What the Cat Dragged In Read online

“They save time, I guess.” Brock nipped at his lower lip. “Focus, Kitty.”

  “Focus.” That wasn’t his strong suit, not really.

  “Mmm-hmm. Touching. We’re going to get off together here.” Brock eased him up to standing again to help Connor skin off his jeans.

  “You want to, right?” Because he wanted to. A lot.

  “Hell, yes. That’s why I want you here with me.” Brock snorted. “Not with zippers.”

  “Not with zippers. Right.” He got himself au naturel and then reached for Brock’s belt. “Please. You have a heavy bit of rope.”

  “Yeah, well.” Brock’s pleased smile spoke volumes as he tore off his shirt and shimmied out of his pants. Naked, he sprawled back in the chair and held out a hand.

  Connor didn’t even try to hesitate. There was something about Brock that made the base of his brain light up. He hopped back on those spread thighs, reaching for Brock’s dick.

  Brock barked, bucking up toward his hand like there was lightning in his fingers.

  “Yeah. Nice, Fuzzy. Hard and hot.”

  “You’re thick.” Brock stroked him too, working him up and down.

  “I am. That’s good. I like it firm.”

  Brock had a two-hander. Impressive. He tugged, hand over hand, then reached down to see if he could get a grip on Brock’s balls.

  “Be careful, Kitty. They’re swollen.”

  “Are they? You should empty them more often.”

  “I blame you. Waking up with your ass against me was inspiring.” Brock kissed him again.

  Thank goodness Connor was flexible, because he could wiggle around, rub and snuggle, bite a little at Brock’s lips. He wanted to touch and taste everything, and he wasn’t holding back. Brock could say if he didn’t like something.

  Brock held his butt, big hand covering one asscheek. Connor arched, pushing back into the touch, hopefully putting ideas in Brock’s head.

  “Greedy little kit.”

  “I am small but mighty.”

  “You’re like no one I’ve ever met.” Brock rubbed one thumb over the head of Connor’s cock.

  Any of the clever things he might have thought dissolved, shattering as his eyes flew open. That was a hot spot for him, right there at the slit, then sliding down under the flared head. Oh, dear Lord. He bent almost in half backward, pushing his cock up.

  Brock chuffed softly and repeated the touch, making Connor’s eyes cross and his belly go washboard tight.

  “Laughing at me.” Not that he minded. Laughter and sex went together like peanut butter and chocolate.

  “Uh-huh. You can’t hide anything. It’s something else.”

  “Why hide it?” He pulled back up with his abs. “I like what you’re doing. I want more.”

  And Brock seemed willing to give it, which worked for him. He was on fire—not in that “I have a terrible disease” way or “some South American creepy-crawly is in private places” way, but in that “oh fuck me now” way—the heat growing from his balls.

  The hand on his ass was moving too, giving him balance but exploring. Talented bastard. He remembered he was supposed to be jacking Brock off, but Brock kept him from moving, just holding him right where he sat. Every time he reached out, tried to grab Brock, the wolf squeezed or touched, and his focus turned into mush.

  “Just ride it out, Kitty. Let me see what this does.”

  Brock rubbed his thumb and forefinger right under the head of Connor’s cock, the touch firm enough to make him shout.

  “Listen to you. Beautiful voice.”

  “Please.” He had no idea what he was asking for, really, just that he wanted the ache to ease.

  “I know what you need.” The words rattled around in his skull as Brock pinched the tip of his cock and sent him over the edge.

  Connor bounced, his whole body clenching as he came, his balls pulled up tight against the base of his dick. He made a mess too, all over Brock. If he hadn’t been so come-addled, he’d apologize. Instead, he watched Brock rub his seed into that fuzzy, ridged belly.

  Okay. Nuclear hot. Damn.

  Brock rocked a little beneath him, growling, and oh, he could touch now, couldn’t he?

  Totally. In fact….

  He slid down and dropped his lips over Brock’s cock and pulled, lashing Brock’s shaft with his tongue.

  “Fuck!” Brock jerked, one big hand coming to rest on his head.

  He chuckled and did it again. Hell yeah. Even as a man, his tongue rasped a bit, and more than one friend had told him it felt like heaven. Connor thought Brock agreed. He closed his eyes and let himself enjoy the pressure of the heavy, fat prick between his lips.

