At nearly three centuries old, Diego Tamang decides to take a more proactive approach to finding his mate. He walks away from leading his pack, so he can travel with Kontra Belikov and his shifter motorcycle gang. His decision pays off when he walks into a backwater town’s diner and scents his mate, Zachary Young. Quickly making his intentions clear, Diego wonders what will be harder to overcome—Zachary’s young age, or his mother’s clearly displeased attitude. It turns out, neither, for soon Diego discovers that witches may have caused Zachary’s injury, which forces him to use a cane…and Zachary doesn’t know he’s a shifter. Can Diego ease his young lover into the paranormal world while keeping him safe from those that would do him harm?
Tyson’s chest heaved as he struggled to come up with a response to Logan’s shocking claim. Problem was that it was hard to think since he found himself distracted by the pain in his suddenly throbbing dick. When he’d walked into the restroom with Gary—or was it Barry—he’d only been half hard. He’d figured his trick could help him out with that.
The second Tyson had heard Logan’s growly voice on the other side of the door, gaining an erection had no longer been a problem. Now, he faced the wall with his jeans around his thighs and Logan’s chest pressed against his back.
When Tyson didn’t manage to answer, Logan growled. “Need some convincing, do you, Tyson?”
Logan used his hold on Tyson’s wrists to lift them higher, sliding them up the cool metal of the stall wall until they were just over his head. Easing his grip and moving his fingers upward, Logan pressed his palms against the back of Tyson’s hands, encouraging with rhythmic pushes for him to uncurl his fists.
“Leave them there,” Logan whispered the order, once Tyson’s palms were flat.
Tyson glanced over his shoulder, his lips parted as he panted. “Uh, okay,” he muttered.
Growling, Logan skimmed his fingertips down the tops of Tyson’s hands, then his forearms. He paused to tickle the sensitive skin on the inside of Tyson’s elbows. Tyson grunted, hissing through clenched teeth. Logan hummed, then continued touching, making his way over the rest of Tyson’s arms to his shoulders.
“I’ve been thinking of touching you like this for weeks,” Logan growled as he slid his hand down Tyson’s shirtclad shoulderblades. Then, he wrapped his arms around Tyson’s torso and slid one hand under his shirt, roughly pinching his nipple. With his other hand, Logan gripped the side of Tyson’s shirt and gave it a twist and a yank, opening the few snaps that held it closed.
Tyson shivered as the cool air caressed his budding nipples, making them pucker. Logan pinched his other now hard bud, and Tyson shuddered at the mixture of pleasure and pain.
“Damn it,” he gasped, arching. He arched his back, pressing his chest forward, searching for more touches to his nipples. It also shoved his ass against Logan’s groin, pushing into the shifter’s erection, reveling in the heat of the male behind him. “Logan!”
The shifter behind him tightened his hold. Rocking his hips, he rutted against Tyson’s ass once, twice as he nuzzled his fiveoclock shadow against the sensitive skin under Tyson’s ear. “Tell me you understand,” Logan demanded.
Understand? Understand what?
“Tell me you will not allow another to touch you,” Logan ordered. “Tell me you are mine!”
Diego watched as the door opened. The young blackhaired male slowly entered, his weight shifting between a sturdyappearing left leg and a very fancy looking, threetoed cane. While that gave Diego pause, reminding him of the man’s mention of medicine, it wasn’t enough to stop him from gently tugging the male into his arms.
“How old are you?” Diego blurted out.
The guy grinned. “What? No longer interested in my name?”
Diego chuckled and nodded. “I do plan to find that out, too, but first, I need to know you’re of age. I can wait if you’re not.” He probably shouldn’t have mentioned that last part, since it made him come across as a stalker, but too late.
Fortunately, the guy just chuckled and breathlessly replied, “I’m twentytwo and I’m Zachary Young. Pleased to meet you.”
“Most definitely pleased,” Diego responded. “I’m Diego Tamang, and you are the sexiest thing I’ve seen in years.” He crooned the last few words, lowering his head and rubbing his lips up the guy’s long, lean neck. He inhaled Zachary’s light, grassy fragrance. It reminded him of the perfect savannah—grass, animals, and dirt.
Wait. What is that?
Diego inhaled again, using his many years of experience to differentiate the scents. Seconds later, he jerked his head up. His jaw sagged open for a second right before he snapped it closed again as he realized what the pungent acrid odor had hidden.
“You’re a shifter!”
Zachary Young’s heart raced, thudding hard in his chest. In all his twentytwo years, he’d never been so turned on or felt his cock so hard. Even when he’d first figured out what his dick was for and fucked anyone willing. Something about the burly biker got his motor running, especially with the way he aggressively pressed against him.
Zachary had dated the occasional girl in high school. Then, when Paul Brown, captain of the football team, had tugged him into a janitor’s closet and kissed the everyloving breath out of him, he’d realized he enjoyed being with guys so much more.
That had opened a whole new world for him.
While Zachary hadn’t had the heart to leave his mother alone to go away to college, he’d still taken advantage of the local community college. There, he’d met a few likeminded men and played around quite a bit.
Diego, though, the way he’d looked at Zachary so blatantly, a shiver worked through him just at the memory. There had been no mistaking his interest. His confidence called to Zachary in a way he’d never experienced.
Zachary released the handle of his cane, somehow trusting that Diego wouldn’t allow him to fall. Lifting his hands, he slid them under the leather jacket the big man wore and rested his palms on Diego’s chest.
At approximately six foot three, with a body built like a brick shit house, Diego probably had muscles upon muscles. Zachary really wanted to strip those black, painted on jeans from his legs. Was Diego hairy? Did he have scars? Tattoos?
That’d be yummy. I could trace them, lick them.
Zachary wanted to find out.
Then the man’s comment registered. “Huh? What’s a shifter? What are you talking about?” Zachary asked. He scowled at the confused expression that crossed the man’s face. “What?”
“Don’t you have a herd?”
Diego dipped his head and sniffed deeply at Zachary’s neck. Tilting instinctively, Zachary hoped the man would kiss his neck, maybe lick, and nip it. Yeah, that’d feel good. “A herd?” The way the man’s nose rubbed along his neck, how the short hairs of his beard tickled, made it hard to think.
“Yes,” Diego hissed softly. “You smell of fresh mown lawns and the soft musk of man. You must be a herd animal. What are you?”
Now, confusion flooded Zachary. “II don’t know what you’re talking about,” he whispered. “I’m just me.”
“How is that possible?” Diego growled.