The way he spoke to me in front of my brother and the others just now was absolutely mortifying, and even just reliving it is making my face heat all over again with embarrassment. And it’s not just my face; my whole body is hot, like I’m running a fever or something. My skin is on fire, my insides are crackling and…
Jesus fucking Christ, I’m turned on.
I splash more water over my face in a desperate attempt to rid myself of this fever dream. But it’s not working. My dick is hard as stone because for some fucked up reason the memory of Jazz tormenting me in front of my brother, Shay, and Jamie is turning me on.
What. The. Fuck?
And why the hell is it happening now all of a sudden?
I reluctantly cast my mind back to the interaction from earlier, this time focusing on my reaction. I know I didn’t get hard at the time, but…shit, there was something. And thinking back on it now, it’s been like that for every interaction I’ve had with the guy.
I don’t understand it. I’m not gay. I can acknowledge Jazz is an aesthetically attractive guy…but I sure as hell don’t want to have sex with him. So why the fuck is my cock chubbing out at the mere thought of him tormenting me?
Before I have time to puzzle it out, the bathroom door swings open and because I’m cursed, it’s of course Jazz who strides in.
“What the fuck are you doing in here?” I snap, before remembering it’s actually his bar and he can go anywhere he wants.
He arches a brow at me. “Taking a leak before my next set.” Predictably, his eyes stray to my crotch and he doesn’t fail to note of my situation. “What happen? You accidentally pop a Viagra?”
“No, I did not pop a Viagra,” I grate out through clenched teeth.
He holds his hands up. “Just checking. I figure old guys like you probably have it on hand for emergency situations. Wouldn’t want to mix it up with a mint or something.”
“I’m fucking forty-two, you asshole,” I growl. “I don’t need Viagra to get hard.”
He smirks at me and I know I’ve fallen into a trap. Fucking hell, this guy. “Whatdoyou need to get hard?” He glances around the bathroom as though expecting someone to pop out from one of the stalls. “I don’t see any supermodels hiding in the corner.”
“That’s none of your fucking business,” I snap, feeling more and more agitated the longer this conversation drags on. My fucking cock willnotgo down. For some messed up reason it’s thriving on my mortification in this moment.
Jazz arches a brow at me. “This is my bar. And you’re an employee. What were you going to do? Whip it out right here and rub one out? At work?” He shakes his head in mock disapproval. “Naughty Damon. Youarea dirty boy.”
My face flames hotter and my cock pulses harder. Great. Apparently being shamed does it for me as well. Because things aren’t already messed up enough.
“Of course I wasn’t going to do that,” I grate out, my knuckles whitening with the fierce grip I have of the bathroom counter.
“Well, you’d better think of something,” Jazz says with a shrug. “Because that monster looks ready to break through your zipper. I’d hate for someone to lose an eye.”
“You’re the fucking devil,” I mutter, finally managing to peel my grip from the counter and storm out of the bathroom. I don’t care if Gia or one of the other staff members catches a glimpse my hard-on. I just need to be away from this asshole.
12
Finding Damonin the bathroom rocking a massive hard-on and looking clearly distressed about it is definitely an interesting turn of events. I can’t help letting out a breath of laughter when I catch him cursing at me under his breath as he rushes for the exit. Shaking my head wryly, I stride into the closest stall to get on with what I came here for.
Thanks to Damon my semi is now a full, and I’ve never been able to piss with an erection so I need to manage that situation first. I start recalling the music of Beethoven’s fifth symphony and after about ten seconds the issue is resolved. I hastily divert my brain before the music can trigger a different memory, running through my list of songs for my upcoming set as I take care of business.
Once I’m back on the stage I scan my gaze around, noticing Damon is behind the bar again. He still looks a little frazzled but he seems a hell of a lot more relaxed than he did in the bathroom, so I’m guessing he has his own trick for deflatingboners. Which is a shame; I would have preferred he did it the old-fashioned way…and let me watch, obviously.
Well, I know one thing for certain now—he does like it when I push him beyond his comfort level. More accurately—he’s turned on by it.
The only issue is he doesn’t seem particularly happy about that fact.
Or maybe it’s the fact that it’smepushing him that he’s not happy about. If he’s only recently divorced he might not have done the casual BDSM thing before. Maybe he doesn’t realize attraction isn’t necessarily a factor?
I let those thoughts drift out of my head as I ease into my set with “Black Velvet.”
I’m a little surprised when Damon halts in the act of garnishing a couple cocktails to glance up and hit me with another of those fiery glares, his face once again flushing red. I honestly hadn’t intended to tease him with this one, but in retrospect I probably should have considered how the sultry guitar twang, Alannah Myles’s husky voice and even just the words “black velvet” have the song practically dripping with sex despite the lack of any overt innuendo in the lyrics. And, not to toot my own horn, but I have a pretty expansive vocal range—which I’ve worked damn hard for, thank you very much—so it’s no trouble to make my voice a little raspier than I usually would when I get to the chorus.
As I progress through the song I start to reconsider my initial opinion about the lack of innuendo…I mean, swap out a few words and it sounds like I’m asking Damon to get on his knees for me. And isn’t it interesting that his brain went there before mine did?
