Eyes on Target

Eyes on Target

A Dark Stalker MM Romance

AJ Mullican

Copyright © 2025 AJ Mullican

All rights reserved.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Cover design by: AJ Mullican

Chapter 1

“G”

My breath comes in short, ragged gasps as I watch the man on my screen do unspeakable things to a massive silicone dildo.

            Blu Steele rides that fake cock like he was born for it, like he needs it more than air. His own cock bounces up and down, thick and veined, the pierced tip glistening with the promise of what’s to come.

            His shows always have a stellar climax.

            I pump my shaft harder and harder as Blu’s back arches, showcasing the steel ring in his navel and the shiny barbells in his nipples. He’s close; I can tell. The way those heavenly blue eyes roll back in his head as his thick lashes flutter, the ruddy flush to his sculpted cheekbones, the quick dart of his tongue over his plump lips before they form that sensual O of arousal.

            When he finally comes, it sets off a simultaneous cascade from my own cock. We coat our chests in perfect sync.

            Blu doesn’t realize it yet, but we’re made for each other.

            He eases off the dildo and runs a finger through the mess on his pecs, sucking off his juices before leaning forward to type.

            Did you like that?

            I respond in the form of a hefty tip. His computer chimes on the other end, and I watch his eyes widen as he sees the size of the instant deposit.

            Generous! You always treat me right, baby.

            Of course I do. He’s mine.

            I wish it was my cock you were bouncing on, Blu.

            His eyes sparkle with mischief as he reads my response. Blu’s keyboard clacks, and his message pops up in the chat box.

            You know we can’t do that, G. It’s against my rules. One-man shows only. Anything else is extra.

            I can afford it, I type back. And I can. It’s not like I’m a wild spender. I have a modest apartment, I work from home, and I rarely buy anything but essentials. Like these hours with Blu online.

            Blu laughs and types again. Honey, very few can afford those services. Stick to the web. Trust me. Your wallet will thank you.

            I don’t care about my wallet. I want Blu here, in my room, in my bed. Money is no object.

            A timer pings in the background, and Blu blows me a kiss before logging off.

            I’ll wear him down eventually.

            Since I don’t have to log in for work yet, I take a quick shower to clean myself up. Memories of Blu’s latest show help me bring myself to another climax under the steaming stream, and I wipe the cum off my shower wall before stepping out to towel off.

            The post-pandemic era of working from home suits me. I can carry on my extracurricular activities without interruptions from pesky coworkers, and as long as I make sure the company systems are secure, my bosses don’t care much what else I get up to while I work. I can’t spend time with Blu while on the clock—steals too much bandwidth—but I can spare a few open tabs on my private laptop while I run systems checks on the company computer.

            My latest search into Blu’s life has been quite fruitful. I’ve learned so much about him, about my soulmate, and the more I learn, the better my chances of convincing him we’re meant to be.

            Blu Steele, a.k.a. Tucker Hawke, is a twenty-eight-year-old college dropout whose looks have carried him through his chosen profession—“cam boy” is too trashy; I prefer to call him an actor—into a comfortable life. His apartment is more lavish than mine, a high-end unit uptown with sprawling views and perfect lighting for his performances. Those baby blues, combined with his high cheekbones, dark curls, and slim build make him the perfect model for this line of work.

            That fat cock of his helps, too, I suppose. I’d love to wrap my lips around it and show him how much he means to me, but he insists on playing hard to get.

            No matter. All in due time.

            I throw on some lightweight khakis and a fitted black t-shirt before making my coffee for the night. I’ve adjusted to the late hours well enough, but a fresh pot always starts my shift off right. Once my brew is ready, I sit down at my desk and log in to check my emails. Corporate always has company-wide bulletins to read, though they rarely apply to what I do. I couldn’t care less about team-building getaways, office potlucks, or other mundanities. Unless the email pertains to the security of the company’s systems as a whole, it goes straight to my “Other” folder, never again to see the light of day.

            After starting some routine system checks that will run through the night, I sit back and open my personal laptop again. Blu’s stunning form serves as my background screen, and I spend a few moments appreciating him in all his screenshotted glory before I start tonight’s search.

            I know where he lives. Where his family lives. Who his best friend is. What I don’t know yet is where he goes when he logs off.

            That’s tonight’s mission: Track Blu through his nightly routine. Does he sleep the night away, or does he go out and party? Considering he’s a pretty young thing, I wouldn’t be surprised to find he’s out dancing the night away.

            Getting into his phone is easy enough once I dig around and get his number. My boy doesn’t pay enough attention to his security, which is something I plan to admonish him for when we meet. If it’s this easy for me to learn his darkest secrets, who else might know his every online move?

            He checked the address of a local nightclub. Ordered a ride through an online app. This was after he swiped right on a different app, which earns him another future punishment when we’re finally together. He should know he can’t be on those apps. Going out for a night on the town is one thing, but meeting strange men on dating apps? That’s not safe. Not every man online is as much of a gentleman as I am. He’s going to get himself hurt.

            Too bad I’m working tonight. I could meet him at this club. Finally see him in person.

            All in due time. I sigh and go back to my work monitors. Everything seems on the up and up. No signs of a breach, no risks detected. After my last webinar with the staff, fewer employees have been making stupid mistakes. I don’t know why some of them click these embedded links in suspicious emails, but I guess common sense isn’t all that common.

            While I work, I do a bit of working out, too. I alternate hands with a grip strengthener, twenty reps per side for thirty minutes. My forearms have killer definition after a few months of this. Bicep curls are next, and when the weekend comes around, I’ll bulk up the rest of me. Gotta be in shape in case some creep-o comes after Blu.

            Tucker. I should start calling him Tucker. We’re getting to that stage in our relationship where it’s just silly to call him by his stage name. I mean, we’re practically dating. There’s just the small matter of not having met each other yet, a formality, really.

            My ping on Tucker’s phone alerts me to some new activity. A flurry of texts passes between him and a strange number. The tone of the texts is businesslike, but I continue reading them anyway, just to be sure no one is taking advantage of my man.

            Are you up for a client tonight, Tuck? I’ve got a live one.

            Sure. Who am I meeting?

            Meeting? I thought he was meeting the man from the dating app. What is my Tucker up to?

            CEO of a local shipping company. Family man, but he’s got a thing for young twinks like you. Willing to pay top dollar for some fun.

            What’s the payout?

            Fifteen hundred. All night, no holds barred. Five hundred bonus if you let him raw dog you.

            What? Tucker, what have you done?

            Tucker and the mystery number exchange details of the indecent proposal, and as soon as Tucker verifies his payment by logging in to his bank app, he orders another ride, this time uptown. While the driver is on the way, he messages his meetup through the dating app, apologizing for standing the guy up because he had a sudden “emergency.”

            Right. A two-thousand-dollar emergency.

            No wonder Tucker can afford that ritzy apartment; he’s taking side jobs. I had wondered. Cam life can be lucrative, but this definitely makes a little more sense. I know I’m certainly not tipping well enough to bankroll his lifestyle with my subscription alone, but I’m also not so dumb as to assume I’m his only OnlineFans client.

            I don’t know how to process this new information. Tucker and I haven’t exactly stated that we’re exclusive—yet—but at the same time, this feels like a betrayal.

            Armed with the CEO’s info from the texts, I start a new search. I don’t know how well Tucker’s contact is vetting the man, so it’s up to me to make sure he’s safe for Tucker to be with. It’s the least I can do.

            Carlton Vance, Jr., is the head of the Ship-Shape shipyard. His life is fairly mundane, filled with business meetings and family functions. Earlier tonight he attended his daughter’s dance recital. Everything seems on the up and up until I stumble across his secret bank account. Tracking that takes some time, but I finally find dozens of transactions like the one he made tonight. Carlton likes young men, it seems, and he’s willing to pay good money for a good time.

            To my relief, nothing tragic seems to have happened to his previous hookups. No reports of suspicious deaths after any of the illicit meetings, no police reports of abuse or assault with Carlton as the suspect.

            Good. Tucker should be safe enough tonight. I don’t like the situation, but I can’t exactly blame him. He’s just trying to make a living, and until I can make an honest man out of him, this is what he has to do. I have to remind myself that he doesn’t have me supporting him yet. He needs this money, and no matter how much it kills me that he’s resorting to this, I have to respect that he provides for himself.

            All in due time. I have plenty in savings, so once Tucker and I are truly together, he won’t have to whore himself out anymore.

            He’ll be all mine.

Chapter 2

Tucker

“Yeah, pretty boy, take my cock. Take. It. All.”

            Carlton slams into me over and over again, punctuating each word with another forceful thrust and pressing me against the wall of his hotel suite. I bite my lip to keep from crying out in sheer ecstasy. Carlton paid for silence, so silent I will be.

            “That’s my little doll face. You’re gonna come on this wall, then you’re gonna get on your fucking knees and bathe in my cum. I’m gonna empty my balls right on that pretty face.”

            Whatever, dude. It’s your dime. I’m just here to pay rent.

