Taming the Lion (7 page)

“Well, if you don’t mind, I’m going to have a shower.”

“Of course. That’ll give me time to get my quiches in the oven. You’ll need a clean towel. There are plenty in the cupboard under the washbasin.”

Ellie retreated from the bedroom, leaving Kaspar to pull his clothes out of his rucksack and stow them away.

He looked ruefully at the handful of items hanging in the closet. With any luck, he’d have enough left over from his wages to treat himself to another pair of jeans, and maybe a sweater in case the nights turned cold. Marina had provided him with the black T-shirt bearing the løve logo that was the standard attire for all her bar staff, so at least he didn’t have to worry about what he’d wear to work every day.

Kaspar stripped to his underwear then grabbed his washbag and went into the bathroom. Like his bedroom, it was compact, with just enough room for a wedge-shaped tub in one corner. Ellie’s beauty products occupied the shelf above the sink, as well as most of the space along the rim of the tub. When he looked in the mirrored cabinet, he discovered aspirins, tampons, cotton wool balls and makeup removing wipes. As long as he could find somewhere to put his toothbrush and razor, he didn’t mind putting up with the rest of the clutter.

He pulled the transparent curtain into place before turning on the shower. Once he judged the water to be at the correct heat, he took off his shorts then stepped into the tub. As he lathered his body up, he felt as though he was washing the last traces of his homeland from his skin.

He hadn’t expected to make a new life for himself quite so quickly but, more by luck than judgment, he’d managed to secure both a job and a roof over his head within hours of arriving in Bath. Maybe Ellie was right, and he’d been drawn here for reasons he didn’t yet understand. Could his mate really be waiting for him here? Until he met the rest of the pride, he had no way of knowing. Of course, the odds of any of the male shifters being gay were very small, but he had to hold out hope.

Sighing, Kaspar shut off the spray. He reached for the towel and dried himself off. When he walked out onto the landing, he smelled the scents of hot pastry and fried bacon. His mouth watered.

In the bedroom, he went to find the pot of facial moisturizer at the bottom of his rucksack. It was his only real concession to vanity, though he wore it more for the sunscreen protection it offered him than to keep any wrinkles at bay.

As he reached for it, his fingers brushed against the cover of one of the porn mags he’d brought from his old apartment. Just thinking about what was contained in its pages had his cock rising to attention.

He thought of Ellie downstairs, engrossed in her baking and oblivious to whatever he might be doing. She wouldn’t miss him for another few minutes.

Kaspar pulled the magazine out of his backpack. It fell open at the page he’d studied more times than any other. This particular set of pictures featured a dark-haired, well-built model who went by the name of Reno. He was stripping out of the uniform of a US traffic patrol cop, complete with helmet and shiny black leather boots—which were the only things he still had on in the final couple of shots. In itself, the set-up didn’t seem like anything special. But the arrogant cast of Reno’s face, as though he knew the viewer of the photos was in his power, never failed to turn Kaspar on. That and the fact he also had the biggest cock Kaspar had ever seen.

As he began to stroke himself, Kaspar gazed at Reno, and weaved a fantasy in which the policeman had pulled him over for some traffic infringement.

“Do you know just how fast you were going back there, eh?” Officer Reno pulled off his sunglasses as he spoke. He leaned in through the passenger window of the car, fixing Kaspar with an unblinking gaze.

“No, officer, I’m sorry.” He sat up straighter in his seat, responding to the natural air of authority the cop possessed.

“The speed limit on these roads is sixty-five, and you must have been going closer to eighty. Let me see your license.”

Kaspar fished the laminated card from his wallet and handed it over, wondering what kind of trouble he might be in. This was his first time driving on American roads. He’d heard stories that the police in these isolated rural areas could dish out some pretty hard treatment to anyone they caught breaking the law.

“So, you’re not from round here.” The cop’s expression was somewhere between a smile and a sneer, as though he’d scented fresh meat. “I suppose I could put what you just did down to ignorance of the law but that really is no excuse, is it?”

“No, sir.”

