Tall, trimmed beard, extra points if they had tattoos or black hair. I preferred someone to swallow me, because it made it way more fun when I dominatedthem. Extraextrapoints if they were a biker, but everyone here was shorter than me, and I’m not the tallest man around.
How desperate was I to get fucked?
Pretty desperate, I answered my own damn thought as I searched for someone lucky enough to get their hands on me. Maybe I just needed to keep drinking. Wasn’t there a saying that alcohol tainted your ability to make good decisions with people because it made everyone hotter? Well, fuck, I hoped so.
Downing the last bit of my drink, I tossed it into the trash before opting to search outside. There was an outdoor section overlooking extra parking spaces, and judging by the man who just walked past, a few bikers were outside. Licking my lips, I weaved through the crowd to the doors, slipping through them. Just one decent guy would do.
The humid air slapped my face, but not as much as the two men resting on their bikes. Their backs were turned, butfuck. Solid builds, tattoos, and one even had black hair. He was even smoking a cigarette—mykryptonite—and at the realization, I stuffed my hands in my pockets. My charm was excellent. My fuck game? Even better. So why was I nervous?
Clearing my throat, I opened my mouth to speak, but then the larger of the two turned, and any hope of a hard dick fell because it wasfuckingThorne Graves.
As if he could somehow sense my presence, he pivoted. The remnants of a bruise littered his cheekbone, its hue one I was far too familiar with. Another lingered on his neck, fingertip impressions still noticeable. With a cigarette in his mouth, mid-drag, he stopped, his honeyed gaze scanning me as ifIwere the last person he expected to see at agaybar.
Why thefuckwashehere?
“Valens,” he crooned, his voice far more sultry than I was used to. “What brings you out and about?”
“Graves,” I muttered, flicking my gaze away. “Iwasout, and now I’m about to leave.” Like I’d remain at this bar with him here. He looked good as fuck, but Iwasn’tthat desperate. Iwasn’t.
His tongue danced across his lips as he pulled the stick of sin from between them. During the brief motion, somehow,someway,the moonlight spotlighted a piece of jewelry I hadn’t noticed.
This motherfucker had a tongue piercing?
“Already?” He dipped his head to the side, feigning a pout. “Something scaring you away? The night’s still young.”
“Scaring me away?” I scoffed, scratching the part of my chest uncovered. “Rather, I’d like to keep the night positive.”
I couldn’t stop looking at the markings covering his skin. Bruising that hinted at nothing but kinky shit, the kind ofkinky shitI enjoyed. Was Simon right, andthat’swhy they went on leave?
“Then keep the night positive.” His chin lifted, gesturing toward the doors I’d exited as if I were some dog being ordered to obey their owner. “Go back inside and play. That seems more up your alley of indulgence anyway.”
“And what wouldyouknow about indulgence?” I know I should’ve turned and left, kept the nightpositive, but God, fuck it, he was impossible not to argue with.
He chuckled, taking a final drag from his cigarette before tossing it to the side. Snuffing it out with his boot, his hand fell to the hem of his shirt, and the next thing I knew, I was greeted with his practically bare upper half.
Tattoos traversed every inch of his skin, not a single patch missing some form of artwork. It was a mirage of good and evil, a story painted for me to admire. I’d seen something similar in a museum once. But I couldn’t put my mind on the exact piece, not when my eyes caught his nipple piercings—twinned to my own.
“Despite your assumptions,” he continued, regardless of my exploration of his body. “I’m rather acquainted with the concept,dove.”
I swallowed and took a step back.Fuck, I needed to go back inside and get away from the godly beauty of his body. I wanted to paint him and sketch the tattoos in my journal. They were gorgeous.
Wait,no. No, the hell I didn’t. It was the liquor making everything more pronounced, even if there was no denying he ticked offallmy boxes.
Fixing my shirt, I backed away. “I’m just… I mean, inside. Bye,” I muttered, twisting too quickly for it to be casual. My hip slapped into a chair, almost knocking it over entirely before I caught it, shoving it to the right.
I didn’t look back as I stumbled into the bar, my palms plastered on the side of my face.
That was so goddamn embarrassing.
Immediately walking to the bar, I downed two drinks to ease the sting of my thoughts.Hell no. But my dick and my mind kept betraying me as the image of his chest screamed in my head.
At this point, I neededanyoneotherthan him. Scanning the crowd, I found the first lucky soul. Tall, solidly built, but vanilla in innocence.
Swiping a hand over my face, I clasped the cross before stepping onto the dance floor. If he wanted me, I needed action. If not, someone else with bigger balls would step in.
So I did what I always did when I wanted attention—danced.
And fuck did I do that, beads of sweat dripping down my temples as I unbuttoned my shirt completely, letting anyone’s hands roam over my chest on the dance floor. It eventually ended up in my back pocket, the heat of the club making it impossible towantto keep it on.
