Chapter 15
Colton
My heart thumps as I turn off my truck. The club waits up ahead, looking innocuous enough, its facade not giving much away.
It could be any club or bar. Just a normal night out.
But it’s not. The fact that it took nearly an hour to get here is evidence enough. Add onto that what’s waiting inside…
“Ready?” Remi asks, his voice startling me.
“Jesus,” I groan. “I don’t know. How do I know if I’m ready? How do I… flirt with men, Remi? I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”
My brother looks more amused than anything. “You flirt with them the same way you’d flirt with women. Don’t try too hard. Just…relax and see what happens.”
“Relax,” I mutter. “Sure. I’m plenty relaxed.”
He snorts. “I’m gonna turn off my CI. Don’t…sign your attempts at flirting, please? I really don’t need to see that.”
Despite my nerves, I stifle a laugh and nod, unsurprised Remi doesn’t want to listen to the blaring music inside the club.
“All right,” I say, shoring myself up as he holds down the on/off button on his processor. With my best smile in place, I move my hands in a decisive, ‘Let’s do this.’
There’s no wait at the door. We walk right in, the thump of the music so heavy I can feel it in the soles of my shoes. There’s a bouncer just inside who checks our IDs, and then we’re waved forward. Remi grabs my arm and directs me toward the bar.
I can’t help but let my eyes wander as we move through the crowd. I’m no stranger to seeing men cuddle up close or kiss, and it’s never once bothered me. No more than seeing any two people be all lovey-dovey over one another in public. But I’ve never looked at a man and wondered, Do I want to kiss him? Not before.
Now? Every man I set eyes on, it’s all I can ask myself.
I can thank—or blame—Noah for that.
Remi gets my attention as we reach the bar. ‘Jack and coke,’ he signs. ‘Just one.’
I nod and wait for the bartender to notice us, which takes a minute. He’s a big guy, nearly the size of the bouncer. Rugged-looking. Tattoos over his arms, like Noah.
Fuck Noah .
Even though the bartender is subjectively handsome, there’s no…spark. No desire to kiss him as he comes our way, hitching his head up in a nod. “What’ll you have?” he asks over the music.
“Jack and coke and just Jack,” I tell the guy.
He knocks the bar top and walks off.
Remi pulls my attention. ‘See anyone?’
I pinch my fingers in a quick ‘no’ before looking around again. ‘I don’t know what my type is. I’m so confused.’
Remi gives my arm a squeeze, his expression telling me you’ll figure it out . I huff and turn back to the bar just in time to accept our drinks. After paying, Remi and I work our way toward the edge of the room, standing in a small open pocket of space beside the dance floor. We sip our whiskeys, eyes roaming, me doing my damndest to find attraction lurking somewhere in this mess.
A punch to my shoulder has me looking over at my brother. ‘You’re trying too hard,’ he signs pointedly, moving his body to the beat of the music. ‘Stop thinking. Just…feel.’
Just feel. I can do that. I nod, loosening my shoulders and downing the rest of my drink. I look out over the busy club again, not seeking out faces this time. Instead, I watch the way people dance. The bodies moving together, hands grabbing, the imitation of sex. I let myself look freely at the men grinding against one another, remembering the feel of Noah’s hands pressing me down, his body blanketing mine like a furnace, his teeth nipping at my neck and the feel of his crotch pressed to my ass.
Fuck .
I wipe my thoughts and try again. Men dancing. Grinding. Groping. Hands slipping over denim. Noah guiding me to get myself off.
God fucking —
“Hey,” some guy all but shouts, giving Remi a once-over that has me grimacing because, Jesus , that’s my baby brother. “Wanna dance?”
Remi leans closer to him to both say and sign, “I’m Deaf.”
It’s a challenge, whether or not the guy knows it.
The newcomer blinks once before doing a couple stilted dance moves and then opening his hands wide in a questioning gesture. Remi snorts and nods, the stranger having passed his test. He checks in with me, an eyebrow raised.
I flick my hands in a reassuring, ‘Go. Dance. Have fun. I’ll find you later.’
Remi nods, following the guy out onto the dance floor. I watch only long enough to decide I don’t need to see that, thank you very much, and then I set out through the crowd, determined to find someone who revs my engine. Stop thinking. Feel.
I get approached by several men as I wander, their hands grabbing me in question. I stop only long enough to suss out how I’m feeling. Which is…lackluster.
I don’t fucking get it. I know I liked what happened with Noah. So why the hell doesn’t the thought of doing that with any of these men thrill me? Why doesn’t it get my blood pumping? Why doesn’t it make my cock ache? Why did it have to be—
Holy Jesus.
Noah fucking King.
Standing at the edge of the room.
With some guy’s hand underneath his shirt.
I’m storming over before I’ve even registered the movement of my feet. My blood sure is pumping now, righteous indignation coursing through me.
Because how dare he. How fucking dare he!
“Hey,” I shout, tugging the unknown guy off Noah, only barely clocking the widening of both men’s eyes before I’m in Noah’s face. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”
“Colton?” he asks, shocked.
“Hey, asshole,” the other guy says, trying to pull me back. I don’t let him.
“Tell him to go,” I grit out, not breaking Noah’s gaze.
His eyes ping between my own several times before he looks over my shoulder and shakes his head just a little. The guy lets out a sound of frustration and kicks the back of my boot before presumably trudging off. I don’t turn to check.
“What are you doing here?” Noah asks, a frown marring his face.
