Shane was used to men running to him, being out of breath when they arrived in front of him. It meant that he was the most important thing to that person in that moment.

“I’m glad you could make it,” said Shane to Emrys. He crossed the distance between him and the podium where the maître d stood. Emrys jumped to follow.

Gerald escorted them himself to a room all to their own. There were at least ten tables made up in the room, and no one but themselves sat in the room. Gerald closed the French doors.

Shane smiled at Emrys. “I like the uniform look,” he said.

“I’m sorry I didn’t change.”

“You won’t need to.”

Emrys raised an eyebrow.

Shane put a hand to Emrys’ cheek. Emrys’ eyes went wide. Shane leaned in, kissing Emrys, long and deep. Emrys emitted a shocked noise, but opened his mouth to receive Shane’s exploring tongue. Emrys relaxed against Shane’s hands that had wandered down to his waist.

Shane stepped back, giving Emrys air. “Claim me,” Shane said, his voice almost a growl.

“Here? In the restaurant?”

Shane took a chair and placed it against the handles of the French doors, blockading them inside.

“You’re serious.”

“I am indeed serious.” He shoved the plates and utensils aside, pushing the tablecloth along with them, exposing the wooden table beneath. Some plates clattered to the floor, and Emrys whirled to the door, expecting someone to knock on the door. No one did.

Shane took Emrys’ face in his hands and held his head still. “No one will bother us until I open those doors.” His hand again wandered down to his waist. This time he lifted the knit Fed-Ex shirt over Emrys’ head.

After feeling his pecs, Shane unbuttoned his own shirt and cast it to the floor.

Then the seduction began in earnest.

The post Devour – 7 appeared first on Maxwell Thomas.

To be sure he was out, the security guards literally dumped Emrys in front of his truck. Emrys brushed himself off and gave the guys a glare. But they were already heading to the building. He patted his pocket, panicked for a minute when he didn’t feel the paper. He stuck his hand in his pocket, and came up with the yellow sticky note with the seven digits on it. He climbed into his truck, and kissed the paper before putting it back in his shirt pocket, next to his heart.

Emrys couldn’t concentrate, probably delivering the wrong package to a few places, as he worked feverishly to get everything completed by six. He delivered his last package at seven-thirty, and was driving back to the home office, when the company phone rang.

He pulled over, grumbling, and looked at the number on the phone. It was from the city.

Emrys answered the phone, “Hello?”

“You haven’t called me.”

Emrys’ heart skipped. “K—Chris?”

“Yes.”

“How did you get this number?”

“Your ID was on the package. I called the office and they gave me this number.”

“Oh, I’m…” Wow. Resourceful. “I’m on the way to the home office.”

“Can you meet me at Rothschild’s in an hour?”

Rothschild’s was a fancy restaurant in one of the ritzier hotels in the city. Emrys didn’t even have a clean suit. “I’m not dressed for it.”

“I don’t care.”

“I’m in my uniform.”

“I said I don’t care.”

“Will they even let me in?”

“I’ll make sure of it.”

There was no arguing, it seemed. “Yes, I can be there in an hour.” He might have a couple of bucks for the valet in his pocket, or he could park near the memorial park a block or so away.

“Good. I’ll be waiting. Don’t be late.”

Emrys hung up and drove like a demon back to the home office.

He backed the truck up into the slip and jumped out. He ran to the time clock and punched out. He heard his boss calling him, but he yelled, “Tomorrow!” and ran to his car. The Honda started with a sputter. He took off with a squeal of tires from the parking lot.

Twenty minutes to the city.

Please God, let there be no traffic.

Ten minutes into the drive, he got caught in a snarl of traffic. He took the first exit and used the back roads to get to the memorial park. He parked in the first spot he saw available and checked the clock on the car.

“Seven minutes. Shit.” The restaurant was across the park, on the other side which would take him ten minutes to walk.

He was lucky he had his steel-toed sneakers on. He got out of the car, locked it on the fly, and ran across the park.

Emrys yanked open the door and dove into the restaurant as if he was a runner crossing the finish line. The maître d’ gave him a condescending look.

“He’s with me, Gerald,” said Shane’s voice next to Emrys.

The post Devour – 6 appeared first on Maxwell Thomas.

Shane ignored the look his secretary gave him as he turned from her to go back into his office.

It was him. Him. The one who called him that night of the party. Shane knew it was him. Shane needed to see him again. To speak to him. To hear him, to touch him, to hold him, to surrender to him, to…

Oh, my God, what the hell is wrong with me? I should have gotten his number.

