three books off the shelf.
“What do you need books for?” Shane’s voice came out of nowhere, transforming Jag into a block of ice within a heartbeat.
He’d either gotten distracted by the memory of spunk on Dane’s face, or Shane had put effort into becoming stealthier, which Jag could reluctantly appreciate.
He frowned and stuffed the books into his backpack. “It doesn’t concern you.”
Shane spread his arms and blocked the door with his muscular bulk. “They’re Rosen’s books, so it sure as fuck concerns me!”
Maybe it would have been smarter to get whatever books Frank had, but his were mostly about fishing or hunting, whereas many of the ones Shane’s man collected featured colorful pictures similar to the ones adorning Dane’s skin.
Jag had hunted them down, and he wasn’t giving his prey back. He loudly shut the zipper and met Shane’s gaze. His friend had spent ten years locked in a cage, and that kind of experience was bound to mess with a man’s mind, but some matters were not negotiable.
Shane popped a piece of candy into his mouth and entered the living room. “You fucker. What do you need them for? You can’t read. Are you planning to trade them with someone?”
Jag squared his shoulders. “They’re great for starting a fire.”
Shane’s brows rose, and he crushed the candy between his teeth before charging at Jag with a stifled curse word. Jag had been ready for it and made a leap over the sofa, but just as he tensed his muscles to rush straight at the open window, the rug his feet had landed on slipped from under him, throwing him off balance.
The wooden floor sped toward his face, but while he managed to break his fall, Shane got to him and yanked on his leg. This time, Jag’s head did smash against the planks.
A familiar voice resonated in the background, but with Shane climbing on top of Jag, there was little space in his brain to take note of other dangers.
“He took your books!” Shane hollered, grabbing Jag’s backpack and tossing it out of reach.
Jag roared in fury and thrashed under Shane’s weight. Dane wanted books, and Jag would get him the best, most colorful ones, even if it killed him!
“What?” Rosen appeared in the doorway dressed in a paint-splattered shirt. His long hair was tied back for comfort at whatever work he’d been doing, but despite Jag now being outnumbered, Rosen didn’t approach. Good choice, taking into account that while not the smallest of men, he was the weakling of their pack, with long curly hair, which would have been easy to pull at, and he had no survival instinct whatsoever.
“He wants to burn them,” Shane roared, showing his teeth like a wolf about to bite through Jag’s throat.
“I don’t believe that,” Rosen protested from the sidelines.
“If you wanted them safe, you should have protected them!” Jag growled, shoving Shane’s chin back with his palm.
Rosen’s voice was cold as ice when he spoke. “I’ll call Frank. I will tell him you crept into our home and took my belongings! Are you sure you want to deal with that?”