“Get your head out of the clouds and watch where you’re going, doc,” Cotter muttered.
“Jackass,” Bronte muttered and pushed to his feet. “You might have animal DNA, but that doesn’t mean you have to charge me like a freaking bull. You could have just jogged around me or something.”
Cotter’s words were drowned out by a deafening roar in Bronte’s ears. The scent of leaves and danger perfumed the air and pain raced through him.
“Cat got your tongue?” Cotter demanded, cutting into the vision that temporarily blinded Bronte.
The pain was still there. It burned through his chest and left grief in its wake. Bronte surged forward, sending Cotter careening to the ground.
Landing hard, Cotter glared at him as his hand went to rest on Bronte’s hip.
Heat and desire swept through Bronte, hardening his body instantly. Hunger made his cat growl soft and low.
No, that wasn’t him. That was Cotter’s reaction.
“If you wanted to get me in a prone position, all you had to do was ask,” Cotter drawled and that Southern twang made Bronte harder. He just loved the way words sounded coming off his lips.
A shot hit the ground inches from them to their right.
“Shit!” Another bullet slammed into the ground next to his head and Cotter rolled them over so his body shielded Bronte’s. Dust, leaves, and tree bark fluttered around them.
Damn, but the man’s body was hard—muscular. His broad chest pressed into Bronte’s and his powerful thighs bracketed his. The more-than-ample bulge of his pants was cradled against Bronte’s lower belly, and he got hard thinking how good Cotter would feel naked.
“You didn’t have to take me hostage for it,” he muttered, shooting Bronte a quick amused smile that had Bronte’s eyes widening in shock and Cotter chuckled darkly. “All you had to do was say you wanted me.”
Another shot hit a branch hanging over their heads, and leaves rained down on them.
“Stay down,” Cotter ordered and leaped to his feet.
Bronte swallowed tightly and a low growl to his left drew his gaze. A pair of green-gold eyes stared at him. The slow building arousal was quickly doused like water on a fire. His senses were suddenly overloaded with fury and malice so black it turned Bronte’s blood cold.
The big red-brown- wildcat lunged for Bronte, knocking him to his back. His hands shot to the cat’s shoulders to hold him at bay. Their eyes locked, and he saw nothing but the animal, felt nothing but the base instinct to kill.
The cat growled at him and strained closer with canines flashing. He was strong, but Bronte’s own wildcat came to life inside his mind. The wildcat swiped at Bronte’s face with his claws and they caught his cheek, scraping across it painfully.
Bronte removed one hand and slapped the cat hard across the face. The cat let out a yelp.
“Get off,” Bronte muttered and shoved hard, knocking the animal off of him. The cat came up in a crouch and snarled. Bronte hissed at him as he moved into a position of attack.
There was a look of killer retribution in its eyes. Then it was turning away.
Cotter aimed a gun at the cat. The cat was already running away, but he fired. The tranquilizer dart went wide, sailing into a rock, and Cotter cursed.
“Doc, are you okay?” Cotter extended a hand to Bronte, who took it immediately.
Bronte’s fingers tingled, his blood heated all over again, and his wildcat purred inside his mind as he savored the feel of Cotter’s calloused hand. The more muscular man pulled him to his feet, holding his gaze, and Bronte saw anger blazing in Cotter’s pretty copper eyes.
His stomach tightened and Cotter quickly released his hand as if he’d been burned. Cotter looked away and exhaled softly, running a hand over his short black hair.
“What the hell was that?” Bronte demanded, deciding not to focus on his returning arousal.
Cotter lifted a brow at him. “Having fun yet, doc?” he asked mockingly before speaking into his watch which Bronte assumed was a communications link to security. He shook his head as he watched the other man. He was ruggedly attractive, and he had a strong jaw. His voice was deep with an even cadence that made Bronte’s heart beat faster, and his blood heat with lust.
Bronte’s gaze slid to Cotter’s lips as the scent of sweat and rich dark male drifted to him on the light breeze. Cotter’s lower lips had a luscious curve that made Bronte think of hot sex. His lips weren’t bad, he decided, as long as Cotter kept them closed.
“No, I’ll be here,” Cotter was saying. “There was a witness. Maybe he saw or heard something I didn’t. Yeah. Out.”
Nooo. He wasn’t a witness. He’d almost been a victim, but thanks to Cotter—and he was thankful—he was only scratched up.
Why had the freaking cat come at him instead of going after Cotter? He couldn’t even know him. He’d only been here just inside three months.
He turned to leave before Cotter turned back to him, but the cat felt Cotter’s gaze on his back.
“Get back here,” Cotter ordered. “You can’t just leave the scene of a crime.”
“Watch me,” Bronte retorted coldly and threw Cotter a look of disdain over his shoulder.
“I know where you live,” Cotter called. “Go see Willa or Pierce about those freaking scratches.”
Bronte grunted. He was a doctor too. He knew how to treat minor scratches, he thought with a frown.
There had been no scent to the cat, which bothered him way more than having been left with a souvenir.
Disguising one’s scent meant the attack had been planned, but why? By who?
Was it even safe for him to stay here, considering the climate of violence against gay men Whispering Willow was guilty of?
And then there had been that shooter. What the hell was going on?