  “Oh, damn, Kitty. Your mouth. Goddamn.” Brock kept talking, this low rumble of sound that made him want to smile.

  There was nothing like knowing he was on the right track. Nothing at all.

  He bobbed his head, his dreads slapping his back, and Brock slipped one hand up under his hair, fingers stroking the back of his neck. Then scratching.

  Oh.

  Oh, fuck him raw. Please.

  Brock chuckled. “You like that, Kitty? I think you do. I see goose bumps.”

  He doubled down his effort. No way was Brock this fucking coherent. Connor wanted the man raving, maybe reduced to just moaning. He wiggled closer so he could lift the heavy balls with one hand, rolling them, tapping right behind.

  The deep growl made him grin. Yeah, that was better.

  Brock started moving fast, humping up to fuck his face. Connor opened up as much as he could, taking Brock to the back of his throat.

  “For fuck’s….” That was all the warning he got, and he started swallowing. Brock came for him hard enough to make him feel better about the mess he’d made earlier.

  It felt like hunting, a little bit, like the moon and the chase, tasting Brock. Wild and amazing.

  Brock yanked him up so fast he dangled for a moment, then kissed him, tongue pressing right into his mouth and threatening to devour him. Hungry wolf. Connor opened up and let it happen.

  “Mmmm. Well, that was a hell of an appetizer,” Brock said when they broke for air. He tucked Connor back on his lap, stroking his spine.

  “Yeah. Yeah, it totally didn’t suck.”

  Brock hooted. “No, you sucked.”

  “I did and I liked it.” Was that a song?

  “I did too.” Brock sat there with him for a long while, just… holding him. Then they stood as if they’d discussed it, both grabbing pants. The food would arrive soon.

  This wasn’t a love affair, after all. Right? He just needed to figure out what he was meant to do with Mr. Fuzzy. Why he’d found him.

  Connor could make love to that burger next.

  Possibly a metric fuck-ton of fries. Salt. His eyes crossed.

  Brock wandered to the bathroom to wash up before strolling back into the main room to turn on the TV.

  He settled back in the chair, eyes on the mountains. Food. Food. Food. Dónde está la comida?

  The knock came about five minutes later, and Brock pounced on the delivery guy. Connor understood. The scents made his mouth water.

  “Do you need money?” His fangs wanted out.

  “Not now, honey. I might get you to fill up the tank on my truck. That will totally even us out.”

  “That’s fair.” His stomach growled.

  “Right? All the mountain air.” Plopping down pizza boxes and bags, Brock waved. “You pick.”

  “Start with fries.” While they were still hot.

  “Share?” Brock grinned, all predator, and ripped open the bag with the fries. “Smell that.”

  He opened his mouth, panting heavily. “Uh-huh.”

  Brock picked up a fry and then popped it into Connor’s mouth. “Eat, honey.”

  “Thank you.” He crunched happily, and then there was a brief and wild free-for-all, ending with torn boxes and bags, chewed-up paper, and full bellies.

  By the end, they lay tangled together on the bed, both
furry, a cat and a wolf. Connor had the strongest urge to groom Brock, so he started with the tail. He could feel the weight of Brock’s gaze as he smoothed all that fluffy fur. He worked up over Brock’s haunch, warming to his task. Not kitty fur at all. This was a thick double coat, meant to ward off cold weather. His was as heavy, but more sleek and utterly finer tufts.

  One big paw landed on his head, and he knew enough from his pack at home to know that was an affectionate move, even if it did kinda slap his face. Silly lupine.

  He lifted his chin and started chewing on Brock’s pads, cleaning in between. A low rumble was his reward, Brock rolling to his back, kicking the air like a puppy.

  Mmm. Soft belly!

  He pounced and nuzzled in, filling his nose with Brock’s scent.

  Brock woofed softly. Real barking might upset the pet-free hotel guests, he supposed. They rolled about, paws batting, but no teeth or claws involved. Gentle play only.

  They settled, Brock curling around him, surrounding him completely. Warm. Soft. He purred hard, his ears twitching when Brock breathed on him.

  Still, even with the tickling, it felt just right, like being home again. Two times in a year. How delightful.

