Chapter 11 #2
He turned to face me, hands coming up to rest on my shoulders, and started moving in a way that made my brain short-circuit.
Not obscene, exactly, but close enough that I didn't know where to look or what to do with my hands or how to process the fact that Soren was dancing against me like he was trying to fuck me through our clothes.
“You're tense,” he said, leaning in close enough that I could hear him over the music. “Relax. Nobody's watching us.”
That was a lie. I could feel eyes on us from multiple directions, people tracking Soren's movement like he was putting on a show. But he was oblivious to it, too drunk or too lost in his own head to notice the attention.
I put my hands on his waist, partly to steady him and partly because I didn't know what else to do with them. He felt warm and solid under my palms, muscle and ink and skin that was too close and too tempting and absolutely off-limits given how drunk he was.
“This okay?” I asked, because I needed confirmation that I wasn't crossing a line.
“It's perfect.” He leaned into me harder, rolling his hips in a way that made my dick wake up and take notice. “You feel good, Rook. Really good.”
Fuck. I was in trouble. Serious, catastrophic trouble, because Soren was grinding against me in the middle of a crowded dance floor and my body was responding like it had been waiting for this my entire life.
I could feel myself getting hard, felt my dick starting to press against the front of my jeans in a way that was gonna be impossible to hide if he kept moving like that.
And he kept moving like that.
His hips rolled against mine in rhythm to the music, and I felt every inch of contact like a shock to my system. The pressure of his body, the heat of him, the way his ass brushed against my thigh when he turned slightly—all of it was building into a problem I had no idea how to solve.
I was well aware that I was on the bigger side of things.
Had been since high school when locker room comparisons became inevitable.
It meant I couldn't hide when I got hard, couldn't play it off as nothing, and right now I was getting harder by the second with Soren pressed up against me like he was trying to make me lose my mind.
He was completely oblivious to it, too lost in the music and the alcohol to notice the way my breathing had changed or how tense I'd gone. He just kept dancing, kept moving against me with an easy grace that suggested he had no idea what he was doing to me.
A guy materialized next to us, tall and muscular with a smile that was too white and too confident. He said directly to Soren, “You're a hell of a dancer. Want to grab a drink?”
Soren barely looked at him. “I'm good, thanks.”
“Come on, just one drink. I'll make it worth your time.”
“He said no.” The guy's attention shifted to me with an expression that was half surprise and half challenge.
“Didn't realize he had a bodyguard.”
“He doesn't need one. He just needs you to fuck off.” I kept my voice level, but the anger underneath it was harder to hide than I would've liked.
The guy held up his hands in mock surrender and disappeared back into the crowd, and Soren laughed against my shoulder. “You're jealous.”
“I'm not jealous. I'm making sure drunk assholes leave you alone.”
He pulled back enough to look up at me, and his eyes were bright with alcohol and amusement. “It's cute.”
“I'm not cute.”
“You're extremely cute when you're being all protective and growly.” He shifted his hips again, and I felt his pelvis brush directly against my dick.
He didn't seem to notice, just kept moving like nothing had happened, and I tried desperately to think about anything other than how hard I was getting.
“You know what I've been thinking about?” Soren's voice dropped lower, intimate enough that I had to lean in to hear him. “I've been thinking about kissing you. Like, a lot. Too much, probably. But I can't stop.”
My heart stopped. Literally stopped beating for a solid three seconds before kicking back into overdrive. “Soren—”
“I know, I know. You're straight, and I'm a mess, and this is a terrible idea.” He was still moving, still pressed against me.
But he seemed completely unaware of my situation, too drunk to notice the obvious bulge in my jeans or the way my whole body had gone rigid trying to maintain control.
“But I wanted you back then, and I still want you now.”
I didn't know what to say. Didn't know how to respond to a confession I'd been trying not to hope for while also knowing he was too drunk for this conversation to mean what I wanted it to mean.
So I just held him closer and let him keep grinding against me while my dick throbbed and my brain tried to catch up with everything that was happening.
He shifted again, turning so his back was to me, and pressed his ass against my dick with enough force that I had to bite back a groan.
He still didn't seem to register what he was pressing against, just moved with the music like this was normal dancing and not the most erotic thing that had ever happened to me.
My hips rolled forward without permission, grinding into him, and I felt the heat building in my balls. This was bad. This was so fucking bad, because I was about to come in my jeans in the middle of a crowded club, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
Soren reached back, his hand landing on my hip to pull me closer, and then—without warning, without any indication he knew what he was doing—his hand slid forward and grabbed my dick through my jeans.
He squeezed.
Not hard, not deliberately sexual, just a casual touch like he was steadying himself or didn't realize where his hand had landed. But the pressure was enough, the contact so direct and overwhelming that I felt my control shatter completely.
“Fuck,” I choked out, trying to pull back, but his hand was still there, still squeezing, and his ass was still pressed against me, and it was too much.
The orgasm hit me like a freight train. My whole body went rigid, pleasure slamming through me so hard my vision whited out for a second.
I felt my dick pulse in my jeans, felt the wet heat spreading across my boxer briefs, and I couldn't do anything except hold onto Soren's waist and try not to collapse while I came harder than I ever had in my life.
Soren's hand moved away as quickly as it had landed, reaching up to run through his own hair as he kept dancing, completely oblivious to what had just happened. He was still moving against me, still lost in the music.
Another guy approached about five minutes later—or maybe it was thirty seconds, time had stopped making sense—this one shorter and more confident, with hands that went straight to Soren's arm like he had permission. “Hey, beautiful. You look like you could use some company.”
