by JL Merrow
“It’s getting too bloody cold to do this,” he muttered to cover his embarrassment as he stretched aching muscles. Memories of the previous night flooded back in a rising tide of shame. He’d taken advantage of a student, knowing how vulnerable he was. He’d lost control. And what about Tiffany, for God’s sake? Julian’s girlfriend.
Nick hastily disentangled himself from Julian’s drowsy form, then shook him by the shoulder. “Wake up. We need to get back.”
Julian stretched, catlike, and gave him a Cheshire smile to complete the image. “Morning,” he purred.
Nick flushed. “Come on. You’ll freeze,” he said roughly, finding himself unable to look Julian in the eye.
“Nick?” Julian’s voice was quiet, worried. His smile had faded away, leaving only the young man behind. It should have been the other way around, Nick noted dully. He turned away and didn’t answer.
There was an audible sigh, and Julian’s lithe, nude form padded past him, looking all around as if trying to sniff out the location of Nick’s car.
Nick couldn’t help looking. He gave a sharp intake of breath. “Christ, what happened to your back?”
Julian started and then slowly turned. “Discipline.”
In the gray morning light, the scars across his chest showed up as starkly as those on his back. “What?”
“In the pack. It was felt I was in need of discipline.”
Nick’s head whirled. “Your father did this?”
Julian flinched. “No.” It was almost a whisper. “His beta. I was… given to him. To be trained.”
“Trained for what? Trained to be beaten bloody? Christ, those look like whip marks!” Nick could barely control his anger. “And what the hell do you mean, given to him?”
Julian’s back was hunched, his gaze firmly on the ground at his feet. “I was his. To discipline, to—do you really want to hear this?”
No. “Yes, by God, Julian, tell me! What do you mean, his?” As Julian remained silent, Nick’s temper got the better of him and he grabbed hold of Julian’s shoulders, barely restraining himself from giving them a rough shake. “Tell me.”
Julian looked up then. “We fucked, all right? Happy now? Glad you heard that? Pleased you were right about what a filthy little slut I am?”
Nick’s hands clenched convulsively. “You are not a slut! And you are nobody’s but mine!” Suddenly his fury was exhausted, and he let go.
Curiously, Julian seemed to straighten at that, and he strode off confidently through the woods. Nick, who’d forgotten his smartwatch the previous night, was more deflated than surprised when they quickly reached the car. Julian had unerringly led them on a direct route.
Neither of them talked much on the drive back to college, and they parted in the car park with barely a word.
IT WAS around midnight when Tiff walked through Garden Court. It wasn’t exactly on her way back to her room from the impromptu gathering in a fellow history student’s room—but, well, she felt like a walk. Julian’s window was dark, the curtains open.
Turning on her heel, Tiff decided she’d take the direct route after all. Once in her room, she pulled off her boots and then looked in the bathroom mirror. The face that stared back at her looked utterly drab—no makeup, round face, straight mousey hair. Rummaging in her desk drawer, Tiff found her pair of scissors. Very deliberately, she pulled her ponytail round to the front and cut it off, just below the band. The face in the mirror was still staring.
Tiff made a rude gesture at it and went to bed.
Chapter Nine
JULIAN WASN’T in Hall at their usual breakfast time. Tiff latched on to a group of first-years she knew a bit and tried to join in the conversation, uncomfortably aware they were staring at her hair and being far too well-brought-up to mention it.
She didn’t see Jools until lunchtime, in fact, when he dropped into the seat next to hers in Hall, looking irritatingly cheerful. “What happened to your hair, Tiff?” was all she got in the way of greeting.
“It fell off. Have a good night, did you?”
He made an annoyingly vague noise and took a forkful of jacket potato.
“Was it—” She glanced around with involuntary caution. “—you know who, or did you just go down the Rat & Ferret and meet someone there?”
“It was who you think it was.” Somehow she’d expected him to be more, well, smug about it. “You know, it looks a bit weird at the back.”
“What?”
“Your hair. It’s all ragged and different lengths. Are you busy after lunch?”
