Morgan had often sent buddies of his from his community to check in on me at work. Barely a day had gone by without one or another peeking in at me, more often than not either Jordan or Fain. He'd never trusted me to be where I said, no matter how many years of obedience I'd given him.
"No," I told her quietly. "I didn't know Jeff died until earlier today."
We sat in silence a moment, and then she asked the question I'd been asking myself since earlier that day: "Does this have anything to do with them? Or your leaving?"
"No," I tried to assure her, but the word came out thick and wrong. She didn't believe me, but then neither did I.
When I let her go she told me to be safe and stay in contact. "A human died, Brett," she reminded me. "They won't just overlook that."
They, again. The closest I ever heard anyone get to speaking about our governors outside of my grandfather. I wondered how our unseen patrons would view my involvement in Jake's death. It wasn't my hand that killed him, but my actions had doubtlessly landed him there. If they were able to put together the pieces, what would happen to me?
I could pack Olive up and run, leave all of my things and the house behind. What was the point, though? It would only give me a temporary reprieve, and then this would all just happen again. Even if no one knew, and if he couldn’t track me down, hunger and fear would just turn me into Gram. That was no life to live.
I was starting to find happiness here. Each minute I spent with Lane made me think I could move beyond my past, and each with Lillian and Joe made me feel like I had people again. Morgan’s people had never been mine, but here I might actually have a chance at finding a place.
What if it really was him, though? Could there be any chance someone else killed Jake, and that the break-in was just some sick gang blowing off steam? If it was him, and he was on my trail, what kind of danger was I bringing down on our heads?
I wanted to absolve myself of the guilt, but the evidence stacked up against it. Even the way Jake died suggested it was either Morgan or someone like him, a mage with the ability to twist someone apart from the inside, and who could manipulate enough energy to scar a building.
****
I didn't realize how late Lane was until he showed up with his hair practically weighted down with sawdust. Seeing him coming in through the door, tall and healthy, eased some of the weight that had settled onto my shoulders after my conversation with Denise.
"Don't ask," he chuckled before I could say a word.
I threw a can of soup onto the stove and listened to Lane's account of his day. His father and brother had apparently faced off over a sale disagreement, resulting in a swiftly cleared store and a pretty strained afternoon for all involved. Lane spent what he could of it out back cutting boards for a custom order, hence the mess.
"I couldn't wait to get away from the pair, either. Old Ivan was there looking for some paint when it started, and you should’ve seen the pitying look the man gave me."
Picturing Ivan giving anyone a pitying look was hard. I could only imagine how bad it would have to be to garner that.
I told Lane about my own quiet afternoon, assuring him that nothing had happened and that I'd been fine. He never called me on it, but lingered at the table after we ate, asking for a game of cards and then another one. I knew I should tell him the truth but couldn’t manage to find the words. I just wanted to be there with him and not have to think anymore about Morgan or anything else, even if only for a few stolen hours.
We moved into the living room after that and watched television for a while. I leaned against his side as one show slid into another. I tangled my fingers with his, feeling the mix of nervous content and budding heat stirred up by our proximity. As nervous as I still was about our relationship, I felt that same heat, only mine was emboldened by the knowledge it was shared.
When it got late Lane hinted at the question of where he would be sleeping, making a comment about how nice the guest room was. Both of us wanted more than that, I knew, but I was too drained to even consider taking it that far. There was something, though, that I felt ready to do.
Steeling my nerves, deciding I wanted it more than I was afraid, I slid onto the floor by Lane's knees, leaning back against the couch and tilting my head to meet his curious gaze.
I rested my arms against his knees, keeping my eyes on his as I ran my finger over the snaps of his zipper. His pupils blew, chasing the irises. Dared on by his reaction, I undid his zipper and slipped my hand inside, pulling his ruddy head free.
