“What’s a nice city slicker like you doing in a place like this?”
“Nice? City slicker?” he echoed, wondering if Piston just insulted him. Damn it. His brain didn’t seem to be working. Maybe he was hallucinating all this. After all, wasn’t Bob on the verge of a panic attack just minutes ago?
“Saw your car plates,” Piston said.
Of course. Silly Bob.
“Can you like, take a couple of steps back?” he asked.
Piston did as he asked, but he swore Piston’s irises were predatory yellow now. His heart raced. Was Piston a shifter? The paranormal came out a century ago to the public, but they usually minded their own business. Cross-dating between species was rare. As if a guy like Piston, sex on wheels, would even consider dating someone like him. Then—why was Piston looking at Bob like he was good to eat?
By some miracle, he managed to get his brain working and tell Piston what he needed. “I need my car fixed. I have errands to run in town.”
Piston finally walked over to the hood of his car and examined it. “When was the last time you had your engine looked at?”
“Um. Well. I forgot.” Bob ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. Piston narrowed his eyes at him. Oh no. Bob didn’t want to appear like some stuck-up guy from the city who didn’t care about his car. “Look, I’ve been working so hard lately, I hadn’t had the time. Plus, it was cheaper and more convenient to take the subway to work.”
Piston probably wasn’t interested in his life story. Why did he get all nervous around hot guys anyway? Not that he had any chances of meeting any cute guys lately. Maybe this was the reason why he couldn’t get the hang of dating, not that a guy like Piston would even want him as a boyfriend. Heck, Bob bet Piston didn’t do dates, probably didn’t have a problem roping some stranger in bed.
“Get in my truck. I’ll rig your car to the tow and give you a ride,” Piston eventually said, clenching his jaw so hard Bob was certain it would break. Did Bob say something wrong? Getting inside a tiny space with an angry shifter seemed dangerous. Bob looked at the road ahead of him. Walking didn’t seem ideal either, and Piston had been nice to offer.
“Okay, thank you.” Bob didn’t know why he performed a little bow like he was showing some of the company’s Japanese clients around. At least Piston now wore an amused expression. Better than pissed. Blushing, Bob hurried over to the truck and opened the door. “Do you need any help?”
“It's my job, besides we don’t want to ruin that nice suit, do we?”
Bob entered the truck and crossed his arms, silently fuming. Piston clearly thought he was some kind of joke. A couple of minutes later, Piston got behind the wheel, which only reminded Bob of how massive the shifter was built. It got a little hard to breathe, so Bob rolled his window down.
“I didn’t have time to change out of my work clothes,” he blurted.
Flustered, Bob undid his tie. “You think I’m ridiculous, don’t you?”
Piston started the engine. “You’re the sort of guy who overthinks stuff, aren’t you?”
Bob looked out the window, pretending to be interested in the trees they passed by.
“Yeah,” he finally admitted. “Some people don’t care about some random comment their work colleague made at the last Christmas party. Most folks just brush it off, but I remember everything.”
Bob’s anxiety had only worsened when he started pulling in more hours at work.
“I don’t think you’re ridiculous. It’s the exact opposite. You have no idea what kind of effect you have on me, human.”
That made Bob look at Piston again. A tick rode Piston’s cheek now.
“Are you sure? Because you look mad.”
That was a mistake because Piston let out what sounded like a warning growl, which raised goose bumps across his arms.
“Not mad,” Piston interrupted, abruptly stopping the car. Piercing yellow eyes met his. They looked so inhuman on Piston’s face that the sight stole his breath for a second. He remembered to breathe until Piston’s fingers found the edge of his loosened necktie to jerk him close until their faces nearly touched.
He widened his eyes, breath catching as he focused on Piston’s mouth. What would it be like, to be kissed by this inked and rough mechanic? Bob soon found the answer to his question because Piston lowered his mouth to his. The tiny truck, his anxiety, and all his problems went away. Bob was transported elsewhere, to a place where he wasn’t this loser PA who had no life.
Piston didn’t kiss, he took. Claimed. Conquered. Bob parted his mouth only for the shifter to thrust his tongue down his throat. Heaven or maybe he was heading to a dangerous path, but he didn’t care. Piston gripped the back of his neck, and Bob cursed the fact they were in the truck. So many things got in their way. Piston finally pulled back, licking his lips like a satisfied predator on the animal channel who got his fill.
Bob touched his mouth, slightly swollen from Piston’s kiss. He tasted a little copper. Piston must have left a little bite, and he found that hot.
“Why did you stop?” he dared to whisper.