            It kind of sucks that I had to cancel my date for the night, but money is money, and I need more of it. The DateMe app is good for finding a quick hookup on the fly, but it’s terrible for securing a sugar daddy. Most of the guys I meet there are just as desperate for cash as I am, so I only use it when I need a fix.

            My landlord raised my rent again last month. My OnlineFans page earns barely enough to cover half the rent plus a few creature comforts. This side job covers the rest, but it leaves little wiggle room for maintaining a cushy lifestyle.

            While I ponder my financial situation, Carlton reaches down to grip my cock. A few manic pumps later, I come in rapid spurts on the hotel wall. The rich CEO pulls out, spins me around, and shoves me to my knees for the finishing facial. It’s not my favorite way to end a transaction, but if it gets him off and maybe earns me a tip, then I’m all for it. He can come wherever he wants for two grand.

            Carlton shoves me back against the sticky wall when he’s done. “Clean yourself up, slut. You’ve got the room for another twenty minutes.” He stuffs himself back in his suit pants, zips up, and leaves me to my own devices.

            No tip, but at least I made enough to last me for now. The second the door shuts behind him, I rush to the bathroom for a steaming shower. I scrub my face with the cheap hotel bar soap, vowing to moisturize as soon as I get home to prevent any dryness that could cause premature wrinkling. My face is my money maker, so best to keep it fresh and, as Carlton said, “pretty.”

            The hotel lobby has a chill, but it’s better than waiting for my ride home outside. Lately I’ve been getting weird emails and OnlineFans messages from my top contributor, a man I know only as “G.” Nothing overtly dangerous, but obsessive enough to warrant a little more caution. He seems to know a bit too much about me, more than my OF profile should tell him, and that makes me nervous. Just last week he asked me if my parents enjoyed their anniversary dinner.

            Of course, if I was a smart man, I wouldn’t be swiping right on the DateMe app in this situation. Still, I’m young and healthy; I have needs, needs that can’t be met with my OF performances. A dildo isn’t a real man, and I crave that reality sometimes.

            I crave real touch. Real affection. Real connection. That may not be what I get from DateMe or my clients, but they’re closer than the anonymity of OF. And who knows? Maybe one day I’ll meet Mr. Right on DateMe or through the escort agency. It’s possible … not likely, but possible.

            Pretty sad that I’m banking on “possible” these days.

            For all the men who are willing to hook up with a random dude from an app for their gay experimentation or whatever they’re trying to call it these days, precious few want anything more than a few nights of sex. Some of them even try to claim their heterosexuality afterwards. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve heard a guy say “I just wanted to see what it was like” after coming in my ass or down my throat. They always go running back to their wives or girlfriends, leaving me to fend for myself—again.

            The escort clients are a little more honest about what they want from me. I’m being paid to scratch an itch, and there’s rarely any pretense. These men don’t want the mess of a relationship, but they’ll gladly pay for a couple hours of distraction from the day-to-day grind. Once again, little chance for anything more than temporary hookups.

            My driver arrives, a surly young woman who doesn’t seem to give two shits about striking up a conversation on the ride back to my place. Like the escort clients, this is just a transaction for her.

            Back at my place, I strip out of my clothes and begin my skincare routine before logging on to see if I’ve got any new messages. The OnlineFans clients of mine prefer me to respond same day if possible, and I don’t want to lose any subscriptions just because I’m tired.

            There are seven messages from G, three of them in my private email inbox.

            My hand trembles as I open the emails, starting with the oldest first. G’s messages start out innocently enough, just casual questions about my plans for the night. As I click the later ones, though, I notice his tone becomes increasingly forceful, panicked, and even a bit unhinged.

            11:58pm: Hey, baby Blu. Got a big date tonight? I notice you’re not online right now, but I hope you’re having fun.

            12:31am: Blu – Hey. You’ve been quiet for a while. Everything going okay?

            12:40am: We really need to set up a code word or something for when you’re in trouble. You can text me the code word and your location, and I’ll be there right away, no questions asked.

            12:43am: I can’t help you if you don’t let me know what’s going on, Tucker. Call me.

            The last two include a phone number, presumably G’s, but that doesn’t bother me as much as him using my real name. OnlineFans is supposed to be completely anonymous, no way for the clients and subscribers to access my personal information. How did he get my name and private email address?

            I’m tempted to contact the OF customer service line, but first I torture myself by switching to my email tab to see what messages G sent there.

            12:50am: Tucker, are you okay? You’re scaring me. You can’t just go radio silent when you’re out with a client. I get worried.

            1:02am: Fuck it. I’m coming to find you.

            1:25am: God damn it, Tucker! I was almost there. You didn’t need to pay for a fucking ride. I left work to come get you, and this is how you repay me? Ghosting me and ignoring my messages?

            Fuck. He was “almost there”—at the hotel? Shit. I didn’t realize it had gone this far. I always shut off my OF messages when I’m working the escort job, and I was feeling too moody on the way back from the hotel to bother checking my email on my phone. Now I have some psycho stalker who was fucking “almost there” when I had arranged a ride from an app. What if he had been the driver? Oh, my God, he could have had me.

            Panic starts my heart racing, and I shut off my computer. Maybe if it’s off, he won’t find me.

            My phone buzzes almost the same instant, and I just about jump out of my skin.

            I see you made it home safe. I’m glad, Tucker. Love you. Have a good night.

            I drop the phone like it bit me. “Love you”? This guy doesn’t know me! How can he say he loves me when we’ve never met?

            I’m in deep shit.

            The way he about-faced from furious to affectionate feels somehow more dangerous than the pure stalker vibes. If his moods are this erratic, what might happen if he finds me in person, out on my own?

            The OnlineFans support line takes me through a long, drawn-out series of prompts before ending at an automated message stating the service is unavailable until the morning. What good is it if I can’t call anytime a customer harasses me? I try a few more times, selecting different prompts in the hopes of reaching a live person, but to no avail. It looks like OF is useless in this situation.

            Local police aren’t much better. After I give the dispatcher the details of G’s stalking behavior, she tells me there isn’t enough evidence to warrant even a cursory investigation, much less a restraining order. G hasn’t said or done anything outright threatening or violent, so my case doesn’t qualify for any kind of police involvement.

            It would be a “waste of finite resources.”

            Well, that was a bust. I can’t call OF, can’t call the police … Who can I call? There’s got to be someone who can help.

            My bestie, Heather, is no help either. She just says, and I quote, “Maybe you’ll get lucky, and he’ll be super-hot and rich. Then you can quit the slutty camboy life and be his kept man instead.”

            “Heather, be real. I can’t shack up with someone who’s this fucking crazy. He followed me across town, for fuck’s sake! That’s not romantic, it’s psychotic.”

            She waves her hand dismissively and sips on her boba tea, an odd choice of drink for an emergency bestie-alert at three in the morning, but to each her own. “Whatever. He just wanted you to be safe, right? Didn’t you say the tone of his messages changed when you made it home okay? Maybe he was just freaking out because you weren’t answering him.”

            “I don’t owe some total stranger anything, especially not answering creepy messages when I’m technically off the clock for that job.”

            “Psh. You’re exaggerating. I read those messages; it’s not all that bad.”

            “He’s a pyscho.”

            “He’s in love! There’s honestly not much difference, really, but you shouldn’t be so hard on him.”

            Heather just doesn’t understand. I can’t dismiss G’s sudden obsessive turn. I’ve gotta be more careful. Take fewer chances.

            I’ve got to protect myself.

Chapter 3

G

He’s safe. He’s safe. I just have to keep reminding myself of this.

            I thought I was okay with him going out and selling himself. I thought I could handle it, but not knowing if he was safe almost killed me.

            He went to that damn hotel. Got on the elevator. All by himself, all alone.

            I should have been there. I should have been watching out for him, ready to bust the door down if something went wrong.

            We really need to talk. Set up that code word. Plan for this kind of situation.

            This can’t happen again.

            I know I upset him. I got carried away, got too aggressive. Hopefully my good-night message smoothed things over. Tucker hasn’t responded, but maybe he went to bed early. I had to get back to work, so I can’t really monitor him the way I want to. This job is getting in the way of my relationship. I should find something else, something with more flexible hours.

            The lengths I’m willing to go through to keep Tucker safe … He should appreciate me more.

            Just in case he’s still upset, I order an edible bouquet to be delivered to his apartment in the morning. Mostly fruits, but some chocolates too, to sweeten things up. Not enough to ruin his lean form, of course, but everyone deserves a treat from time to time, and chocolate is the universal food of love.

            With that settled, I finish my work and log off. I’d call Tucker, but I’m exhausted. Time for bed.

            My bed isn’t as fancy as Tucker’s. I don’t have high thread count sheets or fluffy pillows or lush blankets. He’s got a veritable nest there in his place, a safe zone of comfort. I tap a few buttons on my remote and pull up one of his archived OnlineFans videos. A couple clicks later, and I have that video on a repeating loop.

            Some days I dream of joining him in his bed, of holding him close under the covers, nothing between us, nothing separating us … the way things should be. His smooth skin underneath my rough fingers. His legs wrapped around my waist. This is how I dream of him every night.

