Page 44 of Shake Your Boo Thang

RULE #222: WHAT NOT TO BRING HOME FROM A HAUNTING

On occasion, you may be tempted to take home a souvenir from a haunted location. Resist the urge! Even if you have successfully extracted the spirit—or spirits—haunting the premises, steer clear of taking anything that isn’t yours. Common temptations include, but are not limited to: money, jewelry, expensive antiques, paintings, and photographs.

There can be bad juju attached to such things, and without realizing it, you may be inviting something dangerous into your own home.

Some spirits have been known to attach themselves to objects. Research on this subject remains limited, but there is some evidence to suggest that a spirit may be relocated from the place of its demise if an object to which it has attached itself is removed from the premises.

You’ve been warned.

—ExorSquad Employee Safety Manual and Operational Guidelines (Revised Edition)

Callum

We grab a taxicab back to mine as fast as possible once we leave the London Eye.

I’m not messing about. Now that I’ve decided to give in to temptation, I’m not looking back. Part of my brain is still telling me that this is a bad idea, that Beau is going to be leaving all too soon, but my body is screaming that it wants this man with a burning desire that must be satisfied.

And I’m clearly not alone in that sentiment. Beau gives as good as he gets, and from the moment he took it upon himself to climb right into my lap and I felt his erection pressing against mine, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about getting naked with him and what it’ll be like without any clothes between us.

I don’t know what our poor driver thinks of us, but we can’t keep our hands off each other in the back seat. Kissing like horny teenagers, his hand snaking under my shirt and moving up to stroke my pecs, my hands drifting south to cup his sweet arse again. I squeeze and knead his firm cheeks.

When we finally arrive at my flat after what feels like an interminable lifetime, we stumble inside and I slam the door behind us, fumbling with the lock as Beau climbs me like a tree. I grunt and focus on keeping us both from toppling over. He’s slimmer than I am but only a wee bit shorter, and it’s been quite some time since I picked a man up like this.

It doesn’t take long for my back to start protesting and my bum leg starts to shake, so I have to set him on his feet again.

He seems to recognize something’s amiss.

“Hell’s bells, I got carried away.” His brow furrows with worry. “Is your back okay, darlin’?”

“For now.” I wince. “Sorry. This busted old body of mine’s not quite able to do what it once could.”

To my relief, there’s no pity in Beau’s eyes.

“I rather like that body of yours, limitations or no, darlin’. You just let me know if there’s something I’m doing that makes things worse. And you don’t need to push yourself by doing anything foolish just to impress me. Trust me, all I want is you, just as you are.”

And fucking hell if that isn’t a punch to the solar plexus, knocking the breath right out of me.

Unable to verbally express how much those words mean to me, I try to communicate it with my body—claiming his mouth once more and tasting him like a starving man.

Poirot gets one look at us mauling each other and scarpers, but we pay him no mind, intent entirely on one another and the insatiable need that keeps building between us. Everything else falls away.

I manage to make my way to my bedroom by pure memory, pulling Beau along with me, and then I tumble him onto the bed. My chest rises and falls in time with my rapid breathing, and I reach for the hem of my shirt, yanking it over my head and tossing it on the floor.

Beau leans back on his elbows and eyes me appreciatively. “Is it time for the peep show now?” He grins. “I’ve been waiting to see you in all your naked glory for quite some time. You’ve kept me waiting, sugar.”

“Christ, the mouth you—you’ve no idea what it does to me, do you?”

He leers. “Why don’t you show me?”

“Too bloody right. Get a move on and take your kit off,” I say with a growl.

He blinks at me in confusion but then seems to realize what I mean and nods eagerly, shimmying out of his pants, but gets stuck when he reaches his bow tie.

“Tarnation,” he mutters.

“Let me,” I say, my voice husky, as I step closer to carefully undo that silly bow tie like it’s a ribbon on a present I’m opening.

A big, beautiful, Beau-sized present, all for me.