“Seriously?” I retort, a frantic edge leaking into my tone. “What’re you doing? You make me goddamn question things, Noah, and then I find you here—what? Getting your kicks with somebody else? Is it all just a fucking game to you? Huh? Was I just a game?”
Noah’s frown is deeper now, the coppery brown of his eyes looking dark in the club. He leans close, and my pulse jumps, breath stuttering as his hand grips my hip hard enough for me to feel the indentation of each fingertip.
“Did you ever stop to think I’m trying to figure myself out, too?” he asks slowly, his voice nearly disappearing amidst the throb of the music.
I come up short. Because no. That hadn’t once crossed my mind. I figured, after what happened, he had to be not straight and aware of it. The way he acted…so confident and in control. I thought, surely…
Noah dips his head, lips near my ear as I try to control my breathing. “I’ve never touched a man before you, little Colt.”
A shiver runs down my spine. One I’m quick to slough off.
I step back, meeting Noah’s gaze. “Guess that makes two of us.”
His eyes move between my own again, as if he’s trying to read me. I hate it. I don’t want Noah King inside my head.
I turn to go, my brain just now catching up to the rashness of my decision to race over here. And what for? What good did I possibly think it would do?
But Noah doesn’t let me go. His grip on my hip tightens, and he turns me into the wall at his back, putting it at mine. I let out a curse, knocking his hand away, only to get pinned in by his massive arms on both sides of me. My heart pounds heavily in my chest, and I do my damndest not to feel the stirring below my belt.
Because no . He doesn’t get to have that. Noah fucking King doesn’t get to be the one damn man I’m attracted to. I’m not . I can’t be. Not him.
Not him .
“Were you jealous, little Colt?”
“Knock it off,” I tell him, pushing against his arm. He moves his hand to my chest, planting it firmly, his thumb at the hollow of my throat.
“Tell me,” he persists, his eyes half-lidded as he crowds me into the wall.
My pulse is beating so fast I’m more than positive he can feel it.
“Fuck. You,” I say instead.
Noah’s chuckle is dark, something I can’t even hear. I can sense it, though. Feel it reverberating from him to me. “Would you like that?” he asks, shocking me into silence. Noah presses his advantage, his hand slipping up to my throat, cradling me almost, except for the distinct edge of threat I can feel from his person. “Do you want me?”
“In your dreams,” I fire back, praying he doesn’t move any closer. If he does, there will be no hiding how turned on I am.
I’m fucked up. This is so fucked up.
“I have had very nice dreams about you,” he says, almost taunting.
I huff out a breath. “Oh yeah? What were we doing? Braiding each other’s hair? ’Cause I hate to break it to you, King. But I don’t see that happening in our lifetime.”
His chuckle is short-lived. “No,” he says, moving closer, his thumb pressing up on my jaw, the flower-laden rope vining darkly over his skin keeping me caged in. He waits until I meet his eye before saying, “You were on your knees for me. If I asked nicely, would you bow before me now?”
“Fuck. You,” I say again, with feeling.
My eyes slip shut when Noah’s body presses to mine, the weight of him impossible to ignore, the way he grinds slowly against me proof I’m not fooling anyone. Least of all him.
“I think you were jealous,” he says at my ear, his hand slipping from the front of my throat to the back of my neck. He holds me tightly. Possessively. “I think I like you jealous.”
“Why?” I huff out, willing my erection a swift death. Instead of going down, it throbs against Noah’s hip, liking the rough handling far too much.
Noah hums, the vibration of it traveling from his chest to mine. His lips are still pressed close to my ear, and I wonder what we look like to anyone bothering to pay us any mind. Two men in an intimate embrace, no different than anyone else inside this club?
“Because,” he says, stopping long enough to nip the shell of my ear, “I like having your reins in my hand, little Colt. Tell me. If I tug, will you come to heel?”
My breath stutters out of me, my immediate refusal getting caught on the way out of my throat. I want to scream no . No fucking way will I let Noah King lead me around by the balls. But I already have, haven’t I? I let him once. And my conviction of it never happening again is weakening the longer Noah’s hand remains wrapped around my neck.
“I don’t like you,” I remind him.
“You don’t have to. Not for this.”
Ah, fuck .
My hips hitch against Noah before I can stop myself. He feels it. Of course he does. His hand tightens almost painfully against my nape before fingers sift up into my hair. He tugs my head to the side, his lips at my neck.
I need to push him away. I need…
A moan works its way out of my throat as Noah’s mouth clamps down on my skin, sucking harshly, the flit of his tongue driving an electric current from my spine to my balls. I blink rapidly, trying to get my head on straight, trying to remember why this is a bad fucking idea.
It is, isn’t it? The worst.
Noah’s lips slide upwards, sucking again, and my head thunks against the wall. His fingers massage the back of my head—an apology?—before he’s tugging me back around, meeting my eye. He’s so close, his lashes looking dark, his eyes asking a question I don’t know the answer to.
Hate him. Hate this man.
So why I lean forward to catch his stupidly full lips with my own, I have no fucking clue. Noah crowds me into the wall, both hands in my hair now, and when the hell did I grab his shirt? I don’t have a single brain cell left to make sense of this.
Because Noah’s lips are on mine. Ruthless. Powerful. All-consuming.
He’s kissing me. I’m kissing him .
And it’s so much more than lackluster.
Fuck.
Fuck .
I have a hate-on for Noah fucking King.