by Fel Fern
“Don’t worry about it, you’ll do fine,” Dusty said, as if reading his mind.
The leopard shifter mounted his bike and Trace took a couple of seconds to admire the way Dusty moved. Since yesterday, he’d noticed the strange feline and graceful way Dusty moved. Were all feline shifters like that?
There was no denying from a single glance that Dusty was a born predator and he was only human. Shifters dating other shifters from a different animal was rare, he discovered through Google, but shifters dating other species like a human? Not impossible, but even rarer.
He awkwardly hopped behind Dusty, suddenly aware of the powerful back muscles of the leopard shifter in front of him. Trace wrapped his arms around Dusty’s waist, feeling nothing but hard muscle. He let out a breath.
“Hold onto me tight,” Dusty said. The shifter gave him brief instructions on how to ride a bike and he didn’t interrupt, taking everything in. Then Dusty started the engine and they were off. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
Trace had been so scared at first, terrified he’d somehow fall off, but riding a motorcycle was exhilarating, much different than riding a car. Wind whipped at their faces but Dusty’s back was so warm, he didn’t need an extra blanket. Dusty drove past the main town area, and its restaurants, bars, and the cinema. The buildings faded away, replaced by narrow roads and trees.
These woods used to scare Trace when he was younger, which was why he seldom ventured out at night, but now, with this huge shifter in front of him, he was fearless. Dusty went off-road and started on a dirt road.
There were few lights here, which worried him a little. He thought they would get lost. Then he recalled shifters could see in the dark. Trace always worried too much. He spied lights ahead of them. There were two trucks parked in front of a modern-looking two-story cabin and a couple of people standing by a fire.
Dusty stopped the bike and let Trace dismount first. A slender young man with brown hair and laughing green eyes approached them, a German Shepard trailing him.
“Hi, you must be Trace. I’m Bowen,” the guy greeted. If Bowen was a shifter, then he shouldn’t have anything to worry about. Bowen’s smile looked genuine, and how could anyone not melt at the adorable German shepherd who wagged her tail at him.
“Trace,” he mumbled, surprised the dog sniffed at his hand then licked at it. “Hi, cutie, what’s your name?”
“That’s Brownie,” Bowen said. “She’s an ex-police dog Mike and I adopted. She likes her ears being rubbed.”
Trace did just that, delighted when Brownie woofed at him. Mrs. Irwin had a black cat called Fluffy, which was ironic given Fluffy tried so many times to scratch him. Dogs were a lot better. Not that he could very well admit as much, given he was dating a very big and dangerous predatory cat.
“Dusty, glad you could come,” said a gruff voice which belonged to a massive tanned man with distinctive white-gold hair and glacial blue eyes.
Realizing he was in the presence of another predator, he sided closer to Dusty. Dusty placed his hands on his shoulders, touch soothing. The newcomer placed a possessive arm around Bowen’s shoulders and he realized the man’s hand was prosthetic. Bowen looked at the newcomer with adoration in his eyes.
“Trace, this is Mike, Bowen’s mate. The two guys by the fire are Abram and Kane,” he said.
“Nice to meet you,” he managed.
Mike nodded. “We’re glad Dusty brought you. We’ve been a little worried about him.”
“Worried how?” he asked, curious.
Dusty growled, which made him still, still unused to being around a shifter, but he didn’t flinch away.
“He’s become really anti-social, spends all his time at his work,” Mike said as Bowen gave his mate a nudge in the ribs.
“Be more sensitive,” Trace heard Bowen whisper to his mate. It made him smile, observing the couple who seemed completely at ease and at sync with each other.
“Come on, I’ll introduce you to Abram and Kane. I’m damn hungry,” Dusty grumbled.
Trace was too nervous to eat but he let Dusty lead the way. Abram looked as imposing as Mike, but older, scarred, and more serious-looking. Abram gave him a small smile. Kane, Abram’s slender and tabby shifter mate was easier to get along with.