            This is how my dreams always start.

            Tucker snuggles in closer, resting his forehead under my chin. His luscious curls tickle my neck; I run my fingers through those locks, reveling in the silky-smooth feel of them. He strokes my bare chest with his delicate hand and toys with my hardened nipples.

            My nipples aren’t the only things that are hard, and I grip my cock in anticipation.

            “You’re up for another round already?” Tucker chuckles. “I don’t know if I have it in me, baby.”

            “With you? Always ready for more,” I reply.

            My lover rolls over and straddles my lap. His hips grind against my cock while his lips and tongue tease my neck. “How do you want it this time? Want me to ride you again, or would you rather I suck you off? Or maybe you’d like to pound me into the mattress …”

            “Mm, all good options, but perhaps this time we could do it slowly. Make love instead of just fucking.”

            Tucker’s lips make their way to mine. “That sounds amazing.”

            I expect him to roll back so I can climb between those long legs of his, but instead he straddles my lap and eases himself down onto my cock. In dreams, we don’t have to waste time fumbling for lube. He’s always ready for me.

            My eyelids droop as he starts to ride me, and I relax into it. As promised, he takes his time, lifting almost all the way off me before slowly spearing himself again. I groan and rest my hands on his slender hips, helping to guide him up and down my length. Our eyes meet, and the sheer adoration I see in his face is almost enough to start me on an early path to release. Instead, I focus on the sensation of being inside him, of his walls tightening around my cock, of the sweet drag in and out, in and out. Anything to make this last, to make sure he’s satisfied before I take what’s mine.

            To that end, I grab his dick and slowly stroke him. He moans and licks those plump, red lips. “Fuck, G, that feels so good …”

            While he rides me, I tend to his cock, sliding my thumb through the slick precum on the tip and licking his salty-sweet essence off before fisting his shaft again. He tastes divine, like ambrosia, like the perfect combination of sweet and savory all wrapped up in one delicious drop.

            “Are you ready, G? When you come, I’m going to let you swallow it all.”

            That’s what I’m waiting for. I want to feel the steel ring in his tip slamming into the back of my throat as he takes what’s his. “Letting me come first? How gentlemanly.”

            Tucker chuckles and rolls his hips, setting off a wave of pleasure that travels up my spine and ends with an explosion of sensations. Every nerve ending is lit, every pleasure point triggered, every single atom on fire in the best possible way.

            My cum drips out of him as he slides off my cock, but I don’t care about the mess. All I care about is taking him into my mouth and returning the favor.

            Now comes my turn. Tucker moves up to straddle my head and teases my lips with his tip. His long fingers grab hold of my hair and guide my head into position. “Ready, G?”

            “I’m always ready for you.”

            And I am. Day or night, summer or winter, any time, any place.

            Just as he took his time riding me, Tucker takes his time sliding his cock down my throat. He gives me time to adjust, letting me swallow and find my rhythm. While I suck and lick his throbbing cock, I hold my own dick and stroke myself back to full mast. We’re going to come together, just like it should be. He doesn’t realize it but making him come is as erotic for me as fucking his ass, as satisfying as taking charge.

            When he comes down the back of my throat, I swallow every drop.

            Together we clean up, stripping the stained sheets and changing the bedding. Then, once the bed is clean again, we snuggle back together. This is what they mean when they say “domestic bliss.”

            “Do you love me, Tucker? Tell me that you love me, that this isn’t just sex for you.”

            Then, like every other dream of mine, he says the words I long to hear.

            “I love you, G. Only you.”

            Sadly, the dream always ends there. My days are spent in fits of passion, always ending at the worst possible time. I look at my phone to see if he’s responded to my last message, but there’s nothing.

            Well, since I’m up, I might as well make some breakfast. Eggs and lean bacon. Plenty of protein. Black coffee for me, but I always have creamer, sugar, and cinnamon on hand in case Tucker stays over. That’s the key to our relationship: I know what he likes, and I make sure to cater to his specific needs.

            Unlike that bastard client of his, Carlton, who abandoned him at the hotel.

            That’s okay. By now, Carlton should be arguing with the meter maid who received an anonymous call about his habitual double parking outside his office downtown.

            A quick check of Tucker’s apartment security cameras shows me that his friend Heather stayed the night. Odd. She usually only visits on weekends. Her family keeps her busy during the week. I wonder why she came over in the wee hours …

            It must’ve been something Carlton did. He scared Tucker, and Heather came over for emotional support. That’s got to be it.

            I wonder if I missed something when I vetted Carlton for Tucker. A redo of my searches doesn’t turn up anything new, though. I dig deeper, but once again find nothing other than a bored CEO who enjoys splurging on young men during his off time.

            Oh, well. I still can’t sleep, so I should start looking for another job, one where I can keep tabs on Tucker easier and be there for him if he needs me.

            My phone rings while I’m in the midst of negotiating a position as a night guard at Tucker’s apartment building. The pay is less than what I’m currently making, but if I pick up something else part-time to cover the difference, I should be okay. I can work a few extra hours during the early morning, when Tucker’s usually asleep.

            “Hello?”

            “Hey, this is Amber from Edible Delights. Your guy turned down the bouquet. What do you want me to do with it?”

            My knuckles creak as I grip the phone tighter. “He turned it down?”

            “Yeah. His girlfriend or whatever tried to convince him to take it, but he refused.” Something pops in the background, and I hear loud chewing. “So, like, what do you want me to do with the bouquet?”

            “Eat it yourself for all I care.” I mash the End button so hard the screen cracks. Not as satisfying as slamming an old-fashioned receiver down, but it’ll have to do.

            I don’t understand. I told him I love him. I sent him a romantic bouquet. What’s the deal?

            Confused by his rejection of my gift, I finish messaging his building manager and arrange to start in a couple weeks. It’s not ideal, but once I’m in, I can keep better tabs on Tucker without disturbing his work.

            Speaking of Tucker’s work, he’s due for a performance about now.

            I log in to my OnlineFans account. Pull up Tucker’s bookmarked page. Wait for the “Live” button to turn green.

            And I wait. And I wait.

            When the time for his usual midday masturbation passes without a fresh video, I start to worry.

            This is not normal. Tucker always starts his day with a “good morning wood” video. Every day, without fail. He logs in, he turns on his camera, and he jerks himself to an amazing finish while I watch. Hair mussed from sleep, blue eyes twinkling, pale skin flushed, and that special conspiratorial wink just for me. Every. Day.

            Did his experience with Carlton shake him so much that he didn’t feel comfortable logging on? Did he simply oversleep? I suppose he had a late night last night; maybe he’s just not awake yet.

            Leaving the computer open with the volume cranked up so I can hear the ping of Tucker’s logon chime, I start cleaning my apartment to occupy myself while I wait. Not that there’s much to clean—I keep things fairly tidy—but I don’t know what else to do.

            The problem with cleaning a clean apartment is there’s only so much rearranging I can do. By the time I’ve moved everything to the opposite side of its table or counter and back again, it’s almost one in the afternoon. Still no Tucker. I go back to his apartment’s logs to find that Heather left hours ago, shortly after the failed edible bouquet delivery. He shouldn’t have any reason not to log in.

            I’m torn. I want to head over to his apartment and make sure he’s okay, but then again, what if he logs on, and I’m not here? He might start to worry about where I am. Just as it’s not like Tucker to miss one of our dates, it’s not like me to miss them, either.

            Decisions, decisions …

            When the third hour passes with no sign of Tucker, I snatch up my keys and rush out the door.

            Something’s wrong. Tucker needs me.

Chapter 4

Tucker

The creepy fruit bouquet was the last straw.

            Who does G think he is? Snooping around my private information, sending emails and texts to my personal accounts, then ordering a fucking bouquet to my apartment? It’s all so freaking disturbing.

            I still can’t believe Heather is so blasé about it all. How can she think this shit is cute and romantic? More to the point, how can she go back home knowing I have a stalker?

            I can’t bear to log in to OnlineFans and do my usual noontime performance. I just know G is waiting for me, ready to jerk off to my video. Okay, so that’s the exact point of OnlineFans, but it doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to get uncomfortable at the thought of an obsessed fan masturbating to me. The dude probably has a weird shrine or voodoo doll with my toenail clippings sewn into it or something ridiculous like that.

            He knows my phone number. He knows where I live. I’m afraid to go anywhere without someone to go with me, but at the same time I’m terrified of staying here.

            I need a drink.

            After G’s claim that he tried to pick me up from the hotel, I can’t risk calling for a ride like I usually do. I’ll never know if the driver is G until it’s too late. Since I don’t have a car of my own, that means I’m on foot for the time being. Luckily for me there are several decent bars in my neighborhood. I’m fairly confident that I’d notice someone following me down the street, and it’s easier to scream for help out in the open than from inside someone’s car. Still risky, but I’ll go insane if I have to stay holed up in my apartment.

