Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 79314 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79314 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
He must have drifted off, watching the white-capped mounds of junk shimmer in the sun, because the snowball hitting his shoulder came out of nowhere, bursting into cool fluff that hit his bare neck, face, and even got into his hair.
Baffled and ready to defend himself, Shane spun toward the open workshop, only to see Ros squatting to make another projectile with a devilish smile. Oh, could that sweet boy be a demon when he wanted to! In bed, mostly, but seeing him so joyful filled Shane’s black heart with happiness so bright the painful past he always carried with him seemed to for once weigh nothing.
“Oh, that’s how it is?” he roared and gathered snow into his bare hands, rolling it into a ball. He’d make sure it wasn’t too hard, since he didn’t want to leave bruises on Rosen’s beautiful, pale flesh, but this wasn’t the day he’d step away from a fight.
Ros grinned at him and hid behind a car rusted beyond the point of no return. “Shouldn’t have been daydreaming on the job!” He laughed and threw his next snow missile, but his aim wasn’t great and Shane didn’t need to duck to avoid it before sending a snow cannonball of his own Ros’s way. It missed the pompom on his hat by a fraction of an inch and burst when it hit the wall of Frank’s workshop, which was currently filled with materials Ros had scavenged for his upcoming project.
“Be careful, or you might just tease me one time too many!”
Ros dashed from behind the car, throwing another snowball at Shane, and proceeded to run along the wall. “You’d have to catch me first!”
Shane sensed blood. And cum. And sweat. But most of all, he anticipated the sweetness of Rosen’s kisses as he followed the boy, not losing his pace even when his foot slipped on the fresh snow. Lots of ice had formed by the building, but he used it to his advantage and slid along the frozen puddle. The cold air felt frosty in his nostrils as he caught the back of Rosen’s coat and yanked him close.
“You’re mine now!”
Ros laughed and wrestled Shane, grabbing his hands, but he only lost balance in the process. They both fell over into the most perfect, fluffy pile of snow, as if this were a 90s rom-com, not the life of an ex-convict and the young, beautiful artist whom he pined for.
Shane ended up with half his body on top of Ros, and they stilled, looking into each other’s eyes as if they shared one mind.
Ros’s smile softened. “Guess I am…” he whispered with cheeks flushed from the cold, and Shane could have sworn he sensed Ros’s heartbeat through the many layers of clothes.
This was his sign to proceed. Ros confirmed his capture and didn’t seem at all offended by it. Maybe he’d even played along with this hunting fantasy and let himself be caught on purpose?
Thoughts passed through Shane’s mind at breakneck speed as he pushed one hand under Rosen’s head, to shield him from the cold snow that made his skin seem even juicier, pinker, warmer.
If Shane bit in, sweetness would end up exploding on his tongue and would nourish him forever. But he stalled, meeting the tender gaze watching him from below, because what if he was just seeing things and would fuck up everything he’d built by going in for an unwanted kiss?
He did promise they’d go slow. Problem was, what did slow mean for Ros? Because for Shane, their pace was glacial.
A high-pitched whistle startled them both, but it sounded like yet another of Jag’s useless alerts.
“Ignore him,” Shane groaned, but Ros was already sliding out from under him.
“No, this is the danger one, it’s serious,” Ros said, getting to his feet.
Shane wished Jag hadn’t explained the intricacies of his whistle and bird call system to Ros, but Jag had insisted it was important for him to know all the signals now that he was a part of their pack.
Shane begrudgingly rose and wiped snow off his jeans, assuming that the whistle must have snapped Ros out of yielding to a temptation he might later regret, and provided a handy excuse to break things up. Not that excuses were necessary.
Shane deserved every delay, every missed kiss and touch.
It was a miracle that Rosen still wanted to have anything to do with him at all.
“It’s probably a customer. Jag doesn’t know how business works.”
But as soon as they walked out from behind the workshop, Frank appeared in front of them so abruptly they barely avoided clashing.
“Hide in the house, Ros,” Frank said, and his usual frown transformed into a valley in the middle of his forehead.
Ros glanced back at Shane. “Are you sure…?”
Shane spread his arms, still annoyed that yet another chance at reconnecting with Ros in a way that was even remotely sexual had been thwarted. “Better safe than sorry. Do as Frankie says.” But the moment his boy skirted through the back door of the open workshop, slamming it behind him, he spun back to face his friend. “What is this about?” he asked after taking a deep inhale to subdue the jittery sensation in his muscles. And then he heard it—the buzz of an approaching car.