by J. C. Holly
Mitch bit his lip. It was hard enough to keep control without Harlan’s words. After all, he wasn’t used to this. He was usually more interested in being the “toy.”
“Of course, once I let you come, we’re not done,” Harlan continued. “Not at all.”
Mitch took a sharp breath and held it in as the toy took in more of his cock, and quicker.
Harlan chuckled, apparently noticing Mitch’s expression. “Once you’ve squirted, I’m going to flip you back over, and you’re going to put that ass high,” he said. “Then I’m going to use you as a toy. I’m going to breed that tight little ass of yours and watch it drip out of you.”
Mitch whimpered and clenched his jaw as the urge to come came far too quickly. Damn it, Harlan. You’re not making this easy. Not that he’d expected he would. The man loved to be in control.
Harlan added again to the intensity by using his free hand to cup Mitch’s balls, massaging them as he worked the shaft with the toy. There were several sharp pops and Mitch realized he was gripping the sheets of the bed so hard that his knuckles were cracking.
“Fuck,” he said, then hissed as Harlan sped further. “I can’t hold on.”
“You don’t have my permission, slut,” Harlan said, simply.
Mitch cursed the man silently and concentrated hard on the most boring things he could think of. Brick walls, guitar tabs, press interviews. Nothing was helping, and he tensed his muscles hard to hold back just a little longer, praying for release.
In response, Harlan sped further, then said, “Come for me, Mitch. Come for teacher.”
Mitch could have wept in gratitude. He relaxed again and let his orgasm hit hard, crying out as his cock spasmed, filling the sex toy with his cum. Harlan kept the toy in motion until Mitch finally sagged, breathless, then pulled it away and dipped his head to kiss Mitch’s cock softly.
“Good boy.”
Mitch dropped flat to the bed, panting. “You’re an ass, you know.”
“I know. You have to admit, that orgasm was a good one, though.”
Mitch glared, but there was no malice behind it. “Maybe.”
Harlan laughed as he slid off his clothes, his thick cock springing to attention as it was released from his pants. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you five minutes.”
“Oh gee, thanks.”
“No more than five, though.” The man sat on the bed beside Mitch and began to masturbate, using Mitch’s body—his cock especially—as his stimulation. “Once you’ve spent more time as a shifter, your endurance will increase, too. All kinds of endurance. Especially with me around,” he said with a wolfish grin.
Mitch shook his head, smiling. “You’re insatiable.”
“Yup.” Harlan flipped Mitch over, again like he weighed nothing at all. “Though there won’t be any sex tomorrow.”
“Why?” Mitch bit his lip as Harlan entered him. “What happens tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow, we start training.”
Chapter Thirteen
Harlan rose with the sun the next morning and took a few moments to watch the clouds through the window before rolling out of bed. He left Mitch soundly asleep and padded over to one of the two doors in the room that wasn’t the exit, in search of the bathroom. The first turned out to be an enormous walk-in closet with a large variety of leather pants and big boots. Hopefully the guy would have some sensible stuff in there, too, since the physical parts of the training would be a damn sight harder in ball-squeezing trousers.
The second door led to a bathroom larger than Harlan’s own dining room. As well as having a shower the size of some car washes, it contained a huge kidney-bean-shaped bath, a separate hot tub, and what appeared to be a small wooden-clad sauna.
The shower was all he was interested in for now. He slipped into the huge cubicle and stared at the controls. After some experimentation, he found how to produce hot water at a reasonable pressure and could finally relax under the spray. He did some of his best thinking in the shower.
Today would be a test of Mitch’s growing abilities. Harlan intended to push the man to his breaking point, so both would see what he was capable of. It had been nearly a week since Mitch had been bitten, so he should be approaching his limits of power soon. Oddly, he hadn’t shown much of an urge to shift, yet, but that could be due to the fact that he hadn’t really experimented with his skills yet. If that was the case, he’d be howling by the evening, Harlan thought with a smirk.