            The first bar I hit is a little dive place called Big Richard’s House of Dick. A gay bar might seem a bit too obvious, but it’s the closest one to my place. Disco music blares from speakers set up in the corners, but Richard makes little other effort to jazz the place up. The brick walls are unadorned, the tables are plain round-topped lacquered wood, and the barstools are so mismatched I’m not entirely convinced he didn’t pull them out of random Dumpsters.

            I’m practically his only customer. Just a few regulars sit scattered around the darkened room, faces I recognize from previous visits. There’s Randy, the greasy-haired balding man from apartment 9E in my building, Steve, a muscle-bound gym rat who lives a few buildings down from us, and Brian, an unassuming nerd who surprised the hell out of me the one and only time we hooked up. Who would’ve thought a shy, quiet guy like that would be such a freak in the bedroom? My ass still hurts with the memory of his studded paddle.

            Though not a frequent patron of House of Dick, I’m surprised by how empty it is. The few times I’ve been here were hopping more than this. Must be the early afternoon hour.

            The bartender, a beefy bear named Huck, pours my mojito without so much as a “How’s it going, Tucker?” Normally I wouldn’t mind, but a little conversation might make me feel better. At the very least he might remember serving me easier if we gab a bit. That way, when the cops investigate my mysterious disappearance after G kidnaps me, there’s a trail to follow.

            I down three drinks before my nerves start to relax a bit. That’s not the only thing about me that’s getting relaxed; each drink loosens my muscles a bit more until it becomes difficult to stay on the barstool, suddenly reminding me that I haven’t eaten today. At that point, Huck cuts me off.

            Time to find another bar.

            Stumbling down the sidewalk, I pull out my phone to text Heather. I don’t expect her to answer—she’s usually starting dinner about now—but this is mostly another method of creating a trail of virtual breadcrumbs for police to use to find me.

            My eyes cross when I try to read the screen, so I have no idea how intelligible my message is. If my fumbling fingers are working as well as my scrambled brain, I probably just texted a string of nonsense.

            Whatever. As far as I know, authorities can track texts regardless of how coherent they are.

            My next stop is a bar called The Honey Pot. More of a lesbian place, but gay-friendly at least, and their pretzels are delicious. By the time I walk in, my gait is steadier, and I no longer see double.

            Don’t get me wrong; I’m still drunk off my ass, but I should be able to fake sobriety enough to get more drinks.

            The Honey Pot has more customers than House of Dick did, a healthy mix of butch and femme of all sexes. Whatever flavor of the rainbow you might be after, you’ll find it here.

            Normally I welcome a crowd like this. There’s a higher likelihood of potential benefactors who are more than willing to spend their hard-earned cash getting a pretty boy like me wasted. The problem today is that I don’t know which of those potential benefactors might be my stalker. I didn’t notice anyone following me from House of Dick, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t tracked here. Is G in this crowd?

            A couple of screwdrivers later, I no longer care if I’m being followed.

            The logical side of my brain—what little is left of it—knows I should eat something to absorb and counterbalance some of this alcohol. It knows I shouldn’t let my guard down. Unfortunately, the logical side of my brain is drowned out by the drunk side, which is quite comfortable with the idea of drowning the rest of my body in booze.

            The bartender at The Honey Pot catches on faster than the one at the first bar, and before I can have a third drink, she has the bouncers kick me out on my ass without so much as a “see ya later, dude.” Once again, I’m on the street, this time even worse off than I was before.

            While I sit there on my duff debating where next to procure liquor, a paper-wrapped sandwich materializes in front of me. The sandwich, it turns out, is attached to a tattooed hand, which is attached to a slender arm in a leather coat. That arm ends in a slim shoulder, one of a matched pair that together hold up a tatted neck. Sitting on that neck is a man’s head, which houses a rather attractive face surrounded by thick, dark hair. The metal ring in his lip glints in the light of the streetlamp as he smiles at me. How did it get so late?

            “I’ve been watching you. I doubt you’ve eaten more than a handful of bar pretzels all day. Take it.”

            Something about his offer seems … off. In my addled state, I can’t quite pinpoint what could be wrong with a free sandwich.

            “Thanks.”

            I take the sandwich then, after a failed attempt to get off the sidewalk, I let the goth hottie help me to my feet. Once I’m upright, he pulls me in close for an overly familiar hug. I try to back away, but his grip is firmer than his thin, lanky frame would suggest.

            “Um … Dude, you can let me go now.”

            “Why would I let you go, Blu? I’ve finally found you.”

            My blood runs cold as he calls me by my OnlineFans handle. Is this G?

            Panic surges inside me, and I scramble for a way out. Maybe I can distract him with some conversation until someone walks by who can help me.

            “You, uh, seem to have me at a disadvantage. You know my name, but I don’t know you.”

            “Jeff.”

            Oh, good. J, not G. Maybe he’s not my stalker.

            With my fears alleviated, I relax into Jeff’s embrace. He’s not G. It’s a little weird that he knows my OF name, but maybe he’s just a fan who stumbled across my path by coincidence.

            Stumbled across my path with a convenient sandwich.

            As weird as that is, it’s still a relief that this guy isn’t G. What are the odds of me having two obsessed stalkers both living in the same city as me? Slim to none. I’m being paranoid over nothing. Besides, I haven’t even heard from G all day. Maybe he gave up when I turned down the bouquet.

            “Hey, Jeff … Do you think we could go find a sushi place nearby? I’m famished, hungrier than this sandwich could fill up. I need something more.”

            Jeff gives my ass a strong squeeze before letting me go. “Sure. I know just the place.”

            Sweet. If I play this right, I could even get free sushi out of the deal.

            Jeff and I chat throughout the meal. He’s easy to get along with, and it turns out we have a lot in common. He’s even an OF model himself, though he admits to having some straight content in addition to gay videos.

            “I promise I’m not a homophobe, though,” he says, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Honestly, I prefer guys, but sometimes the chicks want to pay for content with women. It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make for some extra cash, y’know? And either way I get laid, so it’s a win-win situation, really.”

            My eyebrows shoot up. “You actually have sex on-camera? That’s braver than me. I just jerk off or play with dildos. I’m too shy to actually fuck on film.”

            Jeff chuckles and winks a deep brown eye at me. “Hey, it’s easy money. Pays the bills.”

            “Still, it can’t be all that easy. One is a performance, but one is, like, the real deal.”

            He shrugs and picks up his teacup for a sip. “To be honest, that’s a performance piece as well. Most of the time I don’t even get off from it, so I have to fake it. That gets exhausting after a while, especially if the patron asks for a money shot.” Jeff pantomimes a masturbatory act. “I have to picture the hot linebacker from high school to finish.”

            We share a laugh, and the waiter comes by with the check. Jeff pulls out a credit card and sets it on the little tray.

            “Hey, I gotta drain the lizard. Mind picking up my card for me when he brings it back?”

            “Sure.” He’s trusting me with his credit card on the first date? That’s rare.

            The waiter comes and goes, returning with the card and Jeff’s receipt before Jeff gets back from the bathroom. I pick up the card as promised, sneaking a peek of his full name while I wait.

            I drop the card like it’s on fire when I read the name.

            Geoff Robinson.

            Not Jeff. Geoff.

            G.

Chapter 5

Tucker

Before Geoff can return from the head, I book it out of the sushi place.

            I can’t believe I was so stupid. How could I let my guard down like that?

            At least I realized who he is before I had the dumb idea of going home with him—or bringing him to my place. Not that either option is a smart choice, considering he’d probably murder me no matter where we hook up. My place, his place … For a stalker, it might not make much of a difference.

            I barely make it half a block when I hear Geoff yelling my OnlineFans name from the restaurant parking lot. When I look back, he breaks into a run, heading right for me. I dart across the street, dodging traffic and ducking down an alley in the hopes of losing him. Unfortunately, as soon as the car horns stop honking at me, I hear the thundering footsteps of Geoff’s combat boots as he chases me between the buildings.

            Fuck. I don’t know what else to do. I’m a lover, not a fighter. I’ve wandered far enough today that I’m miles from the safety of my apartment building. If he corners me down here, I’m dead. I don’t even know which alley I’m running down, don’t know whether I’m heading towards home or away.

            Geoff’s footsteps get louder as he gains on me. I let out a shout when he snags a handful of my jacket and yanks me off my feet. He shoves me, and I go down hard, landing on the side of my face and scratching the hell out of my forehead, cheek, and chin.

            That’s going to cost me. Subscribers on OnlineFans don’t want a beaten-up camboy to jerk off to. They want a pretty boy. Escort clients are the same way.

            “Hey! Leave him alone!”

            A new voice echoes in the alley, and I look up from my spot on the ground to see a hooded jogger coming our way. He’s tall and built, which is evident by his exposed arms in the cutoff sleeves of his hoodie. I can’t make out his face under the hood, but honestly, Quasimodo could come to my rescue, and I wouldn’t be picky. If he stops Geoff from beating the shit out of me, I don’t care what he looks like under there.

            Geoff grabs the collar of my jacket and lifts me halfway off the concrete. “Mind your own business, dude. This has nothing to do with you.”

