by J P Sayle
The continued excitement and arse bouncing made Aaden’s teeth ache. He felt like a cat that was having its fur rubbed the wrong way. He carefully laid down his cutlery, worried he might just stab Martin and Stuart for letting this Ann person take Greg to a den of iniquity. Their joint laughter and gaiety were not helping Aaden’s darkening mood in the slightest.
Brad’s gleaming tropical eyes distracted Aaden as he spoke to Martin. “Martin has promised to take me soon, haven’t you, babe? So, he can demonstrate his dance moves to me. I’ve got too much work to catch up on since the holiday and looking after my baby.” Brad smiled down at the sleeping cat next to him before giving a lecherous wink at Martin.
Aaden couldn’t hide the grin spreading across his face when Brad was lifted into Martin’s lap. Brad’s blond curls tumbled around his face as Martin’s large tanned hands cupped his head, releasing the man bun he’d worn. The heat in the kitchen increased as the intensity between them grew when their mouths met in a blistering kiss.
Martin moaned into Brad’s mouth, which clearly was not helping to calm the situation. Brad’s delicate hands grappled with Martin’s dark hair, yanking him closer. The scent of lust rolled off the pair of them, missing none of them.
He’d always struggled to be demonstrative in his few past relationships. As he sat and watched, he felt the envy move through him at their blatant disregard for the rest of them. He let his imagination go as he, if only for a moment, dreamed about what could be.
Aaden’s pulsing arousal made itself known, and he had to make a concerted effort to look away from the heated exchange. Only for his gaze to land on Greg’s flushed face and excited eyes. Eyes that gleamed with hunger. Aaden’s heart rate accelerated harder than Martin’s Audi R8. Its galloping reminded him why he’d been pissed off in the first place, before Martin and Brad had decided to distract them all.
Aaden tucked his clenched fists under the table, disregarding the sudden urge to drag Greg outside and demand something his mind wasn’t ready to accept. His heart, on the other hand, was having none of it, latching on to the only reason a person went clubbing: hookups. His blood burned through his veins at some faceless arsehole touching what clearly was meant to be his. His low growl emanated into the kitchen.
He was so lost in his thoughts that he failed to notice Martin and Brad had stopped kissing and were giving him a “what now” look.
Aaden’s new possessiveness coursed through his thrumming body. He found himself throwing back his chair and stomping around the table. He bodily lifted Greg and threw him over his massive shoulder before marching to the patio door, disregarding the shocked faces staring up at him. As he opened the door, Aaden shivered at the blast of cold air penetrating his thin wool jumper. He stepped outside, uncaring, then slammed the door closed behind him as he wanted privacy.
He was unsure if he’d shocked Greg into immobility when he lay stock-still against his broad shoulder. Aaden sucked in his lower lip, considering it may not last long. He took precautionary measures by wrapping his large biceps around the back of his legs and holding tight. He stomped over to the garden swing in the far corner, praying it would hold his weight when he sat down.
The cold air bit into Aaden’s exposed skin. Mindful, he hugged Greg’s warm body closer. Nestling him against his chest, he settled Greg’s bubble butt into his lap, sheltering him from the bite of the wind.
Aaden wanted to groan his approval when his arousal met strong firm cheeks. The firmness of Greg’s muscles surprised him, though why, he wasn’t sure when he had witnessed first-hand Greg’s strength. He evidently ran, but he must do other exercises to have the level of muscle tone Aaden could feel under his wandering hands.
His hands stilled as his mind caught up with what he was doing. Aaden inhaled through his mouth to avoid taking in any more of Greg’s enchanting fragrance. He tried to formulate words that didn’t make him sound like a dominating arsehole. He shifted and loosened his grip to get more comfortable. Aaden was unprepared for the bony elbow he got to his gut.
“Huh.”
Aaden arms loosened. The crushing disappointment he felt had him floundering when Greg wiggled off his lap. He stomped backwards, warding Aaden off with his raised hands.
