Chapter 4

The next day...

Captain’s Orders

The gravel crunched.

Dag stood naked on the porch, leash clipped to his collar, held loose but firm in Nils’ thick fist. His thighs still trembled from morning training. His hole pulsed with every breath—raw, leaking, wide open.

The black motorcycle came into view first—chrome, loud, arrogant. It roared up the long dirt path like it belonged there.

The man who stepped off it didn’t smile right away. He adjusted his leather gloves slowly, then pulled off his helmet and shook out his hair.

Tall. Broad. Legs like tree trunks in worn jeans. His chest strained against a tight navy tee, sleeves hugging thick, bulging biceps. His face was tanned, weathered, ridiculously handsome in a rugged, movie-star way. Mustache thick and perfect. Eyes dark and glinting with amusement.

Magnum P.I. had entered the story. And he was here to ruin someone.

Erik.

“Damn,” he muttered, eyeing Dag from head to toe. “This the new recruit?”

“Yep.” Nils nodded.

“She’s pretty,” Erik chuckled wickedly.

His smile flickered. Dimples. Real ones.

Nils smirked. They high-fived like two men who already knew exactly how the night would end.

“He’s broken in,” Nils added.

“Not enough,” Erik said, already striding up the steps. “Let’s fix that.”

He didn’t ask permission. He walked past Nils, took the leash from his hand, and tugged.

Dag stumbled forward.

Erik stopped him with one palm against his bare chest—hairy knuckles brushing sweat-slick skin.

“Well well,” Erik said, voice low and lazy. “Pretty girl is shaking. Are you scared, princess? Or just horny?”

Dag swallowed.

Erik grinned wider. “Yeah. That’s the right answer.”

Inside, Liv greeted him with a knowing smile and a whiskey glass. Erik kissed her—firm, slow, one hand briefly at her waist, thumb brushing the curve of her hip.

“Looking good, Liv.”

She smiled. Silent.

He sipped the whiskey.

Then turned and spat into the glass. Swirled it once.

“Drink.”

Dag took it in both hands. The glass was still warm. The taste was awful—salt, smoke, spit, Erik.

He drank it all.

“You’re learning.”

Erik dropped onto the couch and unzipped his jeans like he was about to watch the game. He freed his cock and let it fall heavy across his thigh—thick, flushed, already twitching.

Dag’s breath hitched.

Erik leaned back. “Don’t just stare, sweetheart. Crawl.”

It was thick. Long. Heavy. The kind of cock that looked half hard even when soft—and this wasn’t soft. It twitched slightly, veins shifting beneath the skin. The head was swollen, wet, leaking precum in a slow, syrupy bead that clung and stretched.

Dag stared.

Erik saw it.

That wicked smile returned. The dimples. The shine in his eyes.

“You like what you see?”

Dag nodded.

Erik leaned back, hands behind his head. “It’s going in your holes, pretty girl. You’ll feel it in your ribs by the time I’m done.”

He reached down, gripped his cock at the base, and smacked the head gently across Dag’s lips.

“Open.”

Dag obeyed.

Erik slid the tip in—slowly—until his lips were spread wide, tongue pinned.

“You’re lucky to be here,” he said. “Nils and I will train you to be good. Lovely Liv will help too. Are ready to be trained?”

Dag whimpered, “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Yes Captain, Sir,” Erik insisted sternly.

“Captain?” Liv said, chuckling softly.