CHAPTER 2
It was instinct by now for Gabe to immediately fall into rhythm with the music, turn his body loose, and let it do its thing.
It took some effort to get his hips to behave as he drew Cole against him, striking a traditional dance pose.
Taking the lead, Gabe touched Cole’s waist as the young man nervously rested his hand on Gabe’s shoulder and slid his other hand into Gabe’s palm.
Cole’s breath quickened, and in this club, that usually meant the customer was sufficiently turned on, and it was time to get down and dirty. But not this time. Well, the “turned on” part was true—there was no disguising that reality for Cole—but he wasn’t ready for what Gabe brought to the table.
“Relax,” Gabe said, their faces close. The man’s gray eyes held his gaze steadily.
In fact, he seemed unable to look away. That was good, at least in Gabe’s mind.
He liked the way Cole looked at him. And not the same way he liked it when lustful customers looked at him.
This was different. It tickled his belly button and made him smile.
“Come a little closer.” Gabe squeezed Cole’s waist and urged him closer until their bodies touched.
When Cole swallowed with a soft gulp, it profoundly affected Gabe.
His loins sizzled, and he forcibly kept his hips from pushing invitingly against the man.
I want to fuck this man. The thought was more casual than lustful, as if it were just a simple fact he couldn’t deny.
He knew better than to let his thoughts “go there” with customers, and he rarely did.
But Cole caught him by surprise; he wasn’t the club’s typical customer.
Was he a customer at all? Or just a patron? He’d said he wasn’t here for that. Most men, Gabe wouldn’t believe. But he believed Cole.
“Nothing to be nervous about,” Gabe murmured with a smile. “Believe me, no one is paying attention to us.”
Cole nodded, took a deep breath, exhaled, and kept staring into Gabe’s eyes.
There’s a whole world behind those gray eyes.
The thought suddenly popped into Gabe’s mind, but he didn’t push it away.
Something about Cole pulled at him, convinced him that Cole was someone he wanted to know—not just between the sheets.
Definitely between the sheets, too, but not only there.
We could be friends. The thought gave him a warm feeling that left him a little stunned.
He’d made many friends since coming to the Phoenix, and they were all good guys.
But Cole was different somehow. Gabe couldn’t explain how and didn’t see the need to.
Who cared? If something felt right, why question it?
Because of the noise—or so Gabe told himself—he leaned in closer and spoke into Cole’s ear.
“Don’t think about it too much. Just let the music take over, let the rhythm find you.
” He inhaled the man’s scent—distant soap fragrance, a hint of cologne—and shivered slightly.
Why did this man smell so much better than all the others he rubbed up against?
There was nothing particularly unique about the way he smelled, and yet… somehow… There was.
Did he just smell me? Cole shivered—not in an unpleasant way.
Everything Gabe was doing triggered shivers.
He couldn’t explain why. Was he more desperate for “physical” touch than he realized?
Cole had avoided intimacy—especially sexual intimacy—with others since he ran away from home.
What he had been forced to do while living in that nightmare…
he hadn’t wanted to touch anyone that way—even if it was consensual.
Gabe’s hand pressed against the small of his back, the heat of his palm warming his skin through his shirt. This was the first time he’d allowed someone to touch him or get this close in seven years. Why now?
He didn’t know and didn’t care. It had frightened him somewhat to think that, because of what had happened before, he would never be able to get close to someone again…
physically or otherwise. He’d thought it might cause some form of PTSD to engage sexually with another person.
But whatever was happening here with this beautiful, sexy stripper…
it didn’t cause an adverse reaction in his mind or body.
Instead, it felt good, soothing, even therapeutic.
Their bodies moved in rhythm with each other. Gabe lowered both hands to Cole’s waist, while Cole cautiously placed his hands on the man’s firm, broad shoulders. He wore a simple white T-shirt, but the cotton seemed to melt away under Cole’s palms, his skin hot to the touch.
With each sway of their bodies, they moved closer until they were nearly pressed against each other. Cole became aware of the subtle sensations: the buttons of their jeans catching, the slight roughness of denim against denim, the heat of their chests melding through their shirts.
They were nearly the same height, and Cole kept his head slightly tilted down, avoiding Gabe’s eyes as his heart beat too fast and hard, stealing his breath. His fingers tingled with the urge to brush into Gabe’s short, dark hair. He was sure the man wouldn’t mind, but what signals would that send?
What signals do you want to send—you want to stroke his hair, for fuck’s sake?
Cole didn’t know the answer. He didn’t know anything right now.
This was uncharted territory for him. The club atmosphere and Gabe’s touch were overwhelming, and Cole didn’t trust himself to think clearly at the moment.
For years, he’d dreamed of breaking the chains of his past, freeing him to feel comfortable getting close to another person—if only physically.
Now, he was suddenly there. If he got any closer to Gabe, they’d become one. And he wasn’t sure how to handle it.
The sexual man within—abused and repressed most of his life—screamed to be free.
The swelling of his crotch as Gabe’s hips swayed sensually against him made Cole realize how desperately the “sexual” man within was craving release.
With each “rub” of Gabe’s arousal, the gentle strokes of his fingertips along Cole’s lower back, and his warm breath on Cole’s cheek, that man inside became more desperate—hungrier.
Cole wasn’t aware that his arms had slipped around Gabe’s neck until he realized he was hugging his head, fingers buried in his dark hair.