That wouldn’t have gone over well, he thought.

He hated waiting, putting his life on hold for someone else to contact him. I would have called him immediately. Now I have to wait until he’s done with work. If he calls me. If.

He hated ifs. He lived his life by knowing what to do next, predicting his own moves, and to hell with anyone else. If they didn’t change for him, he ran over them.

Now he stared at the phone, almost willing for it to ring. Call me. C’mon, man, call me.

The man probably hadn’t even gotten downstairs yet.

He needed something to keep him busy. He looked at his calendar on his phone—no meetings required his presence. So he’d go to them. And scare the shit out of them.

Shane dialed into the first meeting, which was already in progress. He heard someone say, “Who beeped in?”

“Chris Shane.”

He smiled as he heard the pin drop. That’s what he liked.

The post Devour – 5 appeared first on Maxwell Thomas.

Emrys looked at the package for the fourth time. “Signature of recipient required. Christopher Shane, Shane Energy Corp.”

A week had passed after the party, and Emrys had given up any hope that the spell had worked. He looked up at the steel and glass skyscraper and wondered if he could…

He double parked, set the flashers, and climbed out of the Fed Ex truck. So he’d get a ticket. This might be worth it.

Emrys held his head high as he carried the long package into the reception area. He nodded to the security guard. “I need to get the actual signature of the recipient,” he said, showing him the package.

“I’ll sign for it.”

“No, I need the guy to sign it.”

“Do you have any idea who this is?”

Emrys forced a blank look on his face. “I need him to sign it.”

“Jesus Christ.” He threw a three-ring binder on the counter. “Sign in. Take the elevator to the twelfth floor. If you’re not back in fifteen, I’m sending someone to get you.”

Emrys signed in, took the visitor’s badge offered, and went to the elevators. He was nearly dancing with excitement.

“If I lose my job over this, I’m gonna kill you!” the guard yelled as Emrys jumped into the open elevator.

Emrys pressed 12 and looked around the gray and silver elevator, listening to the muzak coming through the speakers. It was a bad version of “Take On Me”.

“Floor TWELVE,” said the elevator in a more serious voice than Siri. Sort of like, “Get the fuck outta my elevator now.”

Emrys faced the glass doors with the logo of Shane Energy Corp, an upside-down pyramid made out of four frosted gold blocks. Emrys pulled open the door and came face to face with a dark haired, dark-skinned woman who looked like the elevator’s voice.

“Can I help you,” she demanded, not even asked.

“I need Christopher Shane to sign this.”

“Why didn’t they sign for it downstairs?”

He pointed at the package. “It says for him to sign it.”

She looked down her nose at him, probably thinking about the security guard and how she was going to get him fired. “I’ll sign it.”

“It says for him to sign it,” Emrys repeated. Damn, so close. Don’t deny me this now.

“He doesn’t sign for anything,” she said, and then the door opened.

Christopher Shane, in a white shirt rolled up to the middle of his forearms, tie loosened just so, blond hair sparkling, in dress pants and dress shoes, stood in the doorway. “I thought—” Then he looked at Emrys.

Shane’s mouth dropped. Emrys flushed red. The two men stared at each other for what seemed like hours. It was interrupted by a cough from the secretary.

Shane recovered first. He gulped, and stepped out of the office. “What’s going on?”

“Fed Ex says you need to sign for something, sir.”

“All right,” he said, and signed the electronic pad that Emrys held out. Shane asked him, “What’s your name?”

“D-Dan. Dan Emrys.”

“Dan. Have we ever met before?”

“Not that I know of, sir.”

Shane waved his hand. “Don’t bother with the sir. Call me Chris.”

This time Emrys gulped. “Chris. I’m double parked downstairs.”

“Wait.” He plucked a sticky note from the woman’s desk and took a pen out of her hand. He wrote something down, handing it to him. “Call me when you get done with work.”

“Yes, si—Chris. Sure.”

Shane nodded and went back into his office. Emrys nearly skipped out but turned around to see some guards coming into the office.

“Just leaving!” he cried, as they took him by the arm and frog-marched him to the elevator.

The post Devour – 4 appeared first on Maxwell Thomas.

It was four in the morning when Daniel Emrys stopped the spell. What the hell did he expect? Chris Shane to come walking into his room?

I should have told him my address. But that wasn’t in the spell. It was the repetition of the words “Come to me, you are mine.” And eventually the subject of the spell would appear.

