The Manx Cat Guardians Boxed Set

by J P Sayle

  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 plates 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.

  With little point of reference, he wondered if all London offices were this posh. The dark cream walls and thick, dark maroon carpet gave it a plush feel. The dark furniture in the main offices was both serviceable and plush. He wondered who cleaned the office because the dark furniture didn’t display a speck of dust. He’d found, to his detriment, when he’d had the wild idea his house would look great with all black furniture, that it showed up the slightest bit of dust.

  When Ann’s sultry voice interrupted his thoughts, Greg jumped, and he sprayed sugar across the counter.

  “Hey, you ready to get your party on?”

  Greg couldn’t contain his excitement and responded to her impish smirk with a big arse grin. “You bet your tiny arse I am. I was just tidying up. I’m nearly finished.” Working quickly to clean up the counter, he set the kitchen to rights and filled the dishwasher.

  “Well, you crack on, but we do have someone that comes in nightly to clean.” Her slim shoulders shrugged indifferently as she carried on talking. “I’ll meet you in the lobby of your hotel at nine pm. Nothing much gets going before midnight here.”

  Her raised eyebrows and glowing face had him worry his lip when she continued talking.

  “I hope you’re well rested because, baby, we are about to have some fun tonight. Martin and Stuart are just about finished signing all the contracts and should be ready to leave with you in five.” Ann’s grey eyes glinted with mischief as she slinked forward. “Remember to wear your tightest clothes to show off that delicious body of yours so we can get you hooked up.” Her parting tinkling laughter sounded like several small bells, ringing his doom.

  Greg shrank back against the kitchen side. He couldn’t resist poking his tongue out at her retreating back.

  “I saw that, and you need to save that tongue for later.” Musical chuckles followed Ann’s humorous comment.

  Greg’s jaw dropped.

  How the hell had she seen me?

  Checking around for any mirrors, he shrugged it off, remembering his mother’s ability. She had always said she had eyes in the back of her head. Maybe it’s a female thing.

  Giving up, he headed to find Martin.

  Greg shivered in his tight-fitting, buttery-soft, brown leather jacket. He watched his breath coat the wintery crisp air, turning it white. He shoved his freezing hands into the tiny pockets and sighed for what felt like the tenth time. He wished he’d picked his wool coat instead of his Calvin Klein jacket. The price of looking hot didn’t stop the freezing December air from fighting to get through his thin clothes, giving him unattractive goosebumps upon goosebumps.

  He was just grateful Ann had said it was only a short walk from the cocktail bar to Beyond because his rosy flush from the alcohol he’d consumed was no longer enough to fight the cold. He told himself off for his internal moaning when none of the others, who weren’t dressed any warmer, were complaining.

  Greg’s mood instantly lightened when Martin waved a VIP pass at the huge bouncers manning the door. He couldn’t help the smug smile that covered his face when they all sauntered past the large queue of people straight into heavenly warmth.

  Discarding his jacket, he grabbed the ticket offered by the clerk manning the cloakroom. His excitement grew at the music beating against his chest, and warmth penetrated the layer of icy cold. Thirty minutes later, Greg thought he was in heaven, a marvellous warm sweaty heaven where he hoped it ended with him naked and covered in cum. The sea of men swarming around him left him breathless.

  Greg clutched at Ann, feeling giddy, not sure if it was from his head whipping around continuously or from all the alcohol floating in his bloodstream. He’d never experienced anything like it. It was like his wildest wet dream. His eyes, he was sure, were now sitting on stalks feasting on all the naked male flesh.

  He’d spent some time on the internet looking up the club as he didn’t want to look like a complete country bumpkin. But being here now, the pictures and videos just didn’t do the place justice. They hadn’t given him the energy all those people heaving on the dance floor created as they moved.

  His senses were assaulted from every angle. The scent of musk and aftershave mixed with a slight undertone of sex made it a heady combination when he inhaled. Music poured out of massive speakers. His body hummed with vibrations. The ever-present tingle did things to his cock with each raw sensual beat that passed through his body. He took in the black walls, cast in colourful bursts of flashing strobe lights that moved over the dancing throng that covered the dark wooden dance floor.

  His gaze moved to the large stage at the far end currently occupied by a DJ. Stuart had explained that there would be dancers putting on a show for the patrons later on. Greg wasn’t sure he needed any more of a show, what with all the half-naked, sweaty men that seemed to fill the club to capacity. He swiped at the sweat trickling down his forehead, giving a disgruntled huff at the hair gel melting under the immense heat.

  He was starting to feel slightly overdressed, forgetting his earlier worries about not having on enough layers. The half-naked, sweaty bodies rubbing against him as he stood back, trying to keep out of the ever-moving flow of people around them was enough to make anyone feel overdressed.

