by Peter Styles
“Hm?”
“Your dog. I haven’t seen him so far.”
Rick shook his head, confused. “I don’t have one.”
I blinked. “Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously. I have a cat named Minka, though. She seems to be hiding. She does that when there are guests over, especially guests of the…” He glanced down at Pongo, who was chewing happily on a piece of rawhide. “… furry variety.”
“How do you not have a dog?” I asked. “You’re practically the canine king, remember? Cesar Milan has nothing on you.”
“That’s true. That doesn’t mean I have a dog. Or that I want one.”
“But why not?”
He shrugged. “Honestly? I don’t really like them.”
I laughed. Of course. I got the feeling that this wonderfully weird man would never stop surprising me. “If you hate dogs, why do you work with them? I mean, you’re training Pongo for free.”
“To be fair, I’m training Pongo as a favor to a dear friend and one of the men who saved my life,” he reminded me. “But I don’t hate dogs. I just don’t enjoy their company quite so much as companions. They feel too… overbearing for me.”
“Okay, fine. If you find them overbearing, why do you work with them?”
“Because I find them overbearing,” he said, as if that made any sense at all. When I still looked confused, he added, “When I was seven, I was attacked by a dog. I still remember it perfectly, too. It was a big, mean chocolate lab. The owner told me it would be alright for me to pet him, but the owner was wrong.” He winced with phantom pain and rolled one of his shoulders. “The dog tackled me, scratched me, and bit up the right side of my torso so badly I needed stitches. I was absolutely terrified of dogs after that.”
“So what made you decide to dedicate your life to them? Did I miss the explanation somewhere in that nice little story about your childhood mauling?”
Rick shot me a look, as if I was the one being ridiculous. “My grandmother noticed how frightened I was of dogs after that. Any time we went to the park together, I would hide behind her legs until the dogs had passed. And that bothered her.”
“Was she a big animal fan or something?”
“No.” Rick shot me one of his rare mischievous grins. “She never had any particular affinity for any animals, but she absolutely hated fear. She never wanted me to be afraid of anything. So, she started taking me to the park and having me play with the dogs. She signed me up for dog training classes, even though I had nothing to practice on, so I would just sit in the corner and listen. She did everything in her power to make sure that I saw dogs every single day.”
I rubbed my eyes and took a deep swig of beer. “Jesus Christ. That sounds sadistic.”
“It does,” he admitted, “but it wasn’t. It was the best thing she could ever have done to help me.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because my grandmother didn’t want me to be afraid.” He shook his head, still smiling. “She was not a woman who tolerated fear in her own life, and she didn’t want me to be ruled by it. I asked her if she was ever afraid of anything, and she said no. Not even during her time at the camp. She was worried about others, and she was sad, but she said she was never afraid, because giving them her fear was the absolute worst thing she could give them. It was small, but also the greatest act of resistance that she could use. And she taught me that life was only worth living if you have no fear.”
“So, what? You’re not afraid of anything?” I asked. “That seems a little extreme, don’t you think?”
He chuckled. “Sure. Maybe. But I’m also happy that this is my life. During the fire, I wasn’t afraid. All I was was angry. And, of course, concerned about my things and my cat. I didn’t want to die, but I certainly wasn’t afraid. I had faith that whatever happened would be what needed to happen, and that there would be justice.” His smile faded. “Which, at this point, seems more elusive than ever before.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m really trying to work on it for you.”
“It’s not your fault, Kyle. You helped save me. And you’re going above and beyond for me even now trying to find evidence to help me. You will always have my gratitude.”
I met his eyes and beamed. It felt nice to receive a compliment from someone who was so matter-of-fact. It was the first time any of those compliments felt real.
But, as is true of all things, nothing gold can stay. Something always has to come and destroy beautiful moments, like a brick sailing through a glass window.
In this case, though, the thing that interrupted that moment was a literal brick coming through a glass window.
Both of us leapt to our feet instinctively at the sound. After a moment of bewilderment, I was the one who spotted the brick. I dove for it and picked it up carefully, as if I was worried that it was some kind of bomb that was liable to go off at any instant.
It wasn’t, but what I found wasn’t much better. Tied to the rock was a crudely written paper that said, in big block letters, “GO HOME JEW FAG.” Several swastikas surrounded it.
I handed it to Rick. His eyes narrowed when he saw it, and I was, at least for a second, more concerned for whoever had done it than I was for Rick’s safety. The last thing I would ever want would be to be on the receiving end of one of his nasty looks. “So,” I said quietly.
“So.”
“How are you feeling?”
Rick thought for a moment. “Angry. Tired. Frustrated.”
“Not afraid?”
He met my eyes, and his gaze was made of steel. I felt a shiver run up my spine. “No, not afraid,” he told me quietly. “I am never, ever afraid.”
Chapter Eight
We decided that it might be good for me to stay with Rick for the next few nights at least. I was the one to suggest it, and he seemed reticent about accepting, but he finally agreed. “I’m not doing this because I need to be protected,” he told me severely when he set me up in his tiny guest bedroom. “I’m doing this more for your peace of mind than my own.”