Thick, long, and gorgeously ready. Lane held amazingly still as I experimentally ran my fingers over his tip. He was likely scared to spook me. That was what I read in the joy-excitement-eager-need thrumming from him to me. It would be funny, him so large, sure, confident-looking, if it weren't something I myself worried about. His skin felt good in my hand, though, and his gentle sweetness felt good in my mind. I wanted to keep my fingers curled around him, keep feeling the beat of his pulse there and the warmth of his mind, but I didn’t want him to come like that.
I twisted over his lap to close my lips over his tip, reaching my other hand into his jeans to fondle the thick balls hidden away. It felt good to have him on my tongue, and I worked him steadily, breathing through my nose and concentrating on the taste of him in my mouth, the smell.
It was a few hums, gentle motions, and then his hands were a flurry, him hard and leaking and full.
“Oh my God, Brett,” he gasped, stroking my hair and neck, sliding his hands through my locks. I could feel his eyes watching me and tasted his nearness. When he gave a jerk, thrusting deeper into my mouth before stilling himself with impressive restraint, I gave a few strong pulls, urging him towards his release and swallowing.
He pulled me up when he caught his breath, kissed me, licking his taste from my mouth. "Let me return the favor?" He gasped when we pulled away, making a fumbling reach for the tented material at the front of my pants. I shivered when his hand made contact but shook my head, catching his hand and squeezing gently.
"Maybe later," I answered, leaning against him and ignoring my own aching dick. I'd have to go tend it soon, but wanted to enjoy this just a bit more, first.
****
The next morning an unfamiliar number called, sending my nerves singing. Lane had left for work, and I was there on my own. I stared at the caller ID, cursing my weakness for calling Denise. Of course, she'd be watched. If Morgan was willing to hunt down a human man, why would he overlook a mage? How did I even know her community had no ties to his?
By the third ring I gave in and answered. "Hello?”
“Hi, Brett," a cheerful female voice answered. My breath gusted from my lungs. Just Carole.
“Hi,” I answered, wondering what she wanted.
"Yesterday really wasn't the day to say anything, but I wanted to see if you'd come in for an interview early tomorrow? Jessica is going on leave soon, and we've been pretty swamped these last few weeks."
Battling back the rush of mingled relief and nerves, I shook myself and smiled. “Thank you so much, Carole,” I told her. “I’d love that. What time would you like me there?”
Chapter Ten
The morning of my interview dawned long before any actual dawn came along. Olive was awake and yowling in my face long before the sun was up, and by the time she settled my alarm had gone off. Lane—still refusing to leave, like the proverbial stray cat after having been fed—poked his head out and muttered a good luck before shuffling back in, leaving the door ajar. He had a later start, and it wasn’t long before I heard his snores start up again.
I showered and dressed quickly, fighting the nerves in my stomach. I crept into Lane’s room before taking off, hesitating before leaning close enough to press a chaste kiss to his cheek. His dreams were warm and light, judging from the contentment he felt. Clinging to that feeling, I backed out quietly and locked the front door behind me when I left.
I felt swollen from chest to stomach with the ner
ves rolling about inside by the time I parked outside the restaurant. It was for a good reason this time, at least, I told myself, accepting the nerves as a necessary evil.
It was just about time for the interview, so no dallying in the car.
The restaurant was the quietest I had ever seen it. Only two tables were in use, and the people spoke quietly amongst themselves.
Carole met me with a grin, and I smiled back. "Thank you for the interview," I told her.
It was short. Impersonal. She asked me about my experience, and how long I’d worked for Jeff. When I admitted I had never worked for anyone else, she didn’t seem too bothered by it.
I bought two muffins on my way out, remembering that Lane was partial to their raspberry ones. Corey hadn’t lied when he’d said Lane was almost as bad about muffins as he was coffee.
Lane stumbled out of the spare room just as I got home.
"How was your interview?" he asked in greeting.
