Lawrence
Raiden didn’t wantto fuck Lawrence? Fine. It wasn’t like Lawrence had never been rejected before. And he was living in a city full of distractions.
Firm distractions. And soft distractions. And hairy one and tall ones, distractions that smelled like cedar and sweat, and every other kind he could imagine. Lawrence could dream up just about any man, walk down the streets, and have him right then.
At least for one night. You could have just about any man for a single night. And that’s why Lawrence found himself back at the club a couple nights later, writhing between men on the dance floor while Raiden stared, barely even blinking.
A redhaired, short man in his thirties pressed his bare chest to Lawrence’s, dancing close. Lawrence trailed his fingers down the man’s side, then traced his hips. After the man tangled his hands in Lawrence’s curls with a tug, Lawrence gasped, still swaying to the music.
And just like every night for the past weeks, he was only a second away from kissing the hot stranger when his attention wandered, and he turned his eyes to Raiden, glaring from the other side of the room.
Sighing, Lawrence gently pushed the man away. “Sorry,” he shouted over the music. “Not interested.”
What did it mean, that Lawrence suddenly got more of a thrill from watching his bodyguard staring at him than he did from pressing close to an actual warm body? Because outside of that Dixon guy he had run into on the street, no one had aroused Lawrence’s interest lately. Things had only gotten more intense since Raiden fought off the men who tried to jump Lawrence, and the idea of parting ways with his bodyguard, and maybe finding security who didn’t give him an instant erection, was somehow even worse than the possibility of keeping him employed and spending the months ahead trapped in permanent sexual frustration.
Lawrence rubbed his hand up his bare chest and went back to staring at Raiden. He tweaked his nipple until it was hard, then turned in a slow circle, swaying his hips and bouncing his butt.
And still, all Raiden did was stare, his eyes like two white-hot coals across the club.
Lawrence jumped off his podium, then pushed his way through the crowd. He’d been sweating bullets and needed a water and a cocktail to recover, but when he spotted the line at the bar, he pivoted toward the exit instead and slammed the door open to a back alley.
“If it isn’t Lawrence.”
The man from the walk, Dixon, stood in the dim light. Just like the last couple of times, he had on a slim-fitting suit—this evening it was black with a black collared shirt underneath. He stood perfectly straight, his phone dangling from one hand and a casual, confident smile pulling up his lips.
Lawrence glanced around, then rubbed his eyes. “Did I take some drug that I forgot about? What the hell are you doing here?”
Dixon frowned. “I could ask the same of you.”
Fishing in his jacket, Lawrence pulled out a joint. “I came out for a refreshment. The line at the bar was too long for my liking.” He didn’t say the other part: that he was intentionally trying to give his bodyguard a hard time. Although knowing that Raiden was likely rushing around inside, searching desperately for him, did give Lawrence a naughty thrill.
Dixon materialized a Zippo lighter, then extended it Lawrence’s way with a flick. “Fortune favors us, I suppose.”
Lawrence sucked in the sweet smoke, then exhaled to the side. “If fortune favored me, you would have ended up in my bed the other weekend.”
Laughing, Dixon shoved the lighter back in his pocket. “So you say.” Lawrence offered the joint, but he shook his head. “Just the occasional cocktail or beer for me, thanks.”
Lawrence shrugged, then went back to smoking. He eyed Dixon, studying his tight beard and the refined, poised way he held himself. He was reminded of the people he went to boarding school with, but Dixon was different somehow, too. Like there was something real about him, beneath the polished surface.
“I’d ask you to get me a cocktail,” Lawrence pouted, “but I’m worried you would disappear again.”
Dixon gestured to the alley. “And break the magic of this moment? How could I? The bricks walls and the stale air, the muddy puddles on the concrete and the scuttering noises I hear from the trash? It’s all just too perfect a picture, don’t you think?”
Lawrence stepped forward, then tugged lightly on Dixon’s jacket. “So then what are you doing out here, huh?”
“Just praying I would run into you again,” he teased with a wink.
After craving a distraction from Raiden all night, Lawrence wasn’t about to let an opportunity pass by. He tugged Dixon forward, catching him off guard, then smashed their lips together for a kiss. It was electric, like the pleasurable burn of Dixon’s beard on his skin. And for one heartbeat, then two, Dixon kissed right back, groaning softly as their bodies wriggled close.
Dixon tore his lips away, then stumbled back. “Fuck,” he gasped. “I’m really not supposed to do that.”
“Supposed to?” Lawrence pouted. The kiss had lit him alive with desire, and he stepped forward again, eager for more, the joint still burning between his fingers. “You’re a grown man. You can do whatever the hell you want.”
That, Lawrence realized later, was the moment it all fell apart. He perked up on his toes, eager to taste Dixon again, and at that moment, the burning end of his joint hit the tender spot between Lawrence’s fingers. He yelped, startled, and jerked his arm, sending his open hand flying straight at Dixon’s face. At the same moment, the door to the alley swung open with a bang.
Dixon effortlessly caught Lawrence by the wrist, his grip firm and gentle. Before Lawrence could turn to the door, though, the world flipped upside down. Something pushed him from behind, sending him to the side, and when he looked up, Raiden had Dixon thrown up against the brick wall.
“Raiden!” Lawrence yelped.