            The jogger picks up speed, and Geoff lets go of me. I crawl out of the way and watch in horror as Geoff pulls a knife out of his pocket. He came prepared to our “date,” and I shudder to think what would’ve happened if this stranger hadn’t come across us in the alley.

            “Look out!” I shout at my erstwhile savior, but he doesn’t stop. Instead, he crashes into Geoff and knocks him down. The two tussle for a few minutes before Geoff finally scrambles out from under the bigger man and limps away.

            Fear immobilizes me for a moment, giving the jogger time to get up and dust himself off. He comes to my side and offers his hand.

            “C’mon. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

            I shouldn’t go with him. I was dumb enough to let Geoff get the drop on me, so I should be more careful around strangers. This guy saved my life, though, and since I already discovered my stalker’s identity, he’s probably safe enough to go with. Besides, if I stick with this mammoth dude, my odds of being accosted again are slim to none. Who’s going to mess with him?

            “Thanks, man.” He helps me to my feet, and I dust off my jeans. Strong hands grip my jaw with surprising gentleness, and I look into the deep green eyes of my rescuer as he checks out my injuries. There’s kindness in those eyes, and when he flashes a smile at me, I’m a goner. I got saved by a Greek god in the flesh. His dark red hair falls into his eyes, which are lined with thick, dark lashes. I’m normally not into redheads, but this guy is fucking beautiful.

            “My place is close. I have a first aid kit there, with antiseptic and bandages. If you don’t mind, you’re welcome to come with me for a while. At least let me patch you up before you go home.”

            “Sure.” I return the smile, grateful for his continued protection. “I’ve had one hell of a day. That guy was a stalker. Crazed fan. He probably would’ve killed me if you hadn’t come by.”

            The jogger’s eyes widen in shock. “A stalker? Sounds dangerous.”

            “Yeah. He was nuts. Sent me a fucking bouquet of fruit this morning, then followed me from my apartment tonight.”

            “Well, he won’t get to you while I’m around. Stick with me; I can keep you safe.”

            I bet he can. I lick my lips then wince when my tongue runs over a cut.

            “Careful.” He smiles again and strokes my cheek. “My apartment is this way, just a few blocks down. Let’s go before he comes back.”

            He puts a supportive arm around my shoulder as we walk, though I don’t need help there. I managed to escape with mostly scrapes and bruises, it seems. No limp, nothing appears to hurt enough to be broken. I probably look terrible, but I’ll live.

            As promised, the walk back to his place is quick. No one messes with us along the way; Geoff, it seems, is long gone.

            My new friend keeps his hand on my arm as we ascend the stairs to his third-floor apartment. I’d ask if there’s an elevator, but I get the feeling he’s accustomed to taking the stairs. He doesn’t even seem out of breath when we get to the top. Definitely fit.

            The apartment is a modest two-bedroom, sparse but cozy at the same time. This guy obviously doesn’t concern himself with décor; everything is simple and functional, nothing extra, nothing that doesn’t have a purpose.

            He leads me to the master bathroom and pulls his first aid kit out of a cabinet. Like the apartment, his kit is clean and tidy, with everything in its proper place. The antiseptic stings when he presses the soaked cotton ball to my cheek, and I suck in a sharp breath, trying to keep from crying out.

            “Shh. It’s gonna hurt, but we’ve got to get these cleaned up. You don’t want an infection.”

            He’s got a point. OnlineFans doesn’t exactly offer a health plan.

            After he bandages my cheek and forehead, the kind stranger moves to my cut lip. He winces sympathetically as he dabs at the cut, like it hurts him just as much as it hurts me. “Sorry. The good news is it doesn’t look like you’ll need stitches. It’s shallow. Superficial.”

            “Shallow and superficial, huh?” I crack a grin despite the pain in my lip. “Are you talking about the cut or the man?”

            A strange emotion crosses his face, almost like my words offended him. Once again, he cups my jaw with those strong hands, tipping my chin up so I’m gazing into his eyes. “I doubt there’s anything shallow and superficial about you. Cocky? Yeah, I’d say so, but shallow? Never.”

            Weird stance coming from a stranger, but I’ll take the compliment.

            I don’t know whether it’s the alcohol I’ve consumed throughout the day that prompts my next move or something else, but I’m feeling bold. I slide my hands around the man’s waist and move in for a kiss. I have no idea if he’s even gay—he might get pissed off if he’s not—but it’s worth the risk.

            He doesn’t resist. If anything, he’s all in. Our make out session gets hot and heavy, so much so that it takes me a few minutes to even notice the warm wetness on my right hand. I pull back to take a look and discover that my benefactor has been hiding something: He’s been hurt.

            “Oh, shit!” I almost knock over the first aid kit in my rush to grab some gauze for the bleeding. “Fuck, why didn’t you say anything?”

            He glances at the wound on his side with an almost nonchalant gaze. “Oh, that? It’s a scratch. He barely touched me.”

            “You’re bleeding. That qualifies as more than ‘barely touched.’ Hold still.”

            Lifting up the hem of his shirt, I try to blot the blood, but the lighting in the bathroom is terrible. I drop to my knees to see better, lining my face up almost perfectly with his crotch. That’s when I see how much my kiss affected him, and I’m torn between taking care of his injury and taking care of the erection facing me.

            Remembering my “shallow and superficial” joke, I opt for caretaking the wound before the cock. Though both can be uncomfortable if not treated right away, the boner is less life-threatening than the knife wound.

            “Take your shirt off. I need to see this better. Got a washcloth?”

            He hands me a damp cloth after stripping out of his shirt, and I wipe off the smeared blood. He’s right; the wound is more of a scratch than anything, but it’s still enough to concern me. I bandage it up by taping a couple gauze pads over the cut. There. He’s not gonna bleed out, though I’m not really knowledgeable enough to know if it should have stitches. He probably should have it looked at … eventually. Maybe in the morning.

            Right now, I think it’s high time I took care of his other condition.

            Without moving from my spot on the floor, I slide my hands down to his waistband and slowly untie the drawstring to his sweats. His long, thick cock springs out when I pull his pants down, and I lick my cut lip in anticipation. This is gonna sting so good; I don’t even care that I might split my lip even farther if I do this.

            The man before me trembles as I lick along the underside of his cock, taking my time to savor him. It’s been a long time since I’ve done anything sexual that wasn’t a transaction, and I realize now that I need this as much as he does.

            His velvety-smooth tip slides past my lips, and I swirl my tongue around his head. My new friend moans and fists my hair, gripping it tightly but not to the point of pain.

            “You don’t have to do this,” he murmurs. “I just saw you were in trouble and wanted to help. I didn’t save you just to … I mean, it’s not that I don’t want this, but—Are you sure this is what you want to do?”

            Instead of answering with words, I grab his hips and draw him closer, sucking more of him into me. He shudders and tugs my hair, pulling me to him. My lips touch his pelvis, and he sighs.

            “Fuck. That feels so good. So perfect. I always knew you’d feel perfect.”

            His words make no sense, but at this point I don’t care.

            We move in sync, me swallowing him down at the same moment he thrusts forward. In and out, his cock moves through my mouth, and my own cock gets harder each time his tip bottoms out in the back of my throat. Practiced experience prevents me from gagging on his length, though it helps that he’s being tender. Gentle.

            The stranger lets out a strangled moan just before he comes in my mouth. I try to swallow quickly, but when he pulls out, several thick strings of cum stretch between us. I wipe my mouth and lick the back of my hand to clean myself off.

            “Sorry,” he says, panting. “I didn’t mean to make a mess.”

            “Worth it.”

            I rise to my feet, and he catches my hips with his hands, pulling me to him. Our dicks press together, and even through the thick fabric of my jeans, I can tell he’s not done yet.

            Good. Neither am I.

            “What’s your name?” I ask as I reach between us and stroke his shaft.

            “Galen.” His voice is raspy, thick with lust.

            “Well, Galen, I’m Tucker. What do you say we move to the bed?”

Chapter 6

Galen

I can hardly believe it: Tucker, asking me to take him to bed just seconds after sucking my cock like no man ever has before.

            I’m in heaven.

            Another thing I can’t believe is the fact that Tucker had a stalker I didn’t know about. Now I understand why he didn’t accept my bouquet; he thought it was from the goth wannabe in the alley. An easy enough mistake, I suppose. I just wish I had ended the creep instead of chasing him off.

            I’ll have to hunt him down online later and find him. Finish the job. Scaring my man and attacking him? Unacceptable.

            Once I get over the initial shock of Tucker’s proposition, I step out of my sweats and take his hand to lead him to my bed. I’m almost embarrassed by how simple it is. Plain white sheets, grey comforter, basic frame. There’s not even a headboard because I didn’t think I’d have need for one. Now I wish I had one. It would give me something to hold onto if things get rough. Not that I’d ever hurt Tucker, but there’s a lot a man can do to his partner without causing pain.

            “It’s not the most comfortable—”

            Tucker cuts me off with a sensual kiss. “It’s fine. Don’t be nervous.”

            That’s what it is; I’m nervous. My fantasy has come to life, and I don’t know how to handle it.

