Thirty minutes later, I pulled my Harley Davidson into Nicholas’s driveway. I could have walked but figured a quick getaway might be in my future, if I wasn’t able to keep my hands off the damned brat. How much time could I get for handing down a much-deserved bare assed spanking to an adult man? Whatever the punishment was, I’d gotten myself so pissed off that I could honestly say it would almost be worth it, even if they threw the book at me.

I parked right next to his Dodge Challenger SRT Hellcat, contemplated keying it just for shits and giggles, but decided that a beautiful ride shouldn’t be punished just because her owner was an asshole. There were about four cars in the driveway, but I knew this one was his—I’d heard it roaring up and down our private streets like he was on the final lap of a NASCAR race.

I climbed off my Harley and went up the steps that led to his front door. My headache was finally easing after I’d nuked it with the pills and the hot-as-I-could-stand-it shower, and now I just felt a strange hollowness, and a feeling like I was floating. While my house, a newer one in the neighborhood, was Mediterranean, his sent out a definite old English vibe. Had it belonged to anyone else, I would have considered it classically beautiful. Since it was his, I decided it was ugly and I hated it.

I rang the bell, even if I doubted anybody could hear it, crossed my arms over my chest, and waited. The wait wasn’t as long as I’d anticipated. I’d only been there a few seconds, ringing the bell continuously just to annoy the people on the other side in case they could hear it, when I heard a male voice call out, “I’ll be right there!” After that, it sounded like a stampede headed in my direction. To be honest, I braced for impact.

The door flung open, and a petite guy and an adorable little golden doodle stood in the doorway looking up at me. The guy had curly black hair, green eyes, and the longest fucking eyelashes I’d ever seen in my life. The dog was even cuter, though, with riotous golden hair that wasn’t clipped, so his owner had pulled his hair up into a kind of topknot on his head. It bounced whenever he moved, which was constantly. The doodle’s head bobbed back and forth like he was a metronome. I narrowed my eyes at him. Was the little dog drunk?

If somebody had given this baby alcohol, I was going to be damn pissed off. The two of them looked me up and down—then the doodle leaped for me in a lopsided, uncoordinated way. I caught him while the young guy made an abortive grab for him as he gave me a confused frown.

“You’re not the pizza guy,” he accused.

“Nope,” I answered shortly, wondering what asshole had thought giving the little dog alcohol would be funny. The young man was pretty to look at, though, so I decided to give him a chance to prove it wasn’t him before I jerked that puppy up out of there and took it to the ASPCA. I simply eased back on my heels and enjoyed the view of the pretty guy as I knelt down in front of him, so the crazy little dog could get to me.

On second thought, now that I was up close and personal with the little doodle, I could see that something was wrong with the big, overgrown puppy, as he didn’t seem to have any coordination at all, but just kind of leaped and flopped around, his little pink tongue lolling out the side of his face. And I didn’t even get a whiff of alcohol from him. He was ecstatic to see me though and gave my face an enthusiastic tongue bath before the guy with him picked him up to cradle him in his arms.

“Sorry about that man. I’m Shan and this is Dasher and he has cerebellar hypoplasia. Nicholas says that means his brain is underdeveloped, and it makes him kinda uncoordinated and his balance isn't too good. But he's a great little dog.”

I was a little shocked to hear this beautiful little pup had some kind of brain disfunction, but I reached over to ruffle the hair on his head, both boys grinned at me. “It doesn’t hurt him," the dark-haired guy told me, "and he can live a good, full life. It just means he needs a little help. Nicholas takes great care of him.”

So, Nicholas was a dog lover, huh? And he had a sweetheart of a dog that a lot of people would have put down. My opinion of him went up a notch or two, I had to admit. Just a notch or two though.

The guy peered behind me like I was hiding someone. “What did you do to the poor pizza guy? And, more importantly, where’s our pizzas?”

Since his tone and the look on his face was playful, I smiled at him and said, “If you want pizza, you’ll have to come with me, little boy.”

“Oh, stranger-danger,” he cooed. “My favorite.” He batted those incredibly long lashes at me and then said, “Dude, you are way too hot to be a stalker. How did you get past security at the gate, anyway?”

“I live in the neighborhood and was hoping to get a minute or two of Nicholas’s time. If that’s not too much trouble, of course.”

He grinned. “Uh oh. It’s the music, isn’t it? Too loud?” He reached out and grabbed my hand with his free one. “Come on, Mr. Muscles. Let the fireworks begin!”

I allowed him to pull me out to the back of the house, where a wall of windows showed me an impressive pool. The guy holding my hand went over to an open slider and pulled me through it. He pointed to a man lying on his stomach, totally nude, who had one woman straddling his lower legs sucking Jell-O shots off his lower back. Another woman sat beside him doing Tequila shots, looking totally wasted.

I had to admit, though, that at least Nicholas's backside was hot.  The images on the internet didn’t do that ass justice. He lazily turned over then, dislodging his female companion and put his elbows on the chaise lounge to peer through his sunglasses at the girl he'd just knocked down to the deck. With his long, golden blond hair, chiseled jawline, and puffy lips, he was knocking on the door of perfection. Add to that his lean body, littered with just enough muscles to make my mouth water, and he could have been a dangerous and potent weapon against me if I didn’t dislike him so damn much.

His cock, like the rest of him, was perfection, though flaccid at the moment. It was long and pink and nestled in blond curls and showed every indication that when he was hard, he might just be impressive. It made me hate him even more.

And want him, of course, because a hard cock has no conscience.