  Conversation was impossible. Not that he wanted to talk when his tongue spent more time glued to the roof of his mouth to prevent it falling out and licking any hotness that happened to brush past him, which in this place, was a lot.

  Feeling a little self-conscious, Greg tugged on the shimmery, tight-fitting cream shirt, hoping the untucked hem covered his obvious arousal. H
e was now regretting his choice of shiny brown, figure-hugging trousers that hid nothing and suddenly felt two sizes too small with his semi-erect cock pushing against material that regretfully had no give.

  “Stop fidgeting. You look totally hot.” Ann’s warm, strawberry-alcohol-flavoured breath skirted his lips as she leant into his body, shouting over the music. Greg hauled his hips back as he didn’t want her to notice his predicament. The damp chuckle that skittered across his cheek had him realising he was too late. Grateful for the darkness, he hoped she put his heated skin down to the room temperature.

  It was an epic fail on the country bumpkin avoidance. His lip poked out as he shouted over the music. “Where did Stuart and Martin go?”

  Her response was lost under the beat of Portugal, The Man, song ‘Feel it Still’, but he got the jist when she pointed towards the wall that had a bar stretching the length of the building. Greg nodded as he swayed to the tempo of the music.

  A tiny shiver ran up Greg’s spine, making him halt for a second. The feel of eyes on him had him viewing the surrounding area, but he was unsure what he was looking for with all the bodies jammed around him. He spotted a tall blond with his sexy sparkling eyes fixed on him a few feet away. Second-guessing himself, Greg lowered his lashes and discreetly looked around him. He saw nobody looking the guy’s way, and he lifted his eyelids to see the guy aim a come-hither, smouldering look at him.

  Greg chewed his lip, hiding his smirk at how unsexy the guy looked.

  Did the dude really think that worked?

  The blond lifted a large hand, beckoning Greg. He chuckled. It would seem he did.

  Greg licked his lip and shrugged.

  What do I have to lose?

  He ramped up his own smile, hoping he got the sexy sneer he’d practiced in the mirror just for this kind of moment right. He lowered his lashes, playing coy. He let his eyes linger on the guy’s naked, well-defined chest and tight-fitting trousers, showing off his other attributes nicely.

  Feeling bolder than he’d ever felt in his life after several cocktails, he let Dutch courage surging through him take hold.

  Greg pulled on Ann’s arm, taking his attention off the hot blond. He tapped her arm again when minutes seem to tick by. He gave the couple Ann was staring at his full attention. The two men looked like they were seconds from stripping each other naked. Their hands were busily pushing and shoving at what scraps of clothing they wore.

  Greg could see why she was riveted. The raw, sexual tension floating off them could have started a fire. He barely managed to look away as he shouted up into her ear. “You perv, I am going over there to chat to the hot blond behind me.”

  Her brows dipped, a furrow appearing between her eyes when she glanced over his shoulder. Greg chewed his lip. She said I looked hot, so what the fuck is her problem?

  “What, do you want me to stay until the boys come back?”

  Not sure why she was now glaring at the blond, Greg felt his drunken state might be making him misjudge the situation. Glancing back at the blond, he found his gaze blocked by a small, dark-haired man who was currently humping the leg of the blond while they ate each other. Unsure what had just happened, he felt a little disheartened that his first real attempt at flirting in a London club had bombed.

  “Ignore him, sweetie, he is a total man whore. He is here nearly every night looking for a shag. There is definitely more appealing hotness than that. Now let me have a look for you to see what I can find.”

  Greg was convinced his ear was bleeding after Ann shouted into his left ear. Her words rang through his pounding head, following the beat of the music. Banging his ringing ear, he watched her eyes glint with eagerness as she turned back towards the dance floor. The strobe lighting casting shadows over her face made it hard to tell who she was scoping out.

  Greg felt his earlier intimidation rise. He was not sure how to refuse her offer to help. He floundered, and his eyes were drawn back to where the blond was standing.

  Greg froze and exhaled sharply. He groaned in despair at his traitorous cock bucking in delight. His eyes travelled up the solid tree trunk legs encased in tailored, black-fitted trousers, up a shirt, past long shimmering hair that was no longer blond but dark. Hair he knew was as soft as silk hung in waves over broad shoulders. His gaze landed lastly on the fathomless, inky black eyes belonging to Aaden.

  Greg’s heart thudded heavily against his breast bone. His alcohol-addled brain tried to catch up to the reality of the previous week’s threat.

  You have got to be fucking kidding me?

  Seriously, why me? Why?

  Greg felt the secret thrill and hope that he’d tried to hide from himself flare to life as he opened and closed his eyes checking the image was real. Unwavering dark onyx pinned Greg in place, raking over every inch of his body. The retribution for defying him clearly glinted in the depth of those dark, fathomless eyes.

  As he inhaled sharply, his lungs struggled to draw in enough air. His pulse danced faster than the music pounding through his body. Panicked, Greg grabbed onto Ann.