Not that he’d let the man change today. They needed somewhere much quieter for the first shift. It was in no way a pleasant experience—Harlan could still remember his first in its agonizing glory—and the last thing they needed was a cadre of security guards smashing the door down when a screaming Mitch was mid-change. It would happen soon, though. Perhaps the next day, if they could find somewhere suitable.
Harlan stayed under the water for a long time, as he sorted through other issues in his head. Normally training wasn’t too difficult, since he could take his student wherever they needed to go in which to train. With a world-famous rockstar, though, just stepping onto the front garden meant the possibility of fans, photographers, and news cameras. Any exposure was bad, since Mitch was still worried about coming out, and Harlan doubted Brubeck’s pack had given up yet. They were probably out looking even then.
“The airport.” Harlan punched the back wall of the shower, shattering a pale blue tile. “Fuck!”
When they had landed, the news cameras would have caught Harlan, and maybe one or two had even followed his walk to the terminal. He doubted the baseball cap he’d pulled low was enough of a disguise. Even if it made someone curious, they could work backward from that point, finding out that the plane had left the city Harlan had been in, and that his car had been parked in the same hotel that Mitch had been staying in. All it would take was one member of the pack watching the news at the right time.
“You okay in there?” came Mitch’s call from the bedroom.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Harlan called back. He glanced down at his bloody knuckles and pushed them under the spray. “Just a little accident.”
I’ll just have to be even more careful.
By the time Harlan finished his shower, Mitch was up, dressed, and bearing coffee. Harlan took it gratefully in his cut hand.
“You punch something?” Mitch asked, as he sat on the small couch opposite the bed.
“I owe you a bathroom tile,” Harlan said. “My foot slipped and I threw my hand out, and…” He shrugged. “It’ll heal.”
He didn’t want to worry Mitch unduly. As he pointed out to himself, the chances of the pack locating him were slim, if they were even looking. For now he’d keep Mitch in the dark. He sipped his coffee to hide his sudden frown. Why did keeping a secret from Mitch bother him? They were close, sure, but they still barely knew each other. By the evening the guy may never want to see Harlan again. That thought twisted his guts in a way that spoke volumes. He was falling for the guy. Hard.
“So, today,” Harlan said, changing the subject. “I’ll warn you now. I know you said you didn’t want me to go easy on you, but saying it and experiencing the result are two entirely different things. I’m going to work you so hard you’ll hate me.”
“I doubt that part,” Mitch said with a smirk. “But I understand.”
“Good.” Harlan swigged some coffee, rolling it around his mouth before continuing. “I figure that we’ll stick to the endurance side of things for today, since they can be done about the house. You have a gym, right?”
Mitch nodded. “Basement. It’d probably do some good for us to do some stuff out back, too. Since I told the reporter at the airport that you were my personal trainer, it would make sense if I was spotted running circuits with you or something.”
“Sure. We’ll warm up outside, then bring it inside for the stuff that might make photographers a little snap-happy.”
“Like what?”
“I intend to see what you’re capable of,” Harlan said. �
�You may not know it yet, but you’re already much stronger and fitter than you were a week ago, and we don’t want anyone else seeing you lift more than you should be capable of, for example.”
Mitch frowned. “I don’t feel any stronger, really.”
“That’s because it’s gradual, and you’ve not pushed yourself yet.” Harlan gestured to the cup in Mitch’s hand. “You could probably crush that if you tried.”
Mitch looked down at the cup, then back at Harlan. “I’m doubtful, I gotta be honest. Besides, this is my favorite mug.”
Harlan laughed and glanced at the bedside alarm clock. It was just before eight. He would have liked to have started earlier, but they’d had a “busy” night. He tried not to think about that, though, as it was harder to exercise with a raging boner.
“Right.” He stood and stretched, then realized he had nothing to wear but the clothing he’d stolen. “I don’t suppose you have anything that would fit me?”
