Stealing My Heart
Page 27
They stood that way for a while before Michael took Robert to bed.
“I love you, Michael,” Robert said as they removed their clothes.
Michael’s heart sped up. “I love you too, Robert. That night changed my life too. I hope you know that. For the better. I was a lonely man until you came into my life.”
“Who would have thought a break in would turn into love?” Robert chuckled.
“Not me, but I’m glad you tried to steal from me.”
“I’m glad my mom got the address wrong. No more thinking of yesterday, just tomorrows for us from now on.”
“I’ll agree to that. Now come here. I believe I owe you a little oral attention.”
They met in the middle of the bed, a tangle of arms and legs as they kissed each other.
Panting, they both pulled back. “Michael, make love to me.”
Michael nudged Robert so they were lying down.
“I’ll take care of you, baby.” Taking Robert’s hands in his he moved them so they could grip the headboard. “Don’t move, just feel.” Michael whispered against Robert’s ear and licked the lobe.
Michael used the tip of his tongue to trace his way to Robert’s throat; he scrapped his teeth of his lover’s pulse. He’d never get tired of this, of being with Robert. He peppered little kisses until he reached Robert’s nipple. Michael tugged and sucked, leaving a pretty red mark. Satisfied, Michael went to the neglected nipple to give it a little attention.
“Michael, please.”
Robert wiggled his hips, but Michael ignored him. He wouldn’t be rushed. The noises coming from Robert made his cock jump. Michael loved how responsive Robert was. Taking his time he kissed his way down, ignoring Robert’s dick and nuzzled his nose in the crisp brown curls. He loved the scent that was Robert.
“Michael. Oh, God. I can’t—”
“Shh,” he murmured against his lover’s flesh.
Michael worked his way down Robert’s legs to his feet. He kissed the arches of each before crawling back up Robert’s body. He rocked his body, letting their cocks brush against each other, but only for a second. He didn’t want to come until he was inside Robert’s tight hole and the needy noise coming from Robert had him close to the edge.
“Turn over.” He commanded in a gruff voice.
Robert didn’t hesitate and flipped to his stomach. Michael put Robert’s hands back on the headboard and placed his body so his dick rocked between Robert’s ass. God, it felt good, but not yet, he had more tasting to do.
Michael kissed the scars that ran along Robert’s back, letting his lover know he loved every part of who he was. When he got to the last one, he hugged Robert to him.
“Now, Michael. Fuck me, now. No more, please. I’m so close.”
“Not yet. Not yet. I want to be buried inside you before you come. On your knees. Don’t let go of that headboard.”
Robert scrambled to obey. Michael caressed the bubble butt in front of him. He reached over Robert to get the lube out of the night stand. He wasn’t ready yet, but wanted to be prepared. Once he was inside Robert, it would be over and he wanted to savour his foreplay.
Michael threw the lube down beside him and spread Robert’s ass cheeks. He ran his tongue around his lover’s sweet rosette. Round and round he licked until he could wiggle his tongue inside, fucking his lover’s ass.
“Michael!”
Robert had to be close, Michael rose up and reached for the lube. He coated his cock and stretched Robert’s ass with a finger.
“Ready?”
“Yes, God yes. Fuck me. Now. Please, oh. Please.”
Michael eased his dick into the tight hole.
“I’m not going to last long.”
“I don’t care. Hard. Please.”
Michael stretched over Robert’s body to entwine their fingers and slammed home, again and again. Robert hissed and Michael knew he’d hit Robert’s gland. He angled his body so every thrust pegged Robert. The body under him shuddered and milked his cock as Robert came. It caused Michael to shake. His control gone along with his rhythm, he was a goner, shooting into Robert.
He rested on Robert’s back until he could breathe again and rolled them over, cuddling Robert to his chest, squeezing him tight.
Robert caressed his cheek, brought him down for a kiss and whispered against his lips.
“I love you, Michael.”
“I love you, too.”
Michael smiled against Robert’s mouth, thinking of the future. Robert had managed to steal something that night and it was Michael’s heart and he would gladly let him steal it again for the next fifty years.
About the Author
Jambrea wanted to be the youngest romance author published, but life impeded the dreams. She put her writing aside and went to college briefly, then enlisted in the Air Force. After serving in the military, she returned home to Indiana to start her family. A few years later, she discovered yahoo groups and book reviews. There was no turning back. She was bit by the writing bug.
She enjoys spending time with her son when not writing and loves to receive reader feedback. She’s addicted to the internet so feel free to email her anytime.
Email: Jambrea@jambrea.com
Jambrea loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.total-e-bound.com.
Also by Jambrea Jo Jones
Over the Moon: Dreams
DRAGON’S EYE
Stephani Hecht
Chapter One
It was cold and snowing the night Duncan Moore snuck into the house to steal his dragon’s eye back.
He cursed the fact that Michigan had such harsh winters, as he hid behind a large tree and studied the huge, opulent mansion. Too opulent in his opinion, with its long white columns and large drive that circled a fountain, it even had a pair of frigging stone lions. It was one of those houses where the people living in them were trying to give the rest of the world a fuck-you-I’m-better-than-you message. It would have made him hate the bastard who owned it, if Duncan didn’t already harbour a deep hatred for the recently deceased man.
