Born to Be Wylde (6 page)

I
N
K
EN
’
S
studio, Wylde watched as Ken and his father shifted around the pottery so Makoto could find the right vase for his wife.

Makoto finally chose a couple, and Ken wrapped them in newspaper. He looked over at Wylde. “I’m sorry to take up so much of my son’s time.”

“Why?” Wylde leaned against one of the tables. “Ken doesn’t mind.”
“This will mean a lot to his mother, waking up tomorrow to fresh irises in a vase made by her son.”
“So flowers are a good thing?” Wylde lowered his voice to confide in Makoto. He was as useful as Josh when it came to dating tips, it turned out.
Makoto smiled again. “Yes. You will continue taking care of my son? I could see you were… what is the term? An alpha male from the first time I saw you.”
“I don’t need Wylde to take care of me, Papa,” Ken denied, sounding annoyed. “And Wylde was, uh, seriously clothing challenged the first time you saw him.”
Makoto’s eyes reflected amusement. “He didn’t seem too concerned. Remember your promise, Kakumi.”
Ken made another growling sound, glaring at the newspaper he was making into a protective ball for his father’s vases.
“Yes,” Wylde said. “I will take care of Ken.”

“
W
HAT
is this?” Wylde touched a cranberry silk pouch with a feather on top of it sitting on Ken’s bed. It was the only thing that seemed out of place in his neat home… other than Wylde himself, of course.

Ken’s cheeks burned with fresh color. “It’s more of the stuff my Dad got me. He made me promise when you were out back getting the beer from my SUV that I’d, um, use it.”

“I liked the stuff last night.”
“Yeah, ah, we weren’t in the bathtub very long.” Ken looked hesitant and his cheeks flushed brighter. “I was hoping we could take more time tonight.”
Wylde’s heart began beating harder, and he pushed the bathrobe off when he hardened. It fell to his feet, and he saw Ken’s gaze go to his cock.
Ken licked his lips. “Beautiful.” He reached out and touched Wylde, and Wylde groaned, thrusting into his palm.
Wylde pushed Ken back. “Naked, Ken,” he prodded. “Now.”
Ken laughed. “Damn, you are not a subtle guy!”
Wylde gave a cry that sounded so exactly like a mountain lion on the hunt that Ken shivered. “Shit!”
“On Halloween my first year living with people….” Wylde swallowed.
“Yes?” Ken stood there, dark eyes glistening with empathy. He was a good mate.
“I made the big cat sound, and all the parents took their kids back inside their homes. I… ruined Halloween.”
“Oh, Wylde.” Ken shook his head. “It’s kind of funny.” He kissed Wylde, winding his arms around him. “You didn’t mean it.”
“Ken, I want to eat you,” Wylde said.
“You mean you want to taste me?” Ken clarified.
“Taste your cock. You feed it to me… I swallow it….”
“Shit! Okay.”

“I
WANT
you to touch me.” Ken let his kimono fall open, and then his head fell back when Wylde’s warm lips touched his throat. Again he felt the captive as he had in their cave, ravished by his captor.

Of course, that was strictly fantasy. He had to get some things straight with Wylde about boundaries and about who was the cop in their relationship… and there was the bathroom that had to be kept neat, and the bed should be made a certain way, and….

Wylde was on his knees, pressing his open mouth to Ken’s penis. “I want to do this all the time. I wanted to do it when we were eating dinner.”

“Wylde…. You’re such a bad boy.” Ken couldn’t stop himself from thrusting into Wylde’s mouth.
Wylde moaned and took him deeper. Then he leaned his cheek against Ken’s prick, huffing. He looked up at Ken, and Ken experienced that belly-flop moment. “I’m glad you didn’t find trouble today. I was going out of my mind.”
“Followed his trail. Stuff to show you tomorrow,” Wylde admitted. “I couldn’t call you back because I think he was out there, watching for me.”
Ken’s breath caught and his hands tightened on Wylde’s shoulders. “You own a spa. I’m the cop. We have to do things correctly.”
“Yes, Ken.”
“Grrrr. Don’t think I’m buying you placating me.” Ken gave Wylde’s solid, muscular shoulder a little shove.
“A mate must be kept happy.” Wylde hefted Ken into his arms.
Ken looked into Wylde’s eyes. “Is that what I am to you, a ‘mate’?”
“Yes.” Wylde watched him, as if expecting him to disagree.
Ken bit his lip but didn’t say anything, and Wylde looked smug.