"Good," I answered, hesitating a second before giving him a quick peck. Ew, morning breath. Still, I smiled at the simple joy he felt just from seeing me. He felt the same pleasure I did at finding him there waiting for me, and it was a strange and pleasant experience.
“Do you know if you got it?”
“She told me I could start Thursday,” I told him, then lifted the bag and shook it at him. “We have muffins.”
He crowed, probably more excited than I was, the big goof. I was pretty sure he was excited for the job, although his love for muffins was impressive.
****
By Thursday I’d finally managed to shake Lane, assuring him I was fine and that it was obvious nobody was harboring any intent to come back. I’d even managed to convince myself the same, figuring Morgan would never have had the patience to remain hidden for this long. He’d need the power-rush of having me see his face.
Whoever broke in, I told myself firmly, they were long gone now. It couldn’t have been connected to my old life.
I missed him as I took my time getting dressed and ready, but at least the lack of distraction let me focus on the task. It was quieter than I’d grown to like, with no snoring rumbling through the walls or cheerful morning chatter chasing me from one room to the next.
I managed to get my curls to settle into a semblance of order, but the rain undid most of my work and I was sopping wet by the time I ran from the side parking-lot to what even I was starting to think of as “The Restaurant”.
“So much rain!” Carole called out. She laughed when she saw me. “You look drowned."
My curls were a sopping mess. I shoved them out of my face, offering her a grin. “Still love the curls?”
She winked. “Always.”
I noticed a flyer on the counter and glanced down at it. Carole snorted when she saw what caught my eye.
"They're getting worse,” she told me, crumpling it and throwing it into the garbage. “I don't think they get the irony of printing these things off, but it's good for a laugh."
"What're they for? I've seen a few around, but they don't say much."
"The usual foolishness. They promote a return to nature, giving up electricity and modernity for a 'more real' existence."
“That sounds…” I searched for a word, then gave up, settling on, “boring.”
“Insane, more like. Let them all go live in the woods this winter and see how they like it. I bet that’d take care of half their numbers.”
My first shift was nerve-wracking. I did my best not to have any skin contact, worried it would distract me from the calm I was trying to cultivate. Carole was wonderful, taking time to show me the different quirks of the old cash register and helping me practice taking orders on her a few times before kicking me out from behind the counter when a new customer walked in and took a seat.
“Ivan is a bit moody,” she chuckled, nodding towards the man I’d met a handful of times before, “but he’s a good sport.”
He looked up at me from under his old ball cap when I walked over with my pad. “Got you working here now, huh,” he muttered.
“Yes, sir,” I answered. I gave him the best smile I could manage under the nervous flutter of my stomach. I started to set the menu on his table, and he waved me off with a pshaw.
“Get me eggs, toast, beans, and coffee,” he barked. “Tell Job it’s Ivan. He’ll make it right.”
I bit back a chuckle, scribbled on my pad, and delivered his order before getting him coffee. Job, the main cook, rolled his eyes and said he knew what to do.
Most of the morning went similarly, some people politely taking their menus while most just fired off orders without bothering to take a look. Carole and the others were always close in case I had questions, but it wasn’t bad, just a bit difficult to keep track of what went where. There were no table numbers, so I tried to mark down tricks of decorations or whatnot to place where each order went.
True to his word, Lane came by on his lunch and brought Corey with him. It was nice seeing their familiar faces, Lane’s especially. Carole chuckled at whatever look she saw on my face when they came in and told me they were all mine, so I took their orders. I took Corey’s good-natured ribbing in stride, shooting Lane a quick smile when he swatted at his brother. I paused to talk for a second but then hurried off, their orders scribbled down.
Before Lane paid and left he told me he’d missed me that morning. Even knowing Corey was there to hear, and likely wouldn’t let either of us hear the end of it, I admitted I’d felt much the same. I took off back for the kitchens with Corey’s guffaw in my ears and the memory of Lane’s broad grin making that laughter worth it.