  Brock closed his eyes, snuffling a moment, and then began to snore lightly. Not loud enough to keep him from dozing off too.

  Just enough to fill his ears with wolf song.

  Chapter Seven

  BROCK WOKE up and stretched, not at all surprised to find his human form back. Playing with a kitty as a wolf was fine; snuggling was way better as a man.

  Mmm. Warm.

  He sighed, because he was being really self-indulgent. He needed to get back on the road and stop playing house with a bobcat.

  A crazy, dreadlocked bobcat with no sense of reality at all. Honestly, what had he been thinking?

  He let his hands drop back to the bed, one of them settling on Connor’s butt. Right. He’d been thinking with his dick. He wasn’t prone to that, really, so he guessed he could detour once in a while. That tongue had blown his… well, his cock, his mind, his good sense. Everything.

  Grinning a little, he eased away from Connor before heading to the bathroom. Lord, his everything was sore. He usually slept alone, sprawling all over the bed if he actually had one. He thought maybe Connor had used him as a mattress.

  He had to admit that it was a pleasant soreness—like the one he got after a hard workout.

  After he did his business, he poked his head around the bathroom door to see if Ragbone was awake. Inexplicably, he wanted to shower with the man.

  Oh.

  Yoga.

  Upside-down, ass in the air, totally naked, blissed-out kitty yoga.

  “You know, they call that downward dog, not kitty stretch,” Brock said, unable to look away.

  “Do they? I sure like going down.”

  “You do. Show me how to do some of that?” He could totally stretch.

  Connor stood up, offered him a wide smile, and then those too-big-for-his-frame hands went up. “Deep breath in, Fuzzy.”

  Brock swept his hands up over his head and breathed in, wondering if his armpit hair was gross. He’d been pretty sweaty last night. He sniffed surreptitiously, and nothing made his eyes water.

  “You’re fine. I’d warn you if you smelled like living death. Also, I have Febreze in my backpack.”

  “Thanks. I think.” He winked, lowering his arms when Connor did. They raised their arms and breathed two more times, then bent over double, which was tough to do watching Ragbone’s ass.

  They stayed down there long enough that Brock got a little light-headed, but it made standing up all the better. He took a deep breath, surprised to find some cobwebs cleared out of his brain. “Nice.”

  “I know, right? Now just ease down and walk your legs back.” Ragbone didn’t; he jumped.

  Brock took it slower, and damned if Connor didn’t hop up to come lay hands on him. “Okay, honey. Distribute your weight equally. Stretch back like—good. Just like that.”

  Damn but that touch made his eyes cross. He wanted more, but he didn’t want to lead Ragbone on either. This could never be real.

  He wasn’t into kitties, and he wasn’t into long-term, and he sure as shit wasn’t into flaky nomads. If he was going to take on someone full-time in his life, he would need them to be supercapable. An ex-soldier, maybe, or a pack enforcer.

  Someone totally in charge of his own shit.

  “You’re all tense. Maybe we ought to just take a shower, huh?”

  Brock stood up, his ears ringing. “Yeah. I could go for some breakfast too.”

  “Mmm. Bacon? Sausage? Steak?”

  “Oh man. All of it sounds good.” He looped an arm around Connor’s waist, feeling mean as hell for his thoughts. Connor had helped him out, and they’d had some hot fun. Let it go at that.

  “I know, doesn’t it? I reckon I like the bacon best, at least I think. I like the salt.”

  “Bacon makes everything better.” He tugged Connor to the bathroom. The tub was small, a standard hotel model, but it would do.

  “Mm-hmm. And things are damn fine right now.”

  Were they? He supposed they didn’t suck. He’d done his job, he’d had a bit of fun with Ragbone here, and they were going to experience bacon.

  After they bathed.

  Yeah, he could see how things were looking up. This was a hell of a lot better than being out in camp with a bunch of bear hunters.

  Chapter Eight

  HIS BABY car didn’t want to climb the mountain, not even a little bit, but Connor knew she would do it. She was trustworthy, faithful, and he had a good air filter and a full tank of gas.

  They’d feasted on bacon and eggs and toast with honey instead of jam. Brock did like to eat, which was good, because Connor was always hungry, and some folks thought that was odd.

