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I’d settled on jeans that had pre-torn holes and a singlet top, with a high neck but slightly larger scoops in the armholes. Like everything else, it is a little too big, so when I move you catch a glimpse of my nipples. It isn’t much, but itiswildly different to anything I had ever worn back in my old life back in Loqueaur, where it was all pressed pants, polished shoes, starched collared shirts, and expensive knitwear. It had never been comfortable.I’dnever been comfortable.
The door groans slightly when I push it open, still chewing the sandwich Mauvy pressed into my hand. Whenever she sees me she refuses to let me go without feeding me. I’d complain, but her cooking is insanely good, and already it’s making me feel better. I have more energy, and I’m already looking a little less, well, starved.
I don’t call out as I enter; I can hear Roan moving about upstairs so I make my way up to him. He’s muttering and cursing, and I have to stifle a laugh at his frustrations.
He’s in the master bedroom, on his hands and knees, pulling back the disgusting old carpet that had been put in there fifty-odd years ago. I watch for a moment, taking full advantage of his ignorance of my presence to take in the view.
Like he has every day, Roan has ditched his shirt and harness combo, something I’ve mourned greatly. A great consolation, however, is watching his back muscles work in a glorious dance under his worn and thin shirt as he rips the carpet back.
As my pervy gaze moves to his ass, I notice two things instantaneously. The first is that Roan is in shorts, something I’d never seen before, and secondly, his legs are absolutelycoveredin tattoos.
The pattern dips into the scrunch of his socks above his boots and trails all the way up to his thighs, sneaking into the legs ofthe shorts hugging his thick thighs. The patterns swirl over his legs, and I desperately want to explore every inch of them.
My mouth hangs open a little, embarrassingly so, and he must’ve noticed my presence in the room because he turns and catches me ogling him like a starving man. To be fair, it’s been a while, and I am pretty starving for a taste of him.
“You right there?” Roan chuckles darkly when he catches me. To stop myself from blurting out something reckless, I stuff the last of my sandwich in my mouth, like that was the point all along. “Right. Well, I figure we can strip this room and get it prepped today. Then it’s just the hallway and second bedroom that needs to be stripped, and we can do the floors next week. You’ve only got me for two hours, then I need to get ready for work.”
I have to swallow the too-big mouthful of sandwich around my agreement, and we set to work ripping out the disgusting old carpet and rolling it up. Roan cuts it into sections and makes me drag them downstairs to the pile of rubbish Seff is taking for us when he can. By the time we’ve got it out and the room and cupboards empty, I’m exhausted, sweating, and covered in a thick layer of dust.
I climb the stairs again, for what feels like the fifty millionth time today, uselessly trying to brush the grime from my body. My arms feel like jelly, and there is a quiver in my thighs as they struggle with a level of exertion I’d never subjected them to before.
Not for the first time, I consider justpayingfor the renovation to be done, grumbling to myself about how much easier this would have been with the aid of my powers. Not even for all this lifting. Summoning a cool breeze would be amazing right now.
Making my way into the now-bare master bedroom, I spy Roan reclining against the wall, legs stretched out and crossed atthe ankle, head tipped back, eyes closed. A giant streak of dirt is smeared against his cheek above the line of his beard.
He looks peaceful, driving that devilish little imp inside me to seek out his attention, to stir him up a little.
My footsteps are heavy on the floorboards, but he doesn’t acknowledge me when I drop next to him. My eyes trail over him, eagerly taking in every detail I can, from the way his tee shirt pulls against his shoulders, to the imprint of his nipples against the worn material, to the sliver of skin over his hip bone where his shirt has ridden up and then down further to the tattoos trailing down both legs.
We’d been working so hard I hadn’t had a proper chance to take a good look, and I wasn’t about to miss the opportunity. I shift forward as much as I can without touching his leg, leaning in, examining the swirls, lines and patterns that make up the design.
There are large blocks of patterns, some geometric shapes, others filled with line work, others with floral motifs, some with sigils, all interconnected with broad swoops of black. It’s beautiful. I wonder how far it goes up his legs?
This close, the smell of him is damn near intoxicating, which is probably why I do the stupid thing and let one mischievous finger reach out and trail delicately over the patterns on the sensitive flesh of his inner thigh. Like an out-of-body experience I can see the blazing line I leave along his hairless skin, closer and closer to the hem of his shorts, nestled dangerously close to the juncture of his thighs.
I can feel the radiant heat from himthere, and I lick my lips, desperate to continue doing something stupid. It is so brazen, so unthinking.
So unlikeme.
The old Theo, the timid man-child who got on his knees for an uncaring asshole after tutoring sessions desperate for a smidgen of affection or acceptance. No, this is different.
Drunk on need, my hand skims the line where the edge of the fabric bites into his skin, along a line of identical repeating tiny roses. My hand trembles, matching the tremble in my breath. My heartbeat flutters erratically under my skin.
The firm clasp of a warm hand around my fingers, enveloping them, pinning them where they had been seeking, jerks me from my reverie. What in the actual fuck was I doing? Panic floods my system, completely overriding my lust. I still beneath Roan’s firm grasp.
“Theo.” There is a dangerous timbre to his voice; I can feel it vibrate through him, and I can’t suppress the shiver that runs up my spine. Despite being caught basically molesting him sleeping like a hideous lecher, my cock is still hard as a rock. In fact, I flick my eyes up to his tense face, his half-open eyes deceptively calm, I think it’s making me harder.
“Roan.” I am extremely proud of myself for keeping my voice even. I even manage to thread a little sass into the single word. His hand tightens around mine, squeezing just once. Not enough to be painful. A warning. I swallow hard, not missing how his eyes follow the bob of my throat.
“What are you doing?” The tone of his voice, firm, strong, is much unneeded fuel to the fire in my veins.
“I didn’t know you had tattoos.” I can’t help but notice that he hasn’t removed my hand. Interesting.
“Not what I asked, Theo.” As much as it provokes my temper when he goes all bossy and serious, it is hotter than lava, turning me into a weak and needy mess. Which only makes me want to provoke him more.
“I just wanted to see how far they go.” I try to keep the needy thread of desperation from my voice but fail miserably.
Roan’s hand tightens around mine again, and I can see the battle raging within him. He wants me, I canseeit. Gods, it would be nearly impossible to miss the monster slowly filling, thickening in his impossibly tight shorts.
