The Beast of Bodmin Moor Page 11

  “I’m sorry, so sorry—” Jake’s apology was garrotted by a groan when the tip of Phin’s tongue slipped out to moisten lips too incendiary to resist. Too irresistible to renounce. Ever. Their mouths melded in a cherry brandy kiss as potent as absinthe. Infinitely more lethal.

  19. Phin

  “Phin?”

  “Jack?”

  Jack was here? Really here…? Had he forgotten something yesterday? Surely not—he hadn’t brought anything with him to forget—having not had so much as a pocket about his person. He hadn’t even done snaffling the robe to return, Jake had abandoned that as summarily as Phin. It had been left on the bonnet for him to find. Rain had rendered it as soggy as the dishrag Phin felt a very lot like, when he woke up and saw it there.

  “Yeah…um… I’ve come visiting?”

  Phin had been so certain he would never see Jack again. He’d been so eager to go, he hadn’t even said goodbye, which was the po-lite thing to do when taking your leave at the end of a visit.

  “It’s customary to open the door ’round about now.” Oops.

  Phin had zoned out, again. Jack, the cheeky devil, had the brass neck to ask if he’d done forgetting on purpose. How rude. Phin would never do such a thing, that would be inconsiderate. There may have been a teeny white lie in there, somewhere.

  When Phin did tug the door open, he sure as strewth hadn’t been prepared for the sight that did greeting him. Jake had already been in the van when he’d woken that morn, so Phin had nary a wild ’n’ windswept, lust ’n’ leather clad Jake in his mental stash of images. Would that have made a jot of difference? It didn’t seem possible that a sight so breath-snatching could be diminished by familiarity. Phin had been eating the same food every day for a decade and his taste buds still did tingling as if they were being treated to a rare delicacy for the very first time.

  Most folk thought that was weird. Phin was supposed to do getting ‘sick’ of his favourite foodstuffs along the way. Most of them had children. And pets.

  Nope. Phin had not done pointing this out. He was too po-lite. Unlike certain variety is the spice of life types and their promiscuous proclivities.

  Phin had been a bit befuddled and bleary-eyed when he’d first woken to discover himself being visited. Jack may have been the most beautiful man Phin had ever seen but—by the time he could see straight enough to absorb that fact—Jake had been sitting there for a wee while, sporting Phin’s snaffled robe.

  That was a helluva lot different to finding Jack standing in his doorway wearing jeans so tight it looked as if he’d painted his legs black. Glinting in the light that glanced off the silver-sharp zips ’n’ studs of his gleaming leather jacket. Phin might well have stood there for quite some time, too bedazzled to blink. But much to his relief, he found himself encompassed by arms so strong, tight, they did squishing the breath from his body. Phin felt about fit to swoon but couldn’t tell if that was down to the squishing itself, or the fact he was being crushed by the most luscious man alive.

  The cool contrast of leather and feverish flesh was as lush as ice cream served with hot fudge sauce. Tendrils of toffee ’n’ honey hair were tickling Phin’s skin, plush lips scorching his neck; Jack was a hurricane of heady heat and smelled like fresh air and danger. His breath tasted of whiskey and want.

  The strangest thing of all was that he made Phin feel…safe, and yet, he oozed raw power and scarcely constrained strength. Jake oozed a lot of things. They all did banjaxing Phin’s brain and boiling the blood in his veins.

  “Jake…you’re here…I thought…”

  “I’m sorry, so sorry—” Jake forgot to do finishing his sentence, then Phin’s brain turned to mush and his bones to butter. It was some time after being kissed senseless that Phin did remembering he should have worried about doing it wrong or too much. Or doing anything at all, ever again, except kissing Jake.

  All he could think was Mmmore. A word that summed matters up with a literal and onomatopoeic economy that left the rest of Phin’s faculties free to do feeling. A fact they celebrated more excessively than ever before. It seemed hyperpossible that Phin was about to be sexed to death. He couldn’t have felt more chuffed about that if he’d done trying. Mmmore…much more. Phin wasn’t sure what he wanted; he just knew he wanted it. Very much. Too much. Jack didn’t seem to mind, so Phin forgot to fret about that too.