I had to smile at that. “Don’t worry, Rick. I don’t think there’s anyone out there who thinks that you need me to protect you.” In my heart, though, I added, But I will, no matter what.
The next couple of days, I became his vigilant watchdog. I sat at the window and stared out around the piece of cardboard we’d taped over the hole, barely blinking, always watching for anything suspicious. I didn’t see anything that I thought warranted concern, but I kept notes anyway.
Rick, however, went about his everyday life as if nothing had happened. It baffled me. I couldn’t figure out if it was because he was genuinely unconcerned or if it was because he wanted to make it very clear that this was not going to cow him. Maybe it was a little bit of both. He went to work, went grocery shopping, came home, made dinner, and even continued training Pongo, all without any hint that anything bad had happened. He rolled his eyes a little bit when he saw me on my perch, but he didn’t argue with me. I figured he wanted me to feel better, and the only way I could do that was to help him in the only way I could imagine.
A few nights into my stay with him, I heard him in the kitchen with Pongo. He was making chicken, and Pongo started darting around excitedly. “No, Pongo,” he said firmly. “Bleiben.” It was the command word for stay. Pongo’s feet stopped scrabbling around immediately. “Sitzen.” The command for sit. I heard the dog plop her butt down on the floor. She always collapsed when we told her to sit as if she was trying to body slam the earth. I heard him chuckle at that. “Bitten.” That was the command for beg. I turned and saw her raise her paws up obediently, her eyes excited.
Rick gave her a fond smile. “Good girl.” He tossed her a small piece of chicken, which she devoured. He caught me watching them, and I thought for a second he might actually be blushing. “What?” he asked.
“Nothing. It’s just interesting to watch you. It helps give me tips.” It was as good a lie as any. “So, what is it about the Ge
rman, anyway? Why do you teach in that instead of English?”
“You may not have noticed this,” he teased, “but I’m German.”
“Yeah, but she’s my dog, and I’m a poorly educated American who’s barely even monolingual,” I said. “Why teach her command words in a language I don’t know?”
He shrugged. “It’s fairly effective for training. If I were to teach her in English, there’s a possibility that she might hear these words in a regular conversation and become confused and try to perform an action when it’s not needed. It’s not like most people are using German every day in this town, though. It’s unlikely that she’ll ever hear these words outside of the context in which they’re needed.”
I shook my head. “Man, you really think of everything, don’t you?”
“I like to think I do, yes.”
I looked at Pongo. She came over to me and rested her head on my knee, looking up at me with admiration. She was still pretty hyper, and there were some commands that she still didn’t seem to understand, but she’d taken to the training well. She was like the doggy version of Eliza Doolittle, and I was impressed.
I patted her head and told Rick, “Your training techniques are really impressive, I’ve got to say. And your teaching voice is pretty damn sexy.”
Rick looked up at me with surprise. I wanted to punch myself. Idiot, why did you say that?! I hadn’t meant to let it slip, but the words had passed through my lips unbidden. “You find it sexy?” he asked. He sounded genuinely shocked. “Really?”
I shrugged, embarrassed. “Well, yeah. You’re already a really attractive guy, and when you get all authoritative… I don’t know. It’s hot. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make anything weird.”
Rick’s expression had changed. His eyes looked a little darker, and he shifted, putting his shoulders back cockily and looking me over. It felt more intimate than some actual sex acts that I’d performed, and I looked away, feeling my skin starting to superheat under his gaze. “It’s only weird if one of us doesn’t like the idea,” he commented. “Do you have an issue with finding me attractive?”
I swallowed. My mouth suddenly felt extremely dry. “No.”
“Good.” He came over to my station by the window and plucked the binoculars I’d been sporadically using to sweep the street out of my hands. “Then let’s go.”
“Go?” I asked. “Go where?”
“The bedroom.”
My brain went fuzzy. I thought about pinching myself to make sure I was still awake, but I didn’t want to risk looking like an idiot. Instead, I just whispered, “Now?”
“Unless you’d like to wait, yes.”
“But…” I looked over my shoulder. “The food…”
“It will stay warm. Now, do you want to come to bed with me or not?”
Jesus. What a question. The answer was obvious, but it wasn’t what left my mouth. Instead of just saying “yes,” I told him, “If you tell me to come with you, I will.”
He smirked. The expression was a dangerous one. He reached down and caressed my face. He leaned down and whispered in my ear in the same authoritative voice I’d heard him use a thousand times. “Folgen.”
It was the command word for follow. And there was no way I was going to disobey.
He walked toward the bedroom without even looking to see if I was tagging along. He was so confident that I was going to go with him that he didn’t even bother to check. Something about that was almost painfully sexy to me, and it made me extremely proud. It meant that he trusted me enough to give me orders and to know I would follow them. When I was younger, my friends had all compared me to a watchdog, and I was suddenly not at all offended by the comparison.
He finally looked at me after he closed the door. I rubbed my sweaty palms against my shorts. He looked me up and down, pleased to see me waiting for an order. “Strip and get on the bed,” he told me.
I got my clothes off in record time and practically threw myself onto the bed.