Trace was worried as hell he’d screw this up badly, that Dusty’s friends would dislike him. Kane mentioned knowing about him, so he expected questions about what happened three months ago. Dusty also briefly told them how he and Abram had met, but no one was intrusive or asked him embarrassing questions.
He wasn’t good with making small talk, that was the reason he disliked talking to other members of the art community when he had a show, but the others made him feel right at home. He could tell they were a tight group and he listened hungrily to stories shared about Dusty and the others’ time in the military. Despite the funny tales, he knew they kept their own secrets to themselves.
He thought he was too nervous to eat, but he ate his fill of boar, trout, and vegetables. Trace was enjoying himself so much, he didn’t realize time had passed by so swiftly, and before he knew it, Dusty and he were saying their good-byes.
“Come again next time, Trace,” Bowen said and beside him, Brownie barked in agreement.
“I will. I hope Dusty doesn’t get sick of me,” he joked but Bowen wore an uncommonly serious expression on his face.
Trace was glad Dusty was still trading words with Mike from a distance, and Abram and Kane were tidying up the fire and BBQ.
“Trace, do you know how Dusty looks at you?” Bowen paused. “None of us has ever seen him like this, this happy, in over a year.”
His stomach did strange twists. He’d heard the others briefly mention again how Dusty had nearly lost control of his animal and turn into a feral shifter a year ago.
Trace knew that was a serious incident because years ago, the powerful paranormals in town had banded together to hunt down a powerful werewolf who’d lost his humanity. It had been a massive taskforce, and even so, many townsfolk were injured and two people had died.
Dusty nearly losing to his leopard didn’t scare him to leaving or anything like that. Everyone was laughing, having fun, making jokes, but Trace could tell war had left scars on the former soldiers. He had internal scars of his own so he understood a little of what Dusty was going through.
“I want to see him happy, too,” he whispered. “I want him to keep smiling. I’ve only known him since yesterday, but he’s already helping me change my outlook in life.”
Bowen lit up at that and he understood why a big rough guy like Mike could loosen up and smile, thanks to Bowen. “I hope this doesn’t scare you, but just so you know, shifters mate for life.”
With those mind-blowing parting words, their conversation was ended when Dusty and Mike approached them.
“Ready to go?” Mike asked him.
“Let’s meet up for coffee sometime, Trace. In case you have questions,” Bowen said, winking at him.
“I might take you up on that offer,” he said. Learning about shifters through the internet could only get him so far, and besides, he had a feeling he could be friends with Bowen, and even Kane.
“What was that about?” Dusty asked as they headed to Dusty’s bike.
“Secret.” He put his helmet back on.
Dusty, thankfully, left it alone. The ride back felt more exhilarating than the nervous ride before. He shut his eyes, enjoying the breeze on his face. All around him, the woods smelled of freshly turned earth, of pine. He was almost sad to see them returning to civilization.
Dusty stopped the bike in front of his apartment and it was over all too soon. Heart racing, he handed Dusty his helmet. Dusty had alarmingly been a gentleman throughout the evening and he was hoping for Dusty to sneak a kiss, a touch.
A sneaking suspicion came to mind. “You know about my attack.”
He hadn’t intended for the words to come out like an accusation.
“I know
you’ve been hurt. Let’s take things slowly. There’s no rush.”
At least Dusty hadn’t considered him ruined goods. Trace knew Dusty’s words made sense, but today had been a game changer. By inviting Trace into Dusty’s close circle of friends, he’d been allowed into Dusty’s heart, and that made him want to help this broken shifter get better even more.
“But I don’t want that,” he snapped. “I’m not fragile, Dusty.”
Dusty regarded him, pupils turning a dangerous shade of gold. “Be sure of what you want, little human, because once we start, I can’t stop.”
“This is what I want.” To emphasize his point, Trace planted one palm on Dusty’s chest and sensed the shifter’s steady beating heart, the rhythm of someone who knew what he wanted.
“Good.” Dusty smiled, showing teeth, then tipped his head back and slanted lips over his. Dusty nipped on his lower lip and sucked his upper one before prodding his tongue between his lips. Trace opened up and sucked down hard.