Emrys sighed, sat back on the floor. What the hell. He did everything the gypsy Baron Cimitiere said. What did he do wrong?

If he could get Chris Shane to do what he wanted, he would be a famous man. He smudged out the circle of salt and picked up the wine glass. Maybe he got the wrong wine glass. Maybe he didn’t use enough oil. Too many maybes.

“Baron Pierre is never wrong,” he said to himself. He had used the Baron’s money powder to good effect.  He used the job spell to get him the job he worked at right now—a very successful courier for Fed Ex. Normally, he wouldn’t have been able to get at Chris Shane, but he did have a friend of a friend in the coal industry, who got him in the party.

He wanted Chris Shane for one simple reason: Why was he such a recluse? Emrys was a recluse himself, but was it for the same reason?  He wouldn’t admit to anyone but himself that he was infatuated with the man, his angelic good looks, his mystery and charm. But when he first saw him on the cover of the Wall Street Journal, he wanted to know more.

Emrys tried to discover everything he could about Shane. There wasn’t much. Even his Wikipedia entry was devoid of much other than the WSJ story.  But it had his picture, the blond cherubic man, the wisp of blond hair layered back in a haircut too many people emulated now. Emrys didn’t; his raven hair curled if left too long. But short, he had an endearing cowlick that he kept brushing away from his face.

He sighed, still holding the wine glass. He thought about throwing it in the trash, but decided against it. Emrys walked over to a shelf and placed it there, moving aside some books to make space. At least it was a memento of a fancy party he had gone to.

The post Devour – 3 appeared first on Maxwell Thomas.

“Is everyone gone now?”

“Yes, sir,” said MacArthur as he brought some chamomile tea to his employer.

Shane looked at the grandfather clock by the books. “Dear God, these people can party.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Leave this here. Tell the servants to clean up tomorrow. The mess won’t go anywhere.”

“Yes, sir.” MacArthur left the tea behind. Shane leaned forward in the chair and poured himself a cup of the tea. He took a sip—

You are mine.

The voice was so loud in the room, it startled him, making him splash the tea onto the saucer. He looked around the room. “Who’s here?”

You are mine!

“Who—”

He stood up, bent down and placed the tea down on the tray. Was the stress from the party already getting to him?

You will come to me.

“Who are you?” he whispered, knowing that the voice was not in the room. It was in his own head and giving him a headache.

You will do as I say and come to me.

He needed to go to bed. He left the study through the side door that lead directly to his bedroom.

You are mine. You will come to me.

He undressed in the dark, closing his eyes tight, trying to will away the voice in his head. Finally, when he placed his head on the pillow, the voice lessened, easing, whispering, Come to me. You are mine.

The post Devour – 2 appeared first on Maxwell Thomas.

Chris Shane entered the ballroom and everyone turned to him. He smiled that bright smile of his, golden locks reflecting the light above him.

He stood alone. The host of the party was well-known to be a loner, a man kept to his own eccentricities, and the people who gathered in his ballroom were people he had worked with, kept a large distance from, dealt with in business, and their friends. There were representatives of the oil, gas, coal, even solar and nuclear energies. None of them would have missed this party.

A microphone stood at the stage, ready for the lead singer of the band to begin playing. He stepped away when Shane picked up a wine glass from a tray and walked across the room to the microphone.

Someone started applauding, and then there was sporadic applause carried throughout the room. Shane strode up to the microphone.

Shane stood almost as tall as the microphone, and the lead singer put the microphone down for him. He thanked the man, then held up his glass of wine. The applause slowed down and stopped.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, his voice gentle. “I am glad you have all decided to attend this gala. Please, let the festivities begin.” He sipped from the wine glass and placed it back on a tray. He stepped back from the microphone and sauntered to the appetizer table.

A dark-haired man watched the tray carefully. He followed the waiter back to the kitchen. He intentionally bumped into him. “Oh, excuse me,” he said, and took a glass from the tray—the same glass Shane drank from.

The dark-haired man put it in his coat pocket. With his hand in his pocket, he headed to the exit, having gotten what he wanted—much easier, and much quicker than he had expected.

Shane mingled with the people. Women flirted with him, but he seemed to ignore or not notice their flirtations. Having made a circular route around the room, he stopped at a door. He caught the eye of his loyal friend and bodyman, MacArthur.

MacArthur nodded, and unobtrusively came over to Shane. He opened the door behind them, and Shane slipped out of the crowd.

No one noticed he had gone.

The post Devour – 1 appeared first on Maxwell Thomas.