This was the moment where the cop would tell him not to do it again before writing him a ticket. Kaspar didn’t know how much a speeding fine might be or whether he had enough cash in his wallet. Why did he have the feeling if he didn’t, this man would be happy to take payment in kind?

“Get out of the car, please.”

The officer’s words startled him. He hurried to obey, not wanting to displease this big, brooding man more than he already had.

As Kaspar stood on the side of the road, Reno strutted over to him. Kaspar couldn’t fail to notice how the muscles of the cop’s arms and chest bulged beneath his khaki uniform. This man exuded raw sex. Apprehensive as he was, Kaspar found his cock stirring as Reno came close.

“Now, your driver’s license tells me you come from Amsterdam. I may not have traveled much but I do know they smoke a lot of dope over there. That something you’re into, hey?”

“No, sir.” Kaspar fought to keep his voice level.

“Maybe I should search you. See if you’re carrying anything you shouldn’t be…”

His heart thumped in his chest. The thought of this big policeman patting him down had Kaspar’s erection surging up.

“Spread yourself against the side of the car,” Reno ordered.

Kaspar assumed the required position, with his arms and legs stretched wide, and his torso pressed to the car’s sun-warmed driver’s door.

At first, the officer ran his hands over Kaspar’s body in a cool, dispassionate fashion, as if he really were just checking that Kaspar wasn’t carrying drugs. But when Reno reached the tops of his thighs, he kept moving upwards until he brushed his fingertips over Kaspar’s hard dick.

He chuckled. “Well, what do we have here?” Instead of moving his hand away, he continued to stroke up and down Kaspar’s length through his baggy surfer shorts. “Looks like someone’s enjoying themselves rather more than they ought to be. You like what I’m doing to you?”

Kaspar didn’t want to admit it, but he knew the cop needed to hear his reply. “Yes, sir.”

“I knew I had a bad boy here. I just didn’t guess how bad.”

Reno took both of Kaspar’s wrists in one hand. Metal clinked behind Kaspar and he tried to look round to see what the policeman was doing.

“Keep looking straight ahead,” Reno barked.

Almost before Kaspar realized what was happening, the cuffs had been buckled around his wrists. “Is this really necessary?” he asked.

“All you have to do is tell me you don’t want this and I’ll let you go free.”

That wasn’t going to happen, and Reno had to know it. Whatever kind of kinky game the cop wanted to play, Kaspar was fully on board with it.

Without ceremony, Reno grabbed the waistband of Kaspar’s shorts and yanked them down to his knees. Kaspar didn’t have any underwear on and he blushed, knowing the cop had a great view of his rigid cock.

“Looks like I’m going to have to investigate this a little more closely…” Reno took hold of Kaspar’s shaft near the head, rubbing his calloused thumb over the tip and smearing pre-cum around it. Kaspar tried not to moan or give any indication how much he enjoyed this treatment. But the way he rose up on his toes as the officer tugged his dick, as well as his tense, hoarse breaths, were clear evidence of his excitement.

Reno continued to play with him, taking him closer to the brink with every stroke. With his hands restrained, Kaspar couldn’t steady himself against the side of the vehicle, couldn’t do anything but let Reno extract every ounce of pleasure from his willing body.

“You gonna come for me?” Reno breathed in his ear.

“Mmm…” Kaspar gnawed at his lip, trying to hold back for just a few moments longer. But when the cop ran a finger, slick with saliva, over Kaspar’s arsehole, the extra stimulation broke the last of his self-control. He threw his head back and howled as his spunk shot out, splashing across the car door…

Kaspar lay back, staring at the ceiling. His breath came in hard gasps and when he glanced down the length of his body, he saw cum puddled in his belly button. He sat up, needing to clean himself before he dressed and went down to join Ellie for dinner.

He hoped the squeaking of the bedsprings hadn’t alerted her to what he’d been doing.

Jerking yourself off over some dirty pictures in a magazine with the woman who’s been kind enough to take you in busy downstairs. What’s come over you?

The emotion he felt was not guilt, however. Instead, it was a gnawing need to find someone who would enjoy giving and receiving the same kind of treatment he’d received at the hands of his fantasy police officer. Someone who could be by turns strong, tender, playful, even a little cruel if his behavior demanded it. That couldn’t be too much to ask, surely?