Cotter brushed his lips lightly over Bronte’s, breathing roughly. Bronte’s parted and Cotter’s tongue darted into the humid depths to lick Bronte’s. Their tongues stroked against each other, dueled in a slow kiss, an act of eroticism that made Bronte’s cock even harder. It pressed tight against his pants.
The bite of pain was easy to ignore with Cotter thrusting into his mouth. Bronte strained against him, his blood a lava flow turning his skin molten hot.
Bronte put his arms around Cotter’s neck as he pressed tight against him. Bronte moaned as their tongues rubbed each other slowly and Cotter’s hands went to his hips. His hands caressed and glided to Bronte’s firm tight ass and squeezed.
Bronte groaned harshly. “Oh God, Cotter.” His breath was a rough exhalation.
Cotter pushed his knee between Bronte’s thighs and Bronte ground against it, sending pleasure rippling through him.
“I want you,” Cotter said against Bronte’s ear. “Say no, damn it. Please, say no.”
He almost laughed, but Cotter’s lips were angled over his again. Bronte pushed his fingers into Cotter’s hair. He wouldn’t say no, but he wouldn’t make any further moves either.
He rubbed his engorged cock along Cotter’s thigh. Their pants were a nuisance Bronte wanted to rip from their bodies. Instead he gripped Cotter’s shoulders and ground against him.
“That’s good,” Bronte said. “Rub against me, Cotter. My cock is so swollen it hurts.”
Cotter bent his knees and did just that as he gripped Bronte’s ass tighter. Bronte groaned and threw his head back. Cotter’s lips pressed to his throat, trailed kisses down to the hollow at the base, and swirled his tongue in it.
“Fuck, you smell good,” Cotter muttered and lifted his head. He tore Bronte’s belt open and ripped the button of his pants from its mooring before dragging the zipper down. “Damn you.” He turned Bronte to face the counter.
Bronte heard the rustle of Cotter’s belt being jerked open and his own zipper whispering down its track before Cotter tugged his briefs down.
“Grip the counter,” Cotter ordered.
A hard hand landed on Bronte’s ass. His eyes widened in surprise. As he processed, a second tap stung over his skin, heating it. Pleasure bloomed in his belly and spread out like waves of water from a stone dropped in a pond.
Cotter landed another tap to his other cheek and back again in a firm cadence. Bliss rolled over Bronte. “Damn, Cotter,” he said roughly. “You know how to get a man hot.” Hot? He was on fire.
Cotter smoothed a hand over his ass and then landed another tap. Then he kissed the back of Bronte’s neck before biting him lightly. Bronte purred in rapture. He started to reach back and a hand landed on his ass.
“Fuck.” He grimaced. The pain was a hard bite through him.
“Keep your hands right where they are, little bitch,” Cotter ordered, his tone hard. He landed another hard tap and Bronte squeezed his butt cheeks together. Cotter pushed a hand into his hair and tugged his head to one side. “I like obedient boys. Can you do as you’re told, Bronte?”
“Yes, Sir.” He panted.
Cotter’s hand slid down the crease of his ass before lifting and lowering again. The pain was a kiss of pleasure that drew a low whimper from him.
Cotter reached for the bottle and twisted off the cap. He poured some onto the counter and dipped his fingers in it. A moment later, a drizzle of oil licked down the crease of his ass and then a firm finger dragged it to the secret garden between his cheeks.
Cotter’s finger caressed the tightly closed rosette of his anus before breaching it.
Bronte held his breath as the slick finger pushed in deeper past the tight ring of muscle and forged into the hot depths beyond.
“You’re so damn tight,” Cotter said harshly. He withdrew his finger, added more lube, and pushed it back in. He bit the side of Bronte’s neck. “You’re going to feel so good around my dick.” He fucked his finger in slow and easy.
“I want to touch you,” Bronte said breathlessly. “Please?”
“No.” He drew his finger out and pushed two back into the tightness. Bronte groaned and panted as Cotter fucked him harder, spread his fingers apart, and drove them in deeper.
Bronte reached for his cock. It pulsed and leaked the cedar-scented pre-cum. He needed to stroke his dick, to find some kind of relief. He grunted as a heavy tap landed on his butt cheek.
“Don’t even think about it,” Cotter warned firmly. He landed another hard tap before turning his attention back to finger-fucking him.
Hard and deep, Cotter’s fingers drove into him, brushed his prostate and retreated before brushing up against it again, causing bliss to unfold in his belly. “Yess!”
He was going to come. He felt the need boiling in his balls like a bomb on the verge of exploding.
“You’re going to come aren’t you, baby?” Cotter crooned and one hard tap to his ass had Bronte exploding with a harsh cry.
Cotter quickly pulled his fingers free and Bronte barely registered the tearing of foil paper and moments later, he felt the blunt head of Cotter’s dick as it teased the opening of his ass. He drew in a breath as the head pushed inside him.
The tight tissues of his ass were slowly parted, and long unused nerve endings leaped to life. Bronte hissed at the rush of pleasure at being filled. “Oh, yeah.” He groaned tightly.
Cotter thrust, filling Bronte quickly. Bronte’s inner muscles clenched around him and Cotter cursed. Bronte closed his eyes and savored the feel and the harsh breath burning against his neck and the thick dick buried in his ass.