“Because I’m this close to stripping you out of your clothes, dragging you out of the truck and fucking your brains out.”
Piston didn’t kiss him. The shifter murdered, no, plundered his mouth like a conquest. Bob squirmed on Piston’s lap. God, he found it so hot when Piston unloaded his jizz all over him like some possessive beast. Bob never had anyone become all territorial over him.
Most of the time, he was invisible to most people, but Piston saw him. The real him and found something special, something he couldn’t even see.
He parted his mouth, let Piston thrust his tongue down his throat. Every logical thought emptied from his brain. Bob didn’t even know intimacy could be like this, could feel so special. All he ever experienced were impersonal and uncomfortable touches with the guys he went out on dates with. With Piston, he finally understood what explosive chemistry meant.
When Piston pulled his mouth away, he panted, wanting more. Bob looked down, surprised to see the shifter’s dick stirring to life again.
“So the rumors are true? Shifters recover quickly?” he asked, moaning when Piston closed one hand over his prick.
The shifter began moving his hand up and down, alternating between fast and slow. He groaned, gripping Piston’s broad shoulders just to hang on tight to the shifter.
“I’ve got plenty of energy for you,” Piston said, closing his mouth over the side of his neck. He cried out as the shifter bit hard enough to bruise, but damn. Bob got ever harder from that little pinprick of pain if that were possible. When Piston paused from the hand job, he let out a hiss of frustration.
“Why?” he asked.
“Be patient, little human.” Piston opened the drawer on the desk and pulled out lube. He didn’t even know why it was there. Did Piston invite guys to his office all the time and do this kind of thing often? He sucked on his bottom lip.
“What’s wrong?” Piston asked, narrowing his eyes.
“Just wondering how often you do this kind of thing.” Shit. Bob knew that might spoil the mood, but he also wanted to find out. It wouldn’t surprise him if Piston was a playboy, not with those looks and charms.
Piston snarled. “You’re the first. I don’t mix business and pleasure usually but you, well. You drove me insane with lust from the first time we met.”
“Really? Then I have no complaints. Sorry about that.” The weight in his chest lifted. He believed the shifter. Maybe that’s why Piston’s guys gave them looks, because this was the first time their boss did this.
“Insecure human. You don’t need to apologize for anything. Ask, and I’ll answer.” Piston handed him the lube with a smirk. Bob looked at him blankly. Wait. Did Piston want him to lube his own ass up?
He didn’t realize he said those words out loud, until Piston said, “That’s right. I’m going to stroke myself to the sight of you prepping that hole of yours for my entrance.”
Bob uncapped the lube, applied plenty on his fingers and drizzled more on his puckered entrance. He could feel his entire face heating up. By now, he probably looked like a human tomato, but Piston didn’t seem to care. In fact, the shifter reached for his own cock and started stroking it. Bob didn’t know why, but he found this incredibly erotic.
He pushed a digit inside him, up to his knuckle, and then his whole finger. Bob had masturbated on his own during lonely nights, but it had never been like this.
“Tell me, have you touched yourself there before?” Piston asked in a lazy voice.
“Yes,” he answered.
The devil was in Piston’s smile. “Then remember this. From now on, only I own that asshole of yours. Your needy cock, your balls, and your entire body—they all belong to me.”
A shudder of anticipation crawled down his spine. Bob never thought he’d ever fall for a possessive guy like Piston, yet here he was. Piston didn’t know it yet, but he was on his way to claiming not just Bob’s body, but also his heart. A heart he usually kept safe, protected. Bob couldn’t remember the last time he exposed himself completely like this, let himself become vulnerable. He only prayed Piston would never end up hurting him because Bob didn’t think he could ever recover.
“Say it,” Piston ordered.
“I belong to you,” he whispered, heart hammering at his dirty little confession.
“Now add another finger in.”
With two digits inside his hole, Bob began making twisting motions. He could blow any moment now, but he held himself back, wanted to know what it would feel like to have Piston sink that glorious dick inside him.
“That’s good enough,” Piston said, guiding his fingers out. The shifter positioned his cock into his entrance, rubbed the pre-cum around the puckered skin but not quite pushing in. Marking him again, Bob realized, gripping Piston’s shoulders hard. Then Piston pushed in, slow and steady. Bob moaned as a burn started but he knew it wouldn’t last.
It seemed to take forever, but finally, Piston plunged himself hilt deep inside Bob, resting his balls against the curve of Bob’s ass.
“God, Piston. You’re so massive,” he said.
“I own this ass now, human. I own you,” Piston whispered against his ear.