Heat crashed into him like a wave and he responded in turn, kissing back fiercely. Dusty ran his hand down his waist, pawed at his shirt, then jerked his head toward the apartment where they could have more privacy. He parted from Dusty, then, hesitantly, grabbed Dusty’s hand before tugging the huge shifter inside.
Impatient, he led the leopard shifter to the lift and jabbed the button to his floor.
“I think I like this side of you, Trace. So determined.”
At those words, he blushed, even more when Dusty lowered his head and licked the side of his neck, tongue circling his leaping pulse. He glimpsed a hint of sharpened teeth but he wasn’t afraid. Bowen mentioned something about shifters mating for life and he wanted to take the lynx shifter’s offer and ask his own questions about shifter culture and mating rituals.
They crashed out of the elevator. No longer able to contain himself, he slipped a hand under Dusty’s shirt, groaning as he touched a dusting of hair over Dusty’s firm six-pack abs. Oh God. Dusty was like a Greek god in the flesh and he wanted more. He fumbled for his key and they somehow managed to stumble inside.
After Morgan’s attack, touch became repulsive to him, but instead of cruel hands, Dusty’s touch was possessive yet careful, full of genuine want and not greed. If this powerful leopard shifter wanted to burn him from the inside out from his kisses and touches alone, then Trace would gladly burn.
“You’re wearing too many clothes,” Dusty said, voice harsh, edged with emotion.
His back hit the seldom-used kitchen counter. Cooking didn’t interest Trace, never did, so he relied on pre-made supermarket food or take-out. That was why that BBQ felt special to him. Until that moment, he hadn’t known sharing a meal and laughter with friends could feel so special.
He swallowed. Trace had thought about offering Dusty a drink, but he didn’t want Dusty to wake up and decide sex was no longer on the table. Trace fumbled for his shirt, taking it off in haste before noticing Dusty had taken a step back, his gaze full of lust. Trace always felt awkward about his body. No matter how many times he tried to bulk up in his youth, his slender body remained the same.
Dusty devoured him with his eyes though, as if Trace was perfect in his eyes. He moved onto his jeans, fingers caught in the button from the excitement. It seemed Dusty had lost his patience and caged Trace’s body with his, taking over. In seconds, the zipper was down and he stepped out of his jeans and boxers.
It took him a second to realize Dusty remained dressed, while he was naked, vulnerable. Excitement coursed through his body. Dusty looked at him like he was the most desirable man in the world and he’d never experienced that before. Morgan had said if it wasn’t for the amazing art he produced, Trace wasn’t much to look at.
No. Trace cast his thoughts of Morgan away. That monster didn’t deserve to have a presence in this wonderful moment.
“You’re still dressed,” he whispered, squeaking when Dusty closed his huge hands on his waist. With a single, effortless movement, the powerful shifter lifted him until Trace sat on the edge of the kitchen counter. He let out a breath.
“Trust me,” Dusty’s words were firm as the shifter placed a hand on his belly, urging him to lie down on the counter.
After Morgan, Trace had closed himself to the real world. He’d hated it so much, preferring to be lost in his paintings instead. Dusty was like a fresh breath of air, an unstoppable force of nature who could help him realize the world wasn’t such a bad place after all.
Dusty took off his own shirt and the sight of Dusty’s cut upper body took his breath away. He licked his lips in anticipation.
Dusty noticed and smirked. “You like what you see, little human?”
“Oh yeah, but the view’s better if you dropped your pants, too.”
“Impatient, aren’t we? If you’re good, I might just let you pet me.”
“W-what? Really?” Trace wished he didn’t sound too eager.
All his experience came from reading gay romance novels. If a guy appeared too eager, it might put off their lover, except that didn’t seem like it was about to happen anytime soon.
“Absolutely, but be still first, pet. I think I want to enjoy your body first.”
Chapter Six
“Pet?” he whispered.
“It’s a term of endearment.” Dusty rubbed at his belly, then lowered himself, blanketing his body over Trace.
