Page 3 of Mine to Claim

More boy than man in attitude, though his body tells a different tale. I need to verify. “Again, how old are you?”

He glances back, eyes narrowed, lips sealed stubbornly.

“Gotta make sure you’re legal. So if you want food, tell it to me straight.” The rest of the world may have lost its morals, forever stuck living in shades of gray, but not me. Couldn’t live with myself if he wasn’t legal.

Eyes forward. “Eighteen, old man.”

Old man. Since when is thirty-eight one foot in the grave? But out here, guess I’m goddamn ancient.

“Name’s Rex,” I offer.

Chapter 2

Isteerusthroughthe corpse-streets, but Devon strides ahead like he owns the damn place. Irritation prickles my neck. Cocky little shit's been tracking me. Of course he knows where I’ve been staying.

As we approach the cabin, he slows, faking hesitation. We both know it's bullshit. His eyes meet mine, hard and resigned. We've got a deal to uphold, and we'll both get something we need: him something to eat and me human contact.

Rare and essential shit nowadays.

Before the accountant it’d been over a year since I’d gotten any form of touch other than my own hand.

At the door, I pin him with a glare. "So just how long you been tracking me?"

The kid’s upper lip twitches, jaw clenched tight, and shoulders squared. “Who says I'm tracking you, old man?"

My eyes narrow. "Cut the crap, kid." I step closer, using my height to loom over him. "Now tell me why the hell you've been spying on me."

He juts his chin up. "I gotta eat, don't I?"

I snort. "And stalking me seemed like the way to do it?"

He lifts his chin. "Maybe I wanted to see if you were really worth robbing."

I bite back a laugh at his defiant bullshit. Something more than hunger drove him. Doesn’t take four days to figure out if I’ve got anything worth stealing. Maybe he’s lonely or crazy or both.

But damn if his insolence doesn't just make me want to bend him over my knee.

When I shove him against the door, that fiery gaze shows no fear, only simmering with a challenge that awakens an answering heat deep inside. A need to tame and claim this feral boy, to earn his submission.

Inside, I slam the door and pin Devon with a glare. "I told you before. Strip. Leave your gear against the wall."

His eyes track me warily as he disarms. I keep my distance, letting him shed his ratty clothes reluctantly. My pack already lays discarded in the corner.

He stands there in tattered boxers, arms crossed, daring me to comment. Lean muscle cords his underfed frame, ribs jutting out sharply. A light, happy trail leads from his flat chest down. . .

My eyes narrow. "Boxers too. That wasn't our deal."

He hesitates, color draining from his face. He looks down, fingers fidgeting with the elastic waistband. "Can't I keep them on?"

"No. You agreed to all clothes off." I let my gaze travel over his lean frame. "Unless you wanna back out and go hungry tonight?"

He shoves the boxers down with a snarl. His soft cock nestles in coarse hair, and though he covers himself quickly, a glimpse of the pink and slim shaft stokes heat low in my groin.

And he’s circumcised.

Fuck if that’s not making me hard already.

Reminds me of Mac, which makes my cock give a twitch. Mac and I served together, and while I haven’t seen him in four years, I still vividly recall his cock, and I haven’tplayed with one as pretty since Mac.

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