Mine to Claim

  E.V. Olsen

  Copyright © 2022 by E.V. Olsen

  All rights reserved.

  No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

  The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

  Edited by: Cherie Mathis

  Published by E.V. Olsen

  https://evolsenbooks.weebly.com/

  Contents

  1. Tropes & Trigger Warnings

  2. Let's Be Besties

  3. Chapter 1

  4. Chapter 2

  5. Chapter 3

  6. Chapter 4

  7. Chapter 5

  8. Chapter 6

  9. Chapter 7

  About the Author

  Tropes & Trigger Warnings

  TROPES

  Virgin love interest, age gap, MM dark romance, OTT (over the top) alpha male, praise kink

  TRIGGER WARNINGS

  This book contains some themes that may be distressing to readers including: dubcon, descriptive sex scenes, impact play.

  Let's Be Besties

  Once a month I send out an email with new releases, special deals and sneak peeks of what I'm working on. If you want to get on the list I'd love to meet you!

  Sign up here: https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/z1v6s6

  Chapter 1

  The July sun beats on me like an unstoppable furnace as I pick through abandoned cars and ransacked shops, sweat dripping down my back. Glass shards crunch under my boots.

  Even the diner has been picked through by looters.

  Same old shit, different town.

  I can’t wait to ditch this wasteland of a town and get back to the mountain cabin where I’ve been staying. Safer there. Carrionites roam through the populated parts of towns and cities in their packs.

  I snort. Not that they’re loyal. Those fuckers will gut each other over a damn stale cookie. Even eat their own dead. Fuckin’ cannibals.

  Just another bitch of this world gone to shit.

  But they stay out of rural areas. Not a high percentage of running into people for them I guess. One of the reasons I trek through what’s left of Pennsylvania. Most of it has always been more rural.

  I turn to head out when a scrappy kid jumps between two trucks, knife pointed right at me. My gaze goes from his dark blonde, unkempt hair obscuring half his face to the blade he wields with an understated confidence that betrays his skill with it.

  I smirk.

  Kid’s got no clue who he’s fuckin’ with.

  I study him closer. While his clothes are ragged, they’re clean. That knife’s sharp enough to slice bone. He holds the blade like it’s part of him. Maybe he’s not such a dumbass after all.

  His face is lean and hollowed but not starving. He's beating the odds out here. Staying alive’s an achievement nowadays. Hell, I haven’t seen another soul in two days wandering these ruins.

  “Gimme your food.” That sly tongue darts out, wetting cracked lips. It’s the only tell in his poker face.

  The ruthless part of me wakes up, the part that does what it takes to play this grim new game we’ve all been made to play.

  I meet his gaze, bored. “Yeah, that ain’t happening.”

  My refusal doesn’t faze him. Those shrewd blue eyes sum me up, calculating. I smirk. Out here, it’s survival of the most ruthless dickheads.

  He takes it in stride, but the gears grind behind those intense eyes that travel over me, most likely noting my height, my health, and my relaxed stance despite the knife.

  All things I’d be paying attention to if roles were reversed.

  Doubt flickers across his sunken face. Dumb move trying to rob me. One wrong step out here earns you a shallow grave—if you’re lucky.

  Death is a luxury compared to the other atrocities people have endured.

  The set of his bony shoulders says he knows he’s outmatched. Smart kid, even if he has no idea the government made me into a cold-blooded killer long before society went tits up. But it just honed my skills further. And despite the slight lines of silver beginning to thread through my brown hair, I’m still a weapon.

  This kid doesn’t stand a chance.

  “I’ll trade you then,” he rasps, voice rough but steady as shadows cut his sharp cheekbones.

  I eye the backpack crossing his shoulders. Maybe he’s actually got something worth trading.

  But instead of finding out, I shrug, bored tone on point. “Doubt you got anything worthwhile enough to trade me, kid.”

  He rolls with it, those discerning eyes cataloging the street's resources and weaknesses. I dig his awareness. If not for him likely knifing me in my sleep, I'd say let's team up. Survival’s easier watching each other’s backs.

  “I’ll trade sex then,” he says with a bold glint in his eyes.

  Only color rises on his neck the moment the words leave his mouth, and I bark out a laugh. This kid’s got balls, I’ll give him that, even if it appears he might be regretting the offer.

  His lip twitches into a little snarl, and he juts his chin out. “Heard you four nights back—with the guy in the store. You took payment in pleasure.”

  Well, fuck me sideways.

  How’d he know that? I hadn’t noticed him lurking around.

  Guess I was too busy rutting.

  An accountant had also beat the odds out here. We met by chance, just passing through. He gave my package a look and offered himself for the night in exchange for the meat I was getting ready to roast.

  Sex is rare and fleeting out here. A form of currency.

  So I did him twice that night and once more come dawn. We parted ways with no drama.

  My molars grind. This kid’s been close enough to hear every nasty detail, yet evade me noticing him.

  Fuckin’ hell.

  How long’s he even been tracking me?

  I grind my teeth, shoulders squaring on instinct. I’ve never appreciated being stalked. “You watch me, kid?”

  His Adam’s apple bobs, his neck reddening even more.