He sat still as he tried to come to terms with the overwhelming feelings surging through him of how right it had felt for those few seconds, Greg had been in his arms.
Greg, on the other hand, didn’t seem as affected as he stomped around the garden, ripping him a new arsehole.
“I’ll huh you. How dare you manhandle me like that. What is your problem, hey? Tell me. Is this how you go about trying to attract men? Go all caveman and shit. Well, let me tell you, it doesn’t work.”
Aaden stopped listening to the rant. His gaze was firmly fixed on the bulge in Greg’s tight black trousers. His angry retort about it not working to attract a man obviously didn’t include Greg, it would seem.
Aaden felt his lips curve in approval.
Greg appeared lost in his rant. His red hair blew around his rosy cheeks. The slicked wet mouth he repeatedly licked while ranting had Aaden want to beg for a taste. The thought of begging brought him up short. Oh no, there would be no begging. Not a cat in hell’s chance.
“Are you even listening to me? I am not putting up with this shit. I’ve just dumped one arsehole after we met, and I’m not about to pick up a second one. Even if I went to all that trouble of freeing myself from the dead weight for nothing, it would seem. I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I want no part of it.” Greg’s chest heaved as he pointed at Aaden, his arm trembling with what Aaden could only assume was rage at the lethal glint firing his way.
“A blind man could probably have seen the attraction between us, but for whatever reason, you aren’t being honest about it and spend half your time hiding from me. Well, you can sod off. I’ve had enough playing second fiddle. I’m off to London, and I’ll find someone who will appreciate this.”
Aaden snarled as Greg flicked his hands down his lithe body, highlighting his attributes.
“Over my dead body. You are not to go clubbing, searching for anyone, you hear me?” Aaden felt his mouth suddenly shrink. He snarled through his gritted teeth, hardly getting the words out past his raging anger. His brain latched on to the part about Greg dumping his boyfriend faster than shit stuck to a stick. However, for some reason, it didn’t ease the fury pouring through him.
Aaden heroically held on to his temper, gripping his thighs hard, as Greg spun on his Vans, arms flailing around his body while storming back inside. He knew if he followed, he wouldn’t be able to stop the storm inside from unleashing on Greg, and he wasn’t sure either of them was ready for those consequences.
Spying the side gate, he made a quick escape and called to Max through their link. The loud laughing had his brows disappearing under his hair as he stalked home.
“Max, you’ll be laughing on the other side of your face when Princess finds out what you have done.” Pleased when the laughing halted, he all but ran home and slammed the door on the blue Skoda sitting at the curb, mocking him.
He hoped to God Joe would forgive him for just up and leaving without a word or a bye your leave.
Aaden collapsed against the closed door, pleading to whatever God was listening that Greg heeded the warning.
I won’t be held responsible if he doesn’t listen. Nope, definitely not.
Max rolled his bicoloured eyes at his misfortune. Aaden not playing ball was really starting to piss him off.
In all his long life, he’d never understand humans. Aaden now had the opportunity to claim his soulmate, yet here he was, running away. He wasn’t a human, so he didn’t get what Aaden’s problem was with Greg, and okay, he was an odd colour most of the time, but so what? He seemed to be a loving, giving, caring man, and though he himself wasn’t gay, he could see the attraction.
Why the hell isn’t Aaden doing his part?
Sensing Aaden’s unease, Max push
ed reassurance through their link, even if he didn’t deserve it after goading him about Princess. He had enough of his own problems without Aaden adding to them.
Why the hell couldn’t he just play ball and accept Greg?
For years, that was all Aaden had talked about, finding his elusive soulmate. He’d been desperate for that connection, hoping it would stop his dreams and nightmares. Now that the opportunity presented itself, he was running around willy-nilly with his head firmly stuck where the sun was clearly not shining and pointing him in the right direction.
His circling thoughts had his brow crease. The secrets he held only added to his torment. Aaden didn’t know Max had carried his mate’s soul inside him or that in eight hundred years it had never shown any signs of leaving him. Well, that was till they arrived back to his and Magnus’s birthplace.
