Page 22 of Jack of All Trades

His body wouldn’t allow his mind to think. He was hard and had been since Jack came to the door. Sitting in front of his computer, all he wanted was to watch porn and jerk his cock, but then it dawned on him.

Jack was in season.

How that happened without them even kissing more than a peck and never having shifted at all, he didn’t know. Plus, kids? Really? How many hellhounds were needed in the world?

He got up and went to the refrigerator to fill a glass with ice water, downing it quickly enough to get a headache. “Fuck,” he said, and even the word made him hot.

Stomping across the floor to the huge windows that lined the north side of the apartment, he heard the hammering and closed his eyes, picturing Jack on the roof, a little sweaty, muscles ripping, face intense from concentration on the task…

“Jesus, Maltin! Stop!”

It came to him that there were things to do to overcome the ferocious arousal that came with a mate being in season. He nearly flew to his computer to start looking up treatments.

As he looked it up, he realized he never learned a thing about being a shifter. Why? He’d never had any indication of being one. Most shifted early in their lives. He thought that gene was recessive, and he only had the powers of his witch half.

The more he read, the more his head hurt. There were so many rules, but then again, none for hellhounds. He searched and searched the web but there was not a thing about his specific shifter identity.

The longer he sat, however, and heard the tapping of the hammer, making him realize his mate was so close, the more his head hurt, and his dick matched that pain, throbbing in tune with the hammering.

“Will the suppressants even work on us? Am I the alpha, is he? Why doesn’t anyone know?”

The frustration was too much. He was ready to lose his mind. Wondering if Jack was feeling the same, he left the loft and walked through his rows of cars, trying to take his mind from his dick to polish the tiny bit of dust that was landing on them while Jack stirred it.

Jack stirred the dust; he stirred Maltin’s pheromones if that was what hellhounds had. Unable to write or think, he rubbed the soft cotton towel over the yellow hood of the ’71 Mustang andthen the black hood of the ’45 Chevy Coupe. All while most of his thoughts were centered completely on the man sitting on his roof.

“I can’t do this,” he growled, then his head moved until he looked at the underside of the roof, the little sliver of sky he could see disappearing because Jack was looking through it.

“Come down here! I…I need to speak with you.”

He didn’t say a word, but Maltin listened to the steps on the roof, then the clanking of the ladder as Jack descended. When he walked in the door, Maltin wanted to fly to him, grab him and fuck him against each and every car, but he restrained.

His jaw felt like it could barely move as he ground his teeth together, but watching Jack walking toward him, seeing him moving, seeing the bulge in his pants…

Maltin turned around to face away from him, unable to look at him for another second.

“Jack, something needs to be done.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m ready to back up to doorknobs.”

Maltin heard that, and he pictured it in his head, and besides arousing him more, he started to laugh. “Jesus.”

“Don’t even say that. I’ll picture him naked, and I’ll go to hell. Wait, are we going to hell anyway?”

Maltin laughed more than he was aroused, and he could finally face Jack. As he did, he saw Jack smiling, and he was so much more beautiful smiling. “Can we, I don’t know, see someone?”

“I’ve thought about it. I spoke to Garvey, and he told me they have pills and shots and stuff for this. I just don’t know if I want them.”

Maltin felt the same. “Plus, we’d have to admit what we are.”

“Yeah,” he said, taking another step closer. “I don’t want to do that.”

“Me either.”

Maltin took a step, and Jack did, and they continued until the heat from Jack was pulsing off him and making Maltin sweat. “Maltin…I want you. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone in my life. I don’t think I can stand it.”

Nodding slowly, Maltin grunted, “No. I can’t. I need you.”

“Do you just need me because of…what we are?”

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