“Not ’til four. Why?”
“You’ll see.”
He remained irritatingly secretive all through lunch. Then he took her arm and led her out of college and into town.
Tiff balked when they reached the expensive salon on Mill Road. “Jools, I can’t afford this place!”
“You don’t have to. I’ll pay. Think of it as a late birthday present.”
Tiff felt awkward. She hated being reminded he had so much more money than she did. “Julian, my birthday was in March. You didn’t even know me then.”
Julian shrugged. It wasn’t fair, Tiff thought. How could the way someone shrugged make your heart hurt for wanting them?
“But if I had known you, I would have bought you a present. Come on—let’s see if I can sweet-talk them into fitting you in.”
FORTY-FIVE minutes later, Tiff had to admit that sometimes you got what you paid for. Or, in this case, what your best friend paid for. She couldn’t stop looking in the mirror. With her hair like this, she looked almost… pretty.
Julian’s satisfied face appeared in the mirror next to hers, and suddenly she was back to being plain old Tiff, a stone overweight and with a name that didn’t suit her. “There. Isn’t that better?”
She couldn’t not smile back in the face of his obvious pleasure. It wasn’t his fault he was so bloody gorgeous.
As they left the overheated salon and were hit with the chilly East Anglian breeze, Tiff shivered.
“Here, take my jacket,” Julian said at once, gracefully shrugging out of it and presenting it to her like he’d been reading some 1920s etiquette manual.
“Don’t be daft. I’ll get it all hairy.”
Jools just shrugged again. “It’ll brush off.”
Tiff didn’t resist as he slipped the soft, expensive leather around her shoulders. It was warm with the heat of his body and carried his scent—almost, but not quite, like getting a hug.
Her smile growing brittle, Tiff straightened her shoulders. “Come on. We’d better get back to college. I need to get my stuff together for Dr. Sewell’s supervision.”
NICK LOOKED impatiently out of his window. It was only just four, but he was fed up with students arriving late for supervisions. And he knew damn well Tiffany Meadows was in college; he’d seen her walking in with Julian not half an hour ago, thick as thieves. Christ. Had Julian told her what had happened between him and Nick? Guilt curdled with jealousy in his belly. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to look her in the eye—or if he did, whether he’d be able to restrain himself from tearing out her throat.
Christ. If anyone was innocent in all this—
Nick started at the knock on the door, and called out, “Come in,” with a voice that wasn’t quite steady. Kate entered, followed thirty seconds later by Tiffany. She looked somehow different.
“Oh! I like your hair!” Kate sounded equally shocked and admiring as she turned to Tiffany.
Tiffany blushed. “Thanks,” she mumbled. “It was all Jools’s idea, really.”
So that was what they’d been up to. Her hair was cut into a sort of bob that Nick vaguely recognized as fashionable, and he was fairly sure the color was different. It actually made quite a difference to her face. She was wearing Julian’s leather jacket too, Nick realized with a stab of possessive anger.
“When you young ladies have quite finished with the mutual admiration society, might I remind you that this is supposed to be a s
upervision?”
He wasn’t sure, but he thought Tiffany tsked under her breath as she sat down.
GOD, DR. Sewell had been in a right mood during the supervision. As she walked back along Main Court, Tiff drew Julian’s jacket more tightly around her, as if it could ward off the evil eye of the jealous boyfriend. Stupid sod.
It was still an hour to Hall, and Tiff was nearly out of coffee, so she decided to pop into the shops rather than waste the hour trying to study while she was still pissed off about Dr. Sewell. Remembering to take her lamps, she grabbed her bike from the underground bike sheds and set off across town.
By the time she returned, it was nearly six and already almost dark. It always seemed so creepy at this time of day, just after the clocks had gone back—dark when it shouldn’t be, as if there was a storm coming. And Tiff had the weirdest feeling she was being watched as she locked her bike in the bike sheds and turned to go to her room. She was weighed down by shopping bags in both hands—because by the time she’d gone all the way to Sainsbury’s, she was never going to come out with just coffee, was she?—and it made her feel more vulnerable somehow, as if there was a bloody big target painted on her back and she had no hands free to defend herself.
