Size Matters (9 page)
“You’d have no chance, you idiot,” he muttered under his breath, “even if you weren’t about to ruin his day.”
Kyle looked around carefully to make sure he was unobserved then crossed the road. The appalling weather worked in his favor, as very few people were out and about. Confident that there was no one around to witness his swift journey across the garden and through the unlocked gate, he slipped down the side of the house and in to the back garden of the property. Tall hedges and mature trees shielded it from the neighboring houses, giving him all the time in the world to pick the lock on the door and slip quietly into the kitchen.
Kyle found the back door key on a wall hook. He relocked the door, slid the additional bolt shut and removed the key, tucking it safely into his pocket. Taking his time, he removed his wet coat and hat and hung them over a chair. The layout of the house was firmly stored in his head so he could move confidently to the front door and set the dead bolts. Secure in the knowledge that Brock would not be able to run, he crept up the stairs and peered around the door of the guest bedroom. Kyle had to bite down on his lip as he saw the young man in the bed, sleeping deeply. Brock had pushed the covers down to his hips, one arm was flung out to the side and his smooth, hairless chest rose and fell gently as he breathed. His face was a little flushed but other than that, he seemed perfectly at peace. Kyle resisted the temptation to pull the covers down a little further, backed away and headed silently downstairs to the kitchen. He took one of the chairs set around the kitchen table and turned it so that he could face the door to the hall then he settled down to wait.
About the Author
Often referred to as ‘Space Cowboy’ and ‘Gangsta of Love’ while still striving for the moniker of ‘Maurice’, Sean Michael spends his days surfing, smutting, organizing his immense gourd collection and fantasizing about one day retiring on a small secluded island peopled entirely by horseshoe crabs. While collecting vast amounts of vintage gay pulp novels and mood rings, Sean whiles away the hours between dropping the f-bomb and pursuing the kama sutra by channeling the long lost spirit of John Wayne and singing along with the soundtrack to
Chicago
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A long-time writer of complicated haiku, currently Sean is attempting to learn the advanced arts of plate spinning and soap carving sex toys.
Barring any of that? He’ll stick with writing his stories, thanks, and rubbing pretty bodies together to see if they spark.
Email:
[email protected]
Sean loves to hear from readers. You can find his contact information, website and author biography at
http://www.totallybound.com
.
Also by Sean Michael
Totally Bound Publishing