* * * *
Mitch stepped out of the back of the house and took in a deep breath, then promptly sneezed three times in a row. Harlan chuckled and slapped him on the back as he walked past.
“Lot of scents out there.”
Mitch rubbed his nose. “Forgot how powerful my sense of smell is now.”
“Just wait till you try it in your other form.”
Huh. Mitch hadn’t even considered that. If his human ears, nose, and eyes could do so much, just how powerful would they be when he finally shifted? The thought was equal parts exciting and terrifying. He could still clearly remember the sound of Harlan’s shift, after all.
He turned his attention back to the present. Harlan was stretching his joints in readiness for the morning’s work. Mitch had found him some suitable running pants and a shirt from his “ordered the wrong size but too lazy to return” selection. They fitted him well, Mitch noticed, as the man bent low and touched his toes.
“Yum,” Mitch said.
Harlan straightened and stuck out his tongue. “None of that. Start stretching.”
Mitch walked over and took his place opposite the man, facing him so he could see what Harlan was doing, then mirrored his moves.
“Good,” Harlan said. “Wolves don’t really need to stretch, but it’s good practise. Plus it looks good if someone is snapping photos.”
Mitch grinned and shook his head. “Can you even smell anyone?”
“Nope, but I’m paranoid and have experience with big-ass zoom lenses. A decent photographer doesn’t have to be anywhere near.”
The stretches soon finished, and Harlan led Mitch away from the pool area and onto the soft grass beyond. The house came with a huge amount of land that Mitch never really used other than for the odd game of Frisbee. It was ideally suited to running, though.
Harlan started off at a leisurely jog, and Mitch followed suit, running alongside. He doubted they’d stay at the slow pace forever, so he made sure to appreciate the bright sun and cool breeze while he was still able to think and run at the same time.
“What was it like when you were, uh…” Mitch searched for a suitable word. “Turned?”
“Nothing like this,” Harlan said, his face expressionless. “I was turned by a powerful wolf, but he was more of a ‘sink or swim’ kind of guy. The short version is that he told me to never bite anyone, and that if I was still alive in one year, I should look him up.”
“Wow. That’s harsh.” Mitch didn’t know what else to say.
“Yeah. It worked, obviously, but at the time I hated him.”
“But you went back to him after the year?”
Harlan nodded. “Though not for the reason he expected. I went to kill him.”
Mitch stumbled in surprise, but somehow managed to throw his other foot ahead and keep his balance. “Seriously?”
“Like I said, I hated him. When he turned me, I thought he’d take me under his wing and teach me all his secrets, not cast me out. So I spent the year training my body and mind, then tracked him down.” Harlan smiled. “He kicked my ass from here to Alaska, then offered me a job. He and I still laugh about it to this day.”
Mitch shook his head in response. “I think I prefer this teaching technique.”
“Oh, me too.” He slapped Mitch on the ass. “Now run faster, bitch.”
Mitch picked up the pace and Harlan easily matched it, to no great surprise.
“We’re going to run for another thirty minutes or so,” Harlan said. “Then we’ll do some push-ups and the like, then head inside.”
“Thirty minutes?” Mitch turned to his teacher. “I haven’t run more than five minutes in years.”
Harlan smirked. “Are your legs aching?”
Mitch frowned as he realized that they weren’t. Not at all. The last time he’d run anywhere was from one end of a stage to the other, and even that had left him panting slightly. Harlan laughed and sped up. Mitch grinned and followed.
The time passed quickly, as they used the time to talk about their lives and family. Mitch wasn’t surprised to hear that Harlan’s folks were dead, due to his age, but it was still a sad thing to hear. Mitch’s own parents were still alive and kicking, currently on a luxury world cruise that he’d bought for their anniversary.
Harlan also talked about his early years as a shifter, back in the late forties and early fifties, and the hardships involved. Back then communication between packs was harder, so there were far more territorial disputes. Harlan told him that his first few years had been a trial of fire, in terms of fighting.