“Not interested,” Soren said, but his voice was getting tired now, the brightness fading into exhaustion.
“Come on, don't be like that. Let me buy you a drink, and we can see where the night goes.”
Soren turned in my arms to face the guy, and before I could process what was happening, he grabbed the front of my shirt and pulled me down into a kiss.
My brain went completely offline.
His mouth was warm and tasted like whiskey and lime, and he kissed me like he meant it.
My hands tightened on his waist without permission from my conscious mind, and I felt myself kissing him back even though my dick was still sensitive and my jeans were wet and uncomfortable and I had no idea what the fuck was happening to my life.
I could feel his tongue against mine, could taste the alcohol on his breath, could hear the small noise he made when I shifted my grip and pulled him closer.
The guy who'd been hitting on him said in a tone somewhere between impressed and annoyed, “Guess that answers that question.”
I barely heard him. I was too busy trying to process the fact that Soren was kissing me.
Soren pulled back first, breathing hard, eyes unfocused. “Did he leave?”
I glanced over his shoulder and saw that the guy had indeed backed off, disappearing into the crowd with a final shake of his head. “Yeah. He's gone.”
“Good.” Soren sagged against me, and I realized with a clarity that felt like falling that he was fading fast. The kiss had taken whatever energy he'd been running on and burned through it completely.
“We're leaving,” I said into his ear, trying to ignore the mess in my jeans and the way my mind was racing. “Come on, let's get you home.”
“Don't wanna go home yet.” But he didn't fight when I started steering him toward the exit, just leaned into me and let me guide him through the crowd.
The cold air outside hit us both like a wall, and Soren shivered hard enough that I pulled him closer without thinking about it. He was quiet on the walk to my truck, docile in ways that made me more worried than his earlier chaos had.
I got him into the passenger seat and buckled him in before walking around to the driver's side. By the time I'd started the engine, he was already half-asleep, head tilted against the window and eyes sliding closed.
I put the car in gear and started driving. The streets were mostly empty at this hour, and I kept glancing over at him to make sure he was still breathing. He looked younger when he was sleeping, softer, the tension that usually lived in his shoulders finally gone.
We pulled up in front of his building about fifteen minutes later, and I realized immediately that I had a problem. Soren was dead to the world, completely unconscious in a way that meant he wasn't walking anywhere under his own power.
“Soren.” I shook his shoulder gently. “We're here. I need your keys.”
Nothing. Not even a flicker of awareness.
I sighed and reached into his jacket pocket, trying to find his keys without being invasive and failing spectacularly because his pockets were a disaster zone of receipts and guitar picks and random shit I couldn't identify.
My hand brushed against his hip, and I felt him shift slightly in his sleep.
Then I felt what was unmistakably an erection pressing against the inside of his jeans, and my brain went completely offline for a solid ten seconds.
He was hard. And I was acutely, painfully aware of it in ways that made my own body respond before I could shut that down.
I found the keys and pulled my hand back like I'd been burned, trying very hard not to think about what I'd just felt or what it meant or how much I wanted to reach back and—
No. Absolutely fucking not. Soren was drunk and unconscious, and I was not going to be the kind of asshole who took advantage of that.
I got out of the truck and walked around to his side, unbuckling him and pulling him into my arms in a movement that was probably easier than it should have been given how much he weighed. He made a small noise and curled into my chest, and I tried not to notice how perfectly he fit there.
The building was quiet when I let us in, and I carried him up the stairs as carefully as I could manage. His head was tucked under my chin, his breath warm against my neck, and every step made me more aware of how close we were.
I was halfway down the hallway when a door opened and Talia stepped out. She took one look at me carrying her brother and her expression shifted from surprise to resignation so fast I almost missed the transition.
“His room's this way,” she said quietly, leading me down the hall without asking questions.
I followed her into a small bedroom that was somehow both cluttered and organized, clothes piled on a chair but books stacked neatly on shelves.
She pulled back the covers on his bed, and I laid him down as gently as I could.
He mumbled in protest but didn't wake, just curled onto his side and went still.
Talia pulled the blanket over him and then jerked her head toward the door, clearly wanting to talk outside. I followed her into the hallway and watched her close Soren's door with the kind of care that suggested she'd done this before.
“How drunk was he?” she asked, keeping her voice low.
“Pretty drunk. Called me from a club, said he wanted me to meet him there.” I leaned against the wall because standing still felt impossible.
“The drinking's been a problem for a while.” She said it flatly, without emotion, just stating a fact. “It gets worse when he's overwhelmed or stressed or dealing with our parents.”
“How often does this happen?”
“Often enough that I know what it looks like.” She crossed her arms and met my eyes with an expression that was equal parts exhaustion and warning.
I felt my chest tighten with anger and worry and too many other things to name. “What can I do?”
“Be there. Don't let him disappear into his head. Call him on his bullshit when he tries to pretend he's fine.” She paused, and I could see her weighing how much to say. “And don't make promises you can't keep. He's already been abandoned by too many people who said they cared.”
“I'm not going anywhere.”
“Good.” She studied me for a long moment, and I got the distinct impression I was being evaluated. “He talks about you sometimes. Not a lot, but enough that I know you matter. Don't fuck that up.”
“I won't.”
She nodded once, apparently satisfied, and disappeared back into her room. I stood there in the hallway for a few minutes longer, staring at Soren's closed door and trying to process everything that had just happened.