She jumped at the sound of a low growl. There, in the shadows at the far end of the shed. Was there something moving? Putting both bags into her left hand—the floor there was damp and disgusting and probably covered in rat poo, no way was she putting her food down on that—Tiff pulled her bike lamp out of her pocket and switched it on. The beam didn’t really reach far enough, but Tiff thought she saw something… there! Over in the corner—God, what was that? Huge amber eyes….
“Bloody hell, Sab! You didn’t!” Tiff jumped a mile as a gaggle of braying third-years burst into the sheds. “I just can’t believe you did that! And in front of Jonathan! What did he—?” They fell abruptly silent on realizing they weren’t alone, then burst out laughing as they pushed past Tiff to park their bikes.
The next time she looked, there was nothing there. Tiff shivered. Maybe she was imagining things?
Or maybe she’d been right about the rat poo. With an odd feeling of disgust, Tiff followed the third-years back into college.
THE WOLF growled again, this time under his breath. This was not the one. Not his Own, although it wore his scent. The wolf would have liked to have ended it just for that, but, despite the cloaking darkness, there were too many people around.
But there would not always be.
Chapter Ten
NICK WASN’T quite sure what to say when Julian knocked on his door the following evening. Things between them had been a little… strained when they’d parted on arriving back at college after their night together. And then there had been all that business with Tiffany.
“Come in,” he greeted Julian, falling back on social formulas. “You weren’t thinking of, well, going for a run, were you?” The words were so innocuous, as if he were merely suggesting Julian might want to go jogging with him. Not desperately trying to hold himself back from taking him somewhere secluded, by force, if necessary, and debauching him once again, making damn sure Julian knew who he belonged to.
Julian gave him a curious look and smiled guilelessly. “I just wanted to spend some time with you as human.”
The innocent words hit Nick like a kick in the gut. And again there was that curious German phrasing. Once more Nick felt there were rules to this encounter that Julian wasn’t bothering to tell him. He couldn’t decide whether to kick the young man out or slam him up against the wall.
“Drink?” he asked abruptly.
“Please.”
Halfway to the kettle, Nick changed his mind midstride and grabbed a bottle of merlot. He opened it with a swift jerk of his wrist and poured the wine rebelliously into a couple of coffee mugs before handing one to Julian.
There was a strange half smile on Julian’s face as he took the mug and raised it to his lips, muttering, “Your health.”
Zum bloody Wohl, Nick thought sourly, taking a hefty swallow. “Are you sleeping with Tiffany Meadows?” he demanded.
He thought for a moment Julian was about to drop his wine. He started violently and seemed to hunch into himself. “No,” he whispered.
Nick felt like the biggest bastard in the history of bastardy. “Sorry. You… spend a lot of time with her, that’s all. And, well, I saw you kissing her….” Anger clouded the memory, tingeing it an ugly red.
“That was nothing. I swear. I only wanted to make you jealous.”
Oh. Relief overpowered the rage in Nick’s breast. “It worked,” he said dryly. “Don’t do it again.”
Julian looked up, eyes wide. “You believe me?”
“Shouldn’t I?”
“Of course!”
The tension lessened a little. “I’m sorry,” Nick said again. “I….” I know I don’t own you, he’d meant to say, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to say the words.
Startling him slightly, in one graceful movement, Julian put his mug on the floor and knelt before Nick. “For me there is no one except you,” he said softly, laying his head on Nick’s knees.
Nick froze. Julian’s throat was visible, its pale, perfect skin gleaming. If he didn’t move….
Julian moved. Raising himself, but still on his knees, he looked at Nick from under his lashes. Shyly. Submissively. “I belong to you,” he said simply.
It wasn’t a matter of conscious thought. Thought of any kind didn’t enter into it. Nick simply became aware that Julian was stretched out on the floor beneath him, and Nick’s teeth were in his neck again. Julian shuddered as Nick bit down.