He’d been alone for long enough. Maybe this new start in a foreign city would finally bring the guy he craved into his life.

Chapter Nine

What am I doing in a place like this?

Jon almost turned round and fled the bar as soon as he’d entered. The music—a tune he half-remembered from a few years back, some thumping fusion of Madonna and ABBA—was a fraction too loud to make conversation. All around, people were raising their voices in order to be heard over the dance beat. Close by him, a woman in a tiny skirt and towering heels shrieked with laughter in response to something one of her friends had said.

What else should he have expected? It was Friday night—a chance for people to forget about the stresses of work and party like nothing else mattered. This bar, like the ones that had sprung up in the SouthGate shopping development by the railway station, was designed to attract a young, affluent, well-dressed crowd. Jon’s decision to go for a drink had been a spur of the moment one, and he’d come straight from the university campus. In his old tweed jacket and brown corduroy trousers, he felt distinctly out of place.

Originally, he’d intended to have a pint in one of his favorite pubs, beside the Theatre Royal. The staff there were friendly, the beer well-kept and he knew he could happily sit and read a book without being bothered or made to feel like a freak for drinking on his own. But when he’d walked in, he’d been stopped in his tracks by an unwelcome sight.

He hadn’t needed to see the man’s face to recognize him. The wavy red hair and the intricate silver and turquoise bracelet around his left wrist were all too familiar.

Why was he surprised that Simon might be here? It was where Jon had originally met him, after all. They’d both attended a performance of
Long Day’s Journey into Night
at the theater next door, and had gotten talking while they’d been waiting to be served at the bar. He and Simon had seemed to have so much in common—a love of the arts, an appreciation of craft beer, a stable family who’d been accepting and supportive of their sexuality. On top of that, Simon possessed a quick wit and a truly outstanding arse that Jon had caught himself checking out a couple of times as they’d been chatting. If he’d known then he was also a liar and a cheat, would Jon have refused the offer of a drink and backed off?

Dragging himself away from thoughts of that night, Jon had snuck a glance at Simon’s companion. The man had his hair shaved down to the scalp, and a blackwork tattoo encircled his brawny biceps. Not what he’d have classed as his ex’s type, but then how did he know what Simon really went for in a man? Perhaps Jon had been the aberration—educated, nicely spoken and with ambitions to progress to the top of his profession. Maybe what Simon had preferred all along was a bit of rough.

As if to prove Jon’s theory right, Simon had bent close to press a kiss on his lover’s lips. Jon had stumbled backwards out of the bar, not wanting to see any more. He’d needed a drink more than ever, but not there. If he’d walked in with someone on his arm, he’d have been perfectly happy to show Simon he’d moved on. Instead, he was still alone, still miserable. He didn’t want his ex to have the satisfaction of seeing what he’d been reduced to after they’d split.

Almost in a daze, he’d wandered down onto Monmouth Street and in the direction of the Abbey, not really caring where he ended up. The lights of a bar on the corner had seemed to beckon to him. Jon had glanced at the name above the door—løve. He vaguely recalled seeing a flyer for the venue on the faculty noticeboard, advertising some cut-price midweek drink deal for anyone producing a valid NUS card. Most of the pubs and clubs in town operated a similar policy. In a university town, students were one of the biggest sources of income for anyone in the hospitality industry.

The thought that he was very unlikely to bump into any of his own students in here reassured him a little. The summer term had been over for a couple of weeks, and most of his tutor group had flown over to Turkey to take part in a dig supervised by one of Jon’s colleagues, Shaun Armitage.

Though, being spotted in a trendy city center bar might do wonders for his reputation. It would prove he wasn’t the fusty old stick he suspected the students saw him as, even though he was still a couple of years shy of forty.

With renewed purpose, Jon strode to the chrome-topped bar counter, where he waited to be served behind a girl who was ordering a pitcher of raspberry mojitos. He scanned the selection of drinks on offer and was relieved to spot a couple of hand pumps offering real ale. His sour mood would not have improved if he’d been forced to drink any beer billing itself as ‘smooth flow’ or ‘extra cold’.