“What the fuck are you doing?”Dash demanded.
“Saving you from getting thrown out of here,” Emerson whispered against his ear.
“For what?”
“Starting a fight,” Emerson said.
“I wasn’t!” Dash said. “I don’t start fights.”
Dash had never started a fight in his entire life. He’d been in a few as a kid, but not a single one he’d caused. As an adult, he’d been trained to deescalate—andhow to quickly end a fight if he had to defend himself, skills he’d rarely used unless pressed.
Hedidn’tstart fights.
“What were you coming over here to do, then?”
Dash opened his mouth, but an answer failed to materialize. What the fuckhadhe come over to do?
Tear the man’s hair out… for touching what’s mine.
Dash blinked, confused. Hell no. That’snotwhat he’d been doing.
Yes it was.
Dash stared at Emerson, not liking who he was when they were near one another. He wasn’t a hot-blooded brawler who started bar fights over a man, let alonean alpha.He’d come to the Lucky Dragon to work, not fight.
Nor to dance. Yet there he was, being twirled around the dance floor, held in Emerson Walker’s arms. Emerson held him close, his arms tight. He smelled so fucking good, too.
His lips were mere inches away. If he rose up on his toes, he might get a chance to steal that kiss he’d wanted so desperately.
All the fantasies suddenly coalesced in his mind—the ones he dreamed up for his late night and early morning masturbation sessions, using a replacement cock for the hard one nudging against his belly. Feeling Emerson’s throbbing ache against him sent him spiraling. He looked up into Emerson’s face, etching it into his memory to help the next set of fantasies to come.
A wave of heat raced through him, warming every inch. Emerson drew him even closer, dropping his forehead to press against Dash’s. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, pressing his body a little closer. Leaning in, Dash nuzzled against Emerson’s neck, pressing the tip of his nose to the junction where neck met shoulder. He breathed deep, the scent of wood and spice reminding him of their first meeting. Dash closed his eyes again and allowed himself to be claimed by the fantasy for just a minute more.
And then he’d leave when the song was over, before he got himself into trouble.
Emerson moved him across the floor with ease, clearly talented enough to make a non-dancer look good—or feel that way, anyway. Dash melted into him, too lost in the moment to care that they shouldn’t stand so close together. He stared up at Emerson’s lips, aching for the kiss that he’d almost gotten.
What a waste. He should’ve at least stolen one kiss that night—but once he did, could he walk away without wanting more?
One was simply too dangerous.
Mouth dry, he eyed his hands and realized his beer bottle was gone. Where was it? He was pretty sure he’d been gripping it as he’d raced down the stairs, but where it had gone from there, he couldn’t remember. He looked up at Emerson, confused. He almost felt drunk, though he’d only had a few sips of his missing beer.
The song ended, and Dash knew he needed to walk away then and there. He wasn’t himself. His control was clearly slipping. He stepped back, searching Emerson’s face, demanding he say goodbye.
Goodbye wouldn’t come.
Another song started, a faster one, and the dancers around them picked up the beat, swirling around them. He and Emerson remained frozen in place, staring at one another. His gaze dropped to those firm lips he regretted not kissing. Dash licked his lips, hungry for a taste.
Emerson snatched his jacket and dragged him closer, lowering his head. Inching closer, they neared the point of no return. Dash’s lips parted on a sigh, more than ready to taste the man against him.
But before they kissed, a yelp sounded—pulling them apart.
Another cry came.
The music stopped.
“Raid!”someone screamed.