            “Here,” he says as he pulls off his jacket. “Let’s level the playing field. You’re already naked, but I’m still fully clothed.” He tosses his clothes on the floor, piece by piece, until he’s as nude as I am.

            Tucker slides under the sheets and holds a hand out to me. “C’mere.”

            I climb in beside him and scoot until my hips touch his. He flashes a boyish smile and reaches under the covers. Without breaking eye contact, he finds my cock and grips the shaft. I shudder and fumble for his dick to return the favor, but I have a harder time of it. Finally, my fingers brush against his steel dick ring, and I toy with the smooth metal, experimenting. When Tucker moans and closes his eyes, thrusting slowly into my hand, I learn that the piercing is functional for more than just the receiver.

            Emboldened by my success, I roll on top of Tucker, settling between his long legs. The sheets fall off me, pooling around us and exposing his lithe body to my gaze. His smooth, freckled skin glistens with a sheen of sweat. I bend down and trace a line from his abs to his pierced nipple with my tongue, reveling in the taste of him.

            While I suck and nibble on his chest, my hand slides down his shaft to his balls. I tug gently on his sack, and his hips buck up off the mattress.

            “Do you like that?” I ask.

            “I’d like it better if you were inside me.”

            That’s my cue to grab the lube. I stretch to reach the nightstand, which is on the opposite side of the bed. It’s a struggle to get the cap off in my excitement, but I finally manage to open the tube and squeeze a little into my palm.

            As I lube up my cock, Tucker tips his hips up, exposing his tight ass that I know so well from his OnlineFans channel. I still can’t believe that he’s really right here in front of me. I stroke his cheek with my clean hand before getting an idea …

            Spreading Tucker’s cheeks, I slowly inch two thick fingers into his gloriously tight hole. I shudder and moan as I picture my dick in there instead of my fingers. He’s even warmer and tighter than I imagined. Pure perfection.

            “Come on, Galen, don’t be a tease,” he says with a grin. He rocks his hips, fucking my hand. “I can take it. Trust me.”

            Oh, I know he can.

            Since he seems to be in a playful mood, I tease him a bit more with my fingers, sliding them in and out, focusing pressure on the spots that he reacts to the most. I’ve seen him self-stimulate his pleasure points hundreds of times, but hands-on learning like this is valuable. It’s one thing to see him ride a dildo to climax, but it’s quite another thing to be the living, breathing human taking him over the edge.

            To know it’s my cock he craves.

            By the time I deem myself learned enough in the art of making Tucker come, he’s writhing on my bed, panting and moaning in ecstasy, fisting his cock and begging for more. The sights and sounds are breathtaking, and I soak it all in before it’s my turn.

            Then the real fun begins.

            Despite how eager I am for this, I start off slowly, easing my dick into his willing hole. Tucker cries out my name over and over again in a show that’s so much better than any I’ve ever seen him perform online. His porcelain skin is flushed, making the bandages stand out with their stark whiteness. His perfect locks are mussed, and his lean chest heaves with each breath. Once inside, I cover his hand with mine, and we stroke his cock together while I glide in and out. He clenches around me, caressing me from within, and I fight to keep from coming too soon.

            Perfection like this should be savored.

            “Galen …” Tucker’s full lips quiver as he moans my name. “Fuck, you’re amazing.”

            I lean in, getting a deeper angle and taking his breath away for a moment. “You have no idea, Tucker. Just wait.”

            He opens those rosy lips to reply, but I’m already on him, gliding my tongue over his. He sucks my tongue farther into his mouth and fists my hair, tugging hard. The pain is a pleasant balance to the overwhelming pleasure, and it grounds me enough to allow me to press on.

            Harder and deeper I thrust, drinking up Tucker’s cries as he finally comes with a prolonged scream. I bite his lip gently and take what I need, slamming into him over and over again until I, too, come hard and fast.

            I’m still inside him, and we both lie there panting for air. Our chests are a slick mess with his spent cum, and I know that when I pull out there will be more to clean up.

            Much as I hate to, I know I can’t really spend the night inside Tucker. I slide out as slowly as I slid in, reveling in the way he gasps softly when I pop out. My lips make their way to his again, and I kiss him gently, hoping my passion translates through the touch.

            “That was the best first fuck ever,” he says, peppering my neck with light kisses. “You’re a natural.”

            I lift off of him with a frown, slightly offended at the insinuation. “You think that was my first time?”

            Tucker chuckles and shakes his head, sending his dark curls flying. “No! I meant it’s our first time together. Usually, it takes a guy a while to learn what I like, but you just dove right in and hit all the right spots.”

            I beam with pride and roll over to give him room to breathe. I’m not a small man by any means, and I don’t want to crush him. Besides, my fantasies don’t end with sex; I want to cuddle and adore him as well, to show him how amazing he is.

            Once I’ve pulled up the covers, he snuggles next to me and rests his head on my chest. I lie there stroking his hair almost as if in a trance, mesmerized by the way the light glints off the dark strands. I want to remember every second of this, to sear him in my brain. This can’t last forever. Eventually, he’ll have to go home, even if just to grab his things.

            “When do you have to be home?” I ask, trying to keep my tone casual.

            “I dunno. My job hours are … flexible. I can stay as long as I want.”

            “And how long do you want to stay?”

            He looks up at me through those long, thick lashes, and for a moment I forget what I was saying.

            “I could be convinced to stay the night.”

            Elated at his answer, I wrap my arms around him and kiss his forehead. Tucker settles into my embrace, shivering slightly.

            “Do you want me to get up and grab more blankets?” I ask, ready to hop out of bed and run for the linen closet if it means making Tucker more comfortable in my bed. “I keep the apartment pretty cold to conserve electricity, but I can futz with the thermostat, too, if it helps.”

            “No! Stay.” His arms tighten around me. “Don’t leave me.”

            “But if you’re cold …”

            “I trust you to keep me warm.”

            He trusts me. Tucker trusts me. He wants me to stay, to be here with him, even if it means waiting a few more minutes to warm up.

*          *          *

            I wake later, alone and disoriented. Where did Tucker go?

            “Tucker? Tucker!”

            The rushing sound of a toilet flushing reaches my ears, and Tucker trots out of the bathroom with concern written on his gorgeous face. “Everything okay, Galen?”

            I breathe a sigh of relief. “You were gone.”

            He breaks into a lopsided grin and climbs back under the covers. “I had to pee, silly. I’m not going anywhere until the morning at the earliest.”

            “And you’ll let me walk you home, right? No going out there alone again. I may have scared that creepy stalker away, but that doesn’t mean he won’t come back.” I brush my lips against his forehead in a tender kiss. “I don’t want you hurt again.”

            “Hey! I’ve got an idea.” Tucker sits up and reaches for the remote. “Let’s watch a movie or something to get back to sleep.”

            Something in my brain shouts a warning, but I’m so groggy still that I can’t pinpoint what would be bad about turning on the TV. Surely that’s an innocent enough thing that I shouldn’t stop Tucker from—

            “Uh, Galen …?” Tucker’s dewy skin turns ghostly pale. “What the fuck is that?”

            I look up at the wall-mounted screen, and my heart drops into my stomach.

            “I can explain.”

            He pulls away from me. Backs up. Stumbles out of bed.

            “Tucker, I can explain.”

            “You can explain that?” he asks with wide, accusing eyes. His arm swings around to point at the screen. “You can explain why your TV is set to a video loop of me fucking a dildo?”

Chapter 7

Tucker

I don’t give Galen time to explain. Before he can cook up some lame excuse, I book it out the door and down the stairs to the back alley.

            I snatch up a handful of clothes and rush out the door. It’s a miracle I don’t fall down the stairs in my efforts to step into my pants while descending two at a time. Once outside, I run in a random direction, hoping to have startled Galen enough that I’ve bought time to escape.

            How could I have been so stupid? The whole thing with Geoff must’ve been a setup. I bet they were working together. Geoff gets their victim—me—alone, and Galen swoops in with the dramatic “rescue.” They’ve probably done this dozens of times to various other men.

            I wonder if any of their other victims are still alive.

            I never thought it could be two men stalking me, two men hunting me. It all makes perfect sense now that I think about it, but who considers something this twisted? It’s not natural.

            “Tucker!”

            Galen’s voice reaches me from down the alley, and I pick up the pace. He’s fit, so I can’t let myself slow down. I have to get to safety before he catches me again.

            Gotta keep running.

            At first, I stick to back alleys and side streets. It’s still dark out, still late, and traffic is blissfully thin. That’s both good and bad, though, when I think about it. Sure, no one’s around to see me running half naked through the night, but there’s also not anyone to flag down for assistance. I’m on my own.

            The hard slap, slap, slap of Galen’s bare feet behind me gets closer with every turn. I know he’s got to be gaining on me. My legs pump harder and faster, and my lungs burn with the effort of feeding air to my tired body.

            “Tucker! Please, wait!”

            He sounds like he’s right behind me.

            With one final push, I summon enough energy to burst from between buildings and dart into the street. I pause for a fraction of a second, just long enough to look down the road for my next move, but that pause does me in. A hand clamps down on my shoulder, nearly pulling me off my feet.

