Chapter 12 #2
I glance up to see a few familiar, grinning faces as more people head over to our booth: Miguel and James, who also dance with the Zakharova. Tate, who was my roommate for a while and is pretty close friends with James. And—
Fuck.
Gerard.
Gerard of the literal asshole selfie from this morning, when he was presumably still drugged out of his mind and fucking Chrissy. I vaguely remember him being somewhat friendly with Tate, but why the fuck is he here? Ugh.
I'm about to sound like a total dickhead, but my fuck buddies are precisely that: fuck buddies. Not real buddies. Not friends I hang out with unless it's a situation involving my dick and one or several of their holes.
Naomi gets up to hug Miguel and James, and say hi to Tate. He slips past her and makes a discreet wincing face as he leans in to bump my fist and clap me on the back.
“Sorry, dude. He was literally waiting outside my place, looking for you.” Tate waggles his brows. “Still prefer the clingy pathetic ones, huh?”
Both Gerard and Chrissy have been texting me all night about the obvious.
I’ve been ignoring them harder than I ignored Roman.
“Hey guys.” Milena, ever charming—when she wants to be—smiles at Miguel and James. “Hey, Tate.”
“Hey, Milena,” he grins. “Still with that boy—”
“Very much so,” she smiles politely.
He sighs. “And he’s still crazy, I guess?”
“Batshit,” she grins.
“Cool,” he nods. “Cool cool cool. Well, was worth a shot, right?”
Milena shoots me an exasperated look, then turns to Gerard. “Hi. I'm Milena.”
“Gerard,” he smiles back.
Naomi’s brow furrows. “Gerard…” Her eyes go wide as her face turns pink. “Oh my God…” She whirls to stare at me, pure incredulity in her eyes. “Gerard is here?”
“Thanks for the memo,” I hiss back, out of earshot of the rest of them with the music going.
Brooklyn frowns. “Wait, Gerard as in…”
Yep, it'll click for her in 3…2…1…
“Oh—GERARD!” she crows, trying and utterly failing to keep from laughing.
Gerard’s brows knit. “Did I, ah, miss something?”
“Your text message this morning with Chrissy went a little viral,” I mutter.
He blushes, but then grins and shrugs. “Freshly bleached, ladies.”
“Oh my God…” Naomi groans, burying her face in her hands. “I need another drink. Anyone else?”
Evie starts to raise her hand but Milena firmly puts it back down for her.
Naomi and Tate head off to the bar and everyone else settles into the huge, curved VIP booth. I grit my teeth, silently groaning when Gerard makes a point of slipping in right next to me, and then fucking sliding his hand onto my thigh.
“You never texted me back,” he pouts, poking me.
I roughly shove his hand away.
“Correct,” I growl.
He pouts harder. “Why,” he whines.
“I was ignoring you,” I say flatly, which for some reason makes him giggle and try to put his arm around me.
Yeah, no.
I shrug him off just as my phone buzzes, which I yank out of my pocket and then cock a brow at.
Roman
Let me make it up to you.
I suck on my teeth for a second. Then I exhale slowly. Fine, I’ll play this game.
Me
How.
Roman
start with buying u a drink?
Me
I already have one, thanks.
Roman
looks like ur almost done tho.
What the fuck.
I glance around, twisting my neck sharply to scan the club. I see other partiers, couples making out, the packed bar, the pulsing dance floor, the DJ booth…
Wait.
My gaze snaps back to the bar. Roman is standing near the wall, swaying a little on his feet, glassy-eyed but staring right at me.
“Who are you looking for, baby?”
I flinch, recoiling slightly when Gerard settles a little more onto my lap.
“Nobody. Fuck off.”
He laughs. “So mean.”
I ignore him, turning my attention back to Roman.
Me
What are you doing here.
His expression, lit by the glow of his phone, sours as his eyes land on Gerard.
Roman
Who is that.
A smirk plays across my face.
Me
Jealous?
Roman
just a fucking question
Me
Maybe he’s the one keeping me from giving a shit about your half-assed apology.
I watch the motherfucker’s face twist, thinking it through, before he starts typing again.
Roman
I really am sorry. That’s not me.
Me
From what I've seen of you at the fight clubs, that is *exactly* you.
Roman
I fight in FIGHTS. I don’t just hit people. Not if it’s not work-related.
Work-related. Jesus.
This man breaks bones, bloodies faces, and generally fucks people up as part of his job.
…I find that disturbingly hot.
Me
Fine, whatever. I’m over it.
Roman
Please.
He really needs to stop say that.
Roman
please let me make it up to you
Roman
come have a drink with me
I smile cruelly.
Me
Why don’t you come over here with that drink you’re offering.
