The Hunter (Mistress & Master of Restraint) (4 page)

The Hunter: Past
-Chapter Five-

I run across the lush, green grass t
hat spans for acres creating ShadowHaven’s rolling backyard. The air breezes the scent of fresh cut grass and the warmth of a summer’s night. The only sound I hear is the chirp of insects in the distance.

Sweet
Freedom!

T
he dominating fucker is nowhere in sight. I instinctually know where Marcus is and head across the manicured lawn towards the woods surrounding our home.

“Hide-and-seek is a bit childish, don’t ya think
, Marc?” I yell into the dense woods. It’s pitch-black and I can barely see my hand in front of my face. The crickets stop chirping as I approach, but take back up with their racket as soon as I pass. Mores the pity, I could use the silence to track Marcus. I softly place my feet so that the crack of twigs and the crunch of leaves do not give away my location.

“Doesn’t make it any less fun
, now does it?” snarkily replies quietly from the intimate dark. “It was Ezra’s favorite game. I’m sure you remember
The Hunter
.” I follow the taunting sound and flinch when a branch scrapes across my face. It stings and I feel wetness dribble down my cheek. I brush the blood away without a thought.

“
I remember better than you do,” I mumble beneath my breath, ignoring the titillating buzz that encompasses my body. “The things I endure for you. Now you can add a flesh wound to the list.” I learn my lesson and walk with a hand in front of my face.

“Speaking of childish- punching. Really, Cort, is that the best you can do? You know I’ll never let you top me in any capacity so you hit me like a petty bitch.” A finger taps my shoulder and I lunge to the side. I try to track the sound, but Marc is as quiet as a ghost. I see a large tree looming ahea
d and quickly move towards it.

“Ah-ha!” I taunt as I round the tre
e, but I come up empty handed. Marcus’ amused chuckle flows on the breeze when I can’t find him. A flash of white streaks by, and acting on instinct, my hand darts out to catch it. My fingers meet silk and the fabric easily slides between my fingertips.

“If you wanna play tag, bitch, you shouldn’t wear a white shirt.” I try for taunting, but it comes out as a tease when I
bark a thrilled laugh.

“Ah, but it’s silk. It’ll be like catching a greased pig.”
Marcus ghosts by me, coming inches within my grasp- taunting me, teasing me with his proximity- proving he is better than me…  better in everything. I almost have Marcus again, but my fingers skim the silky infuriating shirt.

“Pig, but greased pig isn’t quite what I’d call you. I think arrogant pig is more accurate.” I run
, and I laugh as my earlier anger flees my system. Marc wants to play, and right now, so do I. I crouch to hide behind the big tree trunk of an ancient maple. My finger light on a twig, wrapping around the scratchy wood. When Marcus rounds me, I launch the stick at him. I stifle a laugh when he grunts when it makes contact with his soft flesh.

“That’s cheating, my nau
ghty boy. But then again, you never did play by the rules.” I flinch when I hear Marcus’ endearment. It’s what Marcus called me when I first met him- his naughty boy. I try to forget how I used to behave around him. Marc hasn’t called me that in years and never around another soul.

“Don’t call me that, Marcus.” I hiss t
he words and take to the hunt.

“Oh, you loved it when I called you that before. It seems as if you’re behaving as you used to with me before…
” Marcus allows the before to trail off- before Ray Hunter. But the before means different things for all of us. My before means before the game. Before I truly became The Hunter. Before Ezra betrayed me on every level possible. Ray Hunter, my uncle, ain’t got shit on that.

“I did not behave
this
way. You make me fucking crazy. You’re a maddening bastard.” I see the white glowing in the night and make a grab for it. Marc pulls away, but I’m left with a prize. “Next time you won’t slip my grasp without your Teflon shirt.” I hold up the shredded silk and whoop my victory song. I toss the shirt away since it’s a bright white beacon in the night.

“You owe me another one. Obviously I don’t want white. Hmmm… I think gray
would be best… the color of your eyes.” Marcus seductively whispers in my ear. I try to turn and catch him, but he is a fast bastard.