Rick, on the other hand, didn’t seem so eager. Instead, he just watched me, his eyes roaming over the hard muscle on my body as he very slowly started to undress. I let out a tiny, involuntary whimper when he shrugged out of his shirt and I saw his hard, sculpted chest and stomach for the first time. That made him smile. “You may touch yourself,” he told me, answering a question I hadn’t even asked, but the information was a huge relief to me. I reached down and started stroking my already half-hard cock, watching as he slowly slipped out of his shorts and boxers. All it took was seeing his long shaft for me to harden completely. He may have been acting calm, but his cock was standing at attention.
He crawled onto the bed, hovering over my hips. He examined my face, perhaps looking for any signs of weakness or rebellion. I met his gaze steadily, and he smiled.
Whatever test he was going to put me through, I was determined to pass, and he could see it.
“Grab the bars of the headboard,” he said, and I complied. “I don’t want you to let go of them unless I tell you to. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I breathed. The iron bars felt freezing cold against my overheated skin.
Rick leaned down and pressed his lips softly to mine. The kiss was sweet, and maybe even a bit hesitant. There was a certain knowledge that we’d both been waiting for this moment for a long time, and neither of us wanted to rush. Now that we had what we wanted, the best thing we could do was take our time.
Rick relaxed into the kiss, and so did I, my hold on the headboard slackening but never letting go. His tongue slipped past my lips and played with mine, his mouth warm and inviting against my own. It felt like an eternity that we laid there, just kissing each other. I sighed, and I could feel his smile.
He pulled back. Both of us were panting. He looked my body over, his fingers brushing down over my chest, feather-light. Even that was enough to make my eyes flutter shut while I groaned with need.
“I underestimated how much you like me,” he admitted. “I always thought my admiration of you would go on, fruitless and unnoticed.”
“Don’t worry.” I shivered as his thumbs brushed gentle circles over my nipples. “It’s definitely being noticed.”
He sat back against my hips and ground against me, eliciting another moan from me. “I can tell,” he teased. He brushed a soft, gentle hand over the side of my face, and I turned to kiss his palm. “Do you trust me, Kyle?”
“Always,” I said without hesitation.
He smiled. “Good boy,” he murmured, and without further preamble, he slid down my body. He gave the tip of my cock a little lick, and my cock twitched in response. He chuckled. “You seem desperate.”
“For you? Definitely.”
He flicked his tongue over the head again. “Tell me what it is that you want,” he said.
“I… Fuck.” I closed my eyes as I felt his lips starting to wrap around the head. His tongue played with the slit while I tried to think of something coherent to say. “I want to make you happy.”
He pulled back only long enough to say, “Is that it?”
“Yes,” I admitted. I almost screamed as he started bobbing his head, taking more and more of me into his mouth each time. “I just want to please you. I want you to use me for your own gain. I want to serve you. That’s all I ever want to do for the rest of my life—serve you.”
My answer must have pleased him, because he started massaging the underside of my shaft with his tongue.
I could feel myself starting to get close to the edge. He must have noticed as well, because he pulled away. I let out a little groan of complaint, but he pressed a finger to my lips, silencing me. “I have something much better for you, mein hengst,” he promised me.
When he crawled back up and kissed me, I felt him reaching back to line up my slick cock with his entrance. My cock started to press into him, and I agreed—it was much better than his mouth, which was really saying something. He was warm, velvety, and soft inside, and he was so tight around me that it almost
hurt.
He sank onto my cock with delicious, deliberate slowness. I found myself making little keening noises and wanting to just slam up into him, but I knew better than to do that. I knew perfectly well who was in control, and it wasn’t me.
When he bottomed out, he started rocking only a little bit, just enough to make my cock move gently inside of him. My groans got louder and needier; the feel of his tight warmth on me was incredible, but I wanted more. I wanted friction and heat. As much as I cared about him—and, I realized in that moment, it was probably more than I’d ever cared about anyone—I wanted desperately to just fuck him hard. I wanted to pound into him and feel him cum around me.
Rick was stroking his cock, watching my face with lidded eyes as he continued to bounce lightly, never moving more than an inch up off my hips. “Do you want more?” he asked me.
“Yes,” I groaned. “God, fuck yes.”
He smiled and leaned forward. His breath was hot in my ear when he whispered his next command. “Bitten.”
My face flushed with humiliation, but my cock only grew harder. He was telling me to beg, and I was happy to oblige. “Please,” I sighed. “Please, I need to feel more of you. I want to feel you riding me. I want you to cum on my cock. I need to make you feel good. Please, please ride me harder.”
He bit at his lip and let out a little shudder. “Good boy,” he groaned, and he started riding me like his life depended on it.
I let out a gasp; the friction felt incredible. He was so tight around me that every thrust back inside him brought a tiny edge of pain with it, but the pleasure was so intense that even if I’d disliked it, I probably wouldn’t have noticed it. He fucked me hard and fast, and he started panting hard, the strokes of his cock getting quicker and shorter along with his breath. I realized that he was as desperate for me as I was for him, and it only made the unravelling of his self-control more delicious to watch.
I could feel my orgasm building, but I didn’t want to cum before him. I looked at him through lust-heavy eyes and whispered, “May I please cum?”