Me
Oh, silly me. You’d never do that.
I watch Roman sway on his feet, his lips twisting nervously as he types, deletes, types, deletes.
Over and over and fucking over…
Fuck it.
“Get off.”
Gerard giggles. “That’s why I’m here.” He drops his hand to my crotch, but I shove it away, twisting his wrist hard enough to make him gasp.
“Hey!”
“If I was in the mood,” I growl at him. “I’d already have you bent over in the alley outside with my cock buried in your ass.”
He grins hungrily.
“But seeing that I’m not…” I tilt my head. “Fuck off.”
I push Gerard off me and slide out of the booth, vaguely telling everyone that I’m going to get a drink.
Roman can’t wipe the drunk, goofy-ass grin off his face as I approach him.
“Pro tip,” I grunt, stopping in front of him. “Smiling like that makes you look desperate.”
His grin falters and drops.
“Sorry.”
I glare at him. “Well?”
Roman clears his throat. “Look, I’m genuinely sorry if…I mean…I was…”
“Suffering from post-nut straightness?”
His face darkens, his eyes darting around. As if anyone can hear us over the DJ.
Also, as if anyone gives a shit.
He exhales. “I… I’ve never done that before.”
I wink salaciously. “Told you: just like jerking your own cock.”
Roman flushes maroon.
“Val, I’m… I’m not gay, okay?”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, good. The broken record is still busted.”
His brow knits. “Look, I’m trying to apologize—”
“Well, try fucking harder. I don’t even have a drink yet.”
Roman scowls. “Shit, sorry.”
I stand there watching in amusement as he turns and easily pushes his way to the bar. A minute later he's back, holding two shots.
“Thanks,” I mutter, taking the glass of what smells like vodka. I’ve barely brought it to my nose before Roman has knocked his back in one go.
I eye him.
“Should you be doing that?”
He looks at me with confusion. “It’s a bar.”
“No, I mean…” I take in the way he’s swaying a little bit. The flush on his face.
“You’ve already had a few, yeah?” I growl.
Roman scowls ”And?”
“No and. Just asking.”
“It’s the weekend,” he shrugs. “I’m having fun.”
“Clearly.”
He eyes my shot, and a crazy part of me wonders if he’s seriously contemplating asking me if I’m going to drink it or not, so that he can.
I down it, to make sure he doesn’t.
“Be right back..”
“Rom—”
He’s already gone, shoving back to the bar like a bull in a china shop. A minute later, he comes back with a beer for each of us.
I take one, and he clinks his bottle to mine. “So…we good?”
I peer at him closely. “Not quite.”
He looks puzzled. “I—”
“I’m going to ask you something,” I continue evenly. “And I want a straight answer, pun one hundred percent not intended.”
Roman smirks. “Okay…”
His eyes widen a little as I step right into his personal space and lean close, my mouth brushing past his ear.
“How many times over the last few days did that big, gorgeous cock of yours get hard thinking about the steam room?”
Roman turns bright red and takes a huge swig of beer.
“Val, I’m not—”
“Don’t even say it,” I groan, rolling my eyes. “I hate to break it to you, but jerking a guy off and letting him lick your and his cum off your still-hard dick before he kisses you is all fucking sorts of gay, my friend.”
Roman’s mouth purses, his throat working overtime as he swallows heavily. His bottom lip retreats between his teeth, and fucking hell, it takes everything not to crush my mouth to his, to claim that lip with my teeth.
Also, he needs to stop staring at me like that. It’s clear he’s drunk. But he’s not that drunk. Like, this isn’t “fucked up Roman is out of his mind, and pushing the issue is super questionable” territory.
But he is drunk enough that he’s tiptoeing right up to that line in the sand that he’s drawn across his sexuality.
Roman clears his throat. “I… I just wanted to apologize.”
I exhale. “It’s cool. I know it was an accident.”
He half smiles, which is seriously fucking adorable.
“So… We're good now?”
I shrug. “I guess.”
He frowns. “That doesn’t sound like a yes.”
No shit, Sherlock.
Roman swallows heavily, that fucking lip of his sinking back between his teeth.
“Tell me…” He hesitates. “Tell me what I can do to make it better.”
My pulse thuds in my ears. My entire body hums with ravenous energy.
He needs to stop looking at me like that.
And he definitely needs to stop saying shit like that to me in that needy, begging voice.
“Tell me what—”
“Take off your belt.”
Roman’s entire body tenses—well, except for his eyes, which widen, and his mouth, which falls open a bit.
He takes a heavy drink of beer. “What?”
He’s trembling a little as I step closer to him, looking him dead in the eye as I pluck the beer from his hand and turn, putting it and mine on the table beside us.