“The difference from before and now is that you used to know what you wanted. Now you are lost, Cort. I will help you find yourself again if you
will allow it.” I can hear Marc’s sincerity and it hurts. I’m also embarrassed about how I used to behave around him. I used to slink around like a cat in heat- but I was a boy, and surely not a cat. My blush is bright enough that Marcus can see it in the moonlight. His delighted laughter trails bliss along my lonely nerves.

“I didn’t want you then
, as I don’t now.” If I were honest with myself I would alter that statement to:
You didn’t want me then, as you don’t now.

“You were a child, Cort.” The infuriating fucker answers my unspoken statement, not the one that poured from my throat.

“You’re a freak with your mind-reading bullshit,” I growl out and lunge after Marc into the darkness.

“Not a mind-reader. I just know you- I know you better than yourself.” The pale white of a shirtsleeve glows in the gloom
. I reach for it and gain a hold without the silk in the way. Marcus hisses out an expletive. I ride Marc’s struggling body to the ground, flip him over to his stomach, and sit on his lower back. I fist those amazing- no, annoying- ringlets and yank his head back. Satisfaction rolls through me when Marcus grunts from the force of my hand in his gorgeous hair.

“I won,” I salaciously whisper in Marc’s
ear as I sit on his round ass. I sharply nip his earlobe with my front teeth, causing a gasp to be torn from Marc’s parted lips.

“It seems you have
won, my naughty boy. What do you want as a prize?” Marc’s smooth and smoky voice flows across my flesh in the dark intimacy of the forest. His question throws me.

What do I want?

“I don’t know,” I unsurely admit, confusion strong in my tone. My fingers
hesitantly slip from Marc’s curls, my palm thumps against his back where it falls.

Marcus
reverses his position by rolling onto his back. I allow it because I am lost in the life-altering thoughts that has been plaguing me for so very long.
What do I want? What am I? Who am I supposed to be?
Marcus grabs my hips and flips me to the ground until we are reversed. I lay on my back on a bed of pine needles and ash leaves while Marc patiently sits on my thighs.

“I know
what you need. I, however, cannot help you with what you want. You need to come to terms with that on your own.” Marc’s voice is sad, sounding just as lost as I feel as he comfortingly skims his fingers along my cheek.

“I’m scared. I don’t fucking know
what I want. But I do know I need to forget everything for a few minutes before I go insane.” My fingers seek my own hair, and for the billionth time I wish it were longer so I could yank it in frustration.

“Will you all
ow me to top you right now?” Marcus patiently asks, no pressure to comply in his voice.

“You know you don’t h
ave to ask. You’re mentally and physically strong enough to take me,” I flippantly reply when what I really want to do is beg, plead, and cry
YES!

“I want permission, Cort. I will not force
you. That will let my nature out to play and I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop myself before I do something heinous.” Marc’s voice is serious and tinged with fear.

“Is that why you always want us to bend to you, you’re scared you’ll force us and you’ll love it?”
The small flash of insight intrigues me.

“I’ve done
some very bad things, Cort, and some of them were even to you. Some of the worst I simultaneously regret and cherish the pleasure I found from the attack. I already know how much I love it. Please don’t fight me tonight… I won’t be able to fight myself if you do.”

“Oka
y,” I say and my voice wavers from a combination of excitement and fear.

“Okay, you’re giving
me permission?” The white of Marc’s eyes increases and I know that he is looking at me in shock.

“Please,” my voice crack
s and shakes from nervousness.

“You make me crazy
, too.” Marcus says as he slides down my body until his heavy weight is pressing down on top of mine. I find comfort from Marc’s body on mine with his smoky scent seeping into my nostrils. Marcus gently kisses my throat, lips leaving a dampness on my flesh, and my body lights on fire. My cock hardens in an instant at the feel of Marc’s thick arousal throbbing against my hip.

“How can you do this?”
I breathe, trying to ignore how incredible it is to have a man touch me, hold me, arouse me, and comfort me.