  Brock was quiet on the drive, head in the clouds, so Connor sang—Jimmy Buffett and George Strait, AC/DC and Led Zeppelin, Maroon 5 and the Eagles. He had a feeling, something niggling at him, maybe that Brock was fixin’ to try to bolt. Connor wanted to explain that he would just have to follow, because Brock was still lost, but he also knew that would meet with resistance.

  It didn’t matter.

  Something would come up. It always did. And he thought it was fixin’ to.

  He’d learned quickly that denying what the universe needed did nothing but cause agony. And Lord knew, he didn’t need that shit. Life was hard enough without fate jacking around with him.

  “Turn off here.” Brock indicated a side road with a tiny sign labeled Ranger Station.

  “You got it, Fuzzy.” He pulled off, easy as all get-out, bumping over the rocks before settling beside a monster of a truck in the wee parking lot. Gray. Diesel. Nice. He approved.

  “Thanks.” Brock sat there for a long moment, not looking at him. “Well. Thanks for the ride, Ragbone. I—thanks. I need to hit the road alone, I think.”

  “No, you don’t. We could go together for a bit. Wander. Hell, I’m good for a laugh.” A laugh. A blowjob. The fun stuff. Leaving Brock now was wrong. He knew. He knew this.

  “You are.” Brock glanced at him sideways. “I have a lot of jobs to do, man. I need to focus. You make me… not focusy.”

  “Ah.” What the ever-loving fuck did that mean? “I’m afraid I sort of have to be about.”

  “Why is that?” Now Brock turned to face him fully. “I don’t get it, Ragbone.”

  “I don’t either.” He didn’t have to get shit. He did as he was called, and he needed Brock.

  “Well, I know what I know, and that’s all I can go by. I need to head out.” Brock surprised him with a kiss, short but stunning. “Later, Ragbone.”

  “Wait, just—” His phone began to ring, the sound shocking the living shit out of him. “That’s Sam. Sam never calls me.”

  Sam let him call once a week, like clockwork.

  Connor grabbed the phone, head tilting. “What’s wrong?”

 
“Lisle is lost. Please. Please, we need you. Can you come? Are you far?” The sound in Sam’s voice yanked at his happy ass like a string was wrapped around his balls.

  “Yes. I’ll come. What? What happened?”

  Sam sounded out of his mind with worry. “She’s been gone well over an hour. We’ve looked everywhere. We need you to find her, Con.”

  “I’ll come. I’ll be right there.” He hung up, staring over at Brock in utter shock. “One of the children is lost. The weather is crazy there. She’s only a little girl. Six. Only a pup.”

  Brock scowled. “We’ll take my truck. She’s four-wheel drive. We can leave your car here. The guys will watch out for it. Get your gear while I tell them inside.”

  He nodded without a second’s hesitation, moved immediately to gather his bag, his odds and ends, tossed what he needed in the back, and put snacks in the front.

  Brock moved fast, trotting back out to meet him in no time. “Come on, Ragbone.”

  “West. We’re heading west. Hurry.”

  “I’ll go as fast as the cops will let me, Ragbone, I swear. You said they were up by Winnemucca?” Brock was as good as his word, flying down the state road.

  “Yes. She’d lost her whole pack to poachers—her, three others are all that were left. They were on the run. I found two of them.”

  Little Lisle had been wee then, and Randi… what? Fourteen? Fifteen? Something. Just babies.

  “Shit. Did they say what happened?”

  “No.” He chewed his lower lip, thinking how freaked-out Sam had sounded. “Just that it’s been more than an hour. She’s just little.”

  “Jesus. We’ll hit interstate in Grand Junction. It will go faster then—70 to 15 through Utah, then I-80.”

  “Yes.” He looked at Brock, reached over, and touched the muscled thigh. “Yes. As fast as we can.”

  Brock understood. Brock knew they needed to find.

  “I got your back, Connor. No kid should ever be scared and lost.” Or taken.

  He was pretty sure he heard Brock’s thought.

  “No. She needs to come home.” And right now, he could find her. He knew that like he knew his own name.

  “I’m on it.” Brock gave him a reassuring glance, the truck speeding even more. Yes. Get him home.