Page 12 of Law Maker

It was only in times of agitation that his OCD issues with cleanliness came to fruition. Because he had no such qualms about being coated in someone else’s blood. Funny that.

He’d gotten caught and he felt…odd.

“I asked you a question.”

Penn rolled his shoulder to try to dislodge the hold and failed. “Thought it was rhetorical.” He held out the leather wallet and pressed it into that suited chest. “Here, have it back.”

The guy laughed and dropped Penn’s jacket. “Kind of you to give me back my own property.”

“You’re welcome,” he answered with his own sarcasm.

Penn knew what Benz saw when he scanned those steel eyes over him. Assessing like a hunter would a trapped animal.

Penn was tall for his age, lean and long but with a build that if guys saw him, they thought twice about taking him on. The moment he discovered he could get a free pass to the gym, he lived there. He ate steak by the pound and he worked out for hours. The runt of the trailer park filled out. And as his lovers told him—fawning like giant slabs of slobbering meat—he filled out nice. Cut, lean and ripped with dark clipped hair that needed cutting shorter. The last woman he fucked tried to grab it and he wasn’t about that noise. He wasn’t bad looking from what he saw in the mirror, more than average, he figured.

His face and body got him action.

His trouser monster got him more.

His reputation brought him more dick and pussy then he knew what to do with.

Some he had to throw back. There was only so many hours in a day and he wasn’t about wasting it by spilling his come on someone’s belly.

Some of the trailer dumpster housewives tried to hit on him a lot over the years, ever since he shot up over six feet.

Like they thought he was desperate enough he’d crawl between those thighs.

No thank you. No telling what diseases lived there; they gave it up for a pack of cigs.

He was trailer trash, not a fucking hobo.

Nah, Penn did his fucking off the park.

You don’t fuck where you shit.

He did a lot of fucking since he was fourteen.

Discovering along the way which flavors he liked best.

Turns out, he had varied tastes and he indulged in them all like a fat kid with a bag of Pixie sticks.

He liked the strength and power of fucking a man.

And he enjoyed the softness of a woman’s body undulating like a serpent under him.

Sometimes, when the fancy took him, he liked both at the same time.

Now that’s what he called an enjoyable picnic.

Staring into the eyes in front of him, Penn refused to back down from the obvious intimidation. He also saw arousal looking back at him.

He was not a stupid maggot who didn’t recognize when a person wanted a piece of him. In his eighteen years, he’d lived several lifetimes already, he was no dummy. So he stared back.

Feeling the tickle in his throat.

Fear and something else.

Lust.

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