  Jake only had two hands when he’d arrived, but he seemed to have far more than that now. It felt as if they were everywhere, all at once. Inside and out. Jake was all heavy heat, but not heavy enough…Phin needed more. Need not want. A need as necessary as his next breath. There was a knot in the pit of Phin’s belly that was gnawing on itself. None of that p’raps made sense but that’s how it felt. All this, as the deranging drizzle of Jake’s fingers did sizzling across Phin’s skin, setting his senses aflame. A too much intensity of touch that was nowhere near enough. Never, ever enough…

  “Jake…” flitted free, filling the chasm when their mouths smushed apart. Jake’s rumble of acknowledgment shimmered down Phin’s spine in a shiver of heat. Chased by a scatter of kisses, smudged across his jaw, towards his ear…neck…where Jake fastened to drag the blood to the surface and Phin’s knees floorward. They could scarce do holding him up. The only part left utterly unbuttery with bliss was twitching fit to bust in his pants, aching for Jake’s touch.

  “Phin, I shouldn’t be here…” Jake’s groan ghosted across Phin’s skin, but he didn’t do moving a muscle, even to raise his head.

  Why shouldn’t Jake be here? Is he married? Is that why he left in such a hurry? Did he do remembering that his wife would be cross if he stayed out too late? He might not do wearing a ring but lots of men don’t…

  “I’m glad you are.” Phin told him. Rather than clobber Jake with questions he wouldn’t want to hear and, even if he did, it seemed a lot likely that Phin would hate the answers. He didn’t want to do spoiling it. Even if this was all Phin could have, all he could ever hope for, he wanted it. A bit of Jack was better than lots of someone else.

  Phin didn’t want anyone else. It was too late.

  He was already besieged by the skittery thrill that blinkered him when spellbound by a new passion. He’d be minding his own business, absorbed in his trove of treasures, content as can be. Then slam, Phin found himself coshed by an all-consuming kaleidoscope of colour that did whisking him away on a rainbow ride of discovery. A hypermission to secure all he could find to nourish his need to know more. To drench every sense with its essence and fill his happy place with more of its magic. It had happened forever, Phin recognised it as readily as his own reflection.

  This was more than that. Much more…p’raps too much more, having met Jack just yesterday. Quite how that could be made to matter a jot, Phin knew not. He loved things or hated them, instantly. If he didn’t care a toot about something, then he never would. He couldn’t make himself be interested, nor could he force himself enjoy a boring book or love a sour-as-a-sucked-lemon relative. That was just daft. Like asking Phin to try and wear orange.

  It would be best not to tell Mr. Neil about this new and (too) much improved fixation, or Phin would find himself forgetting a refresher course of Cognitive Behavioural Fix-its pronto. They were supposed to teach him how to Not Do Stuff Too Much. Phin was living proof of their towering powers of persuasion.

  He was pondering all this while watching Jack have a fight with his leather jacket. It seemed to want to remain shrink-wrapped to his body despite his best efforts to yank it off. Phin had never expected to find himself sympathizing with the wishes of a coat but couldn’t help hoping it didn’t win its battle. Their scuffle had started about a snatched off breath after Jake did wrenching himself free with a grit-strewn groan.

  “Sorry…” his heroic victor muttered (eventually), tossing it aside.

  “Are you sorry about the kissing, or sorry the kissing stopped?” Phin wondered. Out loud.

  “Um, both probably.”

  “I’m sor
ry you’re sorry about the kissing,” Phin stifled a sad sigh while cramming his host hat on, again. “Would you like a drink, instead?”

  “Please…” Jake nodded, shoving his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans. If only they came off next…or his T-shirt. Preferably both. Phin poured another tumbler of brandy and handed it to him. “Thank you,” Jake did remembering to say after draining the glass with one Adam’s apple-bobbing glug.