There were a few people who were cool when I came to their table, but Carole told me not to worry. “They’re like that,” she assured me, “but people really like Lane. That'll probably rub off on you after a while."
Her surety of the words despite what a short time I’d known him made me a little uncomfortable. He’d been amazing ever since we met, but that didn't make it permanent, no matter how desperately I wished it could be. I was bound to eventually become too much for him, the same as I would for anyone. I smiled, nodded, and tried to ignore the pang in my chest shaken out by that thought.
I needed to enjoy him while I had him, and not let myself hope for more than I could reasonably expect.
****
It took Lane maybe ten minutes to get to my place after his shift. His hair was slicked back and damp, so he must have showered before calling.
“You looked hot behind the counter,” he told me, letting out a sound of content. He prowled closer, playful, and pecked my nose when he was in reach. "Carole wasn't too horrible, was she?" he teased.
"She's wonderful." A bit of a control freak, but still. I leaned against Lane's side, loving the feel of his thick arm wrapped around my shoulders.
"How was your first day at work?" he asked, poorly hiding his surprise. I wasn't usually the cuddliest guy. Too many memories attached. Still, he made me want to try to get over them.
"Good," I answered, breathing the scent of sawdust in through my nose. It made it itch, but the freshness of the smell was nice. All Lane.
"Mine was just long." He yawned and gave me a squeeze. "Cards?"
****
Lane and I had gotten together most nights after my first few weeks at Carole’s. Olive was even warming up to him, creeping out to stare at him when we entered before taking off upstairs to hide under my bed. He never pressed me for anything more, but it was getting to where I wanted him to. If he wouldn't do it, I would.
Making the choice was harder than following through, but only barely. We drank coffee, played cards, and had ended up settled on the couch in front of the television before I could make myself act. Lane was idly rubbing my shoulder, his attention only half on the television, and I found it hard to concentrate with the feel of his skin over my own. I considered my feelings carefully, making sure I knew what I was doing, before resting my hand in his lap, high enough he couldn't miss it b
ut low enough that it wouldn't be pushy. His attention snapped to me, those lovely green eyes of his studying mine.
While he didn’t say anything he also didn't remove my hand, so I shifted to straddle his thighs, using the placement of my hand as a brace to help me settle. By the way his throat constricted when he struggled to swallow I was sure I’d made the right move. He was large, easily able to bear my slighter weight. That was both frightening and exhilarating. The nerves in my stomach roiled at the thought of being intimate again, especially with someone so strong, but I refused to ruin this.
"Is this okay?" I asked, tucking my arms around his neck and feeling his assent before he spoke it.
"Frig yes," he breathed, and I laughed against his shoulder, breathless and relaxed. It was just Lane, I reminded myself, feeling better at his words.
His dick stirred beneath me, and the knowledge that I did that to him, that the little bit I’d done had him pressing against his zipper, piqued my own arousal. I started undoing the lower buttons of his shirt, running my fingers through the trail of hair I uncovered. His erection rose beneath me, and I undid his jeans, too, easing the pressure and enjoying his rumble of approval.
Morgan never let me have control, but Lane was no Morgan. I forced my mind from the past, determined to enjoy this present. Lane and I had shared more than brief pecks before, and it had been hot, but the urgency in the meeting of our mouths now, in this moment, seared me to the bone.
I nibbled at the edge of his chin and on up the side of his face, laughing, "I put condoms and lube under the couch cushion," I murmured into his ear, lips brushing skin. "I hope I have the right size?"
I didn't, but the face I made when he did had us both laughing. Seems I wasn't the only one prepared, just—for once—I was the one daring to actually take the first step.
He let me explore his body as he rubbed my back and chest through the thin material of my shirt, kissing my forehead, my nose, tweaking my nipples and showing no rush. Thankful for his patience, I took my own time, undoing the rest of his buttons and stroking his musculature, eyes trained on my fingers as they finally got to trace the lines I’d been thinking about since that day he helped me move the furniture.
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