Wesley (9 page)

Armando fascinated him, with his hidden body and handsome face. Wes wanted to bury his fingers in that blue-black hair, thick and curled at the collar, and stare into those eyes, so dark a brown they almost merged with his pupils.

And Armando’s ass, oh yeah, Wes wanted some of that. Just thinking about it made Wes’ mouth water and his cock throb. Wes had seen Armando bending over before, when he’d been helping to unload a supply order they’d received. Despite the baggy clothing he wore, Armando’s ass had been on display when he’d bent to lift a box. Wes had been struck stupid standing there, ogling Armando’s butt. And at Remus’ house, Wes had seen the plump curve of Armando’s ass beneath his shorts.

It looked padded, like it’d be soft and squeezable, not hard as stone. Wes wanted to touch it, to knead that flesh and mark it with his hands and teeth. God, he was aching for Armando to the point where Wes thought he’d die if he couldn’t have him. Literally die from it.

He kept his steps light, not wanting to alert Armando to his presence just yet. Otherwise, Armando might just run to his vehicle and leave before Wes got a chance to talk to him. What he would say when he did, Wes didn’t know, but with his luck it’d probably be gibberish or something totally not smooth like
Can I fuck that sweet ass?

But as quietly as Wes stalked, it wasn’t enough. He was barely six feet from the back door when Armando, several yards away, stiffened then turned, pinning Wes in place with a dark look.

Despite the exhaustion still clouding his head, which usually muted out everything else, Armando felt Wes’ presence. It was like a shimmer down his spine, a sensual stroke that lit his sexual needs up as no one else ever had. Perhaps not surprisingly, considering his past. Armando couldn’t remember ever fucking someone simply because he’d wanted to.

But it was more than just sex, because it wasn’t only that luscious body and dick Armando had thought about. There were Wes’ pretty eyes, which Armando now knew were green with gold flecks. He thought about the way Wes’ lips looked slightly parted, passion shortening his breaths. And Armando thought about the firm swells of Wes’ ass, the bulge of his cock even when it was softening, the taste of his cum on Armando’s tongue.

What Armando realised with a shock that made him ache was that he wanted Wes and
that
wasn’t going away. He couldn’t ignore it no matter how much he tried. He didn’t w
ant
to ignore it. That was definitely a new feeling. Armando had had sex for money, for survival, and under other much worse circumstances. Along with that, he’d always bottomed, and how many times had he fantasised about fucking Wes in the last day? Too many to count.

The idea of topping had once made him feel queasy, but now, taking in Wes’ sexy body and the lust for him the man exuded almost palpably, Armando wanted nothing more than to bend Wes over the nearest surface and fuck him senseless. As the blood rushed to his dick, the fog in Armando’s head dissipated. He decided to take that as a sign—but he wasn’t a fool, not anymore.

Armando’s heart was fluttering like he’d taken one too many Es, but he kept his nervousness hidden as he stared at Wes. That Wes stood still, like a spotlighted deer, only gave Armando a sense of power. He knew it shouldn’t have, because Wes was a shifter, and they could be dangerous. Last night, Wes had submitted to him, though, and Armando wanted to trust the desire making his dick hard. Surely there had to be a way he could have Wes.

Fear had kept Armando paralysed, sexually, for too long. His climax in the restroom yesterday had driven that home to him. Obviously, it didn’t matter if he tried to hide that part of himself under a bit of pudge and baggy clothes—his dick was still functioning after all, and so was his awakening libido.

Which meant that, contrary to what Armando had thought and even wished, he was still a sexual being, still capable, and repressing that part of himself wasn’t possible. Not when Wes was anywhere in sight, at least.

Armando walked backwards a few steps until he bumped into his car. He leaned against it and tucked a thumb in his front pocket as he cocked a hip. It might have been a couple of years since he’d tricked, but Armando still remembered the poses he’d used to hook his customers. He tugged up his hoodie enough to show off what he wanted Wes to look at.