  “I thought I’d never see you again,” Phin ’fessed up. “Was I wrong, or did you change your mind?”

  “No, you were right. I-I’m no good…for you,” Jake insisted.

  “Pfft…I’m very fed up of the fact that not-good-for-me things are always the fun stuffs. The ones I want most,” Phin grumbled.

  “You’re a liability waiting to happen to yourself, you know that, right?” Jack sighed a chuckle about a sharp-shooting eyebrow before ambushing Phin with a query he sure hadn’t seen coming. “Speaking of…what did you do to your arm?”

  Phin glanced at his wound, then blinked. Twice. The crusty gash was…well, it wasn’t a crusty gash. It was…a ragged purple slash across his forearm.

  “Oh. I…um, did an accident. S’okay though…it looks lots better already.”

  “Hmm…” Jake sniffed, regarding him with squinty eyes.

  “Oh, Jake!” Phin piped up, hoping to distract him. “I saw Foxy on the moors tonight, so I didn’t dream him up. I don’t think he is a fox, I didn’t last time really, but he’s not a wolf either…p’raps a coyote, or a jackal?”

  “In Cornwall?” Jake’s left eyebrow shot skywards again.

  “We already have a black panther, so why not?”

  “Why not, indeed,” Jake grinned, shaking his head a smidge. “Weren’t you afraid he might hurt you?”

  “Pah…no. Not at all, I told you, he’s friendly,” Phin shrugged, with a smile. “He sat down beside me and let me do stroking him. It was cosy.”

  “See? You’re a walking liability. D’you plan on swimming with sharks next?”

  “That’s dolphins, you daftie. I’d love to do that. Jack…? Why are you no good?” Phin paused, then added, “For me? That’s how it sounded, as if you meant I’m no good full stop. Are you married, or a murderer?”

  “If I’d got married, I’d probably have both covered by now,” Jack snorted. “But no, not yet.”

  “Not yet married or not yet a murderer?”

  “Either. Both.” Jake’s shrug suggested that Phin had asked if he wanted chunky monkey or chocolate ice cream.

  “D’you plan to?” he couldn’t resist asking.

  “Which one?” Jake’s lips twitched with a smirk.

  “Either, both.” Phin parried.

  “I-I…can’t rule either out.”

  “I know…” Phin sighed, barely above a breath. And promptly found himself bludgeoned by a blaze of blue. Blimey.

  “D’you have a death wish?” Jake’s voice was a low, lethal lash of sound. A ‘fearsome’ one. It sure made Phin’s toes do curling, but they weren’t scared.

  “Nope, not really…although I think I could have an accident,” he had to admit.

  “Phin. Your dissembling is an art form.” Jake informed him with another squinty stare.

  “Thank you,” he beamed.

  Jake just did the head shaking thing again. People often did that, funnily ’nuff, just before sighing, ‘Oh, Phin…’ Never with such a finger-tingling tumble of hair, though. “I should probably go…let you get to bed.”

  “Oh.” Phin couldn’t do keeping the disappointment from his voice. It landed with a dull thud on the rug.

  “I just thought… well, it’s late and I turned up unannounced. Again.”

  “I don’t mind. I won’t go to sleep unless I take my tablets, and I haven’t had them yet.” Then, quick smart, before Phin could think worse of it, he added; “You can stay here, if you like, I’ll kip on the sofa seat.”

  “I…Phin, I really should g—” Jack broke off with a sharp breath that made his eyes do scrunching as he doubled over, clutching his stomach. “FUCK!”

  “What is it…? Jack!?” Phin was afraid now. Afraid and fretting, scratchy and scared. “What’s wrong?”

  Jack’s golden skin had gone ashen grey, agony etched upon his face. “S…sss’kay,” Jake ground out through gritted teeth. An outright lie. “I’m ok—shiiit, okay…okay! F’fucksakes!” he snarled. It didn’t seem to be at Phin, but there was no one else to do snarling at.