“Please,” he whispered, and the last shred of self-control was gone. Nick tore savagely at Julian’s clothes, scarcely allowing his more nimble fingers to assist. Garments were pulled off without regard for their seams or even for their owner.
When the slender form was finally revealed, Nick grasped Julian’s cock tightly enough to cause him to cry out. “Mine,” Nick growled.
Julian’s only reply was to bare his bloodied throat once more.
Nick almost hit him.
Horrified, he thrust himself back and scrambled to his feet, struggling to control his ragged breathing as Julian stared at him in shock. “You don’t want…?”
“I want,” Nick assured him grimly. He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply, then opened them once more. “Never do that again. Never offer yourself to me like a lamb to the bloody slaughter.” I might just take you up on it.
Understanding seemed to flood into those clear blue eyes. Julian visibly battled with himself for a moment. “I won’t,” he said finally. He sat up, then knelt once more. His cock, Nick couldn’t help but notice, was still pointing skyward. Nick didn’t back away as Julian moved toward him, didn’t do a thing to stop this, as Julian reached up to undo Nick’s trousers.
Certainly he didn’t utter any complaint as Julian eased his aching cock out of the confining clothes and guided it into his mouth.
Nick groaned at the first touch of those teasing, pouting lips. It took all he had not to grab Julian by the hair and fuck that mouth violently, savagely erasing the memory of him doing this to the man in the alleyway. He held on to Julian’s shoulders instead. Part of him knew he must be leaving fingertip bruises in that pale, perfect flesh. A larger part of him didn’t care. Blood seemed to rush in his ears, and his vision faded… and then Julian pulled off. Nick groaned again and blinked to clear his eyes. Julian was still on his knees, but now he faced away from Nick. God, he was fingering his own arse, his weight braced on his other arm.
It was quite clear what he wanted.
Nick didn’t make him wait. Dropping to his knees, he pulled Julian’s hand out of the way. His hole, barely stretched, seemed to mock Nick for his hesitation, but instead of thrusting straight in, Nick bent and licked along the length of Julian’s crack.
Julian’s sobbing moan seemed incongruous, too great a reaction. “Please,”
he whispered.
Nick’s fingers tightened upon the slender hips, but nevertheless he bent his head once more. He had to tighten his grasp still further as Julian bucked with every swipe of his tongue. The scent of him…. God, Nick would never forget that scent. He’d be able to pick it out in a crowd of thousands. The smell of Julian, the feel of him, drove Nick wild. Straightening, he lined himself up with Julian’s saliva-slick hole and pushed in.
Julian’s cries became more high-pitched, and he pressed his hips back against Nick’s groin, demanding that Nick go farther, take him more deeply. Nick thought he heard another “please,” but he couldn’t have sworn to it. His whole attention was focused on his cock and on the young man he was making his own. The scars on Julian’s back meant nothing now; it was Nick he’d remember. Nick slammed into him again and again, the force of his thrusts jolting Julian forward on the rug.
It couldn’t last. Nick’s balls tightened, and as he sank his teeth into Julian’s shoulder, his climax rushed upon him with unstoppable force. He had just enough presence of mind not to roar his triumph to the world as he felt Julian’s thin frame shudder beneath him, caught in his own completion.
Chest heaving, Nick collapsed half on top of Julian, rolling to one side so as not to crush him. They should probably have used the bed, but the rug was soft enough not to make it worth moving. Chilly, though. Reaching up, he dragged the throw from the sofa down over them and curled himself around Julian’s slender figure.
They lay there for a long time, neither sleeping nor fully awake.
Finally, Julian spoke, his voice hesitant. “I was surprised, you know.”
“Mmm?” Nick murmured. God, he felt good. Warm, languid, relaxed, Nick felt like he was floating in golden syrup. Mmm, maybe he and Julian could try something with that sometime.
“That you didn’t have anyone.”
Oh. Some of the warmth seemed to seep away. “I—no. I haven’t for a while.” He sighed. “I tried seeing someone when I lived in Nottingham, the year after—after Carl, and it didn’t end well.”