“Y
ou mean because I’m not gay?” Marcus firmly settles on top me, getting comfortable, and I love knowing that he is excited to be on top of me. His erection bites into my own, its warmth and firmness is breathtaking. I whimper in need as my fingers dig into the earth, gathering leaves and pine needles between my fingers.

“Yeah, I don’t understand
that,” I practically whine, trying my damnedest not to swivel my hips against Marcus. Commitment ceremony or not, Ezra and I haven’t sexually touched in months and we haven’t had real sex together in years. I’m flesh starved- starved for the feel of a virile man pressed against my body. Women are great… sexy, sweet, and soft… but nothing compares to the hardness, the grunting, and the strength of a man writhing against you. I miss the feel of whiskers abrading my flesh. I pray that Marc’s answer can help me come to terms with my own problems because I cannot continue to live as I have. 

“I know you enjoy
Ezra’s company in this way, and you tell yourself you’re not gay since you’re topping him. Well, I will never bottom to anyone. If you want to play with me, my naughty boy, you will bottom to me. And I’m as straight as an arrow, with the exception of you, it seems,” he murmurs while scrunching his face in confusion.

“And what if I don
’t want to be the bottom?” I defiantly hiss, fear making me lash out. I know damned well we aren’t talking BDSM, we’ve finally entered gay territory after years of skirting the fringes. We’re not talking about me sucking Marc’s cock as his own version of my writing- pressure release, and not the sexual kind- emotional. What Marc is offering is… Jesus, he’s offering to be my lover. Marc let Regina go to see if she had a better future with Pretty Boy, and now Marc is as lost and alone as I am.

“Keep telling yourself that, Cort. Someday you’ll realize that it won’t change reality. You’re married to a ma
n and you’ve wanted me since we met. You are not straight in any way,” Marcus stresses. “I don’t judge. I just want you to be happy.”

“Is that what this is
, your twisted version of a sexual intervention? I know you’re fucking straight, you bastard. Is this some kind of a pity fuck? Do you get off on knowing that I want you? I’m not gay, dammit!” I push against Marcus’ chest and try to rise from the ground. His strong hands grip my wrists and push them into the soil. His fingers tenderly wrap around my wrists with his thumbs stroking my pulse points.

“I didn’t say you were
gay, only you can say that,” Marcus softly says, and then his voice turns annoyed and commanding. “And this isn’t a pity fuck, asshole. I wanted you when you were prancing around and leaving doors opens for me to see you and Ezra. You’ve always confused the hell out of me, by the way. For someone who loves to say they are straight, for years all I ever saw you do was fuck my son. Then and now, you’ve resented me, thinking I wanted Ezra, and you know damn well that wasn’t true. I see Ezra as my blooded son, and that also makes you jealous. I can’t be your father and your lover at the same time, so it’s up to you to pick. But your seductive actions are bloody screaming that you want me to fuck you, not parent you.”

“Fuck you,” I hiss
and struggle within Marc’s hold because everything he said was eerily accurate.

“I see you’re as
jealous as always,” Marcus drawls, sounding amused by my outburst. “Now, who is supposed to be topping here, anyway? Stop fighting me or I’ll end up doing more than you’re comfortable with,” Marc warns through his clenched teeth as he fights his true nature. The fight bleeds out of me. I slump to lay passively on the ground. I’ve never allowed anyone to do that to me. I’ve always been the one in control.

“Good boy
,” Marc praises, and I pretend it doesn’t warm something deep within me. “Now I want us both to get what we want. You’ve pushed my buttons for days and avoided the consequences. Relax.” My eyes are riveted to Marc’s long, elegant fingers. I can barely see, but my excitement has sharpened my night-vision. The dark has attuned my hearing to the point that I can hear his fingers fluttering on his dress pants. Marc’s deft fingers unbutton and unzip his pants. I start to gasp for breath by the time I can see the flash of his dick glow in the night. I lick my suddenly dry lips, remembering every time that thick length has speared my mouth, poured down my throat. I hunger for Marc’s flesh and thirst for his taste.