  “What can I do? D’you want…water, brandy, a lie down?”

  “I-it’s just cramp. I’ll be fine in a minute. No doubt,” he growled. Then: “Phin, is the offer still open…?”

  “To stay here?” Phin asked, unable to think of another offer he might have made. He tried not to sound too hopeful, eager, despite the happy dance antics of his heart. Jake was suffering. Despite his insistence on being fine in a mo.

  “Yeah. I’m not going to throw you out of your bed though.” Jack declared, making a manful attempt to straighten up. There were beads of sweat glistening on his brow. Phin longed to do licking them off.

  “I’m not listening. You do look a little better, is it easing off now?”

  “Yeah…” he sighed. “I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t have to be sorry, you haven’t done anything. Sadly. Bummer…oops, I meant to say the last part inside my head, but it…escaped.”

  “Phin, please don’t think, it’s not that I don’t…want. I do. Too much.” Jake did his most heartfelt groan yet as he raked a hand through his hair. Phin’s fingers started itching. Not with scratchiness. In the sort of way that had ‘who scoffed all the cookies’ consequences.

  “I’m…terrified I might hurt you.”

  “Knowing you don’t want me hurts more, methinks,” Phin asserted, despite the dearth of comparative data. He hadn’t even done blinking before his back crashed against the door, a wall of hard heat pinning him to it in a body slam of bliss. As far from pain as possible to imagine when his lips were assaulted with kisses too lethal to survive unscathed.

  20. Jake

  Jake had felt somewhat sure of one thing when he’d arrived: it would be, if not easier—then less impossible—to hold it together. Having already proved that he could while holding Phin hostage in his arms. Hell, he’d even survived a blowjob without exploding in a frenzy of fur. A miracle that made it seem safe to assume he could handle the merest brush of lips without combusting.

  Jake was wrong. Very. Deadly wrong.

  The devastating need was worse now. Worse still? Jack was doing a damn fine impression of a domestic cat curled on a hearth rug, as calm as can be. Content (for now) that he’d got his own way and was still here, within hearing distance of his jackal whisperer’s dulcet tones.

  How was Jake supposed to suppress his own excesses in the presence of Phin? It was a challenge on a par with staying sober in a Speakeasy. In nineteen-twenties New York.

  He’d launched himself through Phin’s doorway like a man possessed; unprepared for the extravagance of ivory that greeted him. A sight so incendiary that Jake neglected to steel himself against the impact of the most immoderate of all gazes, wide(r) with surprise. He had a better chance of surviving the stare of a double-barrelled shotgun with his faculties intact.

  Jake had barely begun when he was forced to stop. Before he could not. He had but buried his nose in the curve of Phin’s neck to breathe him in. The resulting surge of bloodlust suggested Jake might find himself feasting on it before recalling exactly whose quivering pulse he’d sunk his teeth into. The heat boiling his blood was so intense, he felt about an inhalation away from bursting into flames. So, he dragged himself free and attempted to disentangle himself from a jacket dead-set on being welded to his body. He couldn’t even get the bloody zip down, beset as he was with about fifty fingers and fumbling thumbs.

  Jake had never had a hope in hell. He was outnumbered. Everything he said to try and warn Phin off, or at least make him wary, was b
rushed aside by the most disarming airiness on Earth. A disregard for danger so intrinsic, Jake feared that shifting on the spot might leave his inimitable Phin unruffled. In much the way he’d mused the fact he might be hosting a homicidal maniac.

  If Jake didn’t shift himself sharpish, Phin damn well would be. No one else present (in person or proxy) would do bugger all to ensure he stayed safe. Jake had scarce stammered so much as “I…Phin, I really should—” before his guts spasmed so violently he had no idea how he remained on his feet, albeit doubled-over in pain. Far more severe than having Jack burst from his body (strangely akin to the agony and ecstasy of being topped for the first time, many moons ago).