Chapter 4 Nikes

"Nikes?" he asked.

"What?" I asked, getting nervous about his possessive tone and grizzly stare.

"Your sweat pants, are they Nikes?" he repeated.

"Oh," I said, pulling my pants up. "Yeah."

"You don't have to do that," he said.

"Do what?" I asked him.

"Pull your pants up. Ain't nothing I haven't seen before." Just the way he said it was turning me on, and I prayed that my erection wouldn't grow too big or fast that I couldn't hide it in the folds of my soaked sweats.

He pointed me into the living room. For the first time in his house, I lead myself. This gave me a view that wasn't obstructed by his silhouette. The foyer and living room shared the same ambiance. There was a fireplace across the room, just to the left of this entry. It was framed by the same colored marble pillars as those on the entry-table in the foyer. Still no pictures adorned the walls. I had a fleeting thought, almost just like it was a nagging at the back of my skull, that there were no deer heads mounted on the wall. In fact, there was no hunting paraphernalia lying around at all. I had never been in a hunter's house that didn't proudly display his trophies for everyone to see. Maybe Buck doesn't hunt deer, I thought. There were burnt logs and ash in the fireplace, though, and that made me feel more comfortable: like this was a real house which was lived in by real people.

Coming in behind me, closer than would be normal for two strangers, he pointed me to sit down in a light brown leather arm chair. He sat down across from me on an identical chair. The way in which the furniture was set up, with the long couch against the side wall out of the way, it made me feel like Buck was used to have single visitors as company. These two chairs were set up perfectly so that just two people could sit across from each other and talk. I leaned forward in my seat nervously as he casually leaned back in his chair. His hair was soaked, and I could see how wild and unkempt it was. Finally in his own home, he closed his eyes for a second, as if he was exhausted from a day's work. He stretched his strong arms behind his head, which made his shirt lift up just enough to see his ripped and hairy abs. With his eyes still closed, stretched out like that, he looked like the statue of a long-dead Roman god. Hardened, muscled, timeless.

God, he looked hot, and I couldn't help but see his bulge rising up in his soaked denim jeans. I could see the full outline of how long and thick he was. He seemed to move his semi-hard cock up and down, twitching it under my sheepish glance, as if it were beckoning me to sit on it. I wouldn't have dared with how much he intimidated me. He couldn't be flirting with me: not someone as handsome and strong as him. Believe me, I wasn't about to get my ass kicked by misreading what was happening, so I stayed on my side. He had to be straight.

"So, Nathan, tell me about yourself," he said, in gravelly low voice.

Had I told him my name? I must have. How else would he know?

"Oh, well, I'm 21 years old. I'm from Hillsboro, actually, originally, and..."

"No, no." He seemed angered by my lack of understanding as to how he wanted to be answered. "What I want is for you to tell me about your likes, your dislikes. What turns you on, what turns you off?" Now for sure I saw his lips rise in the same wicked grin I thought I saw in the truck. That smile transformed him from intimidating to absolutely malicious.

I swallowed hard around the knot in my throat. Had I heard him correctly? Did he actually ask me what turned me on? And if I did, was I misinterpreting it?

I decided to play it safe. "Oh, well ... I like lots of things: reading, animals..."

"Animals?" he said, opening his eyes and lifting one thick eyebrow. "What type of animals, Nathan?"

I felt like my answer carried a heavy weight. He was staring at me intensely. Again I felt like I was being sized up. "Cats."

"Hate cats," he dismissed my answer with a quick, angry shake of his head.

"Um ... reptiles..."

"They're all right. What about wildlife? What about dogs? How do you feel about wolves?"

"Oh, they kind of scare me, actually. Well you see, it's mostly a long story, but I got bitten by one a long time ago. It was on a trip I took with my dad...well, my brother was actually there too. And I don't know, I haven't shaken that completely, you know?" Instinctively, I rubbed the scar around my wrist, remembering the fear and pain that caused it.

Now a smirk spread across his lips, "You've got no reason to be scared of wolves. You respect them, they respect you. Canines are the most loyal of all the animal life." His voice got deeper the more he talked. I was pinned to my seat under his piercing green eyes. "They treat you the way you deserve, however you deserve it. They know how to please you, but then and again ... they like to be pleased too. A good dog will defend you to the end, be there by your side, any time you need them, want them, but then ... they expect to be shown gratitude." His emphasis on gratitude made my shoulders tremble.

He broke his gaze with me to thrust his hips out to adjust himself and he unmistakably had a hard-on.