Page 51 of Psychopath

He thought about Zane pushing him down on the bed, undressing him, and then—

Quinn woke, unsatisfied, with an erection, and spent ten minutes deciding whether it was acceptable or not to finish himself off with the dream so vivid in his mind.

It wasn’t acceptable.

But he still did it.

After showering, and feeding an irate Mars, Quinn had logged onto his computer and reminded himself what his study was about.

Psychopaths.

And psychopaths were charming, manipulative liars who were prone to boredom.

Zane, if he was proved to be one, happened to be a particularly attractive one both physically and mentally for Quinn. The physical side, Quinn had known, but he’d promised himself not to let it affect his study. He was no longer seventeen years old, horny and confused about his sexuality, but he hadn’t accounted for liking Zane. Quinn enjoyed talking with him, laughing with him. He looked forward to his sessions more than the others.

He shut the laptop.

“I need to get laid.”

Cleo had invited him out several times, but he’d always declined. She drank whisky the same way he’d drunk shots at university, glasses in a row, one after another until they were all empty. At first, Quinn resisted, but after some teasing from Cleo and the other officers, he did a row of whisky chasers and spluttered into his lap.

“So,” Cleo said, wiping whisky off his chin. “Why now?”

“What?”

“Why agree to come out with me now? I’d almost given up asking.”

Zane Black had taken over his dreams, and it had been…hot.

“I thought I’d take a page from my ex’s book.”

Cleo pouted. “Is he putting himself around?”

Damon was definitely doing that if the photos on social media were anything to go by. Quinn had blocked him, but they still shared a few university friends, so it was inevitable he’d see. He’d had to block Damon’s number after receiving unwanted videos of him jerking off.

“What’s your type?” she asked, then shook her head. “Actually, what’s the opposite of your type? You should totally go for that instead.”

The whisky had already caused Quinn’s temperature to spike, but he got even hotter when he thought of Zane and his tight white vest. Zane and his perfectly trimmed stubble and his intense dark eyes. With each session he grew more comfortable in his presence, and he felt familiar, like an old friend, like he’d known him for a lot longer than he had.

That was bad.

Seriously bad.

“I don’t know.”

Cleo laughed and leaned across the table. “My type’s Tony.”

Quinn widened his eyes. “Tony…you were being serious?”

“Yep, all big and hairy.”

“Like a bear,” Quinn mumbled.

“Exactly. Now, I’m off to dance, and on my way, I’m going to tell that cute guy at the bar to come chat you up.”

“What, who?”

Quinn turned, linked eyes with the stranger at the bar, then looked away fast.

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