Several wet, heavy flakes had fallen on his face and got stuck to his dark lashes, making it hard to case out the place. Not exactly the sexy, stealth missions he’d always dreamed he would be doing when he was growing up as a dragon whelp. Then again, he’d never imagined he’d be such a colossal fuck-up and disappointment to their ruler either. Especially since said ruler was Brian, the big brother he’d always lauded, but never impressed.
He shook off those unpleasant thoughts. If he ever wanted to get back into Brian’s good graces then he had to get his damn dragon’s eye back. Until he did, he would never be free and his dragon would forever be trapped.
The lights to the kitchen snapped off and he knew it was time to make his move. Fail or succeed, this nightmare of a decade was finally ending tonight. Sneaking into the back servant’s entrance, because that had been the one he’d always been forced to use, he eased the door shut behind him as he let his eyes get adjusted to the darkness.
Since he was from the ancient race of dragon shifters, it didn’t take long and he was soon able to make out the shape and layout of the kitchens to the mansion that he’d lived in for ten years, but had never called home.
The aromas of fresh baked bread, steak and cheese hit his nose, making his stomach growl so loud in protest it was a wonder the noise didn’t raise an alarm. That would be his luck, to get this far only to have his gut give him away. He could just see the headlines now: Thieving Dragon Shifter busted when his grumbling tum-tum gives him away.
As much fun as that sounded, he hadn’t gone this far to blow it now. It was hard though since he hadn’t eaten in days and was halfway to starved. He still passed by the food and stole up the back stairs. Since they, like the entrance, were meant for the poor working saps, they were narrow, dank and dark. Several of the wood steps were so rickety he had to walk on the balls of his feet so they didn’t creak an
d give him away.
The sounds of voices and clinking silverware drifted from the main part of the house letting him know the wake was still under way. They were all honouring the deceased, Richard, the sorcerer whom they considered to be the best thing to happen to their society. He was their saviour, their leader and a hero to everyone. To Duncan he’d been a bastard, a viscous killer and his tormentor.
Worst of all, the sorcerer had been his slave master.
Duncan reached the top of the stairs. The object he was seeking now so close it was all he could do not to run down the hall to the room. It was only years of training and discipline that held him back.
Now in the main part of the house, everything around him was rich and classy, from the heavy oak walks to the red, plush carpet that nearly swallowed up his black boots, muffling his footsteps. There were large portraits lining the hallway and despite his haste, Duncan still stopped at one and studied it.
It had been of his master, the sorcerer who was now being mourned by the crowd down below. Even though Duncan knew the man was dead, he still shivered under the hard, penetrating stare of the painting. The artist had captured Richard’s appearance perfectly, from his cruel thin smile, long grey hair and light blue eyes. How many times had he looked into that same face right before he was forced to endure yet another punishment? Panic clawed at the insides of Duncan’s chest as he stared at the picture, irrational fear making him shake from head to boot.
“You’re dead and you don’t control me any longer,” Duncan whispered to the painting. He pulled the sides of his black leather jacket tighter together, as if to form a protective barrier.
It was stupid to stand there and have this one-sided chat, but he couldn’t make himself move forward until he’d proven he could stare down the sorcerer, even if it was just a paint and oil replica of him. After several seconds, Duncan felt some of the fear and anxiety leave his body, the dragon in him came to life for the first time in a decade. Not much, just a little bit of shifting and it let out a long sigh of relief, as if it knew that their suffering was almost over.
It was comforting, that small bit of movement. It let him know that, despite having his dragon’s eye taken and used against him, he hadn’t lost the other half of his heart. His dragon form was buried, yes, but it was there just waiting to be awoken again, after ten long years of being held down.
But to do that he had to get his dragon’s eye back. Which is why he’d come here. It sure as hell wasn’t to stop and gawk at pictures on the wall.
Even through his resolve, Duncan felt his gaze drift to the last painting in the hallway. It was of the sorcerer’s son, Trent. Even though they’d met several times over the years, he’d only spoken half a dozen words to Duncan.
For a while he’d though it was because Trent was a rich, snobby nancy. Then Duncan had slowly come to realise that Trent was just as much a slave as he was. Sure Richard didn’t hold his life essence like with Duncan, but his hold on his son was just as strong, pinning his son down with hard discipline and a firm controlling hand. He made sure everyone around knew what a disappointment his son was too. Trent was one of those rare individuals who still believe in being honorable and always doing the right thing. To Richard that was a personality fault and he’d done everything he could to break it.
Duncan raised a finger to lightly touch the picture. Where his father was cold and hard, Trent had a warm sensuality that had always intrigued him. With dark brown hair, deep blue eyes and a body that had just the right amount of muscles, he turned heads of both sexes. The most endearing thing about him though, was he didn’t realise his appeal and went through life not knowing the affect he had on others.
There was a reserved almost shy aura around him that made Duncan want him all the more. So many times he had to stop himself from reaching out to touch the sorcerer as they passed each other in hallway. To stop himself from seeking out the male, just so he could hear the soft tones of his voice. To accidently brush against him, so he could inhale his warm scent. Duncan shook his head as he brought his hand down. Even if Trent noticed him there could never be anything between them.
