Moonstruck (Necessary Evils, #3)

by Onley James

He just hadn’t expected it to be this hot…and dirty. He hated getting dirty.

Why did these creeps always go for cabins in the woods? Atticus found torturing people in the city was just as effective.

“I heard screaming,” Atticus heard himself say lamely. The man blinked in confusion, holding up his knife. “They do that when you poke them with this.”

Adam still hadn’t let go of the meat cleaver incident and that was a year ago.

“Jesus, please, don’t say all Asians look the same,” Atticus begged. “Die with some fucking dignity.”

“Do you see this watch? It’s a Patek Philippe. It’s worth a hundred grand, and it’s my backup casual watch. Offer declined.”

“Uh…Thailand? The Philippines? Madagascar?” Trevor blurted. “Madagascar’s in Africa, you dumb fuck,” Atticus said, taking another bite of his granola bar.

“I’m not gay,” Atticus managed, sounding unsure even to himself. The stranger grinned, and Atticus’s stomach did somersaults. “Yeah, but you’re not straight either, are you?” “I’m a psychopath,” Atticus blurted. The stranger leaned forward, his whisper conspiratorial. “I’m a Scorpio. I still like banging dudes.”

He bet, with just the right amount of pressure, his little ginger psychopath would do dirty, dirty things for him.

He was used to his brother’s judgey face. He’d come out of the womb looking at everybody like they were beneath him.

He’d been in a dating slump since his brothers had decided to start mating for life like psychotic penguins.

“Save the righteous indignation, bro. I’m not the one blowing strangers in my office.”

Mirroring people was second-nature to him, but he had an awareness of it. He did it when it served his needs. It was useful for acquiring grant money, networking, and convincing the world that he wasn’t dead inside.

If this guy makes you feel anything at all, maybe you should just lean into it and see what happens.

Can we just go back to the sex part because the talking part is killing my mood.”

“Come on,” he murmured lightly. “Open up for me. You know what I want.”

Atticus hated how easily he yielded, mouth opening beneath Jericho’s so he could sweep his tongue inside. He hated the way his cock leaked the moment Jericho took charge. He hated how much neither of those statements were true.

“I wonder what else I can make you do for me?” Atticus fucking wondered, too. He was in over his head.

He was planning on making a meal out of Atticus and he wouldn’t be rushed.

“I watched you cut a guy’s fingers off during a racist game of Jeopardy. I guess I thought there was a cone of silence thing happening here. Don’t friends have secrets?”

Atticus had empathy but only for himself.

“You getting laid, Sunshine, or demonically possessed?” Calliope teased. “Though, if the sex is good enough, it could feel like a little bit of both.”

If Jericho needed somebody, it was going to be him. Just him.

Atticus could feel himself falling under Jericho’s spell. Whatever magic his words carried pulled him under to that place where nothing mattered but him.

“Thomas and Aiden…you know…” Noah trailed off, nodding like that would somehow make them connect whatever dots lingered. When none of them finished his vague statement, he scoffed. “Oh, my God. They’re hot for each other.”

“This family’s a fucking nightmare,” Atticus muttered.

Jericho wanted to own Atticus. To keep him. To protect him. He wanted to be his safe place to land. Wanted Atticus to be as vulnerable out of the bedroom as he was inside it.

“You know what I want, Freckles. I want to hear you ask for it. I want you to tell me how badly you want my dick in your greedy little hole.”

“I can feel how hard you are, how ready you are. It’s going to feel so fucking good when I’m buried inside you… Just tell me what I want to hear, make me believe it, and I’ll fuck you so hard your neighbors will call the cops.”

“Come on. I wanna feel you come on my cock before I breed this tight little hole.”

“My brother’s in love with my dad.”

“I like to tease you because I think you’re sexy as fuck when you’re all riled up. I tease you because it makes you blush all the way to the tips of your ears. I tease you because it gets my dick hard when you get all prickly. I tease you, Freckles, because I cannot get enough of you.”

Atticus heard himself swallow. “I’m not…prickly.” Jericho snickered. “Freckles, a cactus is tame in comparison.

You like mom cars and bow-ties and submitting in bed. I’m here for it. Honestly, I like the idea of being the one who handles your needs.” He rolled his hips against his suggestively. “All your needs.”

“You’re obsessed with me screaming your name. I’ve never, ever screamed your name.”

I realized I would do just about anything for somebody willing to be good just for me.”

You don’t want to make decisions. You don’t want to do the hard things. You want to play mad scientist in your lab while somebody else takes care of you. I’m offering to be that somebody.”

He’d never thought of himself as same sex oriented, but there was no denying he was Jericho-sexual. He just did it for him in every way.

“Think all you want, Freckles. But we both know you’re already mine.”

“I’m not letting you go, Freckles. I’m just not. You can call it a business arrangement, an affair, a kidnapping, some kind of midlife crisis. But whatever you call it, you’re mine. And I protect what’s mine.”

“Do you think I want anybody else? Nobody compares to you, Freckles. You are this weirdly perfect combination of impenetrable and vulnerable and I can’t fucking get enough of it.”

Atticus swallowed hard. “You’re the only one.” Jericho kissed him again. “Good. ‘Cause I have no problems killing to protect what’s mine. I’m sure you know that by now.” Atticus slipped his thigh between Jericho’s, snuggling closer to tuck his head against his chest. “I know. I don’t like killing, but I’d kill for you, too.” Jericho’s stomach fluttered. “I know, Freckles. I know.”

Look, I’m not gay, but I’m…gay for you?

He didn’t want to be away from Atticus right now. Or ever, really.

“Can’t we find shitbag one and two and torture them until they talk?” “Shitbag one is in the wind. We talked to shitbag two last night. The only person he’ll be talking to going forward is God,”

Was Atticus a psychopath or just reflecting the psychopaths surrounding him?

Was Atticus an annoyingly finicky perfectionist? Yes. But he was Jericho’s annoyingly finicky perfectionist

He really was sexy as fuck. There was just something so obscene about his uptight little doctor on his knees, his hands gripping Jericho’s ass as if he couldn’t get him deep enough to sate him.

He needed to know that Atticus was as territorial as he was, as fucked up over him as he was over Atticus. That he’d kill for him. Die for him. That this obsessive compulsion was a two-way street. That there was some kind of unspoken agreement that the only way out of this relationship—no matter how fucked up—was if one of them stopped breathing.

“I hate you so much.” “That would explain why the sex is so hot,”