“Cheap flights and the Internet help,” he said. “We can all converse, even video conference if need be, and things are settled with a lot less hassle. Most of the time, anyway,” he added.
“But there are still disputes.”
“Of course. You get asshole shifters just like you get asshole humans.”
“Humans?” Mitch cocked his head. “You make it sound like shifters are no longer the same species.”
Harlan shrugged. “I don’t mean it in a negative way, or in a superior way. We’re just different. You too, now.”
“I suppose. I don’t really feel different, just improved. I suppose once I shift, though, I might view things differently.”
“Literally.” Harlan slowed to a walk. “That’s enough running. Let’s head back to the poolside.”
Once at the pool, Harlan made Mitch drop and do fifty push-ups, then the same number of sit-ups, before pulling him up with a strong arm and leading him inside.”
“Well, that wasn’t too bad,” Mitch said, his eyes on his own arms. “I barely even felt them.”
“I should hope not,” Harlan said, as he headed for the staircase that led to the gym. “Like I said before, that was only the warm-up.”
* * * *
While Mitch slaved away on the treadmill, Harlan decided he’d work out on the punch bag. By the looks of it, the thing had never been used. A pair of black gloves hung from the hook that supported the bag. Harlan left them there. They made boxing easier, sure, but he wasn’t looking to become a boxer.
He started light, testing the weight and swing of the bag as he dodged around each side, jabbing every now and again. His cut knuckles complained a little, but he was happy to find that his neck no longer pained him. He built up his speed and power, all the while keeping an eye on Mitch. The guy was beyond speech at that point, but Harlan still liked to watch his ass move.
Harlan had to give him credit. After the work outside, Harlan had the guy on a rowing machine at max resistance for an hour without a break, followed by some work with weights that Mitch was certain he wouldn’t be able to lift—Harlan himself wasn’t entirely sure—then a mix of more push-ups, sit-ups, and chin-ups, ending with skipping. After that Harlan had pointed to the treadmill and told him to run until told to stop. That had been an hour ago, and while the man was clearly exhausted he was still going, a look of sheer determination on his sweat-covered face.
He hadn’t told him, but Harlan knew decades-old
shifters that couldn’t do what Mitch had managed. Brubeck must have been quite the old wolf. Maybe Mitch will be the lover who can finally keep up with me. He slammed his fists into the bag faster and allowed his mind to wander back through his history.
He’d had many lovers over the years, both human, shifter, and in one case half demon, but none of the relationships had lasted. He cared little about most, but a couple still hurt. The issues had always been the same. Either they couldn’t adapt to his lifestyle, or he couldn’t adapt to theirs.
Mitch seemed to accept Harlan’s job easily enough, which was a relief, and he certainly had the stamina to keep up with Harlan, both sexually and in general. The rockstar thing was a new one for Harlan, but it helped that Mitch was so down to earth. Harlan was confident he could make it work. As long as Mitch wanted to, that was.
Harlan called for Mitch to stop and tried to hide a grin as the man yelled, “Thank fuck!” at the top of his lungs. Harlan turned to face the man and prepared himself for a verbal barrage of obscenity, as was the case whenever he trained someone. Instead he found Mitch grinning wide.
“You enjoyed that?” Harlan asked, hiding his surprise badly.
“Hell no,” Mitch gasped. “I’m ruined.”
“Then why the grin?”
“Because I did it, Harlan. I fucking did it!” He danced on the spot. “I took everything you threw at me and I’m still standing.”
Harlan laughed and closed the man in a tight hug. Mitch hugged back, just as hard.
“You’re my best student by far,” Harlan said. “And I mean that literally. The strongest, the fastest, and the toughest.” He stepped back and held the man at arm’s length. “Top of the class.”
Mitch grinned again. “I am wonderful, aren’t I?”
“Definitely.”
Harlan leaned in and kissed the man softly, then again, harder. Mitch closed the gap between them and reciprocated. Harlan smirked and Mitch pulled away, an eyebrow raised.
“What’s so funny?”