  My cock starts to swell a bit and I give his lean frame another look. His offer’s not a bad one, and his audacity intrigues me. Even embarrassed, he holds my gaze like a defiant little shit.

  Not gonna lie, love the fact he watched me dominate the accountant. Railed that hole real good.

  “Liked what you saw?”

  He huffs, the little snarl in his lips coming back, as if trying to act repulsed. Only, the dark blush betrays him.

  I tilt my head. “How old are you—eighteen?” Maybe older.

  His eyes narrow. “Old enough to not wanna starve to death.”

  I nod and smirk, amused I struck a nerve. Scratching my stubbled jaw, I consider his proposition.

  My gaze trails over his lean frame, lingering on the corded muscle in his arms, the sharp cut of his cheekbones. A spark of heat ignites in my core. Claiming him fiercely, rutting into tight, young heat . . . it’s an appealing thought.

  Too appealing.

  I tamp the ember down. Business first.

  “Here’s the deal. I tap that tonight, you get fed. Weapons stay outside. You stay ’til morning, got it? No garroting me in my sleep.”

  His lips pinch thin, but his traitorous stomach rumbles loud enough to wake the dead. We’ve got an accord. That blade vanishes behind his back, smooth as silk.

  Consider me impressed.

  I gesture left with my chin. “That way, you walk in front. I’ll steer us straight. At the door, strip and ditch your shit. I’ll whip up some chow after.”

  He scowls and stalks off, back rigid with annoyance. Probably hates me calling the shots. But I didn't get this far by being reckless.

  I trail a pace behind, eyes drawn to his shoulders' lean strength beneath the frayed shirt. His worn jeans pull taut over a trim ass as he walks. I imagine grasping those slim hips, rutting into his. . .

  I shake my head.

  “What's your name, kid?” I ask, tamping down the urge to satisfy my hunger a different way.

  “Devon.” He bites as those intense eyes rake the empty street, aware and calculating.

  More boy than man in attitude, though his body tells a different tale. I need to verify. “Again, how old are you?”

  He glances back, eyes narrowed, lips sealed stubbornly.

  “Gotta make sure you’re legal. So if you want food, tell it to me straight.” The rest of the world may have lost its morals, forever stuck living in shades of gray, but not me. Couldn’t live with myself if he wasn’t legal.

  Eyes forward. “Eighteen, old man.”

  Old man. Since when is thirty-eight one foot in the grave? But out here, guess I’m goddamn ancient.

  “Name’s Rex,” I offer.

  Chapter 2

  I steer us through the corpse-streets, but Devon strides ahead like he owns the damn place. Irritation prickles my neck. Cocky little shit's been tracking me. Of course he knows where I’ve been staying.

  As we approach the cabin, he slows, faking hesitation. We both know it's bullshit. His eyes meet mine, hard and resigned. We've got a deal to uphold, and we'll both get something we need: him something to eat and me human contact.

  Rare and essential s

hit nowadays.

  Before the accountant it’d been over a year since I’d gotten any form of touch other than my own hand.

  At the door, I pin him with a glare. "So just how long you been tracking me?"

  The kid’s upper lip twitches, jaw clenched tight, and shoulders squared. “Who says I'm tracking you, old man?"

  My eyes narrow. "Cut the crap, kid." I step closer, using my height to loom over him. "Now tell me why the hell you've been spying on me."

  He juts his chin up. "I gotta eat, don't I?"

  I snort. "And stalking me seemed like the way to do it?"

  He lifts his chin. "Maybe I wanted to see if you were really worth robbing."

  I bite back a laugh at his defiant bullshit. Something more than hunger drove him. Doesn’t take four days to figure out if I’ve got anything worth stealing. Maybe he’s lonely or crazy or both.

  But damn if his insolence doesn't just make me want to bend him over my knee.

  When I shove him against the door, that fiery gaze shows no fear, only simmering with a challenge that awakens an answering heat deep inside. A need to tame and claim this feral boy, to earn his submission.

  Inside, I slam the door and pin Devon with a glare. "I told you before. Strip. Leave your gear against the wall."

  His eyes track me warily as he disarms. I keep my distance, letting him shed his ratty clothes reluctantly. My pack already lays discarded in the corner.

  He stands there in tattered boxers, arms crossed, daring me to comment. Lean muscle cords his underfed frame, ribs jutting out sharply. A light, happy trail leads from his flat chest down. . .

  My eyes narrow. "Boxers too. That wasn't our deal."

  He hesitates, color draining from his face. He looks down, fingers fidgeting with the elastic waistband. "Can't I keep them on?"

  "No. You agreed to all clothes off." I let my gaze travel over his lean frame. "Unless you wanna back out and go hungry tonight?"

  He shoves the boxers down with a snarl. His soft cock nestles in coarse hair, and though he covers himself quickly, a glimpse of the pink and slim shaft stokes heat low in my groin.

  And he’s circumcised.

  Fuck if that’s not making me hard already.

  Reminds me of Mac, which makes my cock give a twitch. Mac and I served together, and while I haven’t seen him in four years, I still vividly recall his cock, and I haven’t played with one as pretty since Mac.