  “Come on, let’s dance.”

  He was desperate to escape, or that’s what he told himself. Greg didn’t give Ann a chance to answer. Gripping on to her arm for dear life, he dragged her behind him, going straight to the middle of the dance floor. Greg pushed his way through the withering mass, hoping to get lost in the throng of sweaty bodies.

  He would not acknowledge the secret hope that Aaden would follow and plaster that large, firm body against his. That he would allow Greg to dance up his body, instead of the poles situated around the club.

  Several songs came and went, causing Greg’s hope to die. He huffed out a warm breath. His bottom lip quivered as it pushed out. Fuck him.

  Why the fuck did he follow me, and then pretend like I don’t exist?

  What is it with that arsehole?

  His moody thoughts shifted when the sultry sounds of “Sanctify” by Years and Years pulsed through the speakers.

  Greg squealed in delight.

  Sod him.

  I love this song, and that big fucker isn’t going to spoil my night.

  He lost himself in the sensual beat of the music, dancing to the rhythm, his hips enticed, swaying. His bottom thrust in time to the beat while his arms lifted and swayed in the air. His eyes drifted shut. The pulsing beat thrummed up through his feet, spreading up his legs, as wet heat surrounded them.

  His eyes flicked open alarmingly fast when damp, naked skin plastered itself to his back. Firm hands took hold of his hips, making his feet falter. A rigid cock ground into his butt cheeks a millisecond before warm lips grazed his left cheek.

  “Hey, sexy, you up for some fun?”

  The low question rumbled into his ear as firm fingers pulled at his chin, allowing the guy’s minty-alcohol breath to merge with his. The eager light on the man’s attractive face was gratifying, even if he looked a little buzzed. Greg nodded in agreement, not giving himself the chance to change his mind. He felt a little bad for the guy when his first thought was he hoped this made Aaden jealous.

  Shaking off the worry wart that told him he was asking for trouble, Greg let the alcohol-fuelled brazen side of him take hold.

  Greg let the stranger fondle him. His earlier frustration with Aaden was now firmly in the driving seat, and he ignored his common sense. He hit the accelerator, knowing he was playing with fire. Just like the child told not to touch the hot flame, he found himself drawn to the flames.

  He inhaled, relaxing under the scents of candied sweets and sweat coming from the other man’s naked skin. Dampness and warmth seeped through Greg’s thin shirt, making the silky material rub against his heated flesh. He felt hands slide across his chest, brushing at his nipples before firm fingers pinched and tweaked them.

  Greg sighed in frustration when his cock barely registered the sensations.

  His mind went belligerent when he found himself staggering forward, shouting, “Hey, be careful!”


  He lurched into Ann who had been dancing with a gorgeous man with a face full of drag makeup. Greg had a moment to wonder how he wasn’t a dripping mess in the sweltering heat before he registered the man behind him was gone and his arm was now encased in steely arms. Arms, he noted which were yanking him unceremoniously away from his dance partner and through the crowd towards the exit.

  Greg’s mouth gaped open.

  His lips smacked together, and no words escaped. His mind floundered at the caveman tactics Aaden was using on him, yet again. He staunchly snubbed the raging hard-on trying to rip a hole in his new trousers or his feet that took on a mind of their own, following meekly behind.

  His lips puffed out at his body’s lack of reaction to the stranger, who’d been splayed all over his back and arse. Now it appeared Aaden’s touch, even if only to his arm, ignited a fire that had him in need of a fire hose to put it out, and preferably the fire hose that was curled up inside Aaden’s black-tailored trousers.

  He was unsure why he wasn’t screaming blue murder, and his feet faltered as the music changed and Ellie Goulding’s song “My Blood” spilled from the speakers. A thousand tiny shivers skirted up his spine, lifting every hair on his body. The words from the song seemed to reverberate through his soul, reminding him of their first encounter.

  Greg stumbled. He tried to pull back and get Aaden to release his arm from his iron grip as images danced in front of his eyes.

  He could see and feel the heat of the flames dancing up his naked body as screams ripped from his melting mouth. His eyes rolled into the back of his head as severe burning heat cut through his back. His breath rasped out, making him gurgle as he fought the blackness taking him into a world of fear and pain.

  Aaden

  Aaden wasn’t sure what had pulled him from his evening dose in front of the tiny telly perched on the rickety chair at the end of his blow-up bed. He’d only been giving it half his attention before he drifted off.

  He rubbed his hands over his face and pushed the tangled hair out of his eyes, moaning when his back twinged. He was going to need to put more air in the bloody bed, again. The manufacturers seriously got it wrong when they said the bed would take up to twenty stone and stay inflated more than a few hours. He blew at his flopping fringe, huffing. Between the crappy bed and the nightmares, the sleepless nights were killing him. He’d be a candidate for a zombieville at this rate.