The man tightened his hold in response, sliding his hands up Cole’s back and pressing more firmly against him.
The rhythm of Gabe’s hips shifted slightly, and Cole felt himself falling in sync, the sensuality gradually escalating.
He waited for uncertainty, possibly even panic, to take over, but it never did.
This felt good. This felt like freedom.
Where he had felt out of place in this club before, it suddenly now felt welcoming, warm, and maybe even a little like… home.
Gabe felt the change happen in Cole. The exact moment it occurred. As if something inside the man let go, and he “fell into” Gabe. His arms curled around Gabe’s neck, fingers sinking into his hair, body relaxing—not just allowing Gabe to press against him but pressing back—completely aroused.
Normally, Gabe would escalate things quickly, driving the man into a sexual frenzy until he was ready to empty his wallet for just one session in a private booth.
But this time, it wasn’t about the money.
Gabe wasn’t even “on duty”—in fact, he was about to leave when he saw Cole walk into the club.
He couldn’t explain why he’d become so invested in this one man, but he just couldn’t walk away.
When Cole matched the rhythm of his hips as they inched away from “traditional” dancing toward the exotic, Gabe’s heart did a little skip that caught him off guard.
Sure, he loved his job and enjoyed every second he spent seducing customers.
Fuck, it was fun as hell. He enjoyed it, they enjoyed it—it was all good.
But no one had ever made his heart skip—not the hottest, horniest, handsomest customers. Not fucking one of them.
That tiny twitch in his pulse stole his breath as surely as if he’d been punched in the gut. It was both mystifying and exciting. Gabe loved anything that thrilled him and always craved more.
He could almost feel Cole’s heart pounding as their chests pressed together, tightening the embrace as Gabe gently squeezed the man in his strong arms. He nuzzled Cole’s ear, unable to resist, overwhelmed by the soft, inviting scent of soap and mild musk cologne.
Come home with me, Gabe unashamedly thought as they both hardened down south. I want to taste every inch of your body, even if it takes all night. He would make sure it did—even if he had to taste everything twice.
The invitation was out there—in every sensual rotation of his hips, every caress of his fingertips along Cole’s spine, every uneven breath puffing into Cole’s ear.
Please say yes.
A faint tremor swept through Cole’s body.
Gabe felt the vibration from the tips of his toes to the hair follicles on his scalp.
Cole’s fingers slowly clenched in his hair, pulling at his roots—and fuck, it felt good, sparking vivid images of the man beneath him, clutching fistfuls of his hair as they fucked the night away on a wave of sexual ecstasy.
This time, Gabe trembled, surprised by how badly he wanted that very thing.
Cole was suffocating in the intense sexual heat of Gabe’s body and the club itself. They were no longer just dancing traditionally; they were practically clinging to each other, bodies pressed so closely together that they seemed to exist as a single entity.
I want to fuck him. The thought hit him suddenly, with enough force to jolt Cole and make him flinch.
As much as the idea shocked him—it was true.
The throbbing ache in his loins confirmed it.
But he couldn’t... could he? People didn’t do that, did they?
Just walk into a club, start rubbing up against someone, and then. .. fuck them? Was that moral?
Gabe’s entire body was “pumping” out the invitation, his tense hands caressing Cole’s lower back, fingertips grazing the upper swell of Cole’s ass without actually going there. Cole could feel the throb in the man’s rock-hard erection as it ground into Cole’s crotch.
Gabe let out a shaky breath. “Confession,” he panted into his ear.
“I was never… a scout.” Maybe an apology?
Maybe. His hands slid down over Cole’s ass, squeezed, and pulled Cole up tighter against his crotch.
Gabe boldly rolled his hips, gripping Cole’s cheeks tightly as he guided him into a matching rhythm.
Their bodies moved in sync with the music pulsating through the club—and through Cole’s bloodstream, feeling the beat at his pulse points.
“I didn’t… think so,” Cole gasped shakily into the man’s hair.
The way his body moved surprised him. He’d never imagined “dancing” like this, never thought he’d have the boldness or confidence.
Or maybe he thought he’d feel embarrassed.
He didn’t. It was exhilarating and freed something inside him, something he’d been suppressing, denying, all his life.
He focused on Gabe’s hands, the way his strong fingers dug into his ass cheeks through the denim, and how he held Cole so tightly against him as if he intended to merge their bodies.
Pretty sure that’s exactly his intention.
The thought wasn’t offensive. Instead, it sent shocks of excitement zipping through Cole’s system.
You really want to fuck him? You just met him.
Did that make him a slut? A man of low morals? Cole honestly didn’t know who or what he was; he hadn’t taken time to find out, as he’d struggled to stay one step ahead of his nightmare past. He realized he didn’t care who he was, or what he was, as long as he wasn’t…
You’re not… that. If you were, you wouldn’t have run from it.
Cole turned his mind away from the dark thoughts and let the heat building between him and Gabe flood his senses.
This beautiful, sexy stripper was the first person in seven years to override his quiet urge to keep moving, making him pause to consider that maybe…
maybe… he could put down roots. Not with Gabe—a complete stranger—but here in this city.
Doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy him while you’re putting down roots.
True. It didn’t have to be anything serious. Gabe was a stripper, after all. Surely, the last thing he wanted was a committed relationship. And Cole didn’t think he was ready for that either. Maybe someday, but not today.
Gabe suddenly pulled away from Cole, took his hand, and led him back to the bar, where he ordered two very cold drinks.