  My gaze continues to wander over him as I adjust myself, noticing how goosebumps prickle the kid’s bare skin.

  Devon shivers but meets my gaze defiantly when I finally look at his face. "There. Happy now, perv?"

  I bite back a growl at his insolence. "Let's eat before I put you over my knee."

  His eyes narrow but his traitorous stomach rumbles loudly. Hunger wins out, and he turns to stomp off down the hall.

  I watch his taut ass disappear, that primal urge flaring to follow and claim what's mine. To take and mark and make him surrender. To make him forget anyone else who’s been there before me.

  My jaw clenches tight at the last thought.

  In the kitchen, I toss him a rag to cover up as I cook the quail trapped earlier this morning.

  Devon watches me as I work, his blue eyes floating from the meat to me, seemingly particularly taken by the tattoo sleeve running up my left arm.

  I turn to the side to hide my smile, pleased he’s looking, that he’s really seeing me.

  But the pleasure turns to a dull ache as I finish dressing the quail and truly take him in. Yes, I’d seen he was thin and haggard earlier but not how thin, how emaciated he truly is.

  If he ever met up with Carrionites, he’d never stand a chance.

  It’s all I can focus on as I cook the quail, then plate it and place it before him. He grabs it, going on to inhale every morsel, eyeing my plate next. With a sigh, I slide it over to join his empty one. He demolishes that too, gulping water desperately between mouthfuls.

  “How long you been by yourself?”

  Devon shrugs. “Long time.”

  My eyes narrow and I cross my arms over my chest, leaning back in the chair. He swallows whatever he was chewing and huffs. “Since I was about twelve.”

  “Fuckin’ hell.” If Devon lasted this long, I’m the one who underestimated him. No way he would’ve survived all these years without being somewhat dangerous and resourceful.

  “What’s it to ya?” He shoves the last pieces of meat into his mouth.

  I get up from my chair and make my way over to his side of the table, gripping his nape when the last bite of food is gone. “Just wanted to get to know you a bit.”

  He flinches but doesn't pull away, pulse fluttering under my palm like the wings of an ensnared bird. “Don’t see you with anyone, old man.”

  “Alone just like you. But not for as long,” I say, steering us toward the bedroom.

  At the bedroom door, he pauses, a hint of nerves showing through the attitude. "Let's just get this over with."

  I press against his back, desire mounting, and nip his ear. "Eager to have me tame that feisty mouth?"

  He shivers but lifts his chin. "You wish."

  I chuckle, then open the door and give him a light shove inside. His false bravado doesn't fool me. “Oh, the things I want to do to you, boy. The ways I’ll take you apart piece by delicious piece.”

  And have him begging for more before the night is through.

  Chapter 3

  "On the bed. Stomach to the mattress."

  Devon hesitates, shifting on shaky legs as reality sinks in. For a moment, I think he might bolt for the door, but he moves to the bed, limbs stiff, eyes filled with unease.

  Once he's settled, he clears his throat, face buried in the crook of his arm. "Don't hurt me too much back there, okay?"

  My eyes widen, one brow raising. "Have you done this before?"

  No way this kid is a virgin. No way he’s survived all this time alone being untouched.

  But dammit if my cock and heart don’t give an erratic shudder at the notion regardless.

  His body tenses, and he jerks his head up to glare at me, his icy blue eyes filled with a fire I’d missed until now, one whose flames are not only rooted deep but whose fire forever burns. "What's it to you?"

  I undress, then cast my clothes aside, and he flinches at my nudity. Or maybe at my erection. Can’t really tell. "I'm an asshole but not a monster. Not going to go fast if you haven’t done this before."

  But fuck.

  My dick’s fully hard now and twitching when the thought of him being a virgin takes hold again.

  He sighs, face flushing bright red. "No, I've never. . . . Please, just go slow."

  His admission sends heat spiking through me and precum leaks from my slit. Tonight I'll be his first, his only. I'll take what no other man has taken.

  Make this boy mine.

  And fuck if that doesn’t ignite a bone deep need I’ve never felt before.

  A possessiveness that burns bright.

  I sit on the bed, then brush his hair back from his worried eyes. So different than the defiant little shit he was earlier. "Don’t fret, boy. I’ll take good care of you. Even make you moan real pretty for me."

  His eyes go wide, lips parting slightly as he gives a tiny nod, his slim shaft starting to plump up.

  The corner of my mouth pulls up into a tiny smirk at his reaction. Didn’t think he’d respond to praise.

  Something flashes across his face and a second later, he flings an arm up a bit too fast, hiding his face in the crook, as if not being able to see will somehow make it not real.

  That won’t do. I want to see his reactions, figure out what he likes, wash away the embarrassment he obviously feels.

  Make him forget whatever memory flitted through his mind that made him hide.

  I stroke his sides, gentling him like a skittish colt. He gradually relaxes into the touches, arching closer. I trail my hand lower, and when it brushes his semi-rigid shaft, my own cock twitches.

  My boy likes my hands on him.

  Good.

  I smile and grab the lube, slicking my fingers, eager to explore him. Besides food, it’s the one other necessity I make sure to search for when scavenging.

 

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