Trace groaned at the contact of skin, at the sheer ecstasy of Dusty’s muscles rubbing against his smooth skin. Dusty still had his jeans on but he hadn’t known that the denim rubbing against his bare skin could feel so sensual either.
Anticipation filled him. He couldn’t wait for Dusty to free his dick from those dratted bottoms and slide inside his tight ass. Trace wanted this fierce yet protective leopard to replace all his bad memories with good ones.
Dusty was careful not to put his weight on him either, he noticed. Dusty took his lips again, sending tiny sparks right to his thickening prick. He moaned when Dusty pulled away only to pepper more kisses down the side of his neck, licking at his pulse again before moving lower, layering kisses and playful bites down the side of his body.
He whimpered when Dusty wrapped fingers around his shaft and started stroking him, too, back and forth, slow and fast. It was as if the big cat wanted to tease him until he came. Wait. Could that be the devious leopard shifter’s intentions?
Trace lost his train of thought a moment later when Dusty lowered his head and took Trace’s right nipple in his mouth and sucked down. He jerked, crying out as Dusty bit lightly, leaving his teeth marks there. A wave of satisfaction filled him, seeing that mark.
Dusty moved onto his left, giving it the same attention. Trace found himself weaving fingers into Dusty’s hair. The shifter didn’t seem to mind. He gave his prick a few more tugs before stopping, and Trace mewled in protest. He didn’t need to worry, because Dusty seemed intent on worshipping his body.
More hot kisses on his ribs, his belly, but he froze when Dusty reached his dick, already at half-mast.
“Mine,” Dusty said.
Then the shifter flicked a tongue at his leaking tip, tonguing his slit. He squirmed but the big cat seemed far from done. Dusty paid attention to the sensitive spot underneath his cockhead, traced every vein, ridge, and bump of his prick, even sucked at his balls. Each time Dusty put his mouth to his cock and balls, shocks went right through him.
The pressure in him built, and as if sensing his dilemma, Dusty gripped his balls and said, “Not yet, only come when I tell you, too.”
“Possessive bastard,” he rasped, but the shifter’s words only made his body burn fever-hot with need.
“You like it,” Dusty replied simply.
Mischievous smile on his lips, Dusty opened his mouth and started giving him a blow job. He was too shocked for words. On the receiving end, he lay there, helpless, incredibly turned on as Dusty bobbed his head up and down.
“Did I do something right?” he whispered, touching Dusty’s chee
k. The shifter paused, probably wondering if he missed something, so he repeated himself.
“You came into my life.”
If possible, his blush deepened. God, he must look like a human tomato about now, but Dusty only seemed to find that endearing, because the shifter gave his dick a couple of licks before pulling away. Dusty began to undo his jeans, much to his relief.
“Finally,” he declared.
Dusty dropped his pants, exposing his dick, and his mouth dropped open. He stared at the perfect, enormous length of Dusty’s beautiful cock.
“I don’t think you can fit inside of me,” he whispered. Was it wrong for him to want this, given what he’d gone through before?
“You’re scared and excited at once.” Dusty stooped down and grabbed a tube of lube from the back pocket of his jeans.
“Do you carry that all the time?” He couldn’t help it; he changed topics when he was nervous.
“I knew even if I wasn’t going to get any action tonight, I’d probably head home and masturbate, thinking of you.”
The image of this powerful shifter reclining in bed, giving himself a hand job while thinking of Trace, made him groan. He didn’t think he could be the object of anyone’s fantasies.
“Trace, listen. We don’t need to do this. Forcing others against their will—”
Trace sat up, alarmed, furious. “You’re not forcing me to do anything. I invited you to my home, remember? Take me, Dusty. Please. I didn’t realize I could want someone, want this so much.”
Dusty hesitated.
“Help me,” he whispered, clutching at Dusty’s hand.
“With what, baby?”
“Forget, but please don’t think I’m using you or anything like that. I trust you, know deep down, you wouldn’t hurt me, no matter how insane that sounds. I care about you. You’re important to me. That’s why I want you to be my first after him,” he whispered.