The casual position was every bit as posed as it looked, and, Armando was sure, it showed off the attributes he wanted highlighted exceptionally well. He framed his groin with his hands when he tucked his other thumb in his front pocket, and Armando saw the way Wes’ eyes went heavy-lidded as he glanced down at what Armando was displaying.

As if in a trance, Wes began to move towards him, almost jerkily for a few steps, then more smoothly. It reinforced in Armando’s mind the urgency to remember that the man was a shifter, and he had a fear of those—usually. Living with a wolf pack of shifters had helped somewhat, and they were the ones he should have feared the most. Wes was a snow leopard shifter, a beautiful one in either form, and he was now moving forward every bit as sinuously as a cat stalking its prey.

Prey was something Armando would never be again. After the way Wes had given himself over last night, Armando didn’t think he would be in any danger despite the residual fear he always seemed to carry.

He lounged for another second or two then stood up, pulling his shoulders back and expanding his chest, giving himself some more bulk. He tightened his lips into a thin line he’d practised in the mirror numerous times, then he tilted his head down to give Wes a demanding look over the rim of his sunglasses.

“Stop,” Armando ordered firmly, and Wes did, almost tripping as he stumbled to a halt. The man was obviously eager to please Armando, just as he had been before. That would work in both their favours. Armando stared into those mesmerising eyes for a moment, then he pushed his sunglasses up and sauntered over until he was only a couple of feet from Wes.

Of course Wes smelt divine, damn him. Armando wanted to eat him up, to lick every inch of his body and find out how he tasted at the bend of his knee and the join of his leg and the tight centre of his ass. That wasn’t part of his plan, though, so he’d take what he could handle.

“You want to suck me?” Armando asked bluntly, letting his voice hit the seductive octave he hadn’t used in years. Once upon a time he could land just about any fish he’d wanted with little more than the crook of a finger.

Wes blushed but didn’t look away or otherwise seem surprised. Instead he trailed his gaze slowly up and down, touching every bit of Armando’s front and bringing Armando’s need to an even higher level. Wes zeroed back in on Armando’s dick and he licked his lips.

“Yeah,” Wes rasped, and Armando moved before fear or common sense got the chance to stop him.

“Come on.” He reached out and took Wes’ wrist. “You want it, you’ll get it, but you better be sure.”

“I am, just like I was sure last night,” Wes said, nodding as if for emphasis. “I want—”

“No,” Armando cut him off. Best to be clear right up front so there was no danger later. “I want you to suck me, like I did to you. That’s all I want, no conversation, no promises. You can stroke yourself off while I watch you suck my dick, that’d be hot. If you aren’t up for it, then we can walk away right now, no harm no foul.” But Armando might cry from the disappointment, not that he’d burden Wes with that knowledge. “I don’t bottom,” he added for extra clarification when Wes hesitated.
Just in case Wes has any interest in my ass.

“Okay,” Wes finally said after a long pause. He looked at Armando, and the gold in his eyes seemed to have chased out much of the green. Armando thought it was a beautiful sight. “Whatever it takes to have you, whatever you want to do. I’ll follow your rules.”

Armand thought there was an unspoken ‘for now’ ringing in the air, but he didn’t call Wes on it. He couldn’t, not when Wes’ unquestioning capitulation hit him like nothing else ever had, and he
needed
Wes then instead of just wanting him.

“Come on.” Armando turned, not letting go of Wes. He was almost afraid Wes would change his mind, even though he saw the raw desire in the man’s eyes. Armando pulled him into the alley between the two buildings past the shelter. The darkness there was kind of scary, but, after he blinked a few times, his vision adjusted. He stopped halfway down and turned to Wes just in time to see him gulp.

“Nervous?”

Wes puffed up like a rooster for a hen—a comparison that alternately irked and amused Armando. “Fuck no. What, you think I’m gonna back out or something?”

Armando cocked his head to the side and studied Wes.