            “Let go!” I twist and yank, but it’s no use. Galen’s grip is iron strong and immovable.

            “Tucker, it’s not what you think. If you just come back home with me, I can explain everything. Please, Tucker. We’re both gonna get arrested if we don’t go back.”

            I don’t know about Galen, but I can handle a citation for disturbing the peace. It’s better than the alternative: following this psycho back to his place for him to murder me, or worse. At this point, I’d welcome the police presence. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

            “Please …”

            I finally wrench free from his grasp. “Don’t ‘please’ me. I suppose the whole Geoff thing was a setup, hm? He lures guys somewhere, and you just happen along to save them from him. Was he going to show up at your place eventually? Is that how you two operate?”

            Galen’s face is a mask of hurt and shame, but I’m not buying it. “Tucker, I swear, I had never seen him before tonight. I was just out for a jog, and I saw you were in trouble.”

            “You just happened to be out for a jog and just happened to have a loop of one of my OnlineFans videos keyed up on your bedroom TV? Don’t try to feed me bullshit, Galen—if that’s really your name.”

            “Of course my name’s Galen. Why would I lie about—?”

            “Are you G?”

            His jaw drops open, and he takes a step back. “I—”

            “Are you G?” My shout echoes in the empty street. If it wasn’t so damn late, I’d be causing a scene. As it is, I see lights turn on in the buildings around us, and a couple curtains move as curious apartment residents peek to see what’s going on.

            “Please, if you just let me—”

            “Did you send that creepy fruit bouquet?” He stammers and sputters while I wait for another lie to spew from his mouth. “How about those fucking obsessive texts? Was it you harassing me about my side job?”

            “I-I wasn’t trying to harass you. I was worried—”

            “What right did you have to be worried?” I snarl. The bigger man takes another step back, as though he’s scared of me. Tears well in his eyes, but I can’t let myself be swayed. This kind of shit isn’t forgivable. “You don’t even know me. I’m just another pretty face on a website. I’m a cam boy. The closest relation I am to you is … is … a-an actor. I’m nobody to you, and you’re nobody to me.”

            “Tucker, how can you say that after the beautiful night we just shared?”

            “What exactly did we share? Lies? Sex based on those lies? That’s not beautiful. It’s dirty.”

            Galen falls to his knees, and his face crumples. I guess this is the part where he begs and pleads for forgiveness, where he tries to explain away his sick perversion.

            I’m all set to continue reaming him out when, to my surprise, he launches up and shoves me. My butt hits the sidewalk with a thud, which sounds a lot louder than it should. There’s also a crunch, along with the squeal of tires. By the time I realize what happened, it’s all over.

            Galen pushed me out of the way of an oncoming car. I never heard the electric vehicle coming. No headlights, no warning at all.

            The driver jumps out with a panicked look on his face. “Dude, shit, I didn’t even see him!”

            I hear a low groan coming from the other side of the car. The driver peeks over his trunk and gags, then retches on the sidewalk.

            Fuck. Galen took the hit for me.

            By all rights, I shouldn’t be upset. He stalked me, lied to me, and used me. Still, I can’t help but be concerned. Even a muscle-bound guy like him can’t stand up to a moving car. My hands shake as I creep around the back of the car to take a look.

            The bare-chested man is doing well enough to roll onto his knees and cough, but when he does, blood splatters onto the concrete. His back is covered in scrapes and cuts, and the bruising is already setting in. He tries to stand but falters; his leg doesn’t look right, but it’s hard to tell how bad it is with his jeans still on. Despite my anger, I rush to his side and help hold him up.

            “Tucker …” Galen’s voice is gravelly and hoarse. Blood trickles down his face, getting smeared when he tries to wipe it off. There’s so much of the dark red fluid that I can’t even tell where the injury starts. “Are you okay?”

            “Why did you do that?” I ask with tears in my eyes. Why am I crying? “You wouldn’t have gotten hit if you’d stayed put.”

            He tries to laugh, but all it accomplishes is the start of another bloody coughing fit. “You would have been hit instead. It wasn’t a hard choice to make.”

            Sirens wail in the distance. Someone, maybe the driver, called an ambulance.

            “You hear that, Galen? You’ll be okay. The paramedics are coming.”

            He ducks his head and looks away from me. “You probably wish it was the cops instead. I know I do. I don’t deserve a hospital after what I did.”

            Great. Now I feel like an asshole for getting mad. “C’mon. Just sit down until they get here.”

            Galen tries to pull away from me and nearly topples over in the process. “You should go. I don’t want you to get in trouble. They’ll have questions.”

            “I’m not going anywhere until I’m sure you’re going to be okay.”

            “Just let me die here like I deserve.”

            Okay, enough’s enough. I can’t stand for him to act like he did something to earn this kind of pain. “Look, what you did was stupid, but it doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to get treatment for all this. You’ve got a broken leg most likely, and who knows what kind of internal injuries. Let’s get to the sidewalk so you can sit down. I’m not sure you should be trying to stand like this.”

            The driver, having recovered from his initial shock and nausea at the sight of Galen beaten all to shit by his car, helps me get Galen to the sidewalk. Together, we set him down on the curb, and I sit next to him to provide some support. He seems barely able to hold his head upright, let alone his whole body.

            By the time the ambulance arrives, Galen’s barely conscious. He keeps moaning, and his head lolls loosely back and forth with each breath.

            It doesn’t look good.

            Once the EMTs get a neck brace on him, I back out of the way to give them room to work. Someone pats my shoulder, and when I look to see who it is, the driver flashes me a sympathetic look.

            “Lovers’ spat?” he asks.

            “Uh …” Fuck. Neither Galen nor I have a shirt on, and we’re both barefoot. It probably looks exactly like we were in the middle of a romantic quarrel when we got interrupted by the speeding car. “It’s, um, complicated.”

            The driver nods sagely. “Yeah, I get it. My girlfriend and I had a fight tonight, too. Probably why I was so upset that I didn’t see you guys in the street.” He sighs. “Look, I’ll follow the ambulance to the hospital. I’ll give them my credit card. This is all on me.”

            A credit card’s not going to be enough, but I don’t mention that. It must take a lot of guts to admit wrongdoing in this, not to mention offering to take financial responsibility.

            “I’m sure he appreciates that,” I say as the EMTs lift the stretcher into the waiting ambulance. Before they shut the door, Galen pulls off his oxygen mask with a bloody hand.

            “Tucker?” he croaks. “Tucker!”

            I trot over to the big vehicle and lean in. “I’m right out here, Galen. Leave the oxygen on, man. You need it.”

            “Don’t leave me, Tucker.”

            Double fuck. The guilt trip. I don’t think he’s lucid enough to be manipulative right now, which makes this even worse.

            “I’ll … I’ll head to the hospital. Meet you there. Hang in there, okay?”

            He mumbles something as the EMT puts the oxygen back on and shuts the door.

            I think he said, “For you, Tucker.”

Chapter 8

Galen

Everything hurts, but none of the physical pain even compares to the pain in my heart from Tucker’s rejection.

            I should have been transparent with him. Admitted I knew him. I was just so thrilled to have him in my home, in my bed … I never imagined he’d catch on, that he’d realize I knew him. I never even considered what was queued up on my TV when he grabbed the remote.

            I’ve ruined everything. Any chance I had is gone, evaporated, dust in the wind.

            Now he hates me, and he’s probably only being nice because I saved his life—again. I guess I have to be hit by a car to warrant a second chance. Saving him from that creep with the knife wasn’t good enough.

            Will he really go to the hospital? What will I do if he doesn’t? Can I survive if he’s not there for me?

            Can I hold on long enough to find out?

Chapter 9

Tucker

I’m not quite over my anger enough to ride along in the ambulance, but I do take the driver up on his offer to give me a lift to the hospital. Galen saved my life, after all, and for all I know, he doesn’t have anyone to call. No one to wait for him to come out of surgery, no one to sit in his room and wait for him to wake up.

            If that’s the case, it’s a lonely life. I’ve got Heather for situations like this. I know she’d meet me at the hospital and sit there until I was released, but what about Galen? I think back to his apartment. Clean and tidy but sparse, with no personal photos or items that might hint at friends or family involved.

            I might literally be all he has right now.

            Thankfully, the driver—Brad—has a spare shirt in his car and some flip flops that are a bit too big for my feet. It’s better than nothing, I guess. I wish I had my phone with me, but that fell out of my pants back at Galen’s, so I’m kinda stuck for the time being. I’ll call Heather once we get to the hospital and let her know what’s going on. She’s gonna have to eat some crow after trying to brush off my stalker concerns.

            At the hospital, the nurses ask a lot of extremely awkward questions that I don’t have the answers to. How am I supposed to know Galen’s blood type or if he’s had any other surgeries in the past? I didn’t exactly see any surgical scars on him, but I also wasn’t exactly looking for that.

            I was too distracted by his dick at the time to pay attention to something like surgical scars.