The guilt was starting to eat at him, and now he wasn’t sure if not sharing this revelation with Aaden was the right thing to do. He’d immediately sensed Magnus’s essence inside Greg when they’d met. Magnus’s soul shone through Greg’s eyes. Eyes that reminded him so much of Magnus.
Destiny had shown him that you didn’t mess with it when it came to soulmates. He knew that to his detriment. Wasn’t that why he’d behaved?
Almost.
He ignored the answering voice in his head. He worried his whiskers. Then why did it now feel as if he was waiting for the fates to decide their next move? A move, he realised, that had probably been their plan all along. For them all to return here where it all began, to honour the promises of the past.
Those tricky fates, they clearly had other things up their sleeves, and he was too long in the tooth for this nonsense.
Max prowled Stuart’s house, his eyes unblinking and his large bulk swaying as he searched and distracted himself from his worries.
The elusive Princess was really starting to get on his last nerve. He hated the way she could just disappear. He went outside, grumbling. As he sat in the garden, he inhaled the cool night air.
His weight sunk into the damp grass. He stared up at the inky black sky and watched the stars spark to life.
He still hadn’t had the chance to talk to Princess about what he’d done. Okay, if he was honest, he’d been avoiding it as he wanted to escape the fallout that was bound to happen.
His hackles lifted, and he swung his head towards the trees. Unblinking, sparkling blue eyes stared down at him. Max felt for their connection, giving it a small tug to see if Princess’s healing was complete. He grimaced at the sudden pain he felt in his side. He rested his head on his paws. No, not yet.
It wouldn’t be a fair fight if she wasn’t fully healed, and he wanted it to be fair.
He knew without a shadow of a doubt that when she found out he’d mated them, she would fight it—and him—with everything in her. And perversely, he couldn’t wait.
Chuckles from his family members flooded his subconscious. He hissed back, shutting them out. He settled on the soft grass, closing his eyes. Doing what he did best, he ignored his meddling family and drifted to sleep.
His worries would be there when he woke. And another night of peace couldn’t hurt, could it?
Greg blocked out the commotion around him while people gathered their belongings, chatting amongst themselves.
He stretched his arms up to the ceiling, feeling his shoulder blades pop and release. The tension of the past week let itself be felt. He flopped back into the cushioned, black leather chair and relaxed. He sighed in pleasure at being allowed to finally wiggle his numb bottom. Greg stretched his legs from the cramped position under the large boardroom table. He tried to recall a time where he’d sat for so long. He’d definitely not recommend doing it for two days straight, that was for sure, if the numbness in his arse and legs was anything to go by.
He still couldn’t help a large smile from spreading across his cheeks at finally being here in London. He couldn’t fail to remember how awkward and out of place he’d always felt at work until Stuart and Martin had seen the potential in him. Hell, his confidence had soared right into the stratosphere with each and every new achievement he’d accomplished. Now, he hardly recognised the confident person staring back at him in the mirror, in his swanky new clothes.
He considered the chaos of the past week. One mad rush after the next when Stuart had finally returned to the office on Monday. The trip to London had been planned for Wednesday evening, and his life had ceased to exist outside of work. Not that he was complaining. He’d enjoyed every last minute of the challenge.
He hadn’t considered how much work would be involved when he’d agreed to come, thinking it would be a jolly for a couple of days. He’d been sadly mistaken as he was unprepared for the work that went into maintaining the two offices and streamlining the processes to make sure nothing was missed. The London office was twice the size of its Manx counterpart.
Greg could see it was a well-oiled machine due to Ann’s hard work and diligence. He watched her now, working the room in her black power suit, red-fitted blouse, and stalker heels, making sure everyone had what they needed before they left the room.
He’d instantly liked Ann’s feisty “go get em” attitude. Having only spoken on the phone, he’d been shocked to finally meet the towering giant. Her five-foot-ten, ultra-thin frame always sported four-inch heels, which took her to well over six feet. Martin had explained Ann loved her heels because it helped intimidate her male counterparts when she towered over them.