“Lean back,” Ken ordered in a raspy tone, and Wylde did, his legs spread as he sat on one side of the bed, his prick full and aching…. Ken used the feathers on his chest, drawing a line in the center and then lightly dancing over his nipples.

“ Ken!” Wylde spread his legs wider, his hand going down to roll his balls as the tip of his penis and his nipples prickled with sensation.

“I’m going to write a kanji on your skin. That is a Japanese symbol. If you guess the word, I’ll kiss you… somewhere.” Ken’s eyes were sparkling. Wylde loved this part of him, like when he’d been inside him, thrusting, and Ken had scratched the side of the tub.

“Okay.” He would let his mate do whatever he wanted. “And Wylde… I, uh, want to go slow, okay?” Ken’s eyelashes covered his eyes so Wylde couldn’t read his expression.
“Slow,” Wylde repeated. His brow furrowed. “But last night….”
“It was great but I… didn’t come,” Ken admitted.
Wylde swallowed, reaching for the long braid Ken had made of his hair. His face heated. “The men from the disco made you come?”
“Wylde, hey, I told you it was different.”
Wylde pulled his knees up. The stuff on the bed was no longer fun, though he was still hard. He was always hard when Ken was close by.
“You’ve never been with anyone before, right?” Ken asked very gently. He sat down next to Wylde, encompassing him in his arms, kissing the side of his face.
Wylde shook his head. “But I dreamed.” He looked at Ken. “All the time I was alone in the woods….”
“I hope it was special for you.” Ken combed back some wisps of hair from Wylde’s forehead. His almond-shaped eyes were soft and shining.
“It was you, Ken,” Wylde said. “But I didn’t satisfy you. I don’t know how.”
“Sure you do,” Ken disagreed. He pulled Wylde’s hand away from where he had it clenched around his knee. He knitted their fingers together and rubbed his thumb soothingly over Wylde’s palm.
“Smells like berry,” Wylde finally said.
“It’s the powder I dusted on you. It’s raspberry flavored.”
Wylde raised a brow. “Your father wanted us to…?”
“He thinks you’re an alpha male, like in Mom’s books,” Ken said, humor and exasperation in his eyes. “You reminded me of that kind of guy too.”
Suddenly Wylde rolled them both so that Ken was flat on the bed, putting a possessive thigh over Ken’s the way he had in the cave.
“What…?”
Wylde reached for the raspberry powder. He used the feather duster to sprinkle some on one of Ken’s dark copper nipples. Then he licked it, lavishing it with attention.
Ken gasped, his body arching on the bed. “Shit, I’m sensitive there! Wylde, what are you doing?”
“You like that?” Wylde spilled more raspberry on the other nipple, his lips gleaming as he homed in and tasted, his eyelashes closed and quivering over his eyes…. Ken’s body pushed up toward him, flexible, trembling, their cocks brushing together as Wylde’s heavy balls rubbed against Ken’s leg.
“Love….” Ken said.
“Kanji?” Wylde asked.
Ken puffed. “Um. Okay.” He raised a finger and traced a sign in the air. “That’s love, ai.”
Wylde used the feather to write the symbol over Ken’s lower belly, just above his straining cock. He took his time tasting the trail of powder. “Slow,” he whispered. “Slow for Ken?”
“Oh God…. Yes! Yes, very good, Wylde.”

K
EN
writhed, the pattern of lips and tongue on his flesh feeling like the trail of a fuse about to light off. “Now let me do you,” he said, getting into their game.

He thought for a moment, picking up the pouch, and then he wrote two symbols on Wylde’s chest. Wylde shivered in reaction. “More love?” he asked.

“No,” Ken said, looking at him. “Yuuki , courage. Because leaving your woods and trying to live in the world can’t be easy.”

Wylde feathered his hand through Ken’s short hair. Ken leaned close and abandoned the powder, and they kissed. This time, despite the throbbing ache in their cocks, gently—

The windows rattled, gravel, chunks of wood, striking the house.
Wylde was up, shoving Ken behind him as he lifted a forearm over his eyes to protect them from the piercing white glare.
“Wylde!” Ken yelled.
“It’s your studio,” Wylde rasped. “It’s on fire!”

K
EN
shoved Wylde aside, going to the window. Flames spiked above the mossy roof of his studio. A window exploded, smoke roiling out like angry dragon’s breath.