            Once the staff realize I’m useless for information, they finally leave me alone. A handful of other visitors sit in the waiting area outside the recovery ward, all looking equally anxious. There’s a young mother with her two children who rifle through the magazines in search of distracting entertainment, an older gentleman who wrings his hands at the window, staring into the parking lot below like the answer to his worries lies in one of those cars, and a couple of suspicious-looking youth who both sniff and wipe their noses a little too much for it to be allergies.

            Normally in a situation like this, Heather would be with me, and we’d make a game of concocting stories about why each of the visitors were here. Heather is always better than I am at the game, as her stories always have wild theories about the origins of each stranger in the lobby.

            I wonder if anyone here is making up a theory about me. I can imagine it now: the young gay ingenue in too-baggy clothes and oversized shoes waiting for his john to come out of recovery after a coke-fueled binge gone wrong.

            The hours tick by with no word. Was Galen hurt worse than I thought? Did he have some internal injuries that the surgeons can’t fix?

            I don’t know why I’m so concerned. I’m furious with him … right?

            “Tucker Hawke?”

            I shoot out of the hard plastic chair when a woman in scrubs calls my name. I’m a little disturbed that she called my last name, too, as I hadn’t given that to Galen, further proving my stalker suspicions.

            She smiles at me as she looks up from her clipboard. “Hi, Mr. Hawke. Mr. O’Donnell has been asking for you. The doctors don’t think he’s quite ready for visitors, but he insisted. Refused to take his medicine until he sees that you’re okay.” She pauses with a frown. “You weren’t hurt in the accident, were you? I see you’ve got some bandages on your face.”

            My hand flies reflexively up to the bandages I’d forgotten were there. “Oh, yeah, those. No, that’s from something else. Galen—er, Mr. O’Donnell—fixed me up after a, uh, fall.”

            The nurse smiles again. “Mr. O’Donnell seems to really care about you, Mr. Hawke. He’s talked about nothing else since he woke up from the anesthesia. Tucker this and Tucker that. It’s sweet.”

            “Sweet” is subjective, but I keep my mouth shut on the matter. “Can I see him?”

            “Of course. Right this way.”

            I follow the nurse through a maze of hallways until we finally reach Galen’s room. My heart thumps so hard in my chest I’m almost certain the nurse can hear it without a stethoscope. I’m pretty sure it can be heard across town.

            “I’ll give you two some privacy. Just let him know to press his call button if he needs anything. An aide or I will be in right away. I’ll prep his medicine.”

            I take a few hesitant steps into the room. Machines beep and whir, and Galen’s hooked up to about a million wires and tubes. His leg is in some kind of brace, which is elevated off the bed, and his forehead is bandaged. I guess even with a head injury, he still remembers who I am.

            His chest is covered with blankets, so I can’t see if he’s got any bandages there. With the way he was coughing up blood at the scene, I’d wager he had some internal injuries. Not that I have a lick of medical knowledge, but y’know, I watch TV.

            “Galen?”

            He wheezes a bit and winces when he tries to sit up. I cross to his bedside and help him up, doing my best to be gentle with him.

            “Tucker … You came.”

            “Well, yeah. I didn’t know if you had anyone to wait for you, and it just didn’t seem right to go home. Besides, I lost my keys and phone at your place when I ducked out. Until we get back there and get my stuff, you’re stuck with me.”

            Galen frowns. “Why do you say it that way? ‘Stuck’ with you.”

            “I don’t know. Trying to make a joke.”

            “Don’t joke, Tucker. It means a lot to me that you came. I know I upset you. I messed up. By all rights, you could’ve gone back to my apartment, grabbed your things, and disappeared.”

            I try to mask my discomfort with a smile. “That would’ve been an asshole move. I’m many things, but I’d like to think asshole isn’t one of them.”

            His dark lashes lower over his eyes as he looks away from me, blushing. “I’m the asshole.”

            “You’re … overeager. A little bit obsessed, yeah. But not an asshole. I mean, you saved my life twice in one night, right? That’s, like, heroic.”

            “I’m the reason you almost got hit. I should’ve made you get out of the street before that car even drove through.”

            “You took a hit from a speeding car for me. Don’t make light of that.” I scratch the back of my neck and look at the monitors. “I don’t know jack about what these numbers should say. Are they good? I mean, are you going to be okay?”

            “I guess. The doctors say I’ll be in pain for a while. Broken leg, some bruised ribs, something about a punctured lung. But whatever. You’re okay. That’s what matters.”

            Despite my reservations, I find myself weakening in my resolve to stay mad at him. “Hey, the nurse said you had some medicine to take. You should probably push the button and get them in here to give it to you. Gotta stay healthy.”

            Galen sighs and pushes a button on the arm of his hospital bed. “You just want an excuse to leave. I guess I don’t blame you.”

            “I’m not leaving yet, Galen. Not until I’m sure you’re going to be okay.” I reach out and put a hand gently on his shoulder. “Your … your heart was in the right place. You went about things in a pretty fucked up way, but I guess your intentions weren’t bad. Maybe you’re just a bit … misguided.”

            I can’t believe I’m saying this. I can’t believe I’m even thinking it. He stalked me. Sent almost threatening texts when I didn’t respond to his messages. Sent food to my home, my personal address. But he also saved me from Geoff. Took a knife wound for me then and took a whole car to the gut later. Sure, he’s a bit off mentally, but I can’t deny that in his own way he cares. That’s more than any john ever has, more even than previous boyfriends who I met through conventional means.

            What’s a little obsessive stalking in the grand scheme of things?

            While I contemplate a potential future with Galen, his nurse comes in with a couple little cups, one small cup with a handful of pills inside and a larger one with water. As promised, now that I’m here, Galen takes his meds. The nurse writes down a few numbers from his monitors and leaves us again.

            “So …” I try to think of something to say. Awkward silence stretches between us for a few moments.

            “When I get released, I’ll take you back to my place for your stuff. Make sure you get home okay. I mean, I’ll call you a cab. I understand if you don’t want me to take you home personally.”

            I don’t know why, but his self-deprecation makes me feel even more guilty about all this. “I don’t have to go home right away. Like I said, my hours are flexible. I pretty much can come and go as I please. I’m probably overdue for a vacation.”

            A small smile tugs at the corners of Galen’s lips. “Won’t you be missed?”

            “I can call my bestie. Let her know where I am.”

            His smile evaporates, and his mood turns somber. “But you’ll have to go back. You won’t stay.”

            In an effort to ease his fears, I put my hand over his, careful not to mess up the monitors and tubes connected to him. “Look, we’ve got a lot to unpack here. A lot to talk about when you’re out of here. How about we take things slowly first? We’ll take some time to get to know each other—really get to know each other, not just through OnlineFans. I’m sure you’re a good guy once I get to know you, and who knows? You might find out you get sick of me after a bit.” I smile to take the sting out of my words. “Kidding. We’ll figure this out. It’s just going to take some work.”

            That cute smile of his returns, and a new light reaches his eyes. “You mean it? You won’t just grab your things and book it the hell out of there?”

            “I’ll stick around for, say, at least a week. I’ll make sure you can get around with that busted leg, make sure you’re settled. After that, we’ll play it by ear. And yeah, I’ll have to go back at some point. I have to earn a living. I can’t just quit my jobs and move in with you at the drop of a hat.” I pause when I realize what I’ve just semi-agreed to. “Like I said, we need to take things slowly. Sure, I’ll go back to my place and start back with OnlineFans, but … maybe I’ll take a break from escorting for a while. Is that a good enough compromise?”

            Galen nods slowly. “I guess. I can help cover your expenses, though, if you need it.”

            “I’ll be okay taking a week off,” I say, sidestepping the offer. I’m not quite ready to be a kept man. “We’ll sort out the rest later. For now, you need to get better.”

            As Galen’s eyelids start to droop from the meds he was given, I pull up a visitor’s chair and sit next to him. He reaches for my hand, and I thread my fingers between his. I know it’s going to be a long night, but I get the feeling it’s only the first of many long nights we’ll stay together like this.

The End

Books by AJ

RH/Contemporary w/MM

The Summer City Hare Duet:

Bad Bunny: A Hare-Raising Prequel: books2read.com/badbunny

Call Me Bunny: The Harrowing Tale of a Homicidal Hare: books2read.com/callmebunny

Code: Zero: books2read.com/code0

MM Contemporary

Luscious Luca: books2read.com/lusciousluca

Fallen King: Royal Syndicate Book 1: books2read.com/fallenking-rs1

Wicked Prince: Royal Syndicate Book 2: books2read.com/wickedprince-rs2

Vicious Crown: Royal Syndicate Book 3: books2read.com/viciouscrown-rs3

MM PNR

A Hunter Hunted (part of the Nowhere world of books): books2read.com/ahunterhunted

Trick or Treat (cowritten with Ariel Dawn): books2read.com/totrom-com

RH/PNR w/MM

Irresistible Monstrosities (a Nowhere novel): books2read.com/irresistiblemonsters

Irresistible Joy (a Nowhere novella): books2read.com/irresistiblejoy

Song of Silence (a Nowhere novel, cowritten with Ariel Dawn): books2read.com/songofsilence