Sorcerers and dragons made war not love.
Finally reaching his destination, Duncan found himself frozen in place again. Before him stood the massive black door that led into Richard’s private bedroom. His gut clenched at the memories of all the punishments he’d endured in here. Whippings, beatings and being forced to grovel on the ground, begging for forgiveness. To anyone else this would look like just another room. Lavishly decorated, yes. Dangerous and forbidding, no. But then again, they wouldn’t have been through what he had.
“Just open the damn door and get what you came here for before you find yourself some other sorcerer’s bitch,” he growled to himself, he knew it was only a matter of time before some other asshole stumbled upon the dragon’s eye and realised what it was. He had to get to it first, before he found himself under some other sorcerer’s control. The self-pep talk helped and he managed to force himself to open the door.
Despite the fact Richard was dead, his bedroom remained as always. Rich mahogany furniture, deep, red bedding and more of that damn fluffy carpet. Some would call the room tasteful and even comforting, but they would be wrong. Duncan knew better because he’d seen some of the horrors that’d taken place here.
With a slight shake of his head, he pushed those memories to the back of his mind and rushed to the armoire. It stood so large and wide it almost took up the space of an entire wall, but he knew instantly what drawer to go to. At first it seemed like all the others lining one side of the piece of furniture, but when he pulled the clothing out of it and tapped on the back, a hidden compartment opened.
“Bingo!” he whispered, letting a triumphant grin spread out over his face.
For the first time in a decade he felt a small blossom of hope building up in his chest. His hands shook with excitement and a bit of fear too. After all this time of wishing and suffering, he half expected something to block his way to freedom once again. He was just starting to reach in when a voice interrupted him. “I should have known you would come.”
Whirling around, hand going to his gun he found himself face-to-face with Trent. With a growl of frustration, Duncan pulled his weapon out and trained it on the man’s face. Despite having the barrel of a gun pointing at him, the young sorcerer didn’t show any fear, the corners of his mouth curled up into a smile, one dimple making an appearance on his cheek. It made him appear more endearing than usual and Duncan found himself nearly lowering the gun in response. Trent wore dark slacks and a matching dress shirt, showing he’d come from the wake. The clothes fit him nicely, accentuating his thin, yet muscular body.
“How did you manage to sneak up on me?” Duncan demanded. It wasn’t easy to get the drop on a dragon shifter since they usually heard or smelled their opponents from several yards away. He’d even heard tales of some ancients who could detect trouble as far away as a mile.
“I transported here,” Trent replied, simply.
“Impossible.” Duncan tightened his grip on the gun and wondered what kind of game the sorcerer was playing. “Only the strongest of your kind can do that.”
“I’ve been able to transport for years now, ever since I was eighteen.” Trent shrugged, still acting like it was no big deal Duncan had a weapon aimed at him.
“Then how come I’ve never seen you do it?” Duncan challenged. He didn’t add how he’d spent a lot of time watching Trent and it wasn’t to see what the sorcerer could and couldn’t do. From the first day he’d been forced to live at the mansion, he’d longed for Trent.
“Let’s just say that my father controlled a lot more individuals than you.” A flurry of expressions went over Trent’s face; fear, pain and then anger. No sadness or regret, which Duncan would expect from someone who was still wearing all black and supposedly grieving.
“Well, I have to admit that’s a pretty neat skill you got there, but you’re not going to
stop me from getting what I came here for.” Duncan waved the gun even though he knew he’d never be able to bring himself to shoot Trent if it came right down to it. Not even if it meant he’d lose what he’d come here for—his very life.
“I’m not here to stop you from taking the dragon’s eye,” Trent said, his eyes growing soft. When Duncan didn’t respond, too shocked to speak, the sorcerer continued, “I know what it really is and I don’t blame you for wanting it. If someone had taken all my magic and basically my soul along with it, I would be fighting to get it back too.”
“If you understand so much then why are you even here?” Duncan croaked. Fear and shock had made his throat suddenly dry.
“I came up to help you find it. That and to say goodbye.” A slight flush appeared on his cheeks as he averted his gaze to the ground. “I know as soon as you get the eye you’ll go back to your kind and I’ll never see you again.”
Now Duncan knew the punk was playing games. In all the time he’d known Trent, the sorcerer had never looked twice at him. “Just stand there and don’t move. Make sure you keep your hands up too and don’t even think about using magic,” he ordered as he slowly took a step back towards the armoire.
Still facing forward, he twisted one arm behind him and reached inside the hidden compartment. When his fingers found nothing, but empty space, his heart clenched in horror and a cold sweat broke out over his entire body. Desperate now, despite the fact the truth was literally at his fingertips, he continued to blindly search the compartment. Nothing…nothing…nothing!
“Where is it?” he roared, thrusting the gun forward.
“What do you mean?” Trent seemed so genuinely perplexed Duncan almost believed him before reminding himself that all sorcerers were lying bastards.
“The dragon’s eye, where did you put it?”
“It’s in there.” Trent gave a slight shake of his head as all the colour drained from his face.