Greg totally got that. She intimidated the hell out of him.
His first thought when he’d met her was that she was in the wrong job and should be a model. Her shape was reminiscent of a coat hanger, clothes just draped down her perfect figure, making him envious of not only her height but also her slim body. Her deep grey eyes and high, slicing cheekbones, along with a perfect bow mouth, was topped off with a riot of long, dark locks, making her striking to look at. Though she may look like a model, her intelligent eyes said they could and would run circles around you.
She had “boss” stamped all over her, giving him this wild thought of her as a dominatrix. He could see her dressed in leather, holding a whip while some poor schmuck licked her thigh-high leather boots. When he’d inadvertently let it slip, she’d belted out a dirty laugh, saying “maybe that could be her next career choice,” but the sparkle in her eyes had left him wondering if she’d already tried it.
Greg gave the men and Ann hurrying out of the room a fleeting thought when the fresh air hit his nose. His nose that had been begging for some fresh air for hours. He automatically took several deep sniffs of the new air coming through the wide open door. The stagnant air trapped in the room all day had gained a distinct ripeness and odour. It had been tolerable for the most part. That was until Mr Williams, who’d decided to take off his suit jacket while sitting next to Greg, had made him wish fervently for one of those hanging air fresheners.
Greg felt a shudder ripple through him at the horrid stench he’d endured, of sweaty armpits combined with what he was convinced after several hours of smelly torture was three-day-old, warmed-pee-stained underpants smell.
You could have all the money in the world, but it would seem it didn’t give Mr Williams a sense of smell or good hygiene.
The urge to tell Mr Williams his body hygiene left a lot to be desired had him clamping his jaw tight. Greg heaved a sigh when it suddenly dawned he no longer needed to sit with the lingering stinky whiff.
His chair rocketed back as he stood, stretching and rolling his shoulders while strolling to the large black side cabinet where the drinks were stored. He helped himself to a cold Pepsi. The fizz and taste helped wash away the dryness of breathing through his mouth for hours. He felt some of the fatigue of the day fade as the caffeine burst through his system, making his stomach jittery with caffeine energy.
Greg told the voice at the back of his head to be quiet when it piped up. It wasn’t just the Pepsi. Diverting himself, Greg piled up the cups and pl
ates on the large silver tray and moved into the hall. The normal constant chatter was absent, and he glanced at the walk clock as he passed. He was shocked at how late it had gotten.
Seven o’clock on a Friday, and he was still at work. Crickey, where the hell had the day gone?
The underlying excitement he’d tried to keep at bay since last Sunday buzzed to the surface. He wasn’t going to think about the other excitement from last Sunday. Nope. He promised himself. And how was that working for you?
He ignored the strident voice wittering at him when that’s all he’d thought about every night when he fell into bed. Aaden’s harsh, sexy voice replaying over and over again, demanding that he not go clubbing, as if he’s the boss of me.
Greg gave his lower body a hard stare, which it blatantly ignored when his cock hardened. His body might have been convinced it had been imprinted on, but his mind, on the other hand, had other ideas.
Gripping the tray tighter, knuckles whitening, Greg attempted to stop his hands from shaking at the thought of being imprinted upon and not having a choice. He shook off the odd feeling that that thought gave him. Greg, instead, let the silence surround him, breathing in and out to the count of three to stop the panic from building inside his chest.
Ever since he’d met Aaden, his body and mind seemed to be at war with each other, and he was getting fed up being stuck between a rock and a hard place. He grunted at himself in disgust when his body told him he wanted to be stuck against something hard, and it wasn’t a stupid rock.
He stalked silently down the maroon-carpeted corridor to the small kitchen, hoping some activity would stop him from overthinking things.
Moving efficiently around the kitchen, Greg had the urge to pinch himself as he looked around. The austere London office was so much more than he’d expected after working in the Manx office since leaving school with his A levels.