“ No…” he whispered, tears pricking his eyes. “Ken—”
Oblivious to Wylde, Ken grabbed for his BlackBerry. “I

need to call….” He stared at it.
Wylde snatched it from him, calling 911.
Ken yanked open his bamboo dresser and pulled out

some jeans, stepping into them without underwear. He snatched a T-shirt and finally his Glock, jaw tight. “Stay here,” he rasped.
“No,” Wylde said, reaching for the bundle of deerskin clothing he’d left in Ken’s bedroom. He had his leggings on and was tying the drawstring.
“Wylde, don’t fuck with me!” Ken growled. “I need you safe.”
He sprinted from the room, but he could hear Wylde running behind him, and he wanted to yell at him or fucking tie him up. Jesus, anything to keep him from getting hurt, but his studio was on fire, and—
The screen door banged against the outside wall as he barreled outside, moving fast in case someone was watching for him. He checked out the line of sight carefully, even though his gut was sick with the need to go to his special sanctuary, save what he could.
It could be the man he was hunting would know that, would take advantage. Again Ken was struck by a haunting feeling of familiarity, as if his stalker knew him.
Wylde ghosted past him, a bowie knife upright and gleaming in his hand.
“Wylde!” Ken hissed.
Wylde looked at him, his face hard, dangerous, his long hair a silken cloak around his muscular shoulders. “I’m going into the woods, Ken. If he’s there….”
Ken’s chest constricted. He couldn’t bear to find Wylde still, cold, and pale in a ditch by the roadside. But before he could bark at him to get his ass back in the cabin, Wylde had faded into the trees, disappearing like evaporating mist.
“Goddammit!” Ken cursed. He took a deep breath. He couldn’t lose his focus. He had to check out the scene. Backup was coming along with the fire department, but he lived in a remote part of the county, so it was on him.
Gun up, he swung around the corner of the cabin, his back scraping against the chunky logs as he cast a sharp eye to the woods that stepped above his land. The smoke was choking him, and his throat tightened when he thought of his work, of the irreplaceable tools he had crafted himself or been gifted by potters on a special trips he’d taken to Japan.
Focus. He felt the cold feather touch his spine. He was here, the killer, watching. Ken could feel him.
Ken sprinted to the other side of his house, crouching to make a smaller target, studying the landscape. There was a bluff of granite about thirty yards above the cabin. He knew from going up there to eat picnics on sunny days it provided an ideal lookout over his studio and cottage. He would bet the man he was looking for was up there….
Ken caught a brown blur out of the corner of his eye, like a deer jumping a fallen log. Wylde. His lover had had the same idea, and he was closing in. “Shit, Wylde, I’m going to spank that gorgeous ass….” Ken whispered as he pounded across the open space… into the trees… slowing, trying to catch his breath, skin prickling with chills.
A mountain lion roared challenge, and Ken jumped, sweat running freely from his hairline. Wylde! Was he trying to flush out the killer with the uncanny sound he’d mimicked once for Ken?
Ken charged up the hill, ducking his head and hoping he wouldn’t catch a rifle bullet. Grit spattered like hard rain, and he flinched. Someone above him… running…?
Puffing, Ken came to the top of the rise at last, gun ready, his bruises aching in sympathy with the hard beating of his heart, reminding him that this man he was hunting had nearly taken his life.
In the bright moonlight, brush still trembled ahead, signaling someone’s passage. The meadow was silent, making the perspiration on Ken’s back ice as he moved forward.
Wylde’s long black hair swung from side to side as he ran above Ken, in pursuit of someone!
Ken powered up the incline, Glock gripped in his damp hand. He’d never fired in anger at another human being, but if he had to protect Wylde, protect himself….
A branch stung his cheek. Smoke wisped through the trees, rising like a terrible incense from his studio below. He heard his labored breath, caught another flash of Wylde’s moccassined foot, dirt spitting from above.
Keep him safe. Keep him safe. His running footfalls were a tattooed prayer.
And then he was up on the dirt road above his cabin, trembling, hair sticking to his skull, dripping sweat, gun high and ready….
Taillights, gravel spattering under an SUV’s wheels as it fishtailed ahead. Wylde ran after it, and Ken wanted to call him back, tell him to just… give up….
The license plate was covered with mud. He couldn’t make it out. All he knew was it was blue, a Toyota.
A lot of men drove them in the county. Shit.
He crouched, breathing hard, gun limp in his hand.

H
E REBOOTED
when Wylde put a gentle arm around him. “Ken, I can hear sirens,” Wylde said.
Ken looked at him, aware that a tear spilled down his

cheek, hot against his damp skin. “I’m afraid to see what’s left,” he admitted in a raw voice, the words feeling as if they burned his throat. “My studio…. It’s the place I dream.”