“I’m not,” Wes protested. “I just want to do anything you’ll let me. I want to touch you, taste you, kiss you.”

Armando couldn’t stop from crinkling his nose then. Kissing wasn’t on his sexual to-do list. “How old are you?”

“Old enough.” Wes glared and it did funny things to Armando’s insides. “I’m not a kid.”

“I am aware.” Armando knew that. He knew Wes had been eighteen when Armando had moved in with Sully. Guilt pinched at him. Telling Wes who he was, that he knew Sully and how that was so, would have been the right thing to do. But it’d also have brought their
tête
-à-
tête
to a halt, because Sully may have told Wes what had happened to Armando. Then he’d see sympathy or disgust instead of raw need in Wes’ eyes, and that was not something Armando ever wanted to see there.

“But you are a virgin still, in almost every way,” Armando pressed. Once upon a time, he’d had a rule about virgins. Even though Wes’ innocence drew him, like Sully’s had before, Armando’s virginity had been stolen from him, and the idea of taking someone else’s had always been a turn-off for him.

But he really, really wanted Wes, even enough to get beyond his own past and issues.

Wes gnawed on his bottom lip while he studied Armando until Armando finally couldn’t take it. He reached out and thumbed that tortured flesh, feeling the heat of Wes’ skin, the slick of his spit. Wes gasped and, in doing so, quit biting his lip, allowing Armando to caress it. When Wes’ eyelids went heavy and he seemed about to suck on Armando’s thumb, Armando pulled it back, tucking it into his pocket again.

“You’ve made yourself bleed,” he pointed out, the smooth note in his voice from earlier gone and sanded to rust.

Wes licked a tiny smudge of blood as he kept his gaze locked on Armando’s. He swallowed then and moved closer. Armando realised that he was going to be at a disadvantage height-wise with Wes standing up, because Wes had him there by a few inches. He put a hand out and met the steel of Wes’ chest.

“Stop right there.”

Wes did, but he made a move as if to lean in, maybe for a kiss, which Armando had never allowed with his tricks. Granted, Wes wasn’t a trick, but old habits were every bit as hard to break as he’d heard.

“I said stop,” he reiterated, and while he had no steely chest, he could certainly put some of that hardness into his voice.

Wes stopped and if he looked hurt, Armando told himself he was reading the man wrong. It wasn’t like they were lovers.

“I said fuck, not make out like a couple of moonstruck teenagers.” Oh fuck, Armando felt like a puppy kicker. Wes pulled back as if he’d been slapped, and his face was all…wrinkled up, like he’d smelt something foul. Armando was a total asshole. And he couldn’t seem to stop being one, either. “Are you sure this is still what you want?”
That I’m still what you want?

That seemed to snap Wes out of his musing or whatever he was doing, and he jerked his head back to glare again. “Why are you asking? All you want me to do is blow you, not make this some stupid romantic thing, so I don’t understand why you’d sprout a moral or two.”

Now Armando was the one who felt like he’d been slapped, and he had, verbally, deservedly so. Yet he couldn’t get past the walls he’d built around his heart, nor the lingering fear and his memories, both of which were battling with the lust he felt for Wes. He’d thought the lust was winning, but apparently his mouth was determined to keep him celibate once again.

“Why are you even out here with me?” Armando snapped, irked by Wes, by everything about him. Stupid man shouldn’t be in a fucking alley with a stranger who obviously was scum.

“Just go home,” he ordered, or tried to, but it didn’t come out all snarly like Armando had meant it to. He wanted to close his eyes and slump against the nasty wall, melt into the trash and dirt that was surrounding them here. It was where he belonged anyway, no matter how he’d tried to tell himself otherwise. Hadn’t he just proved what scuzz he was?

And why was Wes still standing there, looking at him all…all soft-like? “You can do a lot better than having some stranger in a filthy alley pop your cherry, Wes. Go. Home. I don’t want you.”