Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 22544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
He stared at me for a moment like he wanted to say something, but finally turned around and left my office. Pain immediately bloomed in my chest from missing him already. I craved to have him close, but I knew space was best for him.
I’d let Dalton get far enough away that he wouldn’t hear me call my supervisor to clear my schedule for the rest of the day, and then I would follow him home without his knowledge. While it would be stalking and therefore a crime of my own if I were human, it was necessary to my vampire nature. I needed to see that he got home safely, and I would stand guard over him until we met again.
Chapter Two
Dalton
I kicked off my shoes and sighed as I flopped backwards onto my bed. I felt overwhelmed by my parole visit, and I needed a few quiet moments to clear my mind.
It was a mess, all because of the officer I was assigned to - Hutch. He was unlike any of the guards I’d been in contact with while I was in prison. They were all hard asses who loved to breathe down the prisoners’ necks and boss them around.
And while Hutch had a stern demeanor, it felt…different. He didn’t strike me as the type of man who would, well, strike me. Hutch pushed me for information, and wanted clear answers and actions, but he also seemed to care.
Maybe that was just the difference between a prison guard and a parole officer. But that explanation didn’t sit quite right with me. The man gave me money out of his own wallet so that I didn’t have to walk home. He hugged me.
I completely lost my shit in his office; I destroyed one of his belongings, but instead of decking me like I probably deserved, he hugged me. Why? And why the hell did it feel so good?
Was I that starved for attention? Granted, I hadn’t been touched for a very long time; since before my prison sentence. I hooked up with a woman behind a bar. I couldn’t even remember her name, and I was sure she didn’t remember mine, either. It was just another in a long string of meaningless encounters.
I hadn’t been without offers; I was in jail with a lot of men who had gone without sex a lot longer than I had. I didn’t miss the lingering stares in the shower, or the hand gestures when I walked by. One guy told me he wanted to pull my long hair while he rode me, and from that day on, I guarded my ass like a soccer goalie.
It’s not that I wasn’t tempted; whether it was loneliness or opportunity, I couldn’t help but notice my surroundings. I saw muscles, strong bodies, scruff, and tattoos, and I didn’t hate the view. But I’d never been with a man, and I sure didn’t want my first experience to be with a dangerous stranger in a prison cell.
And I told myself that the desires and temptations would fade once I was released. Because I wasn’t interested in men. I couldn’t be. I’d told Andrew his whole life that men were supposed to be strong and tough, and never give anyone a reason to call them a sissy. I tried to be the model manly man for him to look up to. So why was I even considering touching another male? Wouldn’t that strip me of my man card?
But I thought of Andrew’s boyfriend Tage, whom I’d met from behind bars. He was gay, but there was nothing sissy about him. He was bold and strong, standing up for Andrew by standing up to me. He put me in my place and made demands, yet was caring and kind towards my brother. So, could a person be both?
And what of Hutch? Was the embrace just an act of kindness? I wouldn't know; I'd never been around kind men. Well, except for Andrew, but I'd never let him hug me. Partly because I was trying to be tough, and partly because I didn't deserve it.
I didn't deserve it from Hutch either, but I damn sure enjoyed it. I was shocked by his touch at first, but once I realized what was happening, it was the single best feeling in the world. I'd never felt so safe and secure, and all from a single touch. What did that say about me?
What did it say about him? Was it just an empty gesture, or did it mean something to him? And what if it did? Hutch was the picture of masculinity; tall like me, but I could tell he was buff even through his clothes, and I felt it when his arms were around me.
He had a chiseled square jaw, covered in salt and pepper scruff, with a matching high and tight haircut. And he had blue-gray eyes I couldn't forget; eyes that seemed to look into me. I wondered if he found anything but ugliness inside.