Wylde took his hand and lifted it against his chest and sketched out the kanji for love.
Ken closed his smoke-burned eyes, pain lodged in his throat. But he kept his palm pressed against Wylde’s bare chest, feeling that steady heart beat.
T
HE
fire truck was just pulling in behind a deputy’s SUV. Ken waited in the driveway, waving wearily. Behind him half the structure of his studio had collapsed. Wylde had held him when it happened, but then Ken had jerked away, needing a moment, needing to be composed to meet with people on the job.
The first person to find him at the scene was Marty Grimble, his fellow deputy. He squeezed Ken’s shoulder in sympathy. Ken filled him in, watching through dazed eyes as Wylde carefully carried out Ken’s giant ficus plant, which he’d had since he was a teen. It was from a cutting in his grandmother’s greenhouse, cherished since it made him think of her. The green leaves were singed, some curling, but it looked like most of the plant had survived.
The firemen joined Wylde with shovels, and pretty soon Ken’s beloved studio was smoldering white ash, the roof collapsed to one side, some timbers standing up like blackened Greek ruins. He stared at it, rubbing his short hair back and forth under his palm.
He was glad his father had those ikebana vases. Who knew how long it would be until he could make something again? His workspace was charred, unsafe.
Jim Hollander, a guy he knew from the clubs as well as on the job as a firefighter, came over and ducked his head to give Ken a sympathetic look with his kind green eyes. They’d been together a few times, so Ken felt comfortable with him. “Looks like he used gasoline as an accelerant. Your studio reeks of it.” Jim shook his head since he’d visited Ken previously for dinner and peeked into his pottery shop. “I’m sorry, buddy. I know how much mucking around in there meant to you.”
“Yeah,” Ken rasped. Now that most of the guys were leaving, he felt numb.
Jim looked around and then ducked close to brush his lips over Ken’s. Ken stiffened.
“I can stay,” Jim whispered.
Ken remembered the last time they’d been together had been right off duty, so he’d pulled open Jim’s uniform while Jim tugged off his, and they’d done it half-dressed. It had been living the cop-fireman fantasy.
A growling sound from the remains of the studio made Jim take a step back. Wylde stood there, grimy, his hands blistered from pulling out as much as he could salvage. Some of Ken’s finer tools were gripped in one big fist, which he curled as he glared at Jim.
“Jim, I, uh….” How to explain Wylde? Ken felt a little spacey, as if life were moving past him at warp speed and he were standing still.
“Oh.” Jim watched as Wylde dropped the rescued items and pulled Ken against him, his back to Wylde’s front.
“Wylde, it’s okay,” Ken began, covering one of Wylde’s blackened hands, stroking it, seeing that he had cut himself trying to rescue Ken’s work.
In response, Wylde ran a palm over Ken’s T-shirt, straying deliberately over his nipples. Ken’s eyes widened. He felt gutted, but his body responded to the dance of sexual magic against his skin. He was too emotionally played out to fight it, even when Wylde reached down and cupped his burgeoning erection through his jeans, holding Jim’s gaze in a clear message. Mine.
Jim licked his lips, looking more turned on than dismayed. “Um, be seeing you.” He hesitated. “Say, Ken, if you ever want to—”
Knowing what Jim was about to suggest, Ken shook his head vehemently. Wylde would never go for a threesome. He probably wouldn’t even understand it.
Wylde pulled Ken closer, breathing against his neck, his hair covering his face, touching Ken’s exposed skin and sending a hot shivery sensation down his spine, warming him from the chill he felt deep inside.
Panting now, Ken scolded, “You shouldn’t have done that in front of Jim!”
But Wylde only turned Ken to face him, and Ken gripped his head and brought his mouth down, lifting up, kissing….
When they broke apart, Ken rubbed himself wantonly against Wylde’s thigh. He needed, God, he needed. “Take me,” he whispered.
As the fire truck disappeared over the ridge, Wylde hefted Ken in his arms. Ken wound his arms tightly around his neck. He wanted what they’d had in the cave. He’d felt safe there, and he wanted Wylde’s nude body covering him, owning him.
But when Wylde lowered him gently onto the picnic bench outside his cabin, Ken blinked up at his lover, confused by the delay. “Soon, Ken,” Wylde said before disappearing into the cottage.
Ken avoided looking at his studio. He would deal with it tomorrow, along with finding the man who was targeting him. Now….
Wylde reappeared with a bundle made of one of Ken’s dish towels. Without speaking, he handed it to Ken and then lifted Ken back into his arms.
Ken leaned his head against Wylde’s chest, hearing his heartbeat, content to go wherever Wylde would take him.
But he thought he knew just where that would be.