The Guy Next Door

Chapter 12

12

ZANE

I was so on edge when he was at his window like that.

I might be overly cautious, and fuck if I don’t want to look at him all the goddamn time, but I want to protect him more.

And now I’m fucking hypnotized as Leif lies back in bed.

God, I miss that body already.

I lean back in my chair as he squirts lube onto his fingers and spreads it between his cheeks. With his toy beside him, I know where this is going, and fuck .

I shouldn’t be so damn jealous of a fucking toy, but that ass is mine.

No, that’s not right. It’s not mine. He let me finger him once, and now he’s torturing me with the promise of giving it to my cock.

Fuck…he’s driving me wild. Is this some kind of punishment for not letting him put it in his mouth?

Don’t torture me like this, Leif. Don’t fucking torture me.

It’s been hard enough with his parents arriving home this evening, though I should be happy about it. He’s safer with them around, but I’ll admit, I was hoping Leif would want to meet up again for the reasons he just texted me about.

He’s curious about my cock, which works great since I’m curious about his ass.

I should be fine. I’ve gone for how long without any hole, and it hasn’t been fun, but it hasn’t been as excruciating as it is now.

Something about the tease I got from Leif—feeling him up, knowing the dimensions of his hole, knowing where his goddamn prostate is. The way his brows shift when he’s coming.

And he’s about to make it so much worse.

He takes the toy and starts exploring around his ass.

“I’m gonna grab some lube,” I tell him, rushing, fumbling around.

I hurry to my nightstand and grab some. No need to burn my flesh with my dry hand like the last time I desperately caved to him.

When I return to my chair, he’s still working that thing into him, rocking his hips gently. It makes it easy to imagine how he’d take me.

“You’re not gonna be able to take my cock that fast,” I say.

“No?”

I shake my head. “I’ll have to ease into you. You’ll tense up; they always do. And I’ll have to wait for you to relax again, like I had to wait for you with my fingers. And then I’ll slip the head in…wait for you to adjust to me before inching in farther.”

He pushes the toy deeper. “Yeah? You’ll be good to it.”

“Of fucking course I will.”

He’s got me salivating.

I pull off my boxers and wet my hand, then begin stroking myself, matching the rhythm he’s already worked up.

As he pushes the toy back, he’s gotta be getting close to his prostate. Again, there’s a sting of jealousy, like some guy is fucking him. I can tell when he’s hit the spot by the way his body shifts in his bed. With his other hand, he plays with his nipple.

“It’ll feel better when I’m the one playing with that nipple. I’ll make you shoot harder than you’ve ever shot in your damn life.”

It’s becoming a mission—an obsession.

As his head rolls back against his pillow, a radiating sensation pulses in my hips.

“God, that sounds so good,” he says.

I think about my raw cock inside him—not that I’d do that in real life, but I’m not gonna lie to myself about what I want. I want to watch him adjusting to my size. See how happy he looks when he’s finally filled up. See how that ass matches my thrusts.

I lick my lips as my strokes become less controlled, more frenzied and desperate, my body seizing control, determined to get me to climax.

I can feel I’m getting too close, so I force myself to slow down.

I need to let him come first. Need to train my body to service his needs.

His body jerks and twists before he blasts across himself—this toy’s good, so I’m gonna have to be better, a challenge I accept willingly.

“Can I come?” I whisper.

“Please do it,” he begs. Fucking begs.

And it hits my ear just right. I growl and call out as warm cum covers the side of my hand.

“Fuck yes. Fuck yes, Leif…”

I gasp as I catch my breath, coming down from the intensity of my climax.

I think about the fucking mess we’ve made, and how I want to make this mess with him in real life. And as grateful as I am that he gave this to me, I’m also pissed as hell because it’s a cruel reminder that I can’t have his ass tonight. And that every hour that passes until that moment is an hour I’ll resent.

That pretty smile rushes across his face as his gaze is on the camera. “That was nice,” he whispers. “Thank you.”

“Thank you .”

A quake rushes through my body, and I wipe my boxers across the mess to clean up until I have a chance to get in the shower.

Leif sits up and gazes into the camera. “Night, Zane.”

“Good night, Leif.”

He ends the FaceTime, and I figure he’s heading for the shower, so I toss my boxers into my laundry hamper, take a shower, and as I get out, I glance around my room, noticing what a fucking mess it is.

I head back to my desk and pull up the screen I’d been on before Leif distracted me with that delicious video call.

I’m even more fixated on it after the call. Like some primal part of me sees Leif as my mate whom I must protect.

My screen shows a live view of the Chelsby Hill Public Library.

Since Leif mentioned going there, it’s become a bit of an obsession.

“You at the library again?” I ask Mike.

“You bet. Been reading some Proust and Faulkner.”

“You have not!”

“Okay, maybe just some King and Robb, but hey, it’s better than nothing.”

I can’t help but laugh. “That’s more like it.”

Mike spent a lot of time there, and now I know Leif did too, both when they were going through a rough patch. What if this was where whoever’s behind Mike’s disappearance picked out his victims? Saw these vulnerable men, and something about that turned them on?

What if Jason Kilbourne frequented this same library?

Not that this abductor’s pattern needs to be anything so obvious. And there’s the possibility that this is all some random connection I’ve made, like I did with Isaac Tolle.

It’s probably nothing. Don’t know how many times I’ve had to keep telling myself that, but I know by how it’s rattling around my brain that I won’t be able to let it go.

Now that Leif’s parents are home, this is the perfect time.

I return my attention to the surveillance footage.

I don’t want him out of my reach, but if there’s a chance I can get a lead that can help take me to Mike—and maybe preemptively save Leif—wouldn’t that be worth it?

*

As I enter the Chelsby Hill Public Library, I’m already feeling like this is such a stupid idea. But I’m so fixated on it, I knew I’d regret if I didn’t. I didn’t tell Leif what I was up to, just asked that he stay home with his parents while I ran an errand for a few hours.

I’ve been in plenty of bookstores, but I’ve maybe been inside a library twice in my life.

It’s about the size I would’ve expected for the area—not massive. There are two rows of maybe a dozen computers, with only three kids who look like they’re either students at the community college or the high school down the street. Mike used to say he preferred coming here over the library on campus because it wasn’t as crowded.

Mike never liked being around too many people.

Beyond the computers are several aisles of books, and a sign indicates there’s another story above us, where their fiction section can be found. As I take a lap around the place, I notice various seating areas throughout. It’d be easy for some stalker to sit at any of these and get a view of whomever they might be watching around here.

This dumb idea’s rolling around in my head that I’ll see some mysterious figure. Maybe a guy in a hoodie, tucked away, acting shady enough that I’ll just know he must be the guy.

I know that’s not how shit works in real life.

And as I’m looking around, I’m struggling to figure out why I’m really here. Is this like with Tolle? No, I feel lucid and clearheaded. And I have a reasonable amount of suspicion in my theories, which wasn’t the case when I was chasing that lead.

Not knowing what the hell to do next, I head upstairs to the fiction section and wander the aisles. There aren’t many people on this floor, and there’s something eerie about heading through the aisles—it’d be easy for someone to hide up here, maybe watch someone through the openings over the books. A stalker could spend weeks in here, waiting for someone and finding a place to settle and keep an eye on Mike or Leif.

I don’t know where I’m going, but I wind up by two shelves’ worth of JD Robb’s books. I settle with this feeling in me, knowing I’m standing in the same spot where Mike must’ve stood.

A warmth comes over me as I embrace that familiar sense, but nearly as quickly, it flees, leaving me hollow. I’m glad I opened up to the moment while it lasted because it’s not the sort of thing I can recreate.

I meander through the aisles, in no hurry, making my way to the King section.

I round the corner to the next aisle, and as I start down it, I catch a glimpse of someone on the other side of the library. Beyond the aisle on the opposite side, they’re sitting at a table-chair setup by a window, but I can only see their back. As I move closer, they come into view, and I freeze.

I recognize that profile.

The hair.

The jawline.

The five-o’clock shadow.

My hands shake as goose bumps prick across my flesh.

Isaac Tolle.

I step back, slowly, cautiously, and head back around the bookcase.

He doesn’t turn, so he must not notice me. Thank God. If he did, he’d call Detective Roth and tell her I was stalking him again.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I can barely think straight.

I followed him for about two weeks, but never in that time had he come by this library. It’s near the college, so of course it’s not a huge surprise that he would be here.

This doesn’t mean what I think it means…does it?

A rush of panic sweeps through me, part of me fearing that maybe I was onto something. Another part of me fears that, even if I wasn’t, now I’m going to start working down the path that led me to fucking nowhere.

My hands are cold, but I’m sweating. And breathing heavily.

Flashes come back to me: watching him through the window of his house; following him around the grocery store; hacking into his email account.

It races through my mind—not only the realities, but how I felt in my heightened emotional state, this otherworldly feeling that seized control of me, had me taking photos of him and collecting a fucking scrapbook’s worth of information about this guy.

And then finally, fabricating evidence against him to get Detective Roth to check him out—an epic fail.

I don’t even know how I get out to the parking lot and to my car. I need to get away from here. Get away from him before he spots me and calls Roth.

I slip into the driver’s seat of my car and take deep breaths, collecting myself. Part of me wants to believe there’s no way I saw whom I just saw.

He could be here, though. He’s a teacher who works nearby. It means nothing.

But another part of me knows better, fears what it might actually mean.

And fearing that I already know what this is going to mean for me.