I manage to catch his eye again at the end of the song, my mouth curving up at the invitation repeated in the last few lines.Predictably, he shakes his head in frustration and tears his gaze away, hastily moving off to serve a customer.
The next few songs go uneventfully, but it’s not long before I get the urge to mess with Damon again, and this time I’m going to be completely intentional about it. I decide to veer off my set list to play “Short Dick Man,” which could be a complete disaster because I’ve never tried to play this song live before. But I really want to remind Damon about the incident in the bathroom and this will be the perfect song for it—performed ironically, obviously. From what I could tell there’s definitely nothing iny or weeny about what he’s packing.
I use the time it takes to grab a drink of water to mentally run through the song to refresh my mind with the lyrics and beat. Then I have a quick play around with my guitar to figure out the best way to produce some of the sounds I’ll need. The crowd probably think I’ve all of a sudden forgotten how to play, but whatever.
Once I’m confident I’ve got it all down, I get to work looping the beat.
And the second I start singing, I’m rewarded with the return of Damon’s sexy blush and visible discomfort.
And, of course, I lose focus completely as my mind is sent back to the bathroom: Damon’s palpable discomfort, his face burning red with mortification, and that thick erection trying to tear out of his jeans.
Fuck, what I wouldn’t have given to rip his jeans open right there and get a proper look. Cut or uncut, I wonder? Bare or natural? Girthy? Veiny? Fuck, I really don’t care, I’d want to swallow it all the way down my throat no matter what. I bet his cum tastes incredible.
Fucking hell, concentrate!Even if I do manage to get Damon on board with subbing, that’s no guarantee anything physical will ever happen. I need to get a fucking grip.
I shift awkwardly on my stool, glad to have the guitar covering my lap so the raging boner I’m now sporting won’t be obvious to anyone looking up at the stage.
It’s a good thing this song is so repetitive because I’ve totally lost track of what I’m singing while I let my dirty mind run away from me. I wrap up the song, figuring the odds of anyone knowing it well enough to call me out on any fuck ups are slim.
“Wooh! Right there with you, mate!” I hear a familiar British accent call out. Glancing up, I see Jamie holding up his glass in salute.
I offer a smile and tip two fingers off my forehead in return. That guy’s got some personality about him, for sure.
I reach down and grab my water bottle, taking a few swigs as I contemplate whether to get back to my pre-arranged set list or continue teasing Damon.
Fuck it.I’ve been holding back for almost a week so I have a ton of sexy songs just begging to be played. I decide to go with a crowd-pleaser I haven’t done for a while.
As I get into the first verse of “I Wanna Sex You Up” I hear a groan of“Are you fucking kidding me?”coming from the direction of the bar. Between my music and the hubbub of the crowd, I can’t usually make out any of the conversation at the bar, but clearly Damon is at the end of his tether.
I see Gia shoot him a concerned glance from where she’s serving at the other end of the bar. He just shakes his head and waves her off. Then he lifts his gaze to me, daggers in his eyes.
I quirk a brow at him. I’m just singing here. He’s the one getting all riled up about it.
He sends me another scowl before turning his attention to the customer who just approached the bar, forcing his expression into a polite smile that makes him look like he’s only serving because someone’s holding a gun to his head.
When my song is finished, I decide to ease up on the innuendo and let him do his job for a while. I can see his friends watching the pair of us with a mix of avid curiosity, amusement, and a little concern—and I have a sneaking suspicion that the extra attention he’s getting from that corner is why Damon’s way more riled up than usual.
So I’m just going to sit back for a bit and let them do my job for me. And if that sounds creepy, well I’m sorry, but I’m a creepy guy.
I spend the next half hour playing through my planned set list and taking a few requests.
And just when Damon looks like he’s starting to relax, I hit him with “Come on Over” by Christina Aguilera. And this time my gaze follows him around the bar, soaking in that sexy blush, the clenched jaw, the tensing of all those hard muscles. It’s not doing anything for the situation in my pants, but I couldn’t care less about that right now.
From the corner of my eye I can see Jamie singing along and throwing his arms around, doing a seated version of Christina’s dance from the music video, while Damon’s brother and the other guy—Shay, I think—are practically pissing themselves laughing. I’m pretty sure they’re laughing at Jamie, but based on the way Damon flushes even darker, I think he’s made the assumption that they’re making fun of his current situation. Who knows, maybe they are.
I continue watching as Damon mutters something to Gia and then heads for the door behind the bar, no doubt wanting to escape the attention for a moment. Before he pushes through the door, however, I notice something that causes my lips to curve in a satisfied smirk. He’s once again sporting a very impressive boner.
Well, if there was any lingering doubt it’s definitely been quashed now.
I’m expecting to see him return once he’s taken care of things, but when I finish my set twenty minutes later there’s still no sign of him. Interesting…
There’s just no way he’s been in there jerking off this whole time. More likely, he’s been in there desperatelywantingto jerk off but refusing to do it.
I hastily put my guitar in its case and make a beeline for the staff bathroom, not even caring if the people I pass along the way notice the very obvious bulge in my jeans. I gave him plenty of time; if he didn’t want to be interrupted he should have just got on with things.
“You know this is starting to become a problem,” I say as I enter the bathroom.
The main area is empty, but one of the stall doors is closed and I know Damon must be in there. “You’re not earning any tips just hiding in here freaking out about your dick getting hard.” I don’t get a response, so I step into the stall next to his and stand on the closed toilet, leaning casually over the partition. I’m not surprised to find him just sitting on the closed toilet, jeans still on, head buried in his hands as though he’s facing the end of the world. “What—you think you’re going to sulk the hard-on away? Just whip it out and have at it,” I urge. “Or are you turned on by blue balls as well?”
