“I’ll take that dance.” A woman nearly as tall and sturdy as Johnson clasped her hand.
Johnson shrugged, pooched her lip out at Lucky, and settled on the dance floor with her new admirer—an admirer who’d be disappointed if she expected more than a dance.
As far as Lucky knew, Johnson liked men who didn’t deserve her, preferably small and blond, with Mama and Daddy issues.
Lucky pulled his cellphone out every few minutes to check the time. Bo strutted onto the tightly-packed dance floor and wriggled out some dancing room.
He’d added chains to his outfit and a fake dragon tattoo trailing down his arm. Folks gave him space and turned to stare. Other Stallion dancers mingled, a young one sashaying his way over to Lucky.
Lucky peered around the guy to get a better look at Bo. Who wanted a young’un when a full-grown man danced so provocatively a few feet away?
The way-too-young dancer pouted and skulked off. Bo commanded attention, dancing with Johnson and her partner, then traipsing off to light up someone else’s world.
Someone’s “Woot!” snapped Lucky’s attention to Bo grabbing the back of a chair and lowering himself down over a laughing man’s lap. Totally in his element. Owning the moment. Had he lied to Lucky about hating stripping while earning his way through college?
Bo glanced up and winked, his smile falling for a moment.
Still his Bo. Holy shit! Lucky’s lover, turning on other men on while making eye contact with him nearly got him off.
Thirty minutes finally ended. He shot down the hall. The timeclock by the backdoor held a few dozen cards, one for “Rex, T.” Hardy har har. Trust Bo to use the nickname he’d hung on Lucky for his stripper name.
Lucky slipped out the back into an alley. Heh. Seemed like old times. Him, Bo, an alley, the scent of barbecue from the restaurant across the street, and a heavy bass beat.
The door screeched open. “I don’t have long. Sooner or later, someone will figure out I lied about cops staking out this alley.” Bo smashed his lips down and invaded Lucky’s mouth with his tongue.
Lucky’s “Mppph” of surprise melted into a satisfied hum. He rubbed his hardening cock on Bo through a layer of denim. The black leather thong barely kept Bo’s bulge in check.
Both his hands full of firm ass, Lucky finally got to hold his man the way he’d wanted to.
Bo slammed Lucky against the wall, dropped to his knees and fumbled with the zipper on Lucky’s jeans. Moist heat. Bo’s tongue. The familiar rhythm of two lovers with years of practice. And yet every tongue stroke, every little bit of suction, every moan, seemed sweet and wonderful and new.
Lucky plopped Bo’s hat on his own head and worked his fingers through Bo’s hair.
Bo here, sucking him off, working undercover, and doing all right.
It had been a long time. Too long. “I’m gonna blow.” Lucky gritted his teeth.
Bo pulled off and rose to his feet. “Not yet, you’re not.”
Oh. Commanding. Yes.
Bo grasped Lucky’s wrists and pinned them against the rough brick wall. Oh damn. The heat in his eyes…
And the Bo Lucky knew whispered, “Is this okay?”
“Oh hell, yeah.” Mouth to mouth, body to body. Held in place, like Lucky often wished for.
He registered the snick of cuffs a moment before the metal grasped his wrists. What the fuck? Bo grinned, raised Lucky’s arms up high, and hooked the chain on something, freeing his hands so he could stroke Lucky’s straining flesh.
Bo grabbed Lucky’s shoulder and spun him around. Lucky kissed the wall, and night air brushed his bare ass. How had Bo gotten his jeans down so fast? The hat tumbled to the ground.
The club’sthumpa, thumpabeat pounded the wall pressed so tightly against Lucky’s chest. The muscles in his arms strained, and the cuffs tightened on his wrists.
Restrained. Completely at Bo’s mercy.
Fucking A.
Cellophane ripped, a sound Lucky never wanted to hear again. But when Bo sank into a character, he sank deep, like he now sank his slick fingers into Lucky. Hell yeah!