“You heard me. Take off your belt, and give it to me.”
He hesitates another few seconds, his chest rising and falling, his eyes flitting over mine. Then he nods and swallows heavily.
“Okay.”
I bite back a groan as he reaches down and undoes his black leather belt. He slides it off his black dress slacks, hesitates for half a second, then hands it to me.
“Turn around. Face the table,” I murmur.
Roman’s face heats.
“W-what?”
His breath catches sharply as I step even closer, my gaze never leaving his.
“Turn around, face the table, and put your fucking hands behind your back. Now.”
There’s no hesitation this time. Fuck me, there’s an eagerness as he trembles and turns to face the high-top.
“Hands…” I growl.
He nods, taking a shaky breath before slipping his hands to the small of his back, right above his delectable ass.
Without preamble, I take the belt, loop it around his crossed wrists, then pull it tight.
And the motherfucker whimpers.
He doesn't gasp, or grunt, or shift uncomfortably as he fights it.
He goddamn whimpers.
A deviously dark smile creeps over my mouth as I lean into him, relishing the way he shivers when he feels me press to his back, and the way his breath hitches again when my mouth moves to hover near his ear.
“You like to give up control,” I growl into his ear.
Roman stiffens, his breath turning choked and haggard. “N-no, I don’t.”
“Allow me to introduce you to four seconds ago, when you moaned when I pinned your arms and took away your control.”
His back muscles flex. “I—I mean… I don’t normally…I don’t—”
I grab the end of the belt and tug, tightening it even more around his wrists.
And sweet baby Jesus, the man moans again—this needy, achy, sexy sound that immediately has my cock hard as fucking steel and throbbing in my pants.
“You’re the one who's always in control, aren’t you,” I murmur into his ear. I give the belt another quick tug, and a whimper hums in his throat.
“Roman…?”
“Yes,” he breathes heavily, his broad chest rising and falling.
“You’re the top in all of your fake relationships with girls, aren’t you?”
He swallows, half turning his head to glance at me.
“Aren’t all guys tops?”
Oh, you sweet summer child.
“Not always. But, in hetero relationships…yeah, usually.”
I tug again, relishing the sound that tumbles from his quivering mouth.
“When you’re with a girl,” I growl into his ear. “Are you the dominant one?”
He nods quickly. “Yes,” he breathes shakily.
“Do you enjoy it?”
Roman sucks on his lip again. “I…don’t know? Yes?”
“So convincing,” I snicker.
I yank his belt again, dragging another ultra-satisfying moan from his throat.
“I think you crave a little dominance.” I chuckle darkly as I lean over and drag my tongue up the side of his neck before nipping at his earlobe. “Such a bottom.”
Roman’s brow furrows deeply. He turns, his arms still bound behind his back, his eyes wide as they stare into mine with the lights and the music still pounding around us. His throat bobs before he opens his mouth.
“That’s…” He shivers. “I mean, bottom means…”
“It means you’re the one getting fucked,” I growl.
Roman shivers, his chest still rising and falling quickly and a slightly panicked expression on his face.
Okay, I’ve tortured him enough…for now. Last thing I need is a closet case having a fucking panic attack in the middle of the club.
Wordlessly, I turn him around, loosen and slip off the belt, then hand it to him before I pat him on the chest.
“Are we…good?” he murmurs.
“Mmm… Still thinking about that.”
I simply cannot resist the urge to fuck with this guy.
“In the meantime,” I add, “I’m going to go use the men's room. Don’t go anywhere, wreckage. I’m having way too much fun with you.”
I turn without another word. That lost expression on his face has me way harder than it should, and if he wants to make it home tonight without me kissing the fuck out of him in front of everyone, I need to get out of here.
The regular bathrooms are a shitshow, this being a popular club on a Friday night. Luckily, the VIP ones are much nicer.
So that's where I go, giving our table and clingy, pathetic Gerard a wide berth.
Once there, I run my hands under cold water and splash a little on my face. I look up into the mirror, forcing my breathing to calm as adrenaline and hunger roar inside me.
What the fuck is he doing?
He’s playing with fucking fire, is what he’s doing. If he keeps looking at me like that, and moaning like that, I will not be able to stop whatever comes next.
“Whatever” obviously meaning “me slamming him up against the nearest wall or over the closest available flat surface and fucking the confusion right out of—”
The bathroom door opens behind me. And when I look up, my cock jumps when my eyes meet Roman’s in the mirror.
He looks so unsure. A little drunk, and nervous. A whole lotta sexy.
“I—” He breathes in and out heavily as I turn to face him. “I don’t…I mean…”
“Well, well, well